Thomas, who handled the horses and equipment, and a silent man named Chen, who apparently managed the valley’s water systems.
The conversation flowed around her, mostly business talk about timber contracts, equipment repairs, and preparations for the coming winter.
Lydia listened more than she spoke, trying to understand the operation scale.
“How much timber do you process in a year?” she asked during a lull.
The table went quiet.
The men glanced at Ethan as if unsure whether they were allowed to answer.
It’s all right, Ethan said.
She’s entitled to know, he turned to Lydia.
Roughly 500,000 board feet in a good year.
More if we get contracts for specialty lumber.
Lydia had no frame of reference for that number, but the way the men nodded suggested it was substantial.
And the workers I saw today, they all live here.
The core crew lives here year round, Samuel explained.
about 20 people.
During harvest season, we bring in another 20 or 30.
They camp in the lower valley, work for wages, go home when the season ends.
Harvest season being late spring through early fall.
Can’t get timber out in winter.
Roads are impassible.
So, what happens in winter? Maintenance, Ethan said.
Equipment repair, planning for the next season, smaller projects.
And this year, he paused, his expression shifting to something Lydia couldn’t quite read.
This year, we have some other challenges to address.
The men around the table shifted uncomfortably.
James and Robert exchanged glances.
Samuel suddenly became very interested in his dinner plate.
“What kind of challenges?” Lydia asked.
“Business challenges,” Ethan said.
“Nothing you need to worry about tonight.
” It was a dismissal, polite, but firm.
Lydia recognized the tactic.
Her father had done the same thing when he didn’t want to burden her mother with financial worries.
The impulse was protective, maybe even kind, but it was also patronizing.
She considered pushing, demanding to know what challenges might affect her new life, but she was exhausted, overwhelmed, and not ready for another fight.
So, she let it go, filing the evasion away as another question to revisit later.
After dinner, the men dispersed to their own quarters.
Most lived in a bunk house behind the main lodge.
Martha showed Lydia where the kitchen was, how to work the stove, where supplies were kept.
You don’t have to do any cooking if you don’t want to, Martha said.
That’s my job.
But some ladies like to have the option.
I’d like to help, Lydia said.
I’m not used to being idol.
Martha smiled.
You’ll fit in just fine, Mr.s.
Crowe.
That night, Lydia lay in her oversized bed in her oversized room, listening to unfamiliar sounds.
The wind moving through the valley made a different sound than it had in the lower settlements.
The building creaked and settled in its own rhythm.
Somewhere outside an owl called, the sound echoing off the surrounding mountains.
She thought about her family, her father dying slowly in that dark cabin, her mother managing alone now.
The money would have reached them by now.
The debts would be paid.
they’d have a reprieve at least.
Time to figure out what came next.
And she thought about Ethan somewhere on the other side of this massive lodge in his own suite with its own locked door.
Her husband, who was really a stranger, a wealthy man who’d pretended to be poor, a timber baron who lived like a hermit, a mystery she’d married without understanding the depth of what she’d signed up for.
Sleep, when it finally came, was fitful and full of dreams she couldn’t quite remember when morning light woke her.
The next few days established a rhythm.
Lydia rose early, dressed, and came downstairs to find Martha already preparing breakfast for the work crews.
She learned quickly that the household operated like a small town, meals at set times, tasks distributed among willing hands, everyone contributing in their own way.
She explored the compound, mapping out the buildings and their purposes.
The main barn housed the draft horses used for hauling timber.
The second barn held supplies and served as a gathering point for the logging crews.
The workshop where Samuel spent most of his time contained an impressive array of tools for carpentry, metal working, and equipment repair.
There was a smokehouse, a root seller, a chicken coupe, even a small dairy operation with six cows.
The workers were polite but cautious around her, unsure how to treat the boss’s unexpected wife.
Lydia tried to be friendly without being intrusive, asking questions about their work, learning names and roles.
Ethan was often absent, riding out early to check on logging operations in other parts of the valley, or locked in his office dealing with paperwork and correspondence.
When they did interact, he was unfailingly courteous but distant, as if he’d already spent his quota of emotional energy on their previous conversation, and had nothing left to spare.
On the fourth day, a writer appeared from the direction of the pass, the first outsider Lydia had seen since their arrival.
He was young, perhaps 20, dressed in the rough clothes of a cowhand, but with a certain bearing that suggested better origins.
“Message for Mr. Crow,” he told Samuel, who’d intercepted him at the compound’s edge.
