CHAPTER 35

Dawn broke over Belfoire Manor with a clear sky, as though nature conspired to give the day an auspicious veneer. Servants bustled about, placing fresh flowers in the foyer, polishing every surface. Word had spread that a select party of guests would arrive for a short "country gathering," at the Duke's invitation. The staff, curious but well-trained, asked no questions about the unexpected scale of preparations.

By midmorning, Lucien had final discussions with his steward in the study, finalizing the guest list. Julian hovered, noting the names. A few lesser nobles from neighboring estates were included to camouflage Nathaniel's presence. Meanwhile, Vivienne supervised the arrangement of a casual luncheon on the terrace, a cunning ploy so no one would suspect that the real reason for this gathering was to confront a potential traitor.

The hours dragged. At last, a footman announced the first carriage's arrival around noon. One by one, polite guests trickled in—Lord Garrington (the gambler, looking wary), Lady Wilston, Sir Edouard and his wife, a pair of young baronesses. They exchanged pleasantries with Lucien, not suspecting any hidden agenda. Julian lingered discreetly, greeting some as the Duke's "associate." Vivienne, standing at Lucien's side, forced gracious smiles while scanning each newcomer for signs of hidden complicity.

Near half-past noon, the door to the manor opened once more. The butler's voice carried: "Lord Nathaniel Hawke."

Nathaniel stepped into the foyer, a tall man in a well-fitted charcoal coat. He shared Lucien's refined cheekbones and the signature Hawke grey eyes, though a sardonic tilt to his mouth suggested a wryer disposition. He paused, taking in the assembled crowd. A flicker of surprise— or perhaps annoyance— crossed his face upon seeing so many people, as if he'd expected a private meeting.

Vivienne's pulse pounded as she watched from near the grand staircase. Julian stood at her shoulder, equally tense. Across the room, Lucien strode forward to greet his cousin.

"Nathaniel," Lucien said, maintaining a cordial facade. "Thank you for coming. It's been too long."

Nathaniel offered a measured bow. "Indeed, cousin. I was astonished at your invitation after these years of… distance. But curiosity compelled me." His gaze flicked around. "I see you've assembled quite the company."

Lucien exhaled a polite laugh. "I thought a small house party might…ease any awkwardness. Please, come, let me introduce you to a few people." He led Nathaniel further in, guiding him toward the main salon. The other guests drifted politely out of immediate earshot, feigning interest in the artworks on the walls.

Julian and Vivienne trailed behind at a discreet distance. She noticed the tension in Lucien's posture, though he kept his tone light. "Allow me to present Lord Wakefield, a friend and advisor, and Mademoiselle Moreau, my companion."

Nathaniel's eyes flicked to Julian, then lingered on Vivienne. He inclined his head. "A pleasure. Mademoiselle, you grace us with your beauty." The words were courteous enough, but Vivienne sensed a cold curiosity behind them, as though he were assessing her.

She curtsied, forcing a polite smile. "Likewise, my lord."

Nathaniel turned back to Lucien. "You've changed quite a bit since last we spoke, cousin. You seem… more settled." His gaze darted to Vivienne as if to say She's the reason?

Lucien's lip tightened. "A man can't remain a restless youth forever. I have responsibilities." The subtext hung unspoken: responsibilities Nathaniel once spurned or was denied.

"Indeed," Nathaniel drawled, hooking his thumbs in his coat pockets. "So shall we proceed with this 'house party'? I'm eager to see what you've planned."

Lucien gestured smoothly. "Lunch is prepared on the terrace. Let's join the others and we can speak afterward. I'd like to, well, mend fences if possible."

Nathaniel's brow arched. "Surprising, but let's see how it goes." He cast a final glance at Vivienne and Julian, something calculating in his eyes, before allowing Lucien to lead him toward the terrace.

Once they were gone, Vivienne let out a slow breath. Julian's hand brushed hers in reassurance. "He's suspicious," she murmured.

Julian nodded. "Yes. But not overtly alarmed yet. Let's keep him off balance. Lucien will stall, chat about old times, while we watch for any slip."

They followed to the terrace. For the next hour, a semblance of genteel festivity prevailed: small groups conversing over chilled wine, the hum of polite laughter drifting across the garden. Lady Wilston tried to draw Vivienne into gossip about the capital, while Sir Edouard cornered Julian about potential trade expansions. Meanwhile, Lucien engaged Nathaniel in a subdued talk near the rose bushes, occasionally gesturing to the estate's scenic view. On the surface, it all seemed quite benign.

