RISE OF THE STERLING HEIR

Chapter 6

Lord Aldric Sterling sat in his favourite chair in the Kensington study, not a hospital chair, not a wheelchair, despite what he had led Ethan to believe on the evening of their reunion. He was unwell in the genuine, slow-burning way of men in their late sixties who have spent decades running on stress and willpower, but not so ill as he had performed.

Edmund had told him so, later that same evening, with the diplomatic candour of a man who had decided that Ethan deserved a clean version of events.

"You let him manipulate me into agreeing," Ethan had said.

"I let him try," Edmund corrected. "You agreed because you made a rational decision. His performance simply removed an obstacle to your own good judgment."

Ethan had thought about this and decided it was close enough to the truth to accept.

* * * *

He sat across from his father in the study on a Thursday evening, a week after the Margate visit. The fire was lit, it was that kind of October and Lord Sterling had a glass of single malt that his doctor would have had strong opinions about.

"The Heron board is rattled," his father said. "They were not expecting someone to actually talk to the staff."

"How else would I find out what is wrong with the place?"

Lord Sterling made a sound that was not quite a laugh, more like the acknowledgment that a point had been well made. "Your mother used to say the same thing. She ran the household that way. Everyone spoke. Everyone had a function. It was chaotic and it worked perfectly."

Ethan looked at his glass.

"I want to ask you something," he said. "And I would like a straight answer."

"I will do my best."

"Why Josephine Laurent? You specifically requested her for the household. Edmund tells me you made the call personally."

Lord Sterling met his gaze with something that was not guilt but was probably adjacent to it. "She is the finest chef I have engaged in fifteen years, and the household needed better meals."

"And?"

A pause. "And I thought you might find her interesting company."

"You are matchmaking."

"I am providing conditions under which naturally compatible people might, of their own free will and with no interference from me…"

"You are matchmaking."

Lord Sterling sipped his whisky. "Is it working?"

Ethan stood up. "Goodnight, Father."

It was the first time he had used the word. He did not acknowledge it. Neither did Lord Sterling. But when Ethan left the room, his father sat for a long time with his glass and the fire and the particular expression of a man who has been given something he was not sure he had earned.

* * * *

He rang Josephine the next morning.

She answered on the third ring, in a voice that suggested she was in the middle of something. "Laurent."

"This is Ethan Ashford. We met briefly at the Kensington house, you brought breakfast to the morning room."

A beat. "I remember you. You were the one who ate four slices of the sourdough and said nothing."

"It was very good bread. I did not want to interrupt myself." He paused. "I have a proposal for you. Not personal, professional. I am managing a coastal hotel property for the next sixty days and I am looking to redesign the restaurant offering from the ground up. I would like to consult you."

"Consult me."

"If you are available. It would involve at least two visits to Margate and several planning sessions. I can send the specifics in writing if you would prefer to review them before committing."

Another pause. He had the impression of someone making a rapid series of calculations.

"Send the brief," she said. "I will let you know."

"Thank you."

"You are welcome." She rang off.

* * * *

Dorian Sterling arrived at the Kensington house that Sunday without prior notice, the way he had always arrived everywhere, as though the world ran on his schedule and everyone else simply had not been notified. He was handsome, Ethan noted clinically, in the way that some people are handsome as a form of armour. Dark-eyed, well-dressed, carrying himself with the energy of a man who was permanently at a slight simmer.

Ethan was in the library when Edmund showed Dorian in.

Dorian stopped in the doorway and looked at him with an expression that was carefully arranged into something resembling pleasant surprise.

"So you are real," Dorian said.

"I am," Ethan agreed. "Sit down, if you like."

Dorian did not sit down. He moved instead to the window, as though surveying the garden, and spoke with his back half-turned. "I want you to know I do not bear any ill will. This situation is not your fault."

"I am glad to hear it."

"Father makes decisions without thinking through the human impact. He always has." Dorian turned. "I have spent my entire life building toward running this company. I think it is reasonable for me to feel displaced."

"That is entirely understandable," Ethan said.

Something shifted fractionally in Dorian's expression, as though he had expected resistance and did not know what to do with its absence.

"I do not want conflict," he said.

"Neither do I."

"Good. Then perhaps we can find a way to…"

"Dorian." Ethan set down his book. "I want to be straightforward with you. I am not here to take something that was yours. I am here because I have been asked to manage what is actually mine, which is a rather different thing. If you want a role in the company going forward, that is a conversation worth having. But if this visit is about persuading me to step aside, it is not going to achieve what you hope."

Dorian stared at him.

"Think it over," Ethan said pleasantly. "The offer stands. Edmund will see you out."

After he left, Edmund appeared in the doorway with the expression of a man suppressing a significant amount of satisfaction.

"He did not like that," Edmund observed.

"No," Ethan agreed. "I did not expect him to."