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"I..." he withered against the door, falling to his knees, eyes full of tears. Ms. Cauthfield had warned him of the woman and her capricious cruelty; of her manipulations. Still, he couldn't say no to someone he loved so deeply.
"Won't you ever say you're sorry for wronging me?" Anna shrieked through the door.
"You're not going to apologize, are you?" Ms. Cauthfield emerged from the shadows, having listened to the conversation. "She's devastated you, m'lord! Spending the evening with another man? She's using you," Ms. Cauthfield whispered. Broken, Lord Beckham looked up to his loyal servant; a woman who had helped raised him, a second mother.
"What am I to do, Ms. Cauthfield? I love her dearly. She is everything to me," Lord Beckham pleaded, tears at his eyes.
"You deserve loyalty, m'lord. Anyone - man, woman, or otherwise - who gives love, deserves love back," Ms. Cauthfield excoriated him.
"Marshall? Marshall! How dare you ignore me!" Anna screamed through the door. Lord Beckham's expression fell, his voice cowed.
"I'm... sorry."
***
His eyes flashed open, that fetid reverie still clinging like spores of mold to the back of his mind. She had been right, all along; she had broken him, and he knew he could never make a woman like Nadia happy. Anna had been his nadir, but she had taught him that his love would never be enough.
Worse yet, he had claimed the woman's first time; something which had grown to a great storm of dread in the depths of his churning stomach. Since returning to the manor he had drowned himself in loathing for being so crass, so short-sighted, as to steal one of the most sacred things to a young woman! The more the panic set into him the more he convinced himself of the need to settle this the only way he could now, without ruining Nadia's life as he had ruined his own, and his sister's.
"She's quite a creature, isn't she? Takes after her mother, who had all those same, wild, unmarriageable characteristics," Lord Havenshire's hoarse laugh echoed through the hall as night began to creep across the moors. Watching night fall at the top of the stairs, where a towering window gave him view of night's silvery lunar eye, Lord Beckham t
urned at the sound of the old man's voice, his dark coat bathed in the moonlight.
"M'lord," he said with a nod.
"Quite a storm we had today, hmm?" the old man nodded knowingly, excitement crisscrossing his worn, pale face as he hobbled weakly up the stairs to try to join the younger man. "Did you and my daughter manage to find refuge from the rain somewhere safe?"
"Thankfully so, though unfortunately not before taking a bit of the storm on my back, as you might be able to tell," Lord Beckham chuckled humbly, glancing down at his own rather frumpy-looking, still-damp shirt. "Your daughter is... quite the rider."
"She bloody ought to be, given all the money and time she spent on lessons!" Lord Havenshire commented with a laugh. "I can only imagine how the two of you managed to pass the time."
"We found a gameskeeper's cabin out in the wood," Lord Beckham responded hesitantly. "It had... a fireplace, and some firewood still, thankfully. We talked. It's... been a pleasure getting to know her, and for your sake I feel we may wish to speak in your study, if you have one available." Lord Havenshire's face lit up.
"I think you'd make Nadia the happiest woman in all northern England. Ms. Mulwray, she might have a tendency towards the shrewish at times, but she's got quite an eye, and she regaled me today with a story of just how excited Nadia was to see you this morning," the elder lord exclaimed. The more he spoke, the more uncomfortable Lord Beckham grew. "Have you a mind for pursuing her, then? Let's away to the study for some brandy," Lord Havenshire offered, struggling to drag himself along the stairs.
"It's not quite..." Lord Beckham's words caught in his throat; he didn't quite know how to explain the situation to the sickly old man. Your daughter is wonderful. She's far, far too wonderful for me. But I know of your predicament. I don't want to disappoint her, or you; I don't want to shame her. At least I can help make her happy by giving her freedom. He wished he could say it aloud; instead, he only thought on it as the ailing duke led the two of them through the corridors in a weak hobble. He seemed more ill each time the two of them met, and that only exacerbated the worry in his heart. Need to do this quickly.
