“It’s money, isn’t it,” Gabriel said flatly. As he did, he looked around the decadent office of his lawyer, noting the polished marble floor, the expensive paintings, the silk cushions that saton every surface. “It looks to my eyes that you are doing quite well as is.”
“This has nothing to do with money.”
“Doubtful,” Gabriel scoffed. “I know your type. It is always to do with money. So, come on, how much? Let us not waste time. Give me a number.”
Gabriel did not mean to be so rude to Mr. Allen. Truly, he wasn’t ordinarily like this. The way Gabriel acted, as ungracious as it was, had everything to do with the mood that always came when speaking about his ‘duties.’
Gabriel was the Duke of Rothbury, a title he inherited when his father passed away three years earlier. It was a title that as a child, Gabriel had coveted and looked forward to inheriting, because he had believed at the time that such things were not only his right, but deserved by him. He equated being a duke with the highest of honors that required the highest levels of respect.
His father had trained that out of him.
Not on purpose. His father didn’t bring shame to his title or anything like that. It was more to do with Gabriel’s opinion of his father, the way he was raised, and the very real fact that he now associated being a duke with his father and thus had little care for what many considered one of the most coveted positions in all the land.
Gabriel wanted nothing to do with it. He did not care about expectation. He did not waste time with propriety and decorum. He found it all false and perverse and was it not for comfort that came with being a duke, he doubted he would care one way or another about what happened to him and his title.
Hence Mr. Allen and his role. While Mr. Allen worked to keep his fortune bountiful and his businesses booming, Gabriel was able to live his life how he wished it. And what was even better than that, nobody alive could tell him what to do.
Even if they tried, I would not care. Such is the way I have chosen to live my life. Free of regrets and thus free of judgement. If only my father could see me now…
“As I said…” Mr. Allen cleared his throat; it was thick sounding, likely caused by Mr. Allen’s obsession with pipe smoking. “This has nothing to do with… I did not ask you to see me today because I wished for a pay raise.”
“How very good of you.”
“Do you remember what we spoke of when your father passed?” Mr. Allen pivoted. He was far older than Gabriel, at least sixty, with a bald head and a thick grey mustache that hung loosely down the sides of his mouth. “The conversation that we had…”
Gabriel frowned. “Three years, Mr. Allen, and you might have to remind me.”
“It concerned your inheritance…” He cleared his throat again. “And the precarious nature of your father’s last will and testament.”
That had Gabriel sitting up. “Yes… and if I recall correctly, you assured me that you would take care of it.”
“I promised that I would try,” Mr. Allen corrected. “Just as I made sure to point out that the chances of me being able to do anything was slim. Less than slim. I told you this, and you said –”
“I believe I said that you should do whatever it takes. No matter the cost.” Gabriel was no longer lounging back, speaking freely, and wondering secretly when this little meeting would be over. He was sitting upright now, glaring in warning at Mr. Allen, while doing his best to ignore the pit that had suddenly opened in his stomach.
“It is not about cost. Money has nothing to do with –”
“I wasn’t speaking of money,” Gabriel snapped. “I was speaking of… anything at all! You’re the damn lawyer! This is supposed to be what you do. What I pay you for. And I was assured that as my lawyer, you would find a way to nullify this little issue as only you could do.”
Mr. Allen looked at him flatly, apparently not pleased with the accusations. “For three years I have worked tirelessly for you. For three years I have seen your wealth grow, your assetsmultiply, and your inheritance secured in ways that I should be lauded for.”
“Is that what you require? Praise?”
“What I require is some understanding,” Mr. Allen said. “I warned you, Your Grace. Three years ago, I warned you of what was likely going to happen. And for the past six months, when I realized that I could not stop it, I have written to you, sent for you, begged for you to –”
“Yes, yes,” Gabriel waved him down. “You have made your point.”
“There is nothing to be done.” Mr. Allen folded his hands on the table and looked pointedly at Gabriel. “Your father’s will and testament are ironclad and three years later, his final wish will either be fulfilled, or I am sorry to say…” Mr. Allen cleared his throat. “Or you will lose everything.”
“Everything?”
“Save your title, of course. That cannot be taken. But your wealth, your land, your home…” Mr. Allen’s features softened. “There is nothing more I can do, Your Grace. Sadly, your future now rests in your hands. Only you can save it from damnation.”
Gabriel winced at that final word… and he squirmed where he sat as he felt the pit in his stomach widen.
He had known this day was coming. For three years, he had been expecting it. Oh sure, he had made himself believe that Mr. Allen might somehow save him, that he would find a way out, or that maybe everyone would just somehow forget…
Laughable, I know. My father, ever the bastard, was sure to not just drive the knife in before he died, but to do so in a way that if I tried to remove it, I would bleed out all over the floor. Well done, old man, well done…
