Chapter Thirty-Nine A Matter of Succession
Chapter Thirty-Nine
A Matter of Succession
“You’re late.”
Richard gritted his teeth at the duke’s admonishment. “I’m late because of the protest, Your Grace,” he bit out. “Another demonstration. For her.”
He didn’t have to say for whom. Word had gotten out to the masses that Poppy Sutherland was making a bid for vicereine, and suddenly, every uneducated street rat had a vested interest in the line of succession.
The police had been breaking up demonstrations for the past week, but the number of protestors vastly outnumbered the number of officers.
They would break up one protest, but a new commotion would coagulate somewhere else, clogging the arteries of the city.
The old man only sighed. “Sit.” He gestured across the table to where another place had already been set.
Richard had chosen to meet Sutherland at Hazelwood Gentlemen’s Club, an exclusive club for the upper class.
It was a paradox of a place. Its members prided themselves on their good manners and impeccable breeding, but they often escaped to the club to indulge in their vices, be it drink or even laudanum.
For this reason, the activities within the club were supposedly sacrosanct, though the comings and goings of each member did not go unnoticed.
Men saw who visited and when, whom they came with, whom they left with.
Word spread, one way or another. One went to Hazelwood for only two things: privacy or publicity.
When Richard had sent the invitation to the viceroy, he hadn’t known which one he wanted more.
Once he was seated and had given his order to the waiter, he turned to the viceroy again.
“Why haven’t you brought your daughter to heel?
She’s still meeting with Second Families.
Yesterday alone, she met with the Wainwrights and Bluefinches, negotiating bargains.
Now, even the rabble is rising in favor of her. ”
Sutherland’s mouth twisted in a rueful smile. “She’s not a child anymore. I fear her education has worked a little too well. She is determined, confident, and persuasive.”
He didn’t like the sound of that. None of those adjectives was critical in the least. If anything, Sutherland sounded . . . in awe of his daughter.
“She can never be vicereine,” Richard said. “You know that. It’s cruel to let her carry on like this, as though she has a chance.”
Sutherland tilted his glass of whiskey, rolling the bottom edge on the table, the tinkling of ice filling the space. Their food arrived, but neither man made a move to touch the steaming plates in front of them.
“I’ll still marry her,” Richard said. “But I—”
“Why?” Sutherland stopped fiddling with the glass and looked up, pinning him with a look.
He paused. “Why what?”
“Why would you still marry her? She’s clearly not interested in marrying you anymore.” His tone held no malice, only a matter-of-fact dismissal, as though Poppy had outgrown Richard like a girl does a doll.
“Because I love her,” he lied smoothly, keeping his fingers flat on the table to prevent them from curling into fists.
Sutherland didn’t look convinced, so he added, “I made a mistake, earlier, rushing things. I should have insisted we further acquaint ourselves. We spent less than a month courting, and then I sprang a very public, over-the-top proposal on her. Of course she got cold feet. That’s all this is. Cold feet.”
Sutherland leaned back. “Tell me something. If she were to be vicereine, would you still marry her?”
Richard dug his fingers into the tablecloth a fraction. “But she can’t be vicereine. There’s no such thing.”
“That’s not the question. If she were, would you still be interested in marrying her? If there were no reward to balance out her flaws, would you still forgive them?”
“There’s no point in discussing this.” He narrowed his eyes. “Unless, of course, you intend to name her your heir. And you can’t.”
Sutherland tightened his jaw, the muscle twitching.
“And who are you, to tell the viceroy what he can or can’t do?
You forget, boy, that I’m still in charge.
And that, for all intents and purposes, you have not been formally named in the line of succession.
You are not viceroy yet, and you may never be. ”
“Are you seriously considering this?” Richard asked.
“It’s unheard of. There’s never been a vicereine, let alone one who’s Virian.
The nobility will never support her—not here, and not in Welkland, either.
Do you think she’ll receive royal assent when the Imperial Family wouldn’t even give her a courtesy title?
I give it a fortnight before she loses the office to insurrection. ”
Sutherland raised a finger. “Ah, but you love her, don’t you? As your wife, she’d have your family’s title, and your support. Yours, and that of all the allies she’s making in the Second Families.”
Richard had no response to that. He turned his glare on his meal, shooting daggers at the roasted waterfowl.
“She’s sympathetic to her people,” he said. “She would undo everything you’ve built. Is that what you want?”
Sutherland fell quiet. Ah, so the old man knew that his daughter’s sympathies were still there. Seven years at a Welkish college had taught her only how to hide the rot inside her heart.