“From Denver.
” Ethan emerged from his office moments later.
He took the sealed envelope the writer offered, broke the wax, and read quickly.
Lydia, watching from the porch, saw his jaw tighten, his shoulders square as if preparing for a blow.
“Tell them I’ll be there in a week,” Ethan said, and that my answer hasn’t changed.
The writer nodded and left.
Ethan stood in the yard, the letter in his hand, his expression dark.
“Bad news?” Lydia asked.
He looked up, seeming to notice her for the first time.
“Complicated news.
My uncle wants a meeting.
He’s been persistent about certain business matters.
The challenges you mentioned at dinner, among others.
” He started to walk away, then stopped, turning back.
“Actually, Lydia, this concerns you, too.
You should probably know what you’re walking into.
He gestured for her to follow him into his office, a room she hadn’t yet entered.
It was smaller than she’d expected, lined with maps and ledgers dominated by a heavy desk covered in correspondence.
“My father had two brothers,” Ethan said, closing the door behind them.
“William died young.
Marcus is still alive and very much interested in what he considers his rightful share of the family business.
When my father left everything to me, Marcus contested the will.
Lost, but he’s never accepted the outcome.
What does he want? Control, money, revenge for perceived slights going back decades.
Ethan tossed the letter onto his desk.
He’s been making life difficult, spreading rumors about my competence, trying to undermine contracts, approaching investors with alternative proposals.
Mostly, I’ve been able to ignore him.
But now he’s demanding a formal meeting with all stakeholders, claiming I’ve been mismanaging the operation.
Have you been? No.
We’re solvent, profitable, and growing.
But Marcus has always been good at making accusations that require extensive effort to disprove.
Ethan leaned against his desk, arms crossed.
The meeting will be in Denver at the main territorial office.
There will be investors, other timber operators, probably a territorial official or two.
It’s designed to put me on trial in front of people whose opinions matter to our business.
When? In 10 days, which means we leave in 3 days to allow for travel time.
We I need you there.
He said it simply as if it were obvious.
A married man looks more stable than a bachelor.
And if Marcus is going to question my judgment, I want to show I’m capable of building partnerships, not just giving orders.
Lydia absorbed this.
You want me to play the beautiful wife in front of your business rivals? I want you to be yourself, sharp, observant, unintimidated.
That will be more convincing than any performance.
And if I refuse, Ethan met her eyes.
Then I go alone and deal with Marcus myself.
It’s your choice, Lydia.
I won’t force you, but I’m asking as your husband and your partner for your help.
It was the first time he’d explicitly called her his partner.
The word hung in the air between them.
waited with meaning.
Lydia thought about the contract they had agreed to draw up but hadn’t yet formalized, about the life she was trying to build in this strange valley with this complicated man.
About whether she wanted to be just an obligation or something more.
All right, she said finally.
I’ll go, but we do this properly.
You tell me everything I need to know about your uncle, your business, and what I’m walking into.
No more surprises.
Ethan’s expression shifted.
relief mixed with something that might have been respect.
Deal.
We start tomorrow morning.
I’ll teach you everything you need to know about the timber business, the stakeholders, and Marcus Crow’s particular brand of poison.
Tomorrow morning, then.
Lydia turned toward the door, then paused.
Ethan, thank you for asking instead of ordering.
You’re my wife, not my employee.
There’s a difference.
As she left his office, Lydia felt something shift between them, a tentative trust, fragile but real.
They were still strangers in many ways, still navigating the complex agreement that had brought them together.
But they were beginning to understand each other.
And in the mountains, where winter was coming, and enemies were gathering, understanding might be the most valuable commodity of all.
The next morning, Lydia found herself in Ethan’s office, surrounded by maps, ledgers, and contracts that represented an empire she’d never imagined existed.
He’d pushed the desk against the wall and spread everything across a large table, creating what looked like a war room preparing for battle.
“This is the Crow timber operation,” Ethan said, indicating a massive map that showed not just the hidden valley, but dozens of other locations throughout the territory.
Red marks indicated active logging sites.
Blue marks showed processing facilities.
Green marks represented property holdings.
My father spent 30 years building this.
Started with one logging contract in a borrowed wagon.
Ended with the largest independent timber operation between Denver and San Francisco.
Lydia studied the map, her mind working to comprehend the scale.
How many people work for you? Directly about 200 across all sites.
indirectly suppliers, transporters, mill workers.