"Here we are, the coziest room in all the manor," Lord Havenshire exclaimed in his rasp, hurrying to set upon one of the two armchairs facing a roaring fire, bookshelves and desks arrayed along the walls. Lord Beckham quickly took to one of the writing desks, searching for pen and inkwell, drawing a piece of parchment along the desk.
"I've a proposal for you, and for your daughter, m'lord," Lord Beckham said, as the old man nearly collapsed into the chair behind him.
"Come, there's no need for a rush! I'll have Ms. Mulwray get one of the serving girls to grab a pair of glasses for us and a bottle of some of the finest the cellars have in stock. This is a time for celebrating, after all!" Lord Havenshire exclaimed. Lord Beckham realized that the old man had come to hope his daughter would fall in love... that the marriage would be fruitful for the two of them. Perhaps she had... but he knew no matter how much love the two of them held, love could never work for him. Anna had made sure to show him that this - a marriage just for the sake of name and title - is the most he could do for a woman. At least he could make himself useful in some manner.
"M'lord, it's fine, I don't think this will take long," Lord Beckham insisted, scribbling out the terms as quickly as he could. He took to phrasing them as succinctly as necessary, putting to paper the thoughts he had in his head, but couldn't dare speak aloud.
"I must confide, Lord Beckham, I had little doubt you'd find her manner agreeable - or, at least agreeable as any manner of lord in this entire nation would find her agreeable," Lord Havenshire coughed out with a laugh. "Below the skin, and the fire, and all those wild ideals she carries in her head, she's one of the gentlest, sweetest, and most dedicated hearts you'll find. She came all the way back, here, to England," he continued, "...simply on hearing her father wanted to see her. Of course, I had much... more dire need of her, than I had let on in my letters," Lord Havenshire admitted, as Marshall scribbled hastily across the piece of parchment. The ailing lord's words stung, each of them a reminder of his own failings; that he would fail so beautiful and wonderful a woman as Nadia. "I'm fortunate to know a man like you will be taking care of my Nadia, and the estate, once things... well, once I'm gone."
"There's no need to be fatalistic, m'lord. Nadia will have what she wishes," Lord Beckham insisted, finishing the last lines. He drew an 'x' and a line at the bottom of the contract, drawing a line across it and scribbling his name to the terms he had drawn up - then left another empty line for Lord Havenshire, and another for Nadia. He turned abruptly and offered the page to Lord Havenshire, who began to read its terms with a face full of mirth.
"May it be known Lord Marshal Beckham, Duke of Berrewithe, and Lady Nadia Havenshire of Emerys, be joined into a contract of matrimony to be consummated at the nearest church - oh, consummated, I like that," Lord Havenshire smiled, "and maybe it be known that their marriage be one of... financial, marital convenience, for the method of keeping title, and that Lady Nadia Havenshire shall be known as steward of Emerys, bound not by the usual... sorts of marital expectations..." Lord Havenshire's voice fell away as he continued to read the terms; Lord Beckham recalled them in his head, and when the old man finished, he nodded.
"A marriage simply for your daughter's convenience. For your title, wealth, and lands. She'll not be beholden to me. She'll be free to court and to live as she pleases. I'll have... well, nothing to do with her. It's... best this way, m'lord," Lord Beckham painfully insisted; he felt warmth in his cheeks as a melancholy struck him, as if tears threatened to well over his eyes and splash upon the pages of the contract. "I only want to make her happy."
"B... but, m'lord, Beckham, certainly you don't think my daughter would be happy with this? Ms. Mulwray..."
"I feel she was mistaken about your daughter's... excitement, perhaps. I don't... think, I'm the man that your daughter would want - far from it, m'lord. But for your sake, and for hers... I want to ensure everything is good and proper before anything dreadful should happen to you," Lord Beckham pleaded; he kept his voice stern and settled, though he felt a fire raging inside of him. He realized all too deep in his gut that he had fallen for her; that he had begun to love this wild firebrand, and that he shared her father's disillusionment.
But he knew this is how it had to be, in this twisted world they lived in.
