The settlement dated back to Draven’s great-grandfather, who had wanted to keep the Norham estates intact while still providing for his younger son’s branch of the family. Rather than divide the entailed estates between his two sons, he established an annuity of eight thousand pounds for whoever stood next in succession to the dukedom.
The provision was not discretionary and carried no condition concerning the recipient’s conduct. It was payable for as long as the man remained heir presumptive, ending only upon his succession or death.
With Draven unmarried and without a legitimate heir, Simon currently occupied that position. Whatever Draven thought of his cousin’s conduct, the settlement gave him no right to withhold the annuity. It might have been a small clause in the agreement but it was one Simon would no doubt cling onto.
"He has squandered nearly everything he has ever received." There was no love lost between him and his cousin. They never got along as children and in their adulthood, Simon found ways to infuriate him, the only thing he truly excelled at. "He must have knocked his senses loose if he believes I will simply give in because he made a few lowly threats. He will not get a dime out of me."
Draven suffered the presence of hapless louts on the daily and had learned how best to handle them the way they deserved.
"Unfortunately, Your Grace, the law and the agreement your great grandfather signed are not particularly interested in whether you find his behavior objectionable."
Nicholas lowered his glass to hide a smile.
He had always possessed the unfortunate habit of laughing at the most inappropriate moments.
It had earned him no small number of punishments from his tutors during his childhood, and despite his best efforts, it was a habit he had never managed to banish. Now, as he stared at the unforgiving scowl etched across Draven’s face, he felt the familiar urge threatening to resurface.
Draven shot him a warning look before returning his attention to Harcourt.
"So I am expected to continue giving him eight thousand pounds a year so that he can throw it away at card tables?"
"I did not say that I found the arrangement sensible." Harcourt said, heaving a tired sigh. "I merely implied that your cousin’s actions may compel you to honor the agreement."
Draven got to his feet and walked toward the fireplace. From his chest rose an insurmountable urge to hit something, preferably Simon’s annoying face.
The anger building inside him was not directed entirely at his cousin. That would have been too simple. What infuriated him was the position in which he had been placed.
He had tried to protect the family name and fortune from being drained by one man’s recklessness, only to discover that the same family settlement designed to preserve a branch of their clan now gave Simon a weapon against him.
As the current duke, he could not simply tear up the document because he disliked the person benefiting from it. And Simon knew it.
"Can I challenge it?" Draven asked. He would make sure to exhaust every other option available to him before he would ever consider giving in.
Harcourt’s brief pause was answer enough.
"You can contest it," he said eventually. "Whether I would advise you to do so is another matter. The settlement is old, properly executed, and quite explicit regarding the annuity. Lord Simon’s position is stronger than I would prefer it to be. We could search for some technical defect or loophole in the agreement, but I would not advise you to rely upon finding one."
"And if we fail?"
"You would have spent a considerable amount of money on litigation, drawn public attention to a family dispute, and potentially given Lord Simon an even stronger position."
Draven’s lips flattened in displeasure. The thought of it was intolerable.
"Then what would you have me do?" Draven watched a look come over his solicitor’s face and he recognized the expression immediately.
He had seen it before.
It was the same expression Harcourt wore whenever he was preparing to suggest something he already knew Draven would hate.
"No," Draven pointed at him in warning.
Harcourt blinked in confusion. "But your Grace, I have not said anything yet."
"I know what you will say, so there is no need to say it aloud."
Harcourt shrugged. "Very well. But I still wish to be direct. That is why you pay me, is it not? The simplest solution would be to alter the succession. If you were married and had a legitimate son, Lord Simon would cease to be heir presumptive. And with that change in the succession, he would be entitled to nothing."
Draven had been hearing some variation of the same argument for years. His unmarried state had always been treated by others as a temporary inconvenience that would eventually have to be corrected.
Relatives regarded it as a oddity. His advisers regarded it as a succession problem. Society regarded it as an opportunity to speculate about which ambitious young woman might eventually become Duchess of Norham.
He had regarded it as none of their concern.
Until now.
Harcourt, mistaking his silence for contemplation, continued.
"Your Grace. You are wealthy, titled, and—if I may be permitted to say so—considered a very eligible gentleman. I dare say the moment you announce your intention to wed, you will be swarmed by eager ladies."
Nicholas chuckled, finally losing the battle with himself.
Harcourt frowned at him. "I fail to see what is amusing, my lord. The duke is in a crisis."
"Nothing is funny, old chap. Nothing at all." But Nicholas’ tone said otherwise. "Please continue. I am fascinated by the discovery that Draven possesses qualities attractive to women. They tend to desire more from a husband than a handsome marble statue that speaks on occasion."
Draven shot him another warning look, this one severe enough to silence a lesser man.
Nicholas merely smirked, looking supremely pleased with himself, like the cat that ate the cream.
Harcourt cleared his throat to get their attention.
"There would be no shortage of marriage-minded women willing to consider the match. Any number of families would regard an alliance with Norham as highly advantageous."
"I am three-and-thirty, Mr. Harcourt. Do you expect me to begin courting fresh-faced debutantes?"
"I would hope not. We wouldn’t want you robbing the cