A gray fog still lingered between the cobblestones as Julian Hartmoor stepped out from the discreet backdoor of a modest townhouse in Southwark. He wore a long coat of dark wool, the collar turned up to shield him from the chill and prying eyes.
In his gloved hands, he held a flat parcel wrapped in stiff brown paper, bound tightly with twine. No markings. No name. Only a discreet symbol etched in wax on the seal.
A young courier stood waiting. He was thin, sharp-eyed, and nervous.
"You know the address," Julian said, voice even but firm.
The boy nodded. "Aye, m'lord. I remember it."
Julian's gaze held the courier for a beat too long. "And you remember what I said?"
"If I breathe a word, my tongue will feed the rats, sir."
Julian smiled faintly. "Good."
He handed the package over and watched the boy take off down the alley, his small figure quickly swallowed by the early London bustle.
Julian lingered a moment longer, pulling his gloves on properly. The wheels were turning now. It was time to dig up old debts and older loyalties.
He turned and walked away, the fog already swallowing his silhouette.
Belgrave House - Late Evening
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows of Honora Belgrave's room, illuminating the delicate ivory wallpaper and the soft shimmer of silk as her maid smoothed a brush through her long golden hair.
Honora lounged in a rose-colored robe, her expression somewhere between boredom and self-absorption.
"Be gentle," she muttered, frowning at the tug of the bristles. "I've an appearance to keep and if you ruin it I'll kill you"
Before the maid could respond, the door burst open.
Her cousin, Livia, young, freckled, and always breathless from gossip rushed in with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. "Nora!"
Honora's head whipped around, lips parting in annoyance. "Must you storm in like a common stable girl?"
Livia didn't care. She practically bounced in place. "You'll never believe it! Julian Hartmoor. He's back in England!"
The hairbrush dropped from Honora's hand.
She turned sharply, eyes gleaming. "Say that again?"
Her cousin peeked in, clearly unimpressed by the interruption. "Julian Hartmoor. The ruined one. Apparently no longer ruined. Now do sit still."
"I overheard it from Father's valet. He's arrived in London just days ago. Quietly, no fanfare just slipped into the city like a ghost!"
Honora stood slowly, her fingers clutching the edge of her vanity. "Are you certain?"
"Certain as the sky is blue," Livia beamed. "They say he's not staying long in London. Might travel north."
But Honora was already turning to her dressing table, face flushed, heart thudding wildly. "He's back."
To any outsider, it might seem like simple excitement. But inside Honora's heart, it was so much more.
Years ago…
Honora had been thirteen when she first saw Julian at a garden party in Surrey. Tall, soft-spoken, with storm-gray eyes that seemed to see past all the chattering debutantes. She'd been too young then to understand the sharp bite of envy that filled her when she heard the whispers - He's already spoken for. Engaged to Evelyn Ashcombe.
Evelyn.
Perfect, well-loved, darling Evelyn.
Honora had pretended it didn't bother her. She'd pretended not to notice how Julian's eyes followed Evelyn through the crowd, or how he smiled for no one else.
Honora had envied Evelyn's beauty, her grace… but most of all, she had hated how Evelyn had looked at Julian like he was just another suitor. While Honora had watched him like he was the sun.
And then just like that Julian vanished. His family name dragged through the gossip salons. His family ruined. And Evelyn, ever the innocent darling, was pitied instead of blamed.
When the Hartmoors fell, Honora's mother had told her to forget him. "He is ruined," she'd said. "You will marry better."
But Honora never forgot.
And now, he was back.
A slow, eager smile curled on her lips as she lifted her chin. "Well," she whispered to her reflection. "Let's see if Evelyn will still be so smug now."