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“I was wondering if you’d forgotten our little bet,” he said, finally turning toward Silas.
“Surely that hasn’t brought you here,” Silas replied. “After all, my mourning period has only just begun. Not to mention, I am now the patriarch of the family. I have a lot that I’m trying to figure out.”
“Ah, yes,” Percy said, coming to stand with Silas by the window, where a cool breeze was coming in. “And how is that going?”
“Rather well.” He didn’t feel the need to tell Percy any more than that. He was unsettled by Percy’s odd demeanour.
“Must be nice to be the master of one’s fate,” Percy said bitterly.
“I never saw it that way.” It certainly didn’t feel like Silas was in control of anything in his life. He hadn’t wanted the responsibility. He was now taking care of things all day long, until late in the night. He wanted to see Lucy, not go trawling through papers.
“I suppose you’ve got plans for your siblings, then,” Percy muttered.
“Yes.” Silas wondered what Percy was getting at. His questioning certainly seemed pointed, but Silas couldn’t follow his line of thought. “What are you trying to get at?” If he would only speak clearly!
“Have you considered whom you might marry Dinah off to?” Percy asked. “I could provide her with a comfortable home.”
Silas squinted at him, and his stomach did a nauseating flip at the idea of Dinah marrying Percy Stalton. Slowly, he smiled at Percy. “You’ve never shown any interest in my sister before.”
“Well, I always figured that she and Levi were an item.” Percy shrugged, but his whole demeanour was off—he was tense, as if spoiling for a fight and not asking Silas for his own sister’s hand in marriage.
“They’ve never been.” He wanted to know what Percy’s motives were, which was why he didn’t mention Lord Browning, who regularly called on Dinah. Lord Browning’s unwavering support to his sister during their time of mourning only proved to Silas how dedicated the marquess was to his sister. Silas couldn’t imagine forcing Dinah to marry Percy. He would never do it.
“He should have,” Percy said, sniffing. “With the sizeable dowry, and fifteen thousand a year after your father’s death.”
Silas felt like he’d been slapped. After their father died, Dinah received fifteen thousand pounds a year, for her care. It was an impressive sum, by all means. He set down his drink quickly before he had the urge to throw it at Percy. He was livid—Silas had never been this angry before. His mind was calm, though, coolly telling him to get Percy out of his presence.
Before Silas killed him.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave at once,” Silas said, his voice cold. “If you mean to marry my sister for money, then you are mistaken. I will never allow it to happen.”
Percy’s face twisted in fury. “You’re selfish, Silas. You think the world revolves around you simply because you’ve got the title and the money to do so. But you’re a coward.”
“How am I a coward?” Silas roared. “I’m not trying to marry a woman for her money!”
“You haven’t followed through on our bet. That’s what a coward does,” Percy yelled back, throwing his glass to the ground so that it shattered.
Silas saw red, his mind going blank with rage. Percy suddenly panicked, backing away from Silas. There was fear in his eyes, something which pleased Silas.
“You’re the real coward, Percy.”
Silas grabbed Percy by the shoulder, shoving him out of the room in front of him. The butler was out in the hallway. It was clear he’d heard raised voices and had come to his master’s aid.
“My Lord?” Mr Morton asked, his brow furrowed in concern.
“Show Mr Stalton the door, please.” Silas gave Percy another shove in the direction of the entry. “He is no longer welcome here.”
“I have never been treated like this by a friend before,” Percy said, catching himself before he stumbled.
“Our friendship is over,” Silas growled. “You will never return here again. I don’t want to see you ever.”
“You’ll regret the way you’ve treated me,” Percy called out over his shoulder as he was sternly marched to the front door by Mr Morton.
“Doubtful,” Silas muttered to himself as he returned to the parlour, where he poured himself another drink. He stared at the broken glass, which was shattered on the wall and the floor, brandy dripping down the wallpaper.
He thought about Lucy. He imagined her entering the room, dressed in the blue and white striped dress that she’d worn to the ball at Thornbridge Manor. He would always remember how she’d looked that night. He wanted nothing more than to go to her.
I wonder what she’s doing right now.
