Page 67 of The Earl’s Marriage of Convenience

Pere nodded. “And then?”

Eliza drew in a breath. “What follows is perhaps better explained with Edwin and Gabriel present,” she said. “But in short—we determined the best course was to act before Lord Carver could.”

“To rewrite the narrative,” Pere said.

“Yes.”

“Rewrite, indeed.”

Hawthorne’s voice carried into the room as he entered, Edwin just behind him.

“And quite a narrative you have chosen.”

A maid followed, setting down a tea service along with a tray of cold meats and cheese.

“You ladies may take tea,” Hawthorne continued, removing his gloves. “Devon and I shall require something stronger. A great deal stronger.” He glanced toward Edwin. “It promises to be a long evening.”

Eliza turned toward Edwin.

He met her gaze—and smiled.

Steady.

Reassuring.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Edwin watched as Hawthorne poured a generous measure of brandy into a snifter, then did the same for a second glass.

He offered one to Edwin and lifted his own. “To a turn of events unforeseen,” Hawthorne said. “Though not, it would seem, unwarranted.”

Edwin raised his glass in return and took a sip, grateful for the burn as it worked its way down his throat.

Hawthorne turned to his wife. “I have sent a note to Henley. I imagine he will wish to be present for this discussion.”

Edwin inclined his head slightly. He had expected as much. Henley would be a valuable addition—particularly when what they required was a plan that could withstand scrutiny from every angle. Society was unforgiving. It would not miss a flaw.

“I expect he will arrive within the quarter hour,” Hawthorne continued, taking another measured sip.

Then his attention shifted—to Eliza.

Edwin followed the movement, watching as she regarded her brother with careful composure, as though waiting to see what judgment he would pass.

Hawthorne exhaled. “You have my approval,” he said at last. “Not that it is required at this stage. Consider it a formality.” A pause. “You could do worse than Devon.”

Edwin lifted a brow. “A glowing recommendation, if ever I heard one.”

“It is the best you will receive at present,” Hawthorne replied dryly, though there was no true heat behind it—only fatigue and restrained irritation.

Edwin raised his glass in mock salute.

Hawthorne narrowed his eyes. “Do not test me, Devon.”

The warning was habitual more than hostile.

And just like that, they had slipped—if only slightly—back into something resembling familiar ground.

It would hold.