The hackney jolted over London's uneven streets, its wheels rattling like Eleanor's nerves as the city swallowed her back into its embrace. The boatman Nathaniel had arranged had dropped her at a quiet wharf near Blackfriars, his gruff silence a mercy after the whirlwind of Greenwich. Now, dusk painted the sky in bruise-like hues, and she clutched her cloak tighter, the damp chill of the Thames still clinging to her skin. Her mind churned with the day's revelations—the Raven's Wing, the coded letters, Nathaniel's raw confession. She'd stepped into his storm, and though she'd returned to shore, its currents still pulled at her.The carriage stopped a block from Ashford House, a precaution to avoid prying eyes. She paid the driver with coins from her reticule, her fingers trembling slightly, and slipped through the shadowed streets to the servants' entrance. Hannah waited there, her face a thundercloud of worry and relief, a lantern swinging in her grip."Blessed saints, milady," the maid hissed, ushering her inside. "You're late—your father's been pacing like a caged bear. I told him you were with Lady Beatrice, but he's not fool enough to swallow it whole."Eleanor shed her cloak, the warmth of the kitchen a stark contrast to the river's bite. "Did he send for her?""Not yet," Hannah said, bustling her toward the back stairs. "But he's in a mood—James too. You'd best clean up quick and play the part."She nodded, hurrying to her room. The mirror revealed a woman she barely recognized—hair wild, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with something reckless. She washed her face, pinned her curls into submission, and changed into a prim gray gown, the picture of decorum. But beneath it, her heart raced, a traitor to the calm she forced into her features.Downstairs, the drawing room was a battlefield of silence. Lord Reginald stood by the fireplace, his silver hair glinting in the glow, his cane propped against the mantel like a sentinel. James sprawled in an armchair, a glass of brandy in hand, the bruise on his cheek now a sickly yellow. Neither looked up as she entered, but the air crackled with their unspoken fury."You're back," her father said at last, his voice a blade sheathed in ice. "Lady Beatrice must be a riveting host to keep you so long.""She is," Eleanor replied, taking a seat with deliberate grace. "We lost track of time—her stories are endless."He turned, his gray eyes—her eyes—narrowing. "Are they? Or is there something you're not telling me?"Her pulse skipped, but she held his gaze. "What would I hide, Father? I'm here, aren't I?"James snorted, swirling his brandy. "Leave her be, Father. She's not the one who cocked up the season."Reginald's head snapped toward him. "And you are. A hundred guineas to hush Percival, and now I hear whispers of another debt—fifty pounds at the tables last night. Explain yourself."James's jaw tightened, but he didn't flinch. "I was winning—until I wasn't. It's done.""Done?" Reginald's voice rose, a rare crack in his control. "You'll beggar us, boy. And you—" He rounded on Eleanor. "—gallivanting about while I fend off ruin. Haverford's your chance to fix this, and you treat it like a game.""I'm not a ledger entry," she snapped, her composure slipping. "I'll see him, but I won't be sold.""You'll do as I say," he shot back, seizing his cane. "Both of you. Or I'll cut you loose—James to the colonies, you to a convent if I must."The threat landed like a blow, and silence fell, heavy as lead. James drained his glass and stood, brushing past her with a muttered, "Good luck, Ellie," before disappearing into the hall. Reginald lingered, his stare a weight she could feel, then stalked out, leaving her alone with the ticking clock and her own defiance.She sank into the chair James had vacated, the brandy's sharp scent lingering. Her father's words were a noose, tightening with every misstep, but Nathaniel's world—dangerous, alive—beckoned like a lifeline. She needed to warn him, to know he'd escaped the Admiralty's net, but she was caged here, at least for now.A soft knock broke her reverie—Hannah, slipping in with a tray of tea. "Thought you might need this," the maid said, setting it down. "You look like you've seen a ghost.""Felt one," Eleanor murmured, pouring a cup she didn't drink. "Any word from… outside?"Hannah's eyes flicked to the door, her voice dropping. "Not yet. But I'll keep an ear out. Whatever you're tangled in, milady, it's got teeth.""It does," she agreed, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Thank you, Hannah."The maid nodded and left, and Eleanor leaned back, the tea cooling in her hands. She'd bought time with Beatrice's name, but it wouldn't last. Tomorrow, she'd send a note—discreet, coded if she could manage it—to the Raven's Wing's crew, wherever they'd gone. Nathaniel had said to trust no one, but she trusted him, and that was a thread she'd cling to.Sleep came fitfully that night, her dreams a jumble of sails and shadows, Nathaniel's voice cutting through the haze. She woke to a gray dawn, the house still, and dressed quickly, her resolve hardening. Downstairs, she found James in the breakfast room, picking at a plate of eggs, his expression dour."You're up early," she said, joining him. "Planning another disaster?"He smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Just licking my wounds. Father's serious, Ellie—he's got a ship in mind for me. Some merchant rig to Jamaica."Her stomach sank. "He wouldn't.""He would," James said, pushing his plate away. "Unless you marry Haverford and save us all."She glared at him. "Don't put that on me. You dug this hole.""I know," he admitted, his voice softening. "I'm sorry—for the duel, for the mess. I just… I can't be him, you know? All duty and stone."She softened, reaching for his hand. "Neither can I. But we're not done yet."He squeezed her fingers, a rare moment of truce, and they ate in silence, the weight of their father's ultimatum pressing down. Midmorning brought a visitor—Lady Beatrice Marwood, sweeping in with a rustle of crimson silk and a grin that promised mischief."Eleanor, darling," she said, kissing her cheek. "Your father sent a note—wanted to confirm your little visit yesterday. I played along, of course—told him we gossiped till midnight. You owe me a story, though."Eleanor laughed, relief flooding her. "You're a saint, Beatrice. I'll tell you everything—well, almost everything."Beatrice's eyes gleamed. "Oh, I'll pry it out of you. But I've news too—heard a tidbit at breakfast. The Admiralty's buzzing—some naval man arrested, and a ship's gone missing upriver. Tongues are wagging."Eleanor's heart stuttered, but she kept her smile fixed. "Fascinating. Any names?""Not yet," Beatrice said, sipping the tea a maid brought. "But it's juicy—spies, they say. Keeps life interesting.""Indeed," Eleanor murmured, her mind racing. Nathaniel's warning—"Harrow talked"—echoed, and the missing ship had to be the Raven's Wing. He'd gotten out, but at what cost?Beatrice stayed an hour, her chatter a welcome distraction, and when she left, Eleanor slipped to her room, penning a note: "N—Safe? Admiralty stirring. E." She gave it to Hannah with instructions to find a discreet runner—someone untraceable. The waiting gnawed at her, but she filled the day with routine—letters, a walk, a forced smile at dinner under her father's watchful eye.Night fell, and with it came a reply, slipped under her door by Hannah's hand. The script was hasty, masculine: "E—Safe, for now. Upriver. Stay low. N." Relief washed over her, tinged with frustration. He was alive, but distant, and she was still here, playing the dutiful daughter.The next day brought Haverford, his arrival announced by the clatter of his carriage. He strode in, all charm and roses, and her father beamed as they sat in the drawing room. "Lady Eleanor," the duke said, his hazel eyes warm, "I've missed your company. A ride tomorrow, perhaps? The park's lovely this time of year."She nodded, the mask slipping into place. "I'd like that, Your Grace."He lingered, his hand brushing hers as he left, and her father's approval was palpable. But as the door closed, she felt the chains tighten—Haverford's courtship, her father's will, James's fate. Nathaniel was her rebellion, her storm, and she'd find a way back to him, no matter the cost.
