Chapter 20
“Are you to eat nothing at all for your breakfast, James?” the Duke said when he interrupted James at the breakfast table the morning after Hector Hanover had departed Sandford Hall.
“As has always been the case, I do not have any inclination for undercooked bacon. It has always been your want rather than mine, as is much else.”
“For goodness sake, you really must get yourself out of this. And I daresay you cannot eat this morning because you have spent the better part of three days with that damned fool friend of yours drinking yourself senseless. That is no way for an heir to the duchy to behave.”
“You think a little drinking makes a man degenerate, do you? Do you not think a man is better judged by his actions? By the way he is content to treat others around him? By what he is prepared to do to his own family?” James spat the words and reached out for the teapot.
The truth of the matter was that he had already eaten a good deal before his father had come into the room. Not the bacon, obviously, but there had been a generous helping of sausage, some eggs, and bread-and-butter.
Of course, he had only eaten so much to settle his stomach, for his father had been right about one thing; he truly had spent the better part of the last three days drinking himself senseless, and it had taken a toll on him in a way that it had never done when he was a younger man.
Still, he would not agree with his father on the matter. In fact, he would never agree with his father on any matter ever again.
“You will come to see the sense of it all one day.” His father stuffed an entire rasher of bacon into his mouth and chewed noisily.
The smacking of his lips, the dreadful mouth sounds, were turning James’ stomach. He had always put up with his father’s rough manners, always remained silent or only been mildly sarcastic. Well, there would be no more of that.
“Is it too much to ask for you to close your mouth when you chew?” James said angrily. “Really, is it any wonder that I do not have an appetite when I sit day in day out opposite you?”
“You must get all of this off your chest, my dear boy; I realize that. I have won, and you have lost, and you have taken it very badly. But there will be times in your life where you find yourself the victor; I am sure of it. But in the meantime, keep your opinions to yourself.”
“What sort of man would desire victory over his own flesh and blood? His own son? I know that you wanted money brought into the Duchy, but this is not about that, is it? As far as you are concerned, the greater part of your success has been using that pathetic little lapdog of yours to snuffle around in other people’s business. That is your victory. That is the thing which you like best out of all of this. So, do not tell me that I will thank you for it one day or that I will see the sense in it because I never shall. Because believe me, every time I think of this episode, I will only see a father whose greatest pleasure came from looking down on his own son, always claiming himself to be better, the victor, the winner.”
James pushed his teacup away and glared at his father. “And as far as keeping my opinions to myself, Father, that is what I have largely done these thirty years. But no more. I will speak whenever I have something to say. I will not hold back. I will not coat it in sugar; I will not make a joke of anything in your presence ever again. I will speak, and you will be sick of it.” James pushed his chair back noisily and began to stride towards the door.
“I do hope you will be in a better mood this evening, my dear boy, for Lady Felicia Trent and her father are coming for dinner. I thought it would do you good to be in society other than that of Hector Hanover. Perhaps it will tame this bad humour of yours, eh?” He chuckled as if the two of them were back on the friendly footing of the recent weeks.
But that would never be again, not as long as James lived. He would never forgive his father for what he had done, and if he ever saw an opportunity to return the pain, he would most certainly seize it.
His father might well have stopped him from marrying the woman he loved, but as he had told Hector, he would never force him into a marriage with any other woman.
He would do it bit by bit, but Hector would make sure that his father died thinking that there was no heir and never would be. And that was no more nor less than James wanted for himself now. He would have no wife; he had no need of one.
If he could not have Charlotte, he did not want anybody. And as far as ensuring that the Duchy of Sandford remained in the Harrington family in perpetuity, he could not care less.
He would run the Duchy into the ground when he became Duke if only for the pleasure of knowing that his father would be out there in the churchyard spinning in his grave.
“My mood will be neither here nor there, Father. I will not be taking dinner tonight. As I have said already, I have no appetite.” And with that, he walked out.
Charles Holt made his way into the side entrance, as was customary. Of course, it never failed to irritate him that a man of his standing was not allowed admittance through the front door. After all, he was not a tradesman; he was an attorney. He was one of the most successful attorneys in the county, albeit that he was only so because he had the wealthiest client.
And it was that very client who would never have supported the idea of his attorney making his entrance into Sandford Hall in the same way as he himself did.
As always, Charles could not tell if he hated or revered the Duke of Sandford, and so determined to concentrate his attention on the tremendous amount of money he had earned from the sterling work he had performed in the east of the county.
Not that he thought the money the greater part of his payment if truth were told. He would have done the whole thing for nothing more than the look on James Harrington’s face, although he would not mention that particular fact to the Duke. After all, the money would come in very handy indeed.
Charles had arrived at the hall rather early, as was often the case. He knew that the Duke would still be taking his breakfast, and so he made his way towards the study.
It was understood that Charles Holt could enter the Duke’s study unattended; he was his attorney after all, and he often did so as he waited for the man to be finished with some meal or other.