But Vivienne sensed tension coiling beneath every glance. Julian hovered in earshot of Nathaniel's conversation as often as possible without appearing obvious. Vivienne occasionally joined them, offering a gracious smile but discreetly listening.

At one point, Nathaniel turned to her with a slight smirk. "So, my cousin found a rare gem in you, Mademoiselle. Pray tell, how did you two meet?" The question bristled with subtext: I know you might not be who you claim.

Vivienne's pulse jumped. "We crossed paths at a mutual acquaintance's gathering," she lied smoothly, the same story they'd always told. "I was quite taken by his… generosity of spirit." She forced a small, affectionate smile at Lucien.

Nathaniel chuckled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Generosity indeed. My dear cousin has changed from the cynic I remember. You must have a powerful charm."

Lucien's jaw clenched, but he kept a neutral smile. "She's more than charming. She's invaluable to me."

Vivienne dipped her gaze in feigned modesty. "You flatter me, my lord."

Watching this exchange, Julian carefully sipped his wine, mask of polite calm unwavering. But Vivienne felt the tension in the air. This polite dance was a façade—any moment, the veneer could crack if Nathaniel sensed the trap.

At last, mid-afternoon, Lucien suggested they take tea in the drawing room. The other guests, busy with card games or strolling the gardens, would remain outside. This move would allow them a more private setting with Nathaniel. The cousin agreed easily, though Vivienne suspected he wasn't fooled.

She, Lucien, Julian, and Nathaniel gathered in the smaller drawing room, a cozy space with a subdued atmosphere. The door closed, muffling the distant chatter of the house party. A footman set down a tea tray and withdrew.

Silence lingered. Nathaniel took a seat, crossing one leg over the other, gaze darting around. "All this courtesy for me, cousin? You must truly wish to bury the hatchet."

Lucien settled opposite him, posture rigid. "In a manner of speaking." He paused, exchanging a look with Julian. "I'd prefer we speak plainly, Nathaniel. We parted on poor terms years ago. I regret that. I wonder if you've carried grudges that led you astray."

Nathaniel's eyes narrowed, flicking to Vivienne. "Carried grudges? That's direct, dear cousin. Are you implying something?"

"Perhaps," Lucien said evenly. "We have reason to suspect someone has worked to undermine me—spread false rumors, stolen documents. Attempted to link me to treasonous dealings. My question: do you know anything about that?"

Nathaniel's jaw tightened. "Why should I? I've had little contact with you or your affairs for a decade."

Vivienne set her teacup down gently, heart pounding. "There's a hawk crest used in forging letters. One reminiscent of your branch of the family. We found it on certain instructions given to a rogue footman who tried blackmail."

Nathaniel's gaze snapped to her, then to Lucien. A flicker of alarm passed through his eyes. "You dare accuse me of forging letters? That's quite a story."

Julian leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. "We're not accusing, we're asking. If you are innocent, you'd have no reason to fear these questions."

Nathaniel's lips curved in a brittle smile. "Innocent or guilty, it's galling to be ambushed by the Duke's stooge." He shot an icy look at Julian. "And you, Mademoiselle, who claims to be so devoted to my cousin—why do you speak like an investigator?"

Vivienne forced calm. "I speak for truth, my lord. That footman threatened me. I discovered the crest in his possessions. We merely seek clarity."

Lucien's voice cut through, sharper now. "Nathaniel, if you are behind this plot, reveal it. We can settle it without dragging outsiders into our personal feud. But if you continue to feign ignorance, I will have no choice but to investigate more forcefully."

Silence fell, heavy with threat. Nathaniel's knuckles whitened around the arm of his chair. For a long moment, he said nothing, eyes darting as if calculating his next move.

Then he stood abruptly. "I see how it is," he said, voice tight. "This invitation was never about reconciliation. It's an inquisition. Fine. Believe what you will. I'll not stay here to be insulted further."

He turned to leave. Julian rose in alarm. "Wait—"

But Nathaniel was already yanking open the door, stepping into the corridor. Lucien cursed and rushed after him. Vivienne and Julian followed, hearts pounding. This confrontation was unraveling.

In the foyer, Nathaniel grabbed his hat from the bewildered butler and made for the exit. Lucien shouted, "Stop him!" to a nearby footman. But Nathaniel wheeled, scowling. "Touch me and I'll see you in court for assault, cousin!"

Guests in the main hall turned at the commotion. Lady Wilston and the baronesses gaped, fanning themselves nervously. Garrington's eyes narrowed in speculation. The veneer of a peaceful house party was shattered.

