“It will be scheduled whenever the Crown decides it will be scheduled,” VanDeVere cut in smoothly.“And the Crown has begun to notice that the House is…restless.”
Nicholas’s throat tightened.That, at least, was true.
VanDeVere stopped behind his chair—close enough that Nicholas could feel him, like a shadow leaning over his shoulder.“Which is another reason why I sent for you.”
Nicholas’s pulse ticked once, hard.
Here it comes.
“You will vote as instructed, of course,” VanDeVere said.
“Of course.”Nicholas kept his gaze forward.Obedience would cost him some pride—and invite a few whispers.Defiance would cost him the machinery that made votes possible.So he let his father hear what he wanted to hear, and he tucked the larger play safely out of sight.
VanDeVere’s hand rested briefly on the back of Nicholas’s chair, a touch light enough to be mistaken for affection if one did not know better.
It was not affection.
It was ownership.
“The reform bill is a contagion,” VanDeVere continued, voice still calm.“It begins with trade restrictions and ends with men who smell of coal demanding a seat in Parliament.”
Nicholas said nothing.
VanDeVere moved away again, circling, the way he always did when he wanted a man to feel hunted without ever being chased.
“You have been playing the center,” VanDeVere said.“Useful.Clever.But in this case, it has made some people uncertain of you.”
Nicholas’s spine went rigid.
“There are times,” his father’s eyes narrowed, “when uncertainty can be mistaken for weakness, Nicholas.”
Nicholas forced his voice to remain even.“Youwantme to tip my hand?”
“Not entirely.”His father’s smile was tight as always.“But it will not hurt to let your peers know how you intend to vote.In this instance, it’s not helpful to be vague.”
Nicholas nodded once.A single, obedient movement.Inside, something in him pressed back—small, resentful, dangerously alive.But he had never been foolish enough to let that part of himself speak in this room.Such an irony that his father didn’t even realize how well he’d taught him to be vague.“I understand.”
VanDeVere leaned a hip against the desk.“Winston also made it clear that your marriage to his daughter is no longer optional.”
Nicholas’s fingers tightened around the brandy glass again.He remained silent.He did not relish talking about Lady Beatrix with his father.She was no more than a political chess piece to him.
VanDeVere’s voice lowered, turning almost conversational.“Do you want her?”
Nicholas held his father’s gaze and chose the safest answer.“Yes.”
It was not a lie.It was simply…incomplete.
VanDeVere nodded, as if they were discussing the purchase of a horse.“Then you will have her.But you will have her correctly.”
Nicholas’s jaw clenched.What the bloody hell did that mean?“Correctly?”
“You will court her publicly,” VanDeVere said.“You will be seen.You will be admired.You will look like Winston’s heir in all but title.You’re fortunate Winston has changed his mind on the matter.”
Nicholas forced his breathing to stay steady.“I’m fairly certain Lady Beatrix isn’t eager for the match.”
VanDeVere’s eyes flicked, quick as a blade.He scoffed.“Women don’t refuse.Not when their fathers stop indulging them.”
Nicholas’s mouth tightened.His father was as predictable as he was awful.
