Discovering the Devil

S e v e n

Harry wouldn't try and have this argument any longer, he couldn't. He might just die from frustration. "I want it, Father. Every diary, every letter, every portrait. That was the deal."

The duke regarded his son for several exasperated seconds. "The deal was not everything in return for attending one ball. I would give you something in exchange for a job complete. Would you consider that a job well done?"

Rage roared in Harry's ears so loudly it drowned out his father's next words. Anger's meaty strings thrummed his heart to an erratic speed, and for a split second, Harry wondered if he should grant his father the same blow Solomon had gifted him. Instead, he offered a bitter smile. "You can't be serious."

"I'll grant you another portrait," his father conceded. "But you have to do better in the future."

Harry turned away to order his carriage. He couldn't deal with this anymore. On the carriage ride home, Harry couldn't help but reflect on the complete mess Charlotte had left him. First the vicar's filthy lies—now this? His reputation had always been soiled, but this was different. How did you wash out the blemish of a damsel's cries? Harry pressed a hand against the cold of the glass as he stared despairingly out the window. He wondered if he'd lose any more of the servants he so desperately needed once news of the night circled Milford. What housekeeper could he hire now? His mind flitted to the day Miss Redwood had come to his study.

One of these days, you're going to realize my request was a gift from God.

Harry was not a man of regrets. Every bad thing that had happened in his life wasn't due to any choices on his part. He didn't even regret defending himself against Arthur with the kitchen silver. One day, he and Arthur would've killed each other, it was just a matter of when. But when he thought about Miss Redwood's outrageous request, he felt the slightest pang of remorse. If he'd let the chit run his house all those weeks ago, there wouldn't have been a ball to go to. There wouldn't have been an evil step-sister creating a scene. Only a bundle of entitlement to contend with every morning. Harry wriggled his nose at the thought of Miss Redwood floating around Hawthorne Castle issuing commands in that buttery voice he'd been so quick to dislike.

No, Harry told himself as the carriage finally pulled into the castle's drive, he'd been right to reject her request. The whole thing had been rather ridiculous. Usually, his final thoughts on a decision were neat and solid. But this last idea about the duchess-to-be was frayed and flimsy with the echoes of what-if in its many holes. "Ridiculous," Harry muttered to himself as he shed his coat inside. He swore his valet gave him a furtive look and Harry scowled back. He waved him off the rest of the night and attended to his nightlies himself. Even as he tried to sleep she haunted him, those perfect lips pinched in indignant fury, those fiery brown eyes.

I'm just the answer to a problem. And when you're unable to solve this problem, you're going to wish you'd said yes.

"Ridiculous," Harry muttered again, this time against his pillow. He was being ridiculous.

🌑

PENELOPE wished they would stop talking about it. She'd prefer to talk about something as banal as the weather, or the economy, or even her stupid wedding. But this ring-around the same blasted subject was exhausting. Everyone had even started to reuse the same lines and while Penelope hoped they'd notice, she knew they wouldn't.

Violet— Dreadful, dreadful, dreadful! I'm so glad there's no one like that in Burberry.

Diana— What kind of man pushes a young woman? No wonder the duke disowned him.

Solomon— He's a monster. And always—How did he get invited again?

Diana always answered that it was a favor to the Duke of Fordham and Solomon always came back with the same question.