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“Do you not find that at all…funny, Mr Finch?” he tried again.
The word seemed to put bitter alum in the lawyer’s mouth. “Funny, Mr Morton?” he asked, uncomprehending.
Edward scratched his head and paced the floor, trying to conjure some explanation that might break through Finch’s thick coat of ice. “Just…I don’t know, funny in the sense that the peculiarities of fate can be so bloody fickle at times.”
He snapped as he hit on a possible avenue of attack. “It is so like a comedy in the classical sense, don’t you think? With fortunes being upset so completely in such a short amount of time, a heroine scooped from poverty to wealth due to actions beyond her control…isn’t it?”
Mr Finch acknowledged this proposition with not a twitch of his famous moustache or even so much as a blink. “I have little interest in comedy, Mr Morton,” he said at last in a tired voice. “But it was indeed the fate of Miss Clara that I had hoped to discuss with you, if we have finished our dialogue on issues of dramatic import.”
You are a tough nut to crack, Mr Finch, Edward thought, grinning despite his failure to connect to the other man. With a shrug, he sat in a more comfortable armchair facing Mr Finch just as Anna brought in the tea tray. “I have, and I thank you for your indulgence. What is it you wished to discuss?”
A slight look of discomfort came to the lawyer’s stoic face. “I am unaccustomed to repeating myself or to dwelling on matters already settled. However, considering the weight of this scenario in which we find ourselves, I beg your patience as I review some information that has been previously established.”
Edward dropped a spoonful of sugar in his tea and gave it a stir, regarding Mr Finch with curiosity. “Of course, Mr Finch. Fire away.”
The lawyer nodded, picking up his teacup and giving it a long, pleasureless sip after adding neither milk nor sugar. “As you are already aware, it was the late Duke’s wish that Miss Clara stay here at the St. George estate until such time as she is married.”
“Indeed.”
“Those instructions were made both clear and legally binding. Nevertheless, regardless of their standing to raise any objections to this arrangement, it has occurred to me that Ladies Helena and Judith may raise some objection to Miss Clara’s presence in the household, either on their behalf or for the purported cause of His Grace, their brother.”
Edward rolled his eyes. “I had had the same thought myself. Lord knows why—they certainly have enough money from their husbands that they need never want for anything in their lives. And Christopher’s inheritance remains considerable. Greater than what Lionel received from his own father, if the accounts I have seen are to be believed.”
Mr Finch pressed his lips together, making his mouth nearly vanish entirely beneath his moustache. “Be that as it may, it falls to me to ensure the late Duke’s wishes are carried out to the best of my ability. As I am not present in the household on a daily basis, I must delegate some of this responsibility to you, as His Grace’s duly appointed guardian.”
“Me? With those two she-wolves prowling about, and my own responsibilities besides?” Edward blew out an exasperated sigh. “Mr Finch, I hardly think I am the best qualified to watch after the emotional needs of a wayward daughter.”
“Nevertheless,” Mr Finch said, leaning forward and setting down his empty cup, “the duty falls to you. Have arrangements been made for Miss Clara’s chaperone?”
“Yes, I saw your letter about Mrs Forsythe,” Edward said, trying to keep the dread out of his voice. “She is expected to arrive by tomorrow, and her accommodations have been made ready.”
“And her half-sisters, Lady Helena and Lady Judith…you have had a conversation with them about the Duke’s wishes?”
“If you can call it a conversation,” he scoffed. “I had scarcely finished reminding them of His Grace’s expectations before they were sniggering to one another about not having anything to do with the girl. Or…they planned to make Clara’s life a complete hell, perhaps. They seemed indecisive. Whatever the case, I fear it shall not be pleasant for their new sister. Even if they no longer live here, and have their own husbands and lives now, they can make Clara’s social situation considerably more difficult if they so choose.”
“What of the Duke himself? I hope he will not be poisoned by his sisters’ malice.”
With a sly half-smile, Edward answered, “I spoke with His Grace after Helena and Judith departed to take their malice elsewhere. I urged him to treat Miss Clara with kindness, and he seemed to understand as well as could be expected. We are fortunate that whatever goodness Duke Lionel failed to pass onto his older daughters was concentrated in his only son.”
Mr Finch gave a curt nod. “How fares His Grace otherwise?”
A sombre tone came into Edward’s voice now, thinking of how long and difficult the previous week had been for poor Christopher. “His Grace is…still having a hard time adjusting to the recent change in his circumstances. His father is only just buried, and he has not been Duke himself for three days yet. But I have confidence Christopher will come into himself soon. You know how children are.”
“As a matter of fact, I do not,” Mr Finch replied. Giving a quick look at his pocket watch, he rose from his seat and pulled down his jacket to straighten it. “It sounds as though you are doing everything in your power to keep this matter under control, Mr Morton.”
From Finch, that is virtually glowing praise, thought Edward. He rose as well and extended his hand. “Thank you, sir. I will continue to do as much or more for as long as I am able.”
With a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, Finch took Edward’s hand and shook it once. “I wish you good luck in this endeavour, Mr Morton. I suspect you shall need it.”
“Why, Mr Finch,” Edward smiled, “I did not realize you believed in luck.”
Mr Finch inclined his head ever so slightly at this characterization. “It is a poor lawyer who is so inattentive as to not believe in luck,” he said in his usual even tone, then took his leave without another word.
Shaking his head, Edward walked back to the chair at his writing desk. When he arrived there, however, the sight of the stack of paperwork was repugnant enough to him that instead, he turned back to collapse into the more comfortable armchair by the hearth.
Edward allowed himself a rare moment of idleness as he stared up at the painted ceiling, folding his hands behind his head. But that idleness lasted only two or three heartbeats before all of his problems came rushing back into his mind.
Helena and Judith, circling the house like vultures.