As Charles settled down in the chair across the desk from the Duke’s, he thought it little wonder that his master had become so fat. The man seemed to do nothing but eat, and it was not uncommon for Charles to have to wait an hour, or even two, for the glutton to finish his breakfast.
Still, he would make himself comfortable and wait. The door was a little ajar, and he would hear the Duke approaching from several feet away; certainly, time enough for him to stand and be ready to show due deference.
And so it was that when the door swung open, Charles Holt gasped in surprise. He had heard no footsteps approaching at all, nor had he heard the Duke’s laboured breathing as he generally did.
But it was not the Duke of Sandford who had burst into the room, and it was not the Duke of Sandford who had closed the door behind him and was now bearing down upon the attorney.
It was James Harrington.
“I know your part in all this, Holt,” James said, gripping Charles by his shirt and necktie all at once and lifting him easily out of his chair.
“My Lord …” Charles said in a high-pitched voice which gave away his fear and made him feel a little ashamed.
“Do not speak.” James Harrington had marched him back across the room and held him firmly up against the wall by his throat.
For all that Charles had always silently berated the heir to the Duchy as a fool and a pathetic excuse for a man, he had to admit at that moment that James Harrington appeared to be a force to be reckoned with.
Charles knew the young man was very well put together, but he had never fully appreciated his size. James was several inches taller than the attorney, not to mention several inches wider. Not fat, like his father, but large, lean, and muscular. And his grip, it turned out, was like steel.
Charles tried to draw in his breath, immediately realizing the constriction. He was still able to breathe, of course, just not as fully as he ordinarily did, and the sensation led him to panic.
He knew that he was shaking, and what was worse, he knew that James Harrington could feel it.
“I know what you did, Holt. I know your part in this, and I have no doubt that you took great delight in it all,” James said in a deep, level voice. “I have always wondered what it is about me that you so despise. Oh yes, I have seen it. But I no longer care what it is, Holt. Whatever it is you think I have done to offend you, whatever it is you think warrants what you have done to me, I am here to tell you that you are gravely mistaken. I am here to tell you that you will pay for what you have done.”
Charles opened his mouth to speak, but the look in those bright green eyes that were glaring at him with undisguised hatred persuaded him otherwise, and he remained silent.
For a few awful moments, Charles Holt thought that Lord Harrington was going to kill him, squeeze the life out of him there and then.
He had always thought James Harrington a feckless, pleasure-seeking fool, a man who did not know a moment’s seriousness in all his life. But now Charles realized that there was a side to the Duke’s son that he had never seen before. As glad as he had been to make the young man’s life a misery, to rejoice in the fact that he had been ripped away from a young woman he clearly loved, he had to admit that he had never imagined such a sudden attack.
Charles had assumed that the only consequence he would suffer would be that he would no longer be employed as the Duchy attorney once the old Duke had finally passed away.
But Charles had always assumed that that would happen anyway, and the idea of it had fueled his own spite.
Now he realized that he might be inches away from losing everything, life included, and he was beginning to wish that he had never been involved in any of it in the first place.
“Please, Sir, I beg you, do not kill me. Please do not kill me.” Charles could hear the quaver in his voice and felt the desperate little tears roll down his cheeks.
“You might very well enjoy the Duke’s protection here at Sandford, you miserable little worm, but if you outlive that man, I can assure you that protection ends, and I will make your life a misery. I want you to think on that every time you see me; every time you cross my path in this house, I want you to remember these words. I want you to wonder from here until the time comes exactly what it is I have planned for you. I want it to keep you awake night after night; do you understand me?” Lord Harrington’s nose was almost touching Charles’ own, and he could barely nod his comprehension.
“And I would think very carefully about throwing yourself into any little plan against me in the future. It is a long life, Holt, made even longer for me now that you have ruined it. So, you must always bear in mind that I am forever plotting against you now, and every ill you do me in the future will only make it worse.”
Charles could feel his windpipe opening as Lord Harrington’s grip on him lessened. But whilst it was his deepest instinct to free himself and run as quickly as he could, he did not want to risk the younger man’s wrath.
James Harrington looked truly murderous, even though he had made it clear that murder was not his intention on that day.
And so, Charles simply stood there, his mouth opening and closing noiselessly like a fish out of water as he tried to drink down the air he had thought he would never fully breathe again.
In the moments that he managed to control his breathing and reach up to dry his shame-filled tears, he felt gripped again as the Duke’s son held firm to the lapels of his tailcoat, swung him wildly, and flung him across the room before turning to leave.
Charles lay on the floor too terrified to move for some moments, fearing all the while that is adversary we would return and finish the job he had begun.
When he finally put himself to rights, Charles realized that he would certainly have bruises to inspect later on, not least around his neck.
He adjusted his necktie as best he could in hopes of covering any redness that might be visible, not that the Duke ever paid him close attention, but he had the distinct impression that he ought to keep the events of the last few minutes close to his chest for now.
When he finally heard the laboured breathing and lumbering footsteps approaching, Charles Holt straightened himself up ready to receive the Duke of Sandford. He would say nothing for now until he had worked out what he ought to do for the best.