Page 17 of His Scarred Duchess
Lord Farrell’s smile faltered slightly. “Of course, Your Grace. But I must stress the time-sensitive nature of this venture. Other investors are chomping at the bit, you see.”
Edmund’s eyes narrowed. He recognized the tactic for what it was—a clumsy attempt to pressure him into a hasty decision.
“I’m sure they are,” he replied coolly. “However, I prefer to make informed choices, not rash ones.”
A tense silence fell between them. Lord Farrell shifted in his seat, his earlier confidence evaporating under Edmund’s steady gaze. Finally, the man cleared his throat.
“Forgive me, Your Grace, but I feel I must speak plainly,” he said, his voice low. “There are… concerns among certain circles about entering into business arrangements with Holbrook.”
Edmund felt his jaw clench. “Concerns?” he repeated, his voice dangerously soft. “And what, pray tell, are the nature of these concerns?”
Lord Farrell had the grace to look uncomfortable. “Well, you see… your father’s reputation… His, ah, proclivities… they’ve cast a long shadow, I’m afraid.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop by several degrees. Edmund rose slowly to his feet, his imposing figure looming over the seated man.
“I am not my father, Lord Farrell,” he reminded him, each word precise and cold as ice. “My management of Holbrook has been beyond reproach. Or do you find fault with my stewardship?”
“N-no, of course not, Your Grace,” Lord Farrell stammered, shrinking back in his chair. “Your innovations in agriculture are most impressive. And your military service speaks volumes about your character. It’s just…”
“Just what?” Edmund pressed, his voice low and commanding.
Lord Farrell swallowed hard. “The gentlemen of London… they need more assurance. Your military service is commendable, certainly, but in matters of business… well, they need to see that you’re one of them. That you can be trusted.”
Edmund’s eyes flashed dangerously. “And how, precisely, am I to prove myself to these ‘gentlemen’?”
“Engage with theton,” Lord Farrell replied quickly. “Attend events, show interest in the Season. Perhaps even… consider marriage? A duchess would lend stability to your image—show that you’re committed to Holbrook’s future.”
For a moment, Edmund was too angry to speak. The sheer audacity of it all—to be judged not on his merits, but on the ghosts of his father’s misdeeds and his lack of a wife. It was infuriating.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and controlled, but vibrating with barely suppressed rage. “Lord Farrell, let me make something clear. I do not require the approval of London’s dandies to run my estate. Holbrook has thrived under my stewardship, and it will continue to do so, with or without your investment.”
He stepped closer to the man, his presence overwhelming in the small study. “I suggest you take a good, hard look at the figures I’ve provided. You’ll find that Holbrook’s productivity has increased threefold since I took over. Our tenants’ satisfaction is at an all-time high, and our projected growth over the next five years is nothing short of remarkable.”
Lord Farrell nodded frantically, his face pale. “Y-yes, Your Grace. Of course. I didn’t mean to imply?—”
“I believe this meeting is concluded,” Edmund cut him off, his tone brooking no argument. “Good day, my lord.”
As the flustered lord scrambled to gather his papers and beat a hasty retreat, Edmund turned to stare out the window, his hands clasped tightly behind his back.
The gardens of Holbrook stretched out before him, a testament to generations of care and cultivation. And now, it all rested on his shoulders.
The door clicked shut behind Lord Farrell, leaving Edmund alone with his thoughts. The anger still simmered beneath the surface, but now it was tinged with a weary frustration. How long would he have to fight against his father’s shadow? How many times would he have to prove himself, not just as a competent duke, but as a man worthy of trust and respect?
Unbidden, his mind drifted once more to the masquerade ball, to the mysterious woman who had captured his attention sothoroughly. For one brief, shining moment, he had been just a man—not a duke, not his father’s son, just Edmund.
He shook his head, annoyed with himself. This was no time for fantasy. He had real problems to solve, an estate to run. And yet…
A knock at the door interrupted his musings.
“Come,” he called, turning away from the window.
Daniel sauntered in, his usual grin faltering as he took in Edmund’s thunderous expression. “I take it the meeting didn’t go well?”
Edmund snorted. “That, my friend, is the understatement of the century.”
“Come now,” Daniel said, dropping into a nearby chair. “Surely it couldn’t have been that bad. What happened?”
Edmund paced the length of the study, his frustration evident in every step. “What happened? I’ll tell you what happened. Lord Farrell had the gall to suggest that I’m untrustworthy in business matters because of my father’s… indiscretions.”
