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“Are you ready then, Haverton?” Fergus asked, picking up his pen again.
“As ready as I shall ever be, I suppose,” Lord Haverton agreed. With a tinge of guilt, Fergus noticed the Baron had a gleam of tears in his eyes as he signed his name. Fergus signed his name next to the Baron’s.
“Then it is done,” Lord Haverton said with a sigh. “My daughter will soon be yours.”
“She is still yours, too,” Fergus said gently. “I will not keep her from you nor you from her.”
“I suppose there is no legal language for caring for someone, then?” Lord Haverton asked the solicitor. “Something that can be added to that piece of paper that would give an old man some peace?”
“I may not be able to legally agree to such, but I assure you, Lord Haverton, I will take care of her. I promise.”
Lord Haverton sat back in his chair, wiping his eyes.
“I am sure you require rest,” Fergus told him, trying to avoid noticing the Baron’s tears. Looking instead to the solicitor, Fergus told him, ‘Thank you again for your services. They are greatly appreciated.”
“Anything you wish, Your Grace,” he said, bowing and leaving the room.
Lord Haverton moved to leave as well, so Fergus just nodded to him and allowed him to leave. Alone in his study once more, he looked over the contract again, the terms that allowed him to finally marry. Guilt rushed through him, but he could not turn back now. A pool of anguish flooded his stomach, wondering how he could have forced a poor, innocent girl to be his wife.
Lord Haverton spoke of love, of caring for Edwina. He could not imagine loving anyone again, not after all that had happened, how he had been spurned and scorned by society. He could not imagine that she could ever love him, either, and how could he allow himself to love someone that would not love him back?
The best he could do would be to allow her to live as she chose, as soon as she gave him what he wanted, an heir. As soon as the legacy of the house of Hillow could be guaranteed to continue, they would both be free of their burden. In less than a day, he could begin that endeavor. Yet, the thought of coming into her bed did not seem right. He rang the bell again. Simon entered, exasperated.
“What else can I do for you, Your Grace?”
“Please ensure that Miss Haverton’s future rooms have plenty of fresh flowers,” Fergus told him. “And perhaps, see if you can obtain some perfume. Nothing French, please.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Simon sighed, bowing out of the room.
“And Simon?” Fergus called.
Simon stepped back in.
“Have one of the maids go to the modiste and ask for something nice for my bride to wear tomorrow. See if we have a seamstress in-house that can quickly make any adjustments necessary or hire the modiste herself if necessary.”
Simon raised an eyebrow. “Is all this necessary for a mere business arrangement, Your Grace?”
“For once in your life, can you just not ask questions?” Fergus cried.
“Maybe, if you stop acting in questionable ways,” Simon teased and left the room again. Fergus ran his hands over his face, feeling the mask over his skin. He took it off, only for a moment. He should have a new one made, to look clean and fresh for his bride. He could show her that he respected her, that he would care for her. Even if he did not deserve her or her love, perhaps he could gain her respect.
Maybe I am a monster,Fergus thought.But maybe I do not have to act like one.
