Chapter 5 #2
It was unexpectedly endearing. “You appear to be wrestling with something.”
Her eyes narrowed immediately. “I am attempting to thank you.”
“I gathered.”
“You needn’t sound so pleased with yourself.”
“I confess I am a little.”
She folded her arms. “It is only a door.”
“It is.”
“And gentlemen have been opening them for ladies for centuries. So, don’t go on behaving as though you’ve performed some remarkable feat.”
“I am observing that accepting a kindness appears considerably more difficult for you than arguing with me.”
She gave him a look that ought to have withered respectable society where it stood. “It depends entirely upon the gentleman.”
To his satisfaction, the corners of her mouth twitched before she could prevent them. She shook her head once, though the severity had left her entirely now. “Thank you.”
He inclined his head in return. “You are welcome.”
Adelaide lingered another heartbeat, as though expecting him to add something else. When he did not, she stepped into the workshop, turning just before the door closed behind her.
“Friday, then?”
“Friday.”
The bell rang once more, and Eric remained where he was until the saddler emerged from the rear of the shop, greeting Adelaide with the easy familiarity of a craftsman accustomed to seeing her. She answered with equal ease, already bent over the saddle he had placed upon the workbench.
Only then did Eric continue down the street toward the offices of Harrington & Pierce occupied the upper floor of a respectable Georgian building overlooking Lincoln’s Inn Fields.
Mr. Harrington himself received Eric within minutes, spectacles balanced low upon his nose and several deeds spread across his desk.
“This is unexpected, Your Grace.”
“So is marriage.”
The solicitor paused. “I beg your pardon?”
“I shall be married within the month.”
Mr. Harrington recovered with admirable professionalism. “My congratulations.”
Eric accepted the sentiment with a slight inclination of his head before removing his gloves. “There is business to arrange before then.”
“Naturally.”
“I wish to establish a settlement beyond the customary marriage articles.”
The solicitor dipped his pen into the inkwell. “What did you have in mind?”
“Property—not entailed property.”
That finally drew Mr. Harrington’s full attention. “The lands at Wolverton cannot—”
“I know what cannot be touched.” Eric rested one hand upon the back of the chair opposite the desk. “There are investments held independently of the estate. The Yorkshire acreage my father purchased outright. The London properties producing rental income.”
“Their revenue is considerable.”
“I am aware.”
“You wish to assign them to the new duchess?”
“If I die.”
Silence settled over the room, and Mr. Harrington regarded him carefully before speaking. “Your Grace, may I ask whether there is some particular concern regarding your health?”
“No. It is simply prudent. Is it not?”
The solicitor did not appear entirely convinced. “Most gentlemen assume they shall outlive such arrangements.”
“Most gentlemen are welcome to make that assumption.”
Mr. Harrington lowered his pen. “You intend these holdings to become her independent property?”
“Entirely.”
“And any future children?”
“If there are any, separate provisions may be made.”
The words felt strangely theoretical because he heard himself say them without believing they belonged to his own life.
Still, Mr. Harrington began making notes. “It shall be done.”
“I prefer she never require it.”
“Of course.”
“But should she…” Eric searched briefly for the right phrase. “… she ought never find herself dependent upon the goodwill of distant relations.”
The solicitor nodded once. “I understand.”
***
The fencing salle attached to White’s Club rang with the familiar music of steel meeting steel. Gentlemen in rolled shirtsleeves called points across the room while instructors corrected footwork with ruthless efficiency.
Eric had always appreciated fencing.
Unlike conversation, it rewarded clarity.
His bout had scarcely concluded when he removed his mask and accepted a towel from a servant.
“Planning to hide this from me forever?”
“Atlas.” Eric turned.
His cousin stood just inside the salle, still wearing his riding coat, jaw set more tightly than Eric had ever seen it. Whatever easy humor usually accompanied him had vanished altogether.
“What are you on about? I have to get ready to travel. Can this wait?”
Atlas folded his gloves with unnecessary precision. “It cannot.”
“What is it, then?”
“My wife has had a fascinating afternoon.”
Eric felt something tighten unpleasantly beneath his ribs. “What did your Loretta share with you?”
“Apparently all of London shall soon know you’ve agreed to marry.”
He frowned. “I’ve scarcely told anyone.”
“No.” Atlas’s expression hardened. “But you neglected to tell your oldest friend and cousin and estate manager.”
“I intended to, Atlas. Come now…why so angry? It only just happened.”
“Were you ever planning to tell me?”
“I was… I was! This evening at dinner before I left, which was precisely the next soonest time we were to be in the same room again after departing last from each other. What is this?”
“My wife learned it from yours.”
“I have no wife.”
“You know perfectly well what I mean.”
Eric’s thoughts turned at once to Adelaide, and his stomach dropped.
Atlas watched the realization arrive and clearly let his anger get the best of his discretion and patience. “The word,” he hissed quietly in the space between them, “is that your bride has already begun telling London. Boasting wildly about it.”
Steel clashed somewhere behind them, but Eric barely heard it.