Chapter 17 #2
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I must be. We do not just need this contract, Nicholas—it is everything. It must go ahead. We must get through this. It is the only way. Promise me.” His grip tightened around Nic’s arm, digging in like echo claws. “Promise me you will do what it takes to uphold our name.”
Nic hunted his father’s face, wishing he could see past those dark glasses, past the facade. The duke tightened his hold, and unsteadied by the hint of vulnerability, of desperation, Nic nodded.
“Yes. Of course. I promise.”
His father’s lips parted, and for a moment it looked as though he would say more.
But something in Nic’s tone or his expression must have betrayed his doubts, for the duke stepped back, everything about him, from his face to his stance, closing over like a heavy door.
“Good.” The word was crisp. Confident. “One day you will understand. The net must hold.”
The library door creaked open upon the smell of dust, old parchment, ink, and candle wax.
And a hint of the strong tea Dashiell preferred, lingering like a ghost. This room had been the centre of their lives, and in a flood of memories, Nic recalled why he rarely spent longer in there now than the time taken to find a book.
“Nic?”
Nic almost swallowed his tongue as Dashiell rose from one of the chairs, past melding with present in a way that made the world spin. Dashiell, perfectly dressed, perfectly poised, all emotion tucked away behind his professional mask. Nic could almost believe the previous night had been a dream.
He needed to say something, to answer as though the words I wasn’t born a man who could ever hope to love you hadn’t echoed endlessly through his head.
I am no more worthy of you now than I was then.
“Sorry,” Nic managed at last, heading for the nearest shelf. “I didn’t know you were here. I just need some books.”
“Ah, well, I am hiding from Lady Lisbeth. No doubt you’ve noticed she has taken a liking to me and—”
Nic threw up a hand in unthinking defence. “You don’t need to explain.”
“Don’t I?” Dashiell huffed a small laugh. “If it makes you feel even half as jealous as I feel watching you with Lady Leaf, then I do. Especially after having failed so spectacularly to be honest with you up until now.”
“Leaf and I are friends. She has no more interest in me than I have in her.” Nic had been about to hide himself in the maze of shelves, but turned back. “Actually, since you’re here, I need to talk to you about that.”
The vowsmith dropped his book onto the table where a cup of tea sat steaming. “Ominous, but go ahead.”
“I need to know what our fathers have agreed upon. She… doesn’t want to bear children.”
“Oh.” Dashiell cleared his throat and ran a hand down the front of his beautifully cut coat.
I bought a whole new wardrobe. I wanted to be perfect, to impress you.
“I know you’re not meant to talk about the contract,” Nic went on. “But I’d appreciate knowing what we’re up against.”
“Well, no, I really shouldn’t tell you, but you’ve asked, so…
” Dashiell looked at the floor and scuffed his foot on the boards.
“It was contentious in the beginning. Lord Charborough was caught between wanting the, uh, Brilliance of your, uh—” Dashiell cleared his throat.
“You have a very high Brilliant ability, and it seemed a waste to squander that by getting Lady Leaf someone else to…”
Nic was beginning to wish he hadn’t asked, his own cheeks heating like Dashiell’s, as much in memory of just what he’d been doing with his supposed Brilliance the night before.
“I hope you can manage these conversations with less stuttering in the negotiation chamber.”
“It’s easier in a professional setting!” Dashiell cried.
“There are formal words, but you don’t know them and I hate even having to talk about this with you, so here we are.
Long story short, Lord Charborough has had the stud clause struck off and is now quietly confident you and Lady Leaf like each other well enough to do your duty. ”
For a moment Nic just stared at the vowsmith and his reddened cheeks. “Did he read about me in the preliminary papers?”
“I’m quite sure he did, yes.”
Which, Nic realised, meant Dashiell had also read about him in the preliminary papers.
“Right, well, that’s a relief.”
“A relief?”
“Yes,” Nic said, “because if no one else is contracted to be involved, we can disappoint them all at our leisure.”
“You wouldn’t try to—?”
“No. My feelings on the matter aside, she doesn’t want to have sex or carry children, so that’s where the conversation ends. And see? It’s not so hard to say the words.”
Dashiell let out a soft laugh. “Ah, but I already told you that you’re far braver than I am.”
I am not brave like you, Nic. I’m not. I’m a coward and I hurt you to save myself.