Probably another 300 depend on our contracts for their livelihood.
He pointed to different marks on the map.
We have five major operations besides this valley.
Each one managed by a foreman who reports to me monthly.
And your uncle wants control of all this? Not control, a share.
He thinks that because he’s family, he deserves a percentage of everything.
Never mind that he contributed nothing to building it.
That my father specifically excluded him from the will for good reasons.
What reasons? Ethan was quiet for a moment.
His finger tracing one of the logging roads on the map.
Marcus has a gambling problem.
Always has.
My father bailed him out twice.
Once when Marcus was young and foolish.
Once when he should have known better.
The second time my father told him there wouldn’t be a third.
Marcus took that as rejection rather than reality.
So this meeting, it’s revenge.
It’s opportunity disguised as revenge.
If Marcus can make me look incompetent in front of the investors, he might be able to force a reorganization, get himself appointed as a partner or administrator.
Once he has access to the finances, Ethan shook his head.
He’d bleed the operation dry within 2 years, then blame me when everything collapsed.
Lydia moved closer to the table, examining the contracts stacked there.
Even without understanding all the legal language, she could see these represented substantial amounts of money.
Who are the investors you’re worried about? Three main ones.
Ethan pulled out a separate sheet with names and notes.
Harrison Wells owns a railroad expansion company.
He needs our timber for railroad ties and bridge construction.
Conservative, cautious, values stability above all else.
If he pulls his contracts, we lose 40% of our revenue.
Next, Margaret Chen.
Yes, a woman investor, rare, but not unheard of in the territories.
Her family owns mining operations that need timber for shoring up tunnels and building infrastructure.
She’s shrewd, doesn’t suffer fools, and will make her own judgment regardless of what anyone else thinks.
She sounds formidable.
She is, which is why her opinion matters most.
If she sides with Marcus, others will follow.
If she sides with me, Marcus loses credibility.
Ethan tapped the third name.
Finally, there’s Richard Blackwood.
He represents a consortium of eastern investors looking to expand into Western resources.
New money, ambitious, willing to take risks, but also quick to abandon anything that looks unstable.
Lydia absorbed all this, her mind already working through the dynamics.
So Wells values stability, Chen values competence, and Blackwood values potential.
Marcus will try to make you look unstable, incompetent, and limited in potential.
Ethan looked at her with surprise.
That’s exactly right.
How did you I spent 5 years watching my father negotiate with buyers who wanted to pay half what our harvest was worth.
You learn to read what people value and what threatens them.
She studied the names again.
What’s your uncle’s strategy likely to be? He’ll question my age and experience, point out that I’ve only been running the operation for 3 years, suggest that my father’s success came from his relationships and reputation, which don’t transfer to me.
Imply that I’m making reckless decisions or alienating key partners.
Are you making reckless decisions? No.
Alienating partners? He smiled grimly.
I’ve made changes my father never would have.
Better wages for workers, safer equipment, more conservative logging practices that preserve the forest for future harvests.
Some of the old guard don’t like it.
They think I’m putting principles before profit.
Are you? I’m putting sustainability before short-term profit.
There’s a difference.
Clear-cut logging destroys the land and eliminates future revenue.
My approach takes longer, but ensures we’ll still have timber to harvest 20 years from now.
He looked at her directly.
My father built this operation, but he also exploited it.
I’m trying to build something that lasts.
Lydia felt something shift in her understanding of Ethan.
He wasn’t just a wealthy man playing at reform.
He genuinely believed in what he was doing, even if it made his life harder.
Your uncle will use that against you, she said.
He’ll call it weakness, naivity, poor business sense.
I know, which is why I need evidence that my approach works.
Numbers, contracts, testimonials from satisfied partners.
He gestured to stacks of ledgers.
I’ve spent the last 3 days compiling everything.
But Marcus is good at making facts seem like excuses.
He’ll twist every number, question every decision, make me defend choices that shouldn’t need defending.
Then don’t defend them.
Present them as the obvious, correct choices they are.
Make him explain why anyone would do it differently.
Lydia pulled out a chair and sat, reaching for the nearest ledger.
Show me the numbers.
If I’m going to help you, I need to understand what we’re actually dealing with.
They spent the next 6 hours going through everything.
Ethan walked her through profit margins, operating costs, contract terms, and the complex relationships between different parts of the business.
Lydia’s head spun with information, but she forced herself to focus, to understand not just the details, but the patterns beneath them.
