Page 62 of The Duke and the Wrong Bride

“Your Grace,” Mr. Jones, Henry’s solicitor, pressed, careful not to raise his voice because it was still a duke he was speaking with, even if that duke wasn’t listening. “Please, if you will just listen for a moment.”

“Here, let me—” Oliver leaned over and clicked his fingers in front of Henry’s face. Once. Twice. A third time, followed by a gentle nudge, and Henry came back to himself.

“W-what?” Henry gave his head a shake, looking at his friend, who grinned broadly. “What are you doing?”

“Getting your attention, clearly. You’re lucky I didn’t slap you.”

“And if you had, I’d have dragged you outside and beaten you into the pavement.”

“If you think you could.”

“Do not test me. I am not in the mood.”

“You’re not in the room either,” Oliver pointed out.

Henry opened his mouth to rebuke him, but Oliver raised an eyebrow at him, folded his arms, a simple expression paired with the action that reminded Henry that his friend made a good point.

“I suppose you’re right.” Henry grimaced. “I was… distracted.”

“I’ll say.”

“Gentlemen, please,” Mr. Jones said, clearing his throat. “If we can get back to the matter at hand?”

“Right, sorry.” Henry turned back to face his solicitor, forcing all his attention onto the little man, burying his other thoughts as deep as they would go because now was not the time. “Please, continue.”

“Good.” Mr. Jones nodded once. “Now, as I was saying, we’re at a crossroads at the moment, and if we’re going to get through this, we need to tread lightly…”

This was the last place Henry wanted to be. If he had his way, he would be home right now, dealing with his wife. Charlotte had been acting strangely the last two days, and he was determined to find out why.

At his best guess, she was angry with him for some reason. But it was a strange sort of anger, one that saw her treat him with disinterest rather than wrath. Wrath, he could handle. Wrath, he welcomed. But disquiet and apathy? He was at a loss to explain it, not to mention know what to do about it.

His other theory, one that was even worse than the first, was that she was bored with him, for that was how it seemed. Ever since the garden party at Miss Jennings’ home, she had avoided Henry like the plague. When he entered the room, she left it. When he went to bed, she pretended to be asleep. When he tried to speak with her, she cut the conversation short. Was it possible that the fire was gone? It felt unlikely, but her actions suggested otherwise.

It was the last thing that Henry wished to be thinking of. He needed to concentrate. He needed to pay attention and think. But his wife, this marriage of his, had taken over his mind and his soul in ways he could have never imagined, and now his stomach twisted, and his heart ached because he feared that everything was about to change. For the worst, for that matter.

“… but I think there is a way out of it,” Mr. Jones finished with a triumphant smile.

Henry, having not been paying attention again, gave his head a shake and grimaced. “A way out of it?” he asked casually. “Meaning?”

“You weren’t listening, were you?” Oliver sighed.

“I was!” Henry cried. “I just didn’t completely understand, is all.”

Mr. Jones was careful not to look too disrespectful. “As I was saying,” he repeated, his tone sharp, “your tenants are starting to panic. For whatever reason, they believe that you’re out of money, and soon, you’re going to start selling your land out from underneath them, rendering many of them without a home and a job.”

“But I have told them already, that’s not the case.”

“As have I. As have my informants. But these rumors, Your Grace, they’ve taken hold. You’re seen as a bad bet, it seems.”

Henry groaned and rubbed his eyes because a headache was starting to set in. These rumors… was there no end to them?! Yes, once upon a time, there might have been some truth to them. A rake who went out drinking and gambling at all hours of the night, who cared more for who he shared his bed with than for those who depended on him for their livelihood. But that was in the past! A fact that he had hoped his dukedom and marriage would prove. Clearly, that was not the case.

“And it doesn’t help that there is an unknown buyer who insists that he has made a deal with you to do exactly as everyone fears.”

“And we don’t know who this is?” Oliver questioned. “This buyer?”

“I’ve been looking into it,” Mr. Jones said. “But whoever he is, he’s doing a good job keeping his name hidden.”

“He’s lying,” Henry grumbled.

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