Page 31 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke
With a mental shake, he tore his eyes away just as she glanced at him, and their eyes met for a brief moment.
This must be a marriage of convenience and nothing more. We have already strayed too close to it becoming something else entirely.
“I hear that you have suffered some reversals of fortune recently, Your Grace,” Silas Sutherland said as the soup course was served.
“I have?” Damien replied, sipping his soup.
“A fire at a pier in London which consumed a Fitzgerald warehouse. And another at a cotton mill in Manchester.”
Damien almost choked, then quickly recovered himself, dabbing at his chin with a napkin. “You are well informed of events happening so far away,” he murmured as coolly as he muster.
“I have my investments, which are meager compared to the wealth your family has accrued, but I keep track of events pertaining to those investments,” Sutherland said with the smoothness of a crawling snake.
“You have invested in my family?”
“Some small stake in cotton and textiles. After the war particularly, it seemed an industry due for an increase in value, and Fitzgerald is a mark of money.”
Damien nodded then. “I have indeed had my share of bad luck. Two fires in as many months must be counted as ill fortune,and yet cotton is an extremely flammable material, as is cloth, so perhaps we should not be so surprised. I hope my reversal of fortune does not inconvenience you as an investor.”
“What losses I have suffered have been passed on to my tenants, I assure you,” Sutherland chuckled.
His eyes slid over the Montrose family, briefly resting on Duncan. Damien noticed that before he looked back to his soup, Sutherland's oily gaze had swept across Josie, sweeping and lingering.
“How unfortunate for your tenants. It hardly seems fair that they should suffer for your bad decisions,” Emma said, pushing her half-finished plate aside.
“Alas, that is the way of the world. They would not be my tenants had they worked as hard or displayed as much aptitude as I did. I was not born with wealth. I earned my title through hard work, sufficient to catch the eye of the Regent,” Sutherland declared.
“Had you been born a nobleman, you might have learned of the duty a gentleman has to those who rely on his wealth,” Damien murmured, placing down his bowl.
“Alas, I was not,” Sutherland said with a thin smile.
Damien could almost feel Emma's ire. Her hands clasped in her lap, she wrung her napkin as though she imagined it to be someone's throat. A glance at Duncan showed him morefury, but kept under tight control. Josie and Rosie looked uncomfortable and confused.
Is this the power he holds over them? Are they tenants on land owned by this odious reptile?
Damien resolved to steer the conversation away from topics that Sutherland could use as a club over the heads of the Montrose’s. The dinner passed in inconsequential talk, which Damien attempted to keep light and breezy, wanting to dispel the atmosphere of anger and shame. By the end of it, he loathed Sir Silas Sutherland even more somehow. As the men rose to take their leave of the women, Damien spoke to Duncan.
“Eastwick, I wonder if I might prevail upon you for a moment of your time in private. A sensitive matter I must discuss.”
“Of course, Your Grace. Sir Silas, perhaps this would be an opportune moment for us to say goodnight,” Duncan spoke.
“Not a bit of it, old man. I am enjoying myself immensely. I will stay the night if that is acceptable to you, which of course it will be, impeccable host that you are.”
Duncan smiled thinly, a smile forced and pained.
“But of course, Sir Silas, of course. Make yourself at home.”
“Oh, but I already am. I always feel at home here at Sedgewick... apologies, I meanMontrose Hall,” Sutherland said slickly.
Damien felt the urge to throttle him and clasped his hands behind his back to avoid doing just that.
“Yes... well... Your Grace, if you would follow me,” Duncan chuckled awkwardly.
He led Damien back to the study, where the men convened for brandy before dinner.
“I noted your son's absence this evening. I hope for his health, it is nothing serious,” Damien said by way of polite conversation.
“Yes, unwell, but nothing serious,” Duncan echoed, “he rests in London.”