By afternoon, Martha brought them lunch, which they ate while continuing to work.
By evening, Lydia could explain the timber operation as well as many of Ethan’s own foremen.
“You’re a fast study,” Ethan said as they finally closed the last ledger.
“I’m motivated.
This affects my life now, too.
” Lydia rubbed her tired eyes.
One more question.
Why did you really need a wife for this meeting? The stability argument makes sense, but there’s something else, isn’t there? Ethan hesitated, then nodded slowly.
Marcus has been suggesting I’m unsuitable for marriage, that I’m too isolated, too strange, that no decent woman would want me.
It’s a small thing compared to his business arguments, but it reinforces the narrative that I’m somehow deficient.
So bringing a wife proves him wrong.
More than that, it shows I can form partnerships, that I’m capable of thinking beyond just myself in the business.
He met her eyes.
You being there says I’m building a future, not just managing a legacy.
And if your investors don’t like me, then I’ve misjudged badly, but I don’t think I have.
The journey to Denver took 4 days by horseback and stage coach.
They left the hidden valley in the gray light of pre-dawn.
Samuel and two other men accompanying them as far as the nearest town where they could catch the stage.
Lydia wore her best dress, the dark blue wool that had seen her through the wedding.
Martha had cleaned and pressed it and had added a proper traveling coat and hat that appeared mysteriously from the lodge’s storage.
Lydia suspected these had belonged to Ethan’s mother, but he said nothing about it, and she didn’t ask.
The stage was crowded and uncomfortable, stuffed with passengers and their belongings.
Lydia found herself wedged between Ethan and a large woman traveling with three children who couldn’t sit still.
The road was rough, the pace punishing, and by the second day, every bone in Lydia’s body achd.
But she watched everything.
The way Ethan interacted with strangers, polite but distant, giving away nothing personal.
The way other passengers assessed them, making assumptions based on their clothes and bearing.
The way conversations in the stage revealed information about business conditions, political tensions, social dynamics.
You’re very quiet, Ethan observed during a stop to change horses.
I’m listening.
You’d be surprised what people reveal when they think no one important is paying attention.
He smiled.
I’m beginning to think I underestimated you.
Most people do.
I’ve learned to use it as an advantage.
Denver was larger than Lydia had imagined.
A growing city of perhaps 30,000 people with actual paved streets in the center, gas lamps being installed on main thoroughfares, and buildings that rose three and four stories high.
The contrast to the isolated Mountain Valley was jarring.
Ethan had reserved rooms at the Windsor Hotel, one of the finest establishments in the city.
The clerk’s eyebrows rose when Ethan signed the register, and Lydia noticed the subtle shift in the man’s demeanor from professional courtesy to something closer to deference.
“Mr. Crow, welcome back.
We have your usual suite prepared, and for Mr.s.
Crowe,” he glanced at Lydia with poorly concealed curiosity.
“Shall I prepare an additional room?” “The suite will be sufficient,” Ethan said smoothly.
“My wife and I prefer adjoining quarters.
” In the suite, which consisted of a sitting room, two bedrooms, and a private bath with actual running water, Lydia finally confronted what she’d been avoiding thinking about.
They’d maintained separate quarters in the valley, but here, for appearances, they needed to seem like an actual married couple.
The bedrooms lock from the inside, Ethan said, as if reading her thoughts.
And I’ll be spending most evenings preparing for the meeting anyway.
You’ll have your privacy.
Thank you, Lydia.
He waited until she looked at him.
I meant what I said in our agreement.
This marriage is a partnership, not ownership.
That doesn’t change just because we’re in a city instead of the mountains.
She believed him, which was somehow more surprising than anything else that had happened.
The meeting was scheduled for 2 days later, giving them time to prepare.
Ethan took Lydia to a dress maker shop where he insisted on purchasing proper city clothes for her.
Three dresses suitable for business and social occasions with all the accompanying accessories that Lydia had never owned and barely knew how to wear.
“Is this necessary?” she asked as the dress maker pinned fabric around her.
“It’s armor,” Ethan said.
Marcus will try to make you feel inferior, out of place.
“Don’t give him the opportunity.
” The night before the meeting, Ethan received a visitor at the hotel, a man named Lawrence Porter, who turned out to be his attorney.
They spent 3 hours going over strategy, anticipating Marcus’ arguments, preparing responses.
Lydia sat in the corner, supposedly reading, but actually absorbing every word.
