Page 89 of The Earl’s Marriage of Convenience

Edwin did not turn; he did not need to. “Yes,” he said softly. “I imagine she is.”

And still, Edwin noted, Carver continued to watch.

*

The following morning, Edwin arrived at Devon House with Henley, Hawthorne expected shortly after.

The conversation ahead was not one he relished—but it was necessary. Carver’s continued interest was not something he could afford to ignore. It had to be dealt with—completely.

Inside, he was shown to the familiar parlor. Memories pressed in—uninvited, unavoidable—but he pushed them aside. This was not the past. Hawthorne and Henley joined him shortly after. They spoke lightly at first—Anna’s health, the child, small comforts of normal conversation—but tension lingered beneath it.

Then, his mother entered.

She paused in the doorway, taking them all in with a practiced eye. “Why does this feel familiar?” she asked dryly. “What have I done now?”

“Nothing,” Edwin said evenly. “This time—it is what I have done.”

Her brow lifted and she waited.

“I am to be married.”

The reaction was immediate—and unexpected.

Surprise flashed across her face.

Then a flicker of genuine pleasure. “You are?” she said. “And who is the lady?”

“Eliza Montford.”

Her expression shifted—calculating now. Searching memory. “I do not believe I know the name.”

“You do,” Edwin said quietly. He paused. “She is Hawthorne’s sister.”

Understanding dawned.

And with it a hardness in her expression. “You intend to marry Carver’s daughter.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” The word cut.

Edwin held her gaze. “Because she is my choice. We are well suited and, dare I say, a love match?” He didn’t glance to Hawthorne, just in case his expression betrayed his disapproval at such a statement of blatant exaggeration.

Her expression sharpened further—but then shifted. Changed. “Carver is in difficulty,” she said slowly. “Financially strained. And a man in such a position does not act without purpose.”

Edwin stepped forward slightly. “What are you suggesting?”

“That he may attempt to leverage what he knows,” she said calmly. “If he exposes her parentage, the scandal would be considerable. But if he threatens exposure—quietly—he may demand something in return.”

“Blackmail,” Henley said flatly.

“Yes.” Silence followed.

Hawthorne spoke first. “Then we remove the leverage.”

Edwin’s brow furrowed. “How?”

“Control the narrative before he can,” Hawthorne replied. “We move quickly. Formalize everything. Publicly. Completely. If her identity is already secured within society under our terms, his version becomes far less powerful. I’ll write to my solicitor, make sure there are documents created to show her ties to the family as my cousin. It won’t be hard. After all, she’s listed in the church register as the daughter of Baron Tonson and his wife.”