Richard closed in. “Give up the idea. She’s not qualified, and no one will permit it.”
“I’m the viceroy, and a duke besides.” Sutherland straightened, pushing out his chest. “I don’t need permission.”
He stared at him in dismay. “So you’re decided, then? You’re going to name her?”
“I haven’t decided anything.” Sutherland ran a finger below his lineup of cutlery. “I could name any of the youth in the First Families, if I wanted. Admittedly, you were my top choice. But this last month has been very . . . revealing.”
Richard stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re not the man I thought you were.”
He jabbed his finger into the table, punctuating his words. “I’m the man who found and rescued your daughter!”
“For your own selfish gain!” Sutherland’s eyes bored into the younger man’s face.
“You didn’t care for her then, and you don’t care for her now.
And if you think I’m going to leave my office, let alone my only child, in your incompetent hands before I die, then you’re not as smart as you think you are, boy. ”
Richard had been prepared for this. If he couldn’t marry the bitch, he would have to eliminate her. He reached down the side of the table for the briefcase, where the forged documents and Alderfort’s cousin’s written testimony were safely enclosed.
“I didn’t want to do this, but you leave me no choice. Your daughter is not the person you think she is.”
But the old man raised his hand, cutting him off. His guards came quickly, rising from the surrounding table.
“Your Grace?” one asked.
Sutherland sniffed. “I’ve had quite enough of Captain Montrose’s company.”
Conversation in the club had petered out as the attention of the other members converged on their table. Richard pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d gambled incorrectly when he’d chosen Hazelwood. Still, he tried to salvage the situation.
“Wait!” He thrust the pages at Sutherland. “Trust me. When you hear what I’m about to tell you, you’ll be thanking me for warning you. You have to hear me out.”
“How many times do I have to tell you?” Sutherland sighed. He picked up his cutlery, turning his attention to his steak. “I don’t have to do anything you tell me.”
The guards each took one of Richard’s arms, yanking him upward with so much force, the chair toppled. “Hey!” he barked. “Don’t touch me.”
The guards didn’t listen. The other patrons stared openly. Word about this would make its way around society like wildfire. The bigger the scene, the faster the rumors would ripple. The only option left to Richard was to retreat—quietly.
“Very well! I’ll go,” he relented. “Let go of me. I’m going.”
The guards released his arms, though they made it a point to walk side by side with him until he reached the parking lot, where his Peregrine sat waiting.
He got into his car and tore out of the lot, the roar of the engine barely audible over the blood rushing in his ears. The smell of burned rubber filled the air, but he hardly noticed.
The duke could not name Poppy. After all this, if he lost the viceroyship to her, he would never live it down. He would rather die than be governed by one of her kind. What had the world come to, where the shepherds appointed the sheep to give them orders?
In front of him, traffic had slowed to a stop. He laid into the horn, venting his anger through the blaring noise.
“What’s the holdup?” he shouted, craning his neck. The sound of the blockade reached him before he saw it.
“Poppy, Poppy, Poppy!”
A small group of people had gathered in the center of the road, with cheap cardboard signs riddled with spelling errors.
Something about the sight caused Richard to snap.
He yanked open his glove compartment, pulling out his badge and gun from within.
Killing the engine, he leaped out of the car and advanced toward the crowd, brandishing both badge and weapon.
“Disband, by order of the police!” he shouted. “You are creating a public disturbance, and I order you to stop.”
Some of the people stepped back warily at the sight of the badge, but others continued to chant, ignoring him.
He lifted the gun, firing two shots just above the crowd.
That got their attention. They scattered like a flock of pigeons taking flight, shrieking as they disappeared into the side alleys. He fired a final shot at the stragglers, then turned and got back into his car, fuming.
This was the result of weak leadership. The very foundations of society were crumbling.
If Poppy became vicereine, it would shatter irreparably.
The old man was delusional about his daughter.
And if he wouldn’t take Richard’s warning seriously, then he would have to hear it from someone he couldn’t ignore.
Richard made a sharp turn at the next intersection, heading east, toward the Marnapur Telegraph Office.
· · ·
TO: LORD T. GRANFORT, GREENHART, WELKLAND
C. SUTHERLAND TO NAME DAUGHTER AS NEXT VICEROY. DAUGHTER HAS SUSPECTED TIES TO CRIMINAL ACTIVITY. THE EMPEROR’S INTERVENTION IS APPRECIATED.
FROM: R. MONTROSE, MARNAPUR, VIRYANA