Nic was glad he had asked and could satisfy Leaf’s worries, but as Dashiell went on standing there in the aftermath of those words, Nic found he needed to leave as fiercely as he wanted to stay. He turned to the nearest shelf.
By some miracle, he’d ended up in the vowsmithing section, not that it was hard given how much of the library was given over to such texts.
While he waited for his heartbeat to slow, Nic trailed a hand along a collection of leather-bound spines, not entirely sure what he was looking for.
A History of Modern Vowsmithing. Likely that was too broad, but he pulled it out and continued on.
On Contracts for a Stronger Future seemed more promising, so he took that too.
Dashiell leaned against the shelf. “I thought your interest in vowsmithing was…?”
“So low as to exist in the liminal space between negative and never? Yes.”
“Mmm, yes. The same place I store my interest in horse racing and overcooked vegetables.”
“And fennel seed cake.”
The vowsmith pulled a disgusted face. “Truly foul. I swear Mrs. Beckett only made them so often because she knew I hated them.”
“You’ll be glad to know she retired a few years ago. I haven’t seen a single fennel seed since.”
Almost Nic added that while the cook was new, Mrs. Podmarsh was still the housekeeper and as unpleasant as ever, but the ease with which they could fall into conversation only twisted the hurt deeper.
“Perhaps this isn’t a good idea,” he said instead. “Spending time together like this, I mean. Since you must be a stranger, better you be a stranger.”
He wished the words unsaid the moment he spoke them, the thought of watching Dashiell leave unbearable. A flicker of the same hurt crossed the vowsmith’s face.
“You’re right, of course. And once again, are far braver than me.”
“Hardly,” Nic said, unable to meet Dashiell’s gaze as his dual desires warred within him.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it. Whatever you’re doing, I’m sure you have it well in hand.”
God, Nic, your hands.
Nic swallowed hard. “What does ‘The net must hold’ really mean?”
Dashiell had pushed off the shelf to leave, but frowned at that.
“Only that it’s important to remember how even tiny changes in vow law can affect a myriad of other things.
Any clause wrongly smithed does not stand alone, but rather ripples out, changing everything to which it is connected.
And once done, some mistakes can be difficult to undo.
Enough errors in enough places might even threaten the whole, and so we remind ourselves that the net must hold. ”
An unsurprising answer, yet Nic couldn’t quite make it fit with his father’s words.
“Did that help?” Dashiell asked when Nic didn’t speak.
“I don’t know.”
“Does this have anything to do with the three dead men lying in your crypt? You think someone wants the contract to fail?”
Abandoning the vowsmithing books, Nic slid his hands into his pockets, closing himself protectively in. “What other reason could there be?”
“I don’t know, but I admit I don’t see why anyone would want it to fail either.
Lord Charborough paid through the nose to make sure this contract went ahead, and I imagine His Grace needs Lady Leaf’s dowry too much to want it ruined.
I’m… not exactly sure how things stand, but matters don’t seem to have improved here since I left, and the general talk in most circles is that your grandfather gambled you into serious debt, yes? ”
“Something like that.”
“You know, I always thought your father would right things. There must be money to be made off the estate, and surely your mother brought in plenty—no, my apologies. It is not my place to speculate.”
Dashiell hadn’t said anything Nic himself hadn’t thought a dozen times, yet he found that of all the things he didn’t want to discuss, the ceaseless poverty of his day-to-day life was right at the top.
“The other guests then,” Nic said to change the subject. “What motive might Lady Lisbeth have?”
Dashiell laughed. “I think you’re safe from her murderous meddling. She seems to have her heart set on me, not you.”
Easier to convince myself you felt nothing for me. That it was only my heart I was breaking.
He should have let Dashiell leave.
“My mother?”
All trace of humour faded from Dashiell’s face. “Her Grace is… not always well, but surely there is no sense in ending a contract that would bring in both a new companion and more money?”
“Lady Theresa?”
“Much the same. What does she have to gain? Nothing, surely, since she doesn’t stand to lose anything either.
She is just here because Lady Leaf needs a chaperone and her mother couldn’t spare the time.
Though if we’re clutching at straws, she has made no secret of her belief that Lord Charborough is throwing Lady Leaf away.
She could be trying to save the family money. ”
“A wise woman. I’m certainly not worth the fortune they must be paying.”
The vowsmith didn’t answer.
I work with marriage contracts enough to know how much I’m worth, and how much less it is than you.