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After a long, enjoyable dinner, the others retired to the parlor for drinks and cards. Charles watched Arabella, walking away from him. The Duke of Longmire followed her, moving to stand by her side. Charles was used to gentlemen taking Arabella away from him.
It was something that he was going to have to become accustomed to. Before, it had been bearable because he knew that he had her heart. But the Duke of Tiverwell had turned down his suit. Now, she was free to pursue the Duke of Longmire.
“Come, Mr. Conolly,” the Duke said. “I’d like to speak with you for a moment.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Charles replied.
Arabella glanced back at him, before reaching the door to the parlor. The look was filled with longing, which just about pierced him to the core. Even without her rapier, she could disarm him with a glance.
The Duke of Longmire stopped, too. His face fell out of a grin, and he scowled at Charles.
Turning away, he followed the Duke to his study, closing the door after them. It was a dark room, decorated in forest green. The furniture was all mahogany, large and built to be impressive. He stood, waiting to be offered a seat. He couldn’t help but recall the last time that he had been in that room.
“Sit, please,” the Duke said, taking a seat in one of the green velvet armchairs.
He sat, as ordered.
“I want to revise my will,” the Duke said. “I want to get rid of the entail, so that my only child inherits everything.”
“It’s going to be tricky,” he replied. “But it can be done.” It would be very near impossible. As a lady, Arabella could not inherit the title, nor the county seat that went with it. However, Charles could likely find a way that the Duke would be pleased—he just needed to figure out what that would be.
The Duke smiled, nodding. “Very good.”
“May I ask why?”
“I’ve raised my daughter like I would have a son, were I so lucky,” the Duke replied. “Thus, she should be my heir.”
Charles nodded. “And, when she marries? Will her husband inherit what is yours? I’ll need to ensure that the documents are worded correctly.”
The Duke clearly hadn’t thought of this. He shook his head. “No. It must all go to Arabella.”
Charles nodded, folding his hands in his lap. He knew that the gentlemen of the ton found Arabella to be rather daunting, as she was. Independently wealthy, the heir of a Duke—nearly unheard of. But Charles was successful because he made things happen which others could not. The ton rewarded him richly for it.
“And the Dukedom? Along with the title?” This was the one thing that Charles was unsure of. Titles were passed on to male heirs, and male heirs only.
“You can do it, can’t you?” the Duke asked.
“Your current male heir is going to bring it to court, and you know it,” he pointed out, as gently as he could.
“But we can fight it, can’t we?” He had gotten up and was pacing his study. The Duke was a large and imposing figure, stalking the room like a caged lion.
“We could,” Charles replied, carefully. “But wouldn’t it be easier to have Lady Arabella inherit your money and the London townhome, then just give him the title and county seat…as an appeasement, of sorts?”
“Absolutely not.” He sliced at the air with his hand, in a swift and abrupt chopping motion.
“Your Grace?” Charles raised an eyebrow. “I feel it incumbent upon me to tell you that this is going to be an extensive court battle. One which you may likely end up losing, due to society’s obsession with primogeniture.”
“Out of the question! It all must go to Arabella,” the Duke insisted.
Charles knew what he was expected to say. “As you wish, Your Grace,” he said. It would be a hefty paycheck for Charles, even if the hours that he’d be putting into it would be long and arduous.
The Duke beamed at him as he sat back down in his seat. He began drumming his fingers on the arms of the chair. He seemed—tightly strung.
“Is something the matter, Your Grace?” Charles asked. After all, concerns about wills and inheritance were often precluded by fears of sudden death.
“It’s these murders, Mr. Conolly,” the Duke replied. “The Earl of Diggar and the Viscount of Drysdale were both dear friends of mine.”
