“I do not understand, Your Grace. I am not sure we have any contractual matters. We were close Acquaintances with your father, but I‘ve never had the pleasure of being formally introduced to you.”
“It is exactly a contract between you and my father that I am here to talk about,” the Duke said.
Arabella tried to analyse the tone of his voice rather than the words he delivered in that deep, gravelly voice that seemed to stem from his chest. But it was as if the Duke had gone to great lengths to be able to deliver words that made absolute logical reason, but carried none of the emotional weight.
“A contract between your father and me, you say?” Oswald was also surprised to hear. “I am not familiar with something like this either. We were friends, but we were never business partners.”
The Duke seemed annoyed as he reached into his pocket. He procured a document and handed it to the Viscount. Then he calmly took off his gloves and stood still while Arabella’s father was reading the document.
“Oh,” Oswald chuckled. “I haven‘t seen that one in years.”
Oswald looked down at the document as if reminiscing about simpler times. Arabella was now curious to hear what all this document was that connected a Duke with her father.
“Where did you find this?” Oswald asked. “I was supposed to have a copy too, but lost it many years ago.”
“I am here to enforce the parameters of this contract,” the Duke delivered coldly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I am here to claim what you have signed up for,” the Duke said, bothered that he had to repeat himself.
Oswald broke down laughing, his whole body shaking, head thrown back.
“It is a very well laid prank, Your Grace,” Oswalt kept laughing. “My compliments.”
Arabella studied the Duke and realised that he was not finding the situation entertaining as her father did. His look said that he was earnestly there to deal with the contract.
“I can assure you, Lord Lambourne,” the Duke's voice went darker if that was even possible, “I am not jesting. Should we discuss the details of the contract somewhere else?”
The heavy and imperative tone in the Duke’s voice must have sobered up the Viscount because now she was looking at the younger man with a deep frown.
“I do not seem to understand, Your Grace,” Oswald said. “What is there to discuss?”
The Duke lowered his chin and glared at the older man, seriously frustrated that he had to explain himself. Arabella looked from her father to the Duke and then to Bridget and realised that no one was really on the same page.
“You see your signature at the lower part of this document, don’t you, Lord Lambourne?”
“Clear as day, and if I concentrate hard enough, I might even remember the day we signed this with your father.”
“Well then, I don‘t see where the confusion is.”
“The confusion is that this is a contract that states that Gerald Warren, that is you by the way, can marry either of my daughters.”
If there was a human manifestation of how ice would look, then there would be none better than the Duke right at that moment. The exact opposite was happening to Arabella. She looked at her father, tried to grasp what had just come out of his mouth, and felt a burn on her chest as the words slowly sank in. Her heart thumped in her chest, and a tingling feeling signaling danger crept up her spine.
“Lord Lambourne, I fail to see why you are repeating the content of the contract to me. It seems that the one being confused is you.”
“I am not confused about what is written in the contract, Your Grace. I am simply trying to understand if you are misinterpreting the purpose of the contract.”
“It is quite irritating that we have to go in circles. The contract says that I can marry either of your daughters. I am suggesting we move to the study to discuss the matter.”
“When your father and I signed that contract, you were eleven years old, and my youngest was two years old.”
The Duke merely blinked at the information. Arabella felt her jaw drop. What was taking place in her drawing room was beyond any comprehension. She couldn’t tell if the Duke was jesting or, and that was the worst scenario, he was being serious.
“The fact remains,” the Duke hissed, openly irritated, “that you signed the contract, and now I have come to collect.”
“It was a jest,” Oswald insisted. “A foolish, brandy-soaked jest between old friends. Ill-considered, yes, but a jest nonetheless.”
