Days upon dayswith very little sleep and even less patience. Oliver was irritated by his own breathing. Thank God the new nurse for little Frederick started today. In fact, it had been several hours since he’d heard the little fellow cry. His heart begged him to travel to Highfield, to see Grace one last time. Tomorrow, she’d wed Daniel Lacy and be forever lost to him, but he had promised not to return until she was gone. So instead, he’d begun counting the hours and then the minutes since he’d seen her last, since he’d tasted her lips, and heard her confess her love for him.
In short, he was torturing himself, but what else could he do?
With Prestwood Place finally quieted down, he made his way back to his study and started again on the pile of correspondence that still awaited him. He’d chipped away at the pile the last few days, but there was still so much to sort through. As had become his custom, he poured himself a healthy bit of brandy and then settled behind his desk.
One staggering bill from his mother’s modiste in London.
One letter from his solicitor about his investment in the Devil’s Den gaming hell and a number of violations the city of London had leveled against the establishment. So much for Danby’s promise that the investment was a sound one. That was a tidy sum he’d never see returned to him.
One letter from Kirkland House in London, asking for a donation for their homeless soldiers’ charity.
And…
Oliver’s hand began to shake and he placed his brandy tumbler back on the desk.
What the devil?
Why hadHambletonwritten him?
He tore open the letter…
Prestwood,
I write this letter with a heavy heart. Your father was a dear friend of mine and a man I admired greatly. His honor was unimpeachable and should have served as a guidance to you. I am glad he did not survive to see what has become of his legacy and of you, his son. Had he lived, he would be as disgusted as I am.
What the devil?
It has recently come to my attention that you are the majority shareholder in a gambling establishment, the name of which I will not even deign to write. Dabbling in trade aside, I cannot fathom how you could choose to throw your support behind such a sinful and debauched institution. I know your father raised you differently than that.
A man’s actions reflect his character, of which I am sure you would agree. Under good conscience, I cannot let you marry my daughter and tarnish both Eloise’s good name and mine with your lowly behavior.
Oliver’s heart stopped. He re-read that last line. Did that mean what he thought it did?
As of this day, I am breaking Eloise’s betrothal to you on the grounds of the morality clause in her marriage contract. I would warn you against seeking financial restitution for the severing of this contract as doing so would only shed an unfavorable light on your mother, sisters and cast a pall over your father’s legacy.
Regards,
Oh, dear God, he was free. Oliver clutched the letter in his hand and pushed out of his chair, nearly toppling over the brandy decanter in his haste to navigate his desk.
Free!
He was truly, truly free!
Grace!
He had to get to Grace!
Oliver bolted from his study and let out an exuberant “Whoop!” in his excitement, which was the wrong thing to do as the sound woke the sleeping little Lord Grasmere, who began to cry.
The little fellow could cry his lungs out, Oliver didn’t care. Well, he cared, but little Frederick had a nurse to tend to him now.
“Oliver?” Ginny stepped into the corridor “What is the matter with you?”
“Nothing!” He beamed at her. “Nothing at all, Gin.” He took her in his arms and spun her around.
“Oliver, what are you doing?” she half-laughed.
He placed his sister back on the ground and shoved Hambleton’s letter into her hand. “Read this.”