4135.245 · September 2, 1815 AD
Borrowed Confidence
Silas is late. Unusual for a man whose punctuality borders on obsessive. When he finally arrives at the Crown and Anchor, there's something in his bearing that William cannot immediately read. Not quite anxiety, but something adjacent to it. He's received an invitation, he says. To dine at the residence of Sir William Harding. Tomorrow evening. And he's arranged for William to attend as well. The words land like stones dropped into still water.
William's hands go cold around his tankard.
Tomorrow evening. Sir William Harding's residence. The colonial elite gathered around a magistrate's table—men who control commerce, influence government, shape the very fabric of the society William is trying to enter. Men who would cut him dead without hesitation if they knew what he had been.
And Silas has thrown him into the middle of it. Without asking. Without warning.
Because you would have said no.
The fury rises hot in William's chest. Of course he would have said no. Any sane person would say no. These aren't people who forgive the past. These are people who define themselves by lineage and breeding—everything William can never claim.
But Silas is relentless. Visibility is necessary, he argues. Shadows can only shelter a man for so long before they become a prison. William is about to launch a trading company bearing his own name. He cannot build it while hiding from the people whose business he needs.
I'm not throwing you to the wolves. I'm asking you to walk beside me into a room where wolves happen to gather.
A tailor will arrive this afternoon. The suit will be ready by morning.
William drains his tankard and feels the ground shift beneath him.