She noticed that Ethan never mentioned her presence to Porter, never explained why his new wife was sitting in on confidential business discussions.
The attorney seemed to accept it without question, as if a wife’s involvement was perfectly natural.
“The key is to keep Marcus from controlling the narrative,” Porter said.
He’ll want to put you on the defensive, make you explain yourself repeatedly.
Don’t let him.
State your position clearly, back it with facts, and move on.
“What about personal attacks?” Lydia asked.
Both men turned to look at her.
“I’m sorry,” Porter said slowly.
“I didn’t catch personal attacks,” Lydia repeated.
“Mr. Crow’s uncle has apparently been questioning his suitability, his character, his personal life.
Those aren’t business arguments, but they’re still attacks.
How do we address them? Porter glanced at Ethan, who nodded.
She’s right.
Marcus will make it personal.
Then don’t address them at all, Lydia said.
Acknowledge that you hear him.
Then redirect to business.
Every time he brings up something personal, respond with a business fact.
It makes him look petty and unprofessional.
Porter stared at her for a long moment, then smiled slowly.
Mr.s.
Crow, has anyone ever told you that you should have been an attorney? No, but I’ve negotiated with enough creditors and debt collectors to understand how to handle someone who’s trying to make you emotional.
After Porter left, Ethan poured two glasses of whiskey from the bottle on the sideboard.
He handed one to Lydia.
“I’m not much of a drinker,” she said.
“Neither am I usually, but tonight I think we’ve earned it.
” He raised his glass.
To tomorrow, whatever it brings.
Lydia touched her glass to his and took a small sip.
The whiskey burned going down, but left a warmth that was oddly comforting.
“Are you worried?” she asked.
“Yes, but less than I was before you were here.
” He settled into one of the suit’s comfortable chairs.
“Can I ask you something?” “Of course.
” “Do you regret it agreeing to marry me?” Lydia considered the question honestly.
She thought about the cabin she’d left behind, her dying father, her exhausted mother.
She thought about the impossible debts and the life of poverty that had seemed inevitable.
Then she thought about the hidden valley, the massive lodge, the complicated man who’d brought her there.
The business empire she was now part of.
The meeting tomorrow that could determine not just Ethan’s future but hers as well.
“Ask me again in a week,” she said finally after we see how tomorrow goes.
He laughed.
A real laugh, not the bitter sound she’d heard before.
Fair enough.
They sat in comfortable silence, drinking their whiskey slowly.
Two people who’d been strangers a few weeks ago, preparing to face a battle together.
The territorial business office was an imposing building of stone and glass designed to project authority and permanence.
Lydia felt her stomach clench as they climbed the steps, but she kept her face composed, her head high, one hand resting lightly on Ethan’s arm.
Inside they were directed to a large conference room on the second floor.
The room was already partially filled when they arrived.
Men in expensive suits talking in clusters, papers spread across a massive oak table, the air thick with cigar smoke and tension.
Marcus Crowe was obvious even before Ethan identified him.
He stood near the head of the table, holding court with several other men, his gestures expansive and confident.
He was perhaps 50, with thinning hair and the soft build of someone who’d lived well but not carefully.
His eyes, when they landed on Ethan, held a mixture of contempt and satisfaction.
“Nephew,” Marcus said loudly.
“So good of you to finally join us.
I was beginning to think you might have forgotten about our little meeting.
” “We’re 10 minutes early, Marcus,” Ethan said evenly.
“Are you?” Time has a way of slipping by in the mountains.
I suppose one loses track of civilized schedules.
Marcus’ gaze shifted to Lydia, his expression calculating.
And who is this charming creature you’ve brought along? My wife, Lydia Crowe.
Lydia, this is my uncle, Marcus Crowe.
Lydia extended her hand with the poise Martha had helped her practice.
Mr. Crowe, how lovely to meet Ethan’s family.
Marcus took her hand, holding it a moment too long.
wife.
Well, this is news.
I hadn’t heard about any wedding.
Rather sudden, wasn’t it? We prefer to keep our personal affairs private, Ethan said.
Private? Yes, I imagine you would.
Marcus finally released Lydia’s hand.
Tell me, my dear, how long have you known my nephew? Long enough to know his character, Mr. Crowe.
Which is really what matters in a marriage, don’t you think? Something flickered in Marcus’s eyes.
a recognition that Lydia wasn’t going to be as easy to dismiss as he’d expected.
Quite right.
Character is everything.
