Finch looked profoundly uncomfortable. Your grace, I apologize for the unannounced arrival. Lord Reginald insisted on accompanying me for the annual review of the estate's conditions. As the named secondary beneficiary, as the man who is going to own this pile of stones in 4 months, Reginald interrupted, stepping closer to Nathaniel. He looked his cousin up and down, lingering pointedly on the scarred flesh.
Let us not play games, Finch. I came to see the rot for myself, though it seems you hired a competent maid, Nathaniel, even if she is wearing a duchess's dress. Nathaniel lunged. It was a terrifying, explosive movement. In a fraction of a second, Nathaniel had Reginald by the lapels of his expensive coat, lifting the man until his polished boots left the floor.
Reginald gasped, his mocking smile dissolving into sheer primal panic. Nathaniel, stop, I commanded. My voice was not loud, but it cut through the air like a whip. Nathaniel froze. His massive hands trembled against Reginald's chest.
The unscarred half of his face was dark with a murderous rage. "He is a vulture, Nathaniel," I said softly, stepping closer. I placed my hand over one of his rigid fists. Do not give him the satisfaction of a broken jaw. He will only use it to claim you are violently unstable.
Drop him. For a long, agonizing second, I thought he wouldn't listen. The years of internalized hatred and defensive anger were boiling over. But then he looked at me. He looked at my hand on his.
With a sound of profound disgust, Nathaniel opened his hands. Reginald crashed to the floor, gasping for breath, scrambling backward like a cornered rat. "Mr. Finch," I said, turning my back on Reginald to face the trembling solicitor. "We have medical documentation regarding the pregnancy signed by Dr. Harrison of York. We have ledgers proving the estate has turned a 20% profit this quarter.
My husband has fulfilled every term of the late Duke's will. You will review the documents, sign the affidavit, and then you will take this trash back to London. We confined the business to the library. Reginald refused to leave, sitting in the corner with a glass of our best brandy, watching us with a venomous resentment. He had banked his entire financial future on Nathaniel's failure.
Seeing the meticulous ledgers, the proof of the repaired tenant farms, and the undeniable medical certificate of my pregnancy was destroying him in real time. The child could be a girl," Reginald sneered suddenly from his armchair, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "The entailment is specific, Finch. It must be a male heir to secure the line permanently. If she births a daughter, the clock merely resets.
The will stipulates a legitimate child to secure the current decades holding. Mr. Finch corrected nervously, adjusting his spectacles. Gender is immaterial to this specific clause, Lord Reginald. His grace has met the conditions. It's a trick.
Reginald stood up, his face flushed with panic and brandy. He pointed a trembling finger at Nathaniel, who was standing quietly by the massive stone hearth. Look at him. He hasn't left these moors in half a decade. He's a monster.