Everyone was still staring blankly at the letter in question which now occupied the centerpiece of the breakfast table almost taunting them with its enigmatic content.
Jane Pratt, the daughter of the Earl of Reeves, was seated to the right of that letter. Her aquamarine blue eyes kept darting from it back to her father then to the letter again. It made absolutely no sense. What on earth kind of a morning was this?
“I think we should simply ignore it,” she finally spoke, her voice laden with mistrust and the memory of everything that had happened several years prior.
“Ignore it?” Anna Pratt, the Countess of Reeves, frowned disapprovingly. “One cannot just ignore such invitations, my dear. Do not be silly.”
To be quite honest, Jane believed she was anything but silly. She believed herself quite reasonable, especially when it came to the question of gentlemen who believed that they could treat all those around them as if they were beneath them.
“What do you think, darling?” This time, the Countess was addressing her husband, Isaac Pratt, the Earl of Reeves.
Only one quick glance at this man revealed most of his character. His cheeks were high and full, most of the time with a reddish tint to them as if the excess of blood in his body always managed to find its way back to his face, and his lips were perpetually pulled together in a sour expression as if he sucked on a lemon every morning. Jane overheard one of their servants tell this to another ages ago, and she found it quite adequate as a description of her father’s general facial expression. Still, she knew better than to actually share it with him.
“I do not see a reason for it,” the Earl said calmly with a note of displeasure in his voice which he tried to keep subdued.
“See?” Jane seized the chance. “Even Father doesn’t think it’s a good idea.”
The Countess frowned. Her usual delicate features were now marred by disgruntlement. Out of the three of them, she was usually the one who always managed to find common ground between two opposing sides. Being in the middle was never an easy task, but someone had to do it, and Jane considered herself fortunate that it wasn’t her.
“Need I remind you both of our financial predicaments?” the Countess spoke up gently then left the question to linger in the air around them along with that mysterious letter which still rested in the middle of the table because no one wished to touch it after the initial reading by the man of the house.
The Countess proceeded to pick up her fork and eat the two leftover bites of her toast that remained on her plate. Jane did not have much appetite this morning to begin with but after she heard the contents of the letter, she was utterly devoid of any desire for nourishment. The question remained, festering inside her mind, torturing her with her own inability to grasp the hidden meaning behind it.
“You know what that man did to us,” the Earl growled softly, like a wolf threatening an enemy, still not ready to attack.
That man.
Jane knew whom he was referring to. It was not the actual author of the letter in question. It was the author’s father who had recently passed. It was strange how death should be the end of all things, but it is, apart from grudges. Not even death had the power to end those.
“Of course, I know,” the Countess snorted indignantly. “I was there.”
“Then, you understand my utter unwillingness to oblige his son,” the Earl believed he had concluded this conversation but his wife would not have it.
“Isaac…” His name reverberated in the room. The moment she used his Christian name was the moment they all knew that she would play the emotional card. The Earl disliked it. He loathed it. But he loved his wife. He sighed heavily as he listened to his wife continue. “You know that the brewery isn’t doing well. In fact, saying that it isn’t doing well is an understatement. We are in terrible debt, Isaac. Your bad decisions have led us to the brink of ruin.”
“Well, what do you wish me to do about it now!?” he snarled more loudly this time. Usually, people would pull back from him when he was in such a mood but his wife knew how to handle him. Decades of marriage had taught her well.
“I wish you to consider the offer of the Duke of Dunton,” she replied calmly, unwilling to let him aggravate her. It was simply who he was. As soon as he felt threatened in any manner, he defended himself with anger. Diffusing him was easy enough if one knew how.
The moment her mother had said her father’s name, Jane’s heart felt a powerful tug. It was simply her mind reacting in the only way it could. After all, how else could one react to the mentioned name of one’s sworn enemy?
Once, it seemed now ages ago, she believed he would be so much more than that. In fact, she hoped he would be the opposite of that. But quickly, the truth came crashing down upon her, and she realized that all she ever was to him was a game, a mean way to get back at her father. Fortunately, they only had one brief encounter on that fateful night of the ball hosted by Lord and Lady Weatherby, but it was enough to make her heart all aflutter for him.
Upon finding out that he was the man their daughter was so smitten by, her parents had told her the truth. He was the son of the man with whom her father had once been the best of friends. With such great love comes a great hatred as well as the two are never too far apart. A feud happened to take place, one that originated in the very core of man’s existence: greed. The Earl believed that he deserved a greater part of the profit, because he was the one with the most prolific ideas. His friend did not seem to agree. Their agreement had always been to divide the profit in two equal shares. Little by little, the Earl started to believe that he had been taken advantage of, that he would be better off on his own. Then, the final event that assured they would be friends and associates no longer was the missing money. The Earl was certain that his now former friend had stolen it, but refused to admit it. Regardless, the money was gone and so was their friendship.
This feud led to them parting ways not only in a business venture they shared but also in life. The result was antagonizing several years that followed with the man in question passing away, leaving the feud and the question of the missing money forever unresolved.
To be quite honest, Jane believed it was for the best. Yes, their brewery was in debt. That much was true. And yes, the Duke of Dunton’s own brewery was doing far better than theirs. So, what was the point of this letter? To rub it in their faces? The thought enraged Jane, and she could not possibly understand how her mother could even consider his proposal.
“I implore you both to think about this and not make a hasty decision,” the Countess continued, the voice of reason as always. “The least we can do is hear what he has to say. The final decision will, of course, be ours. He cannot force us to do anything we do not want to.”
Jane thought about it for a moment. The Duke of Dunton was the last man on earth she wished to see, now or ever, but perhaps, her mother had a point. After all, that old adage made much sense: to keep one’s friends close but one’s enemies even closer.
They might attend it, and Jane would see to it that she was dressed in her finest gown. His opinion of her was, of course, irrelevant, but it would not hurt for her to look her best. Just because.
“You won’t let this go until we agree, will you?” the Earl asked, inhaling deeply, realizing that his peaceful morning with the newspaper was all but ruined. In response, his wife just gave him a meaningful gaze which meant that she was in utter agreement with what he just said.
“It is just a dinner invitation, after all,” she shrugged seemingly indifferently although the effects of this seemingly irrelevant dinner would be known only after it had taken place.