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“We must obey the law,” Blackburn continued. “He is the rightful heir.”
“And how often has something likethishappened?” Simon sneered. “There ought to be exceptions for special circumstances. Don’t you think?”
Blaire smiled tightly. “Sweet son, we don’t want to insult Mr. Blackburn. I’m sure he’s quite competent, and we must obey the laws of the land. Even those with noble blood are bound by them.”
Simon’s lips curled into a frown. “Of course.”
“My Lord,” Blackburn said, turning his attention to Reginald, “if you’ll look here, I just need for you to sign in a few different places, and you’ll be the Marquess of Hurrow.”
Reginald leaned forward, craning his neck to read the documents. “It’ll take some time to read.”
Blackburn chuckled and looked at Reginald’s father. “You don’thaveto read them, My Lord,” he said. “Respectfully. Your father has hired me for the explicit purpose of restoring your title and lands to you. I’m hardly going to—”
“I know a very talented clerk who has urged me to always read contracts, regardless of how well-prepared they are,” Reginald interrupted.
“A clerk?” Simon asked. “That’s hardly the sort of creature who you ought to take legal counsel from.”
“You seem to know a great deal about a man who you’ve never met,” Reginald said, as a wave of indignation swept over him.
Reginald’s father let out a nervous laugh. “It’s good advice, but surely, you know I’d not hire a dishonest man. And I’m quite sure neither of us know the law so well as Mr. Blackburn.”
“Perhaps we ought to,” Reginald countered, “since we’re the men tasked with making the laws. Even if neither of us have considered the law as a profession, I’d still think that we ought to approach it with respect and caution.”
“Of course,” Blackburn replied. “Take as much time as you like, My Lord.”
Reginald took the papers in hand, and although he fixed his gaze on the documents, he could sense everyone’s eyes on him. The room felt too hot and small suddenly, claustrophobic nearly. In truth, Reginald knew Blackburn had done his job well; Reginald’s father was far too wise to risk the Marquisate and its title to a solicitor who didn’t know his trade well.
Surely, I ought to look, though. Surely.
As he read the documents, he began to feel as though he was very foolish. They said precisely what he’d anticipated, that his cousin would relinquish the title and that Reginald would claim the title, its accompanying estates, debts, and the inheritance promised by his father, which would be delivered upon his marriage to a suitable Marchioness.
“It looks to be all in order,” Reginald admitted.
“Indeed,” Blackburn replied.
To the solicitor’s credit, he didn’t sound offended or particularly bothered. Rather, there was something thoughtful in his voice, as if he was trying to make some sense of Reginald—or the whole odd situation.
“Well, it seems like a good time to sign it,” Blaire said. “We wouldn’t want to keep calling youLord Reginaldwhen it’s meant to beLord Hurrow, would we?”
Reginald looked at her, searching for any sign of bitterness, but if she felt terribly about the loss of her son’s title and fortune, she did not show it. Instead, Reginald’s aunt was the very vision of a graceful defeat.
“Right,” Simon said, sounding as though he could barely contain his fury. “We wouldn’t want to use the incorrect title any longer.”
“Yes,” Reginald replied. “I suppose it is.”
Blackburn dipped his quill into the waiting bottle of ink and offered it to Reginald. “Then, if you and your father will sign, I’m quite happy to end the formalities. For you, at least. I’ll have some paperwork and such to complete afterwards.”
Reginald took the quill and curled his fingers around it, clinging to it as if his life depended upon it. If he signed that paper, there would be no going back. He’d be the Marquess of Hurrow until the day his father died, and then, Reginald would become the Duke of Mavis. Reginald felt suddenly as if centuries of responsibilities descended upon his shoulders. Even if this was his birthright, he felt it was utter madness.
He wasn’t prepared. He neverwouldbe prepared. All Reginald had, really, was an earnest desire to help his poor, struggling friends in London. Wasn’t that a noble goal?
Why does it feel so self-centered? So small and insignificant if this is the price?
Reginald’s hand shook as he pressed the quill against the paper, darkening the place with ink. He took in a sharp, steadying breath and carefully signed his name. It stood in stark contrast with the fine paper, which felt more like a death warrant than an exchange of title.
“Excellent,” Blackburn said. “Thank you, Lord Hurrow.”
Reginald’s father beamed and patted his son on his shoulder.