Before he could continue, a voice called from the doorway.
Shall we begin? The speaker was a silver-haired man carrying a leather folder, the territorial official who would be moderating the meeting.
Everyone moved to take seats around the table.
Ethan and Lydia sat on one side, Marcus and his supporters on the other, with the three main investors positioned at the end like judges at a trial.
Harrison Wells was exactly as Ethan had described, conservative in dress and manner, his face revealing nothing.
Margaret Chen was the only woman in the room besides Lydia, elegant in a severe black dress that somehow made her look more powerful rather than less.
Richard Blackwood was younger than the others, perhaps 40, with the restless energy of someone always looking for the next opportunity.
Gentlemen, the official began.
And ladies, we’re here today at the request of Marcus Crowe to discuss concerns about the management of Crow Timber operations.
Mr. Marcus Crowe, you called this meeting.
Please state your concerns.
Marcus stood plain to the room.
Thank you, Commissioner.
I’ll be brief.
My brother built crow timber from nothing into the finest operation in the territory.
When he died 3 years ago, he left everything to his son, my nephew Ethan.
At the time, I believed it was the right decision.
Ethan had worked alongside his father, learned the business.
But 3 years have passed, and I’ve watched with growing concern as inexperience and poor judgment have begun to undermine everything my brother built.
That’s a serious accusation, the commissioner said.
Can you be more specific? gladly.
First, my nephew has implemented changes to logging practices that have reduced efficiency and profit margins.
Second, he’s alienated long-standing business partners with his idealistic approach to worker relations.
Third, he’s made no effort to expand the operation or pursue new opportunities, content to simply maintain the status quo.
And finally, Marcus paused dramatically.
He’s proven himself incapable of the social and professional obligations that come with running a major business operation.
I see.
And what resolution are you proposing? Simple.
I propose that I be appointed as a managing partner with authority over business decisions.
Ethan can maintain his ownership stake, but the actual management would be handled by someone with more experience and better judgment.
The room was silent.
Ethan’s face remained impassive, but Lydia could feel the tension in him like a coiled spring.
The commissioner looked at Ethan.
“Mr. Crowe, would you like to respond to these accusations?” “I would.
” Ethan stood, and Lydia was struck by how different he seemed in this setting.
Not the quiet mountain man, but someone with authority and presence.
My uncle is correct that I’ve made changes to our logging practices.
What he calls reduced efficiency, I call sustainability.
We’re harvesting less timber per acre, but leaving the land viable for future harvests.
In 10 years, when other operations have exhausted their resources, we’ll still be productive.
Can you prove that? Richard Blackwood asked.
I can show you the numbers.
Ethan pulled out a ledger.
Our profit margins are down 3% from my father’s final year, but our costs are also down 7% due to reduced equipment damage and worker injuries.
Net profit is actually up 4%.
And we’ve extended our projected harvest timeline from 15 years to 40 years without reducing annual output.
Margaret Chen leaned forward.
That’s an interesting approach.
Do you have contracts that support these projections? I do, including yours, Mr.s.
Chen.
You’ll notice we’ve delivered every contracted amount on schedule for the past 3 years, and our quality ratings have improved.
Chen nodded slightly, making a note.
Marcus jumped in.
Quality and quantity are meaningless if you’ve damaged relationships with partners.
Harrison, tell them about the dispute last year.
Wells shifted uncomfortably.
There was a disagreement about pricing structure.
A disagreement my nephew refused to resolve reasonably, Marcus interjected.
Actually, Wells said slowly, young Mr. Crow was right.
The pricing structure I initially proposed would have been advantageous to me but unsustainable for the operation long-term.
He suggested an alternative that was fair to both parties.
I accepted after reviewing the numbers.
Marcus’ jaw tightened.
Nevertheless, the fact remains that my nephew has shown poor judgment in numerous ways, including, I might add, his sudden and unexplained marriage to a woman no one had ever heard of from a background we know nothing about.
Lydia felt every eye in the room turn to her.
This was it.
The personal attack they’d anticipated.
Ethan started to speak, but Lydia put a hand on his arm, stopping him.
She stood, meeting Marcus’ gaze directly.
Mr. Crowe, you are absolutely right that no one here knows my background, she said clearly.
Allow me to enlighten you.
I come from a struggling mountain settlement.
My family lost everything to medical debt.
When your nephew offered marriage, I accepted because I needed to save my family, and he needed a wife who understood hardship and survival.