Caught in the spectacle, Lucien clenched his fists, stepping forward. "You run, you look guilty," he hissed. "Stay and prove your innocence if you truly have nothing to hide."

Nathaniel's anger flared. "Why should I indulge your farce? You're the one who lured me here under false pretenses, hoping to corner me. Perhaps you are the coward."

A tense standoff: the butler and footmen hovered, unsure whether to block the exit. Julian edged closer to Vivienne, preparing for a potential outbreak of violence.

Finally, Nathaniel scoffed, pushing past. "I'll depart with my dignity. If you have a shred of decency left, you won't stoop to physical restraint. Good day, cousin—and to your intriguing little entourage."

With that, he swept out of the manor, ignoring the startled bow of a footman at the threshold. The carriage yard beyond awaited him. Garrington, Lady Wilston, and the rest stared in confusion, whispering furiously as the front doors slammed.

Lucien stood frozen, fists trembling. Vivienne's heart sank—this chance to unmask Nathaniel was slipping away in public scandal. Julian cursed under his breath.

A footman rushed in. "Your Grace, Lord Nathaniel has called for his carriage. Shall we—?"

Lucien ground out, "Let him go. For now." He turned on his heel, leveling a quelling stare at the assembled guests. "I must apologize, everyone. A private family matter. Please enjoy the rest of the day's hospitality in the gardens or drawing rooms. I beg your indulgence."

Slowly, the guests dispersed, unsettled but polite. Once they were gone, Lucien sagged, pressing a hand over his eyes. "Damn him. He's more slippery than I imagined."

Vivienne approached cautiously. "We forced his hand. He knows we suspect him."

Julian exhaled. "If he truly is guilty, he'll flee or cover his tracks. We must move swiftly now."

Lucien lowered his hand, expression grim but resolute. "Then we go on the offensive. I'll gather men to watch his estate, see if he tries to depart the county. You—" he gestured to Julian, "—must alert your War Office contacts. If he flees, we intercept him. If he stays, we find a way to corner him with proof."

Vivienne nodded, swallowing her disappointment that the carefully planned confrontation had devolved into a public scene. "We tried. Now we continue the chase."

Lucien's gaze slid to her, eyes filled with complicated emotion. For an instant, she thought he might say something personal, but he clenched his jaw and turned away, barking orders to a footman. The fragile illusions had shattered, and only the chase remained.

As the day wore on, most guests politely made excuses to leave early, sensing the tension. By dusk, the manor was nearly empty again. Vivienne found herself alone on the balcony off the west wing, watching the sunset bleed red across the horizon. Footsteps sounded behind her. Julian.

"He's gone," Julian said softly. "Nathaniel took a hired coach on the main road south. Lucien's riders trail him at a distance."

She nodded, eyes on the sky. "Then we wait for word if he stops or crosses the county line."

Julian stepped up beside her, resting his forearms on the balustrade. They watched the sun sink, the air cooling with twilight. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "We all had such hopes for a decisive confrontation."

Vivienne forced a faint smile. "We forced him out of hiding. That's something. He won't easily slip away."

They stood in companionable silence, the hush of dusk settling around them. At length, Julian touched her arm lightly. "Tomorrow… Let's talk about next steps. How we approach Lucien with your new letter evidence, or if we keep it hidden until we know more. He's…on edge."

She nodded, turning to face him. The fading light sculpted the planes of his face in gentle shadows. Her heart twisted with the memory of that aborted kiss months ago, and the stolen one in the corridor more recently. So much left unsaid.

"Thank you, Julian," she whispered. "For not letting me face all this alone."

His gaze was warm, regretful. "I'll stand by you, no matter how precarious the path. You have my word."

She found comfort in that. The uncertain wind tugged at her skirts. "I just hope Lucien and I can salvage…something. Even if only trust enough to finish this mission. After that, who knows."

Julian drew her into a gentle embrace, pressing her head to his shoulder. She sank against him with a soft sigh. "One step at a time," he murmured, voice rumbling against her ear.

As night fully fell, they parted quietly, returning inside. Each carried the same heavy question: If Nathaniel was the culprit, would cornering him truly solve the scars left behind? Or was the real test yet to come, when all masks dropped and hearts laid bare?

Vivienne could only cling to the fragile hope that some measure of peace would emerge from the ashes of betrayal. But with Nathaniel on the run, the confrontation far from concluded, and the tension between her, Julian, and Lucien still simmering, the final act of their shared story loomed. She would face it head-on, or be consumed by the very fires she had helped ignite.