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“Good afternoon, Lord Haverton,” Fergus said, trying to maintain his patience as the old man raged at him. He wove his fingers together, leaning his forearms against his desk.
“I cannot allow this!” the Baron shouted, spittle flying from his mouth.
“And what choice do you have?” Fergus asked, raising an eyebrow. He appreciated that the man was angry, but with his age and demeanor, Fergus did not think the man could be prone to violence. “She agreed to this, you know.” Lord Haverton’s face twisted in rage, but he did not speak again.
“I do not wish to have animosity between us moving forward,” Fergus explained. “I do not take you for a vengeful man.”
“Edwina is the most precious thing to me,” Lord Haverton told him tightly. “Her happiness means everything to me. I cannot imagine her being happily married to a brute like you.”
“You would do well to mind your tongue, My Lord,” Fergus warned. Yet, Lord Haverton’s love for his daughter moved him. Fergus had only seen her once, but the image of her glowing hair imprinted itself on his mind. The taste of her lips lingered on his.
“Or what, you would send me back to the goal?” he asked.
“Please, sit,” Fergus said, indicating the chair in front of the desk. “Your daughter is a shrewd negotiator.”
“What do you mean?” Lord Haverton asked as he sat.
Fergus came back to his desk to sit. “She asked me to provide you a salary for you to continue your endeavors in your workshop. She told me that your happiness was her utmost concern as well.”
“I told her that she should not have done that.”
“Still,” Fergus said. “That is a part of the arrangement. I have my solicitor coming shortly for us to draw up the contract.”
“Do you believe in love?” Lord Haverton asked suddenly.
Fergus started. “Why do you ask such a thing?”
“I wanted my daughter to marry for love, to someone that would care for her. Tell me, do you believe in love? Do you think you can care for her?”
“I will ensure she is taken care of,” Fergus replied, growing uncomfortable. He pulled his watch from his pocket, checking the time again. As if on cue, a footman announced the arrival of the solicitor, and Fergus called him in.
“Your Grace,” the solicitor said, bowing deeply. The solicitor had served Fergus for many years, his head growing balder, and his stomach growing rounder each year. He pulled a roll of papers from his sack, unrolling them unceremoniously across Fergus’ desk. “I have drawn up the contract as you requested.”
“I have set aside a sum of ten thousand pounds for you, a salary of four hundred pounds a year. Should that be enough for your endeavors?” Fergus asked the baron, pointing out the verbiage in the contract.
Lord Haverton drew a glass from his pocket, setting it in his eye to look over the paper. “Four hundred pounds?” he whispered. “It is too much, Your Grace, too much.”
“Too much for your daughter’s happiness?” Fergus challenged. “This is what she wanted.”
“She asked you for this?” Lord Haverton asked, shocked.
“She wanted you to be happy.” When Lord Haverton did not protest again, Fergus reached for his pen, dipping it in the inkwell before handing it to the Baron.
“If you are in agreement, then we can finalize the contract.”
“I had a dowry for her,” he said softly. “A sum from her grandmother, that is my mother. And somehow, I managed to set more aside though I do not really have the mind for it.”
“What do you want to do with the sum?” Fergus asked.
“It is hers, yours,” Lord Haverton said. “I would see it set upon her.”
“Very well,” Fergus said, waving his hand to the solicitor. “Add it in.”
The solicitor wrote a few lines, asking the Baron, “How much?”
“Just five hundred pounds,” he said softly. “Not nearly so much as what you have laid against me.”
“I am sure she will appreciate the sentiment, the pin money for her disposal, and think of you.” The solicitor finished his scribbling, waving to the paper for both men to inspect. Fergus read the new language and nodded simply. Lord Haverton barely glanced at the words before agreeing.
