Chapter 4 - Chapter 4: Tangled Bonds and Hidden Truths

The dawn broke over London like a reluctant confession, gray and cold, its light seeping through the curtains of Eleanor's bedchamber to pool on the floor. She hadn't slept—not truly. The echoes of her father's fury and James's sullen silence had chased her through restless hours, tangling with the memory of Captain Grey's voice and the weight of his gaze. She rose before Hannah could knock, dressing in a simple muslin gown, her movements sharp with purpose. Today, she'd get answers, even if she had to drag them from her brother's bruised pride.Downstairs, Ashford House was a mausoleum of quiet. The servants moved like ghosts, their footsteps muffled on the rugs, their eyes averted from the storm that had blown through the night before. Eleanor found James in the morning room, slumped over a cup of coffee that had gone cold, his golden hair a mess and the bruise on his cheek now a mottled purple. He didn't look up as she entered, but his shoulders tensed, a silent acknowledgment of her presence."Good morning," she said, her tone clipped as she took the seat across from him. "Or perhaps not, given the state of you."He grunted, stirring the coffee with a spoon he didn't lift. "Spare me the lecture, Ellie. Father's already flayed me raw.""I'm not Father," she snapped, leaning forward. "And I deserve to know what happened. A duel, James? Over cards? Are you trying to ruin us?"His head jerked up, his blue eyes bloodshot but defiant. "It wasn't just cards. Percival's whelp—Henry—cheated. I called him out, and he swung first. What was I supposed to do, let him bloody my nose and walk away?""Yes," she said, her voice rising despite herself. "Because now you've given Father another whip to crack over us. What did he do to stop it?"James's jaw tightened, and he looked away, his fingers drumming on the table. "He paid Percival off. A hundred guineas to keep Henry's mouth shut and call it a misunderstanding. The old man's livid—says I've shamed the family name."Eleanor sat back, her anger cooling into something heavier. A hundred guineas was no small sum, not with the estate's finances as precarious as they were. Their father hid it well behind his stern demeanor and the polished facade of Ashford House, but she'd seen the ledgers once, glimpsed the debts piling up like storm clouds. James's recklessness wasn't just a scandal—it was a blow to their already fragile foundations."Why do you do this?" she asked, softer now. "The gambling, the drinking, the fights. You're not a fool, James. What are you running from?"He met her gaze then, and for a moment, she saw the boy he'd been—her golden-haired shadow, always laughing, always trailing her through the gardens. "Maybe I'm running from the same thing you are," he said quietly. "Him."The word hung between them, heavy as the oak table. Lord Reginald Ashwood—father, tyrant, keeper of their gilded cage. Before she could reply, the door swung open, and the man himself strode in, his silver hair gleaming in the morning light, his cane a punctuation mark to his every step. He fixed James with a glare that could have curdled milk, then turned it on Eleanor."You're up early," he said, his voice a low growl. "Good. We've matters to settle.""Matters?" she echoed, rising to face him. "If you mean James—""Not just him." He cut her off, tapping his cane on the floor. "The Haverford ball was a disaster, thanks to your brother's idiocy, but it's not too late to salvage something. The duke sent a note this morning—wants to call on you tomorrow. You'll receive him."Her stomach twisted, but she kept her expression smooth. "And if I'd rather not?""You will," he said, his tone brooking no dissent. "He's a match we can't afford to lose. The estate needs his wealth, Eleanor, and you need a husband. This isn't a negotiation."James snorted, earning a sharp look from their father. "Oh, let her breathe, Father. She's not a broodmare.""Quiet," Reginald barked, his grip tightening on the cane. "You've done enough damage. One more misstep, boy, and I'll ship you to the colonies myself."The threat hung in the air, a blade unsheathed. James shoved his chair back and stormed out, leaving Eleanor alone with their father's wrath. She squared her shoulders, meeting his cold gray eyes—eyes she'd inherited, though she prayed the resemblance ended there."I'll see Haverford," she said at last, her voice steady. "But I won't be rushed into anything. I'm not a pawn to be played.""You're an Ashwood," he replied, as if that answered everything. "Duty comes first. Always."He left her then, his footsteps echoing down the hall, and she sank back into her chair, her hands clenched in her lap. Duty. The word was a chain she'd worn since childhood, its links forged from expectation and sacrifice. But last night, with Grey, she'd felt something else—a spark of defiance, a whisper of freedom. She needed to know more about him, not just for curiosity's sake, but because he might hold a key to breaking those chains.The day passed in a blur of routine—letters answered, a walk in the frostbitten garden, a tense luncheon where no one spoke. By afternoon, she'd formulated a plan. She summoned Hannah to her room, the maid's weathered face creasing with suspicion as Eleanor outlined her request."You want me to what?" Hannah asked, hands on her hips. "Sneak about like a thief, asking after this Captain Grey?""Not sneak," Eleanor said, smoothing her skirt. "Inquire. Discreetly. You've got friends in service all over London—someone must know something concrete. I need facts, not gossip."Hannah muttered under her breath, but her loyalty won out. "Fine, milady. But if your father catches wind of this—""He won't," Eleanor cut in. "Not if you're careful."The maid grumbled her way out, leaving Eleanor to pace the room, her mind racing. She didn't know what she expected to find, but inaction wasn't an option. Haverford's visit loomed like a guillotine, and James's recklessness had tightened the noose. Grey, with his shadowed past and unyielding air, was a wild card—and wild cards could change the game.By evening, Hannah returned, her expression a mix of triumph and unease. "Got something," she said, shutting the door behind her. "My cousin's girl works for a merchant in Cheapside—says Grey's been seen there, meeting with a man named Silas Crowe. Rough sort, they say, tied to the docks. And there's talk of a ship—the Raven's Wing. Docked at Wapping, but no one knows what she carries."Eleanor frowned, piecing it together. "A ship? So he's still in trade—or something like it.""Could be," Hannah said. "But it's not all tea and cotton, milady. Crowe's name's whispered, not spoken. And that naval man you saw him with? Old Captain Harrow—retired, but he's got ties to the Admiralty. Whatever Grey's up to, it's deep waters."Deep waters indeed. Eleanor thanked Hannah, dismissing her with a nod, and sat by the fire, the flames casting shadows that danced like her thoughts. The Raven's Wing. Silas Crowe. Captain Harrow. It wasn't smuggling, Grey had said—not quite. But what, then? And why did it tug at her so?Sleep eluded her again that night, and by morning, she'd made up her mind. She'd go to Wapping herself—not today, with Haverford's visit looming, but soon. She needed to see the Raven's Wing, to understand the man who captained it. It was reckless, yes, but recklessness was a luxury James had claimed too often. It was her turn.The duke arrived at three, his carriage gleaming in the weak sunlight, his manner as polished as ever. He brought flowers—roses, predictably—and compliments that flowed like honey. They sat in the drawing room, her father hovering like a hawk, and Eleanor played her part: smiling, nodding, sipping tea she didn't taste. Haverford spoke of his estates, his plans for a hunt, his admiration for her wit. She responded with just enough warmth to keep him engaged, but her mind was elsewhere—on a ship, on a scar, on a man who didn't bow.When he left, promising to call again, her father beamed. "Well done, Eleanor. He's smitten."She excused herself without a word, retreating to her room. The day had been a performance, and she was exhausted—but not defeated. Tomorrow, she'd slip the leash. Tomorrow, she'd find the Raven's Wing. And whatever truth lay there, she'd face it head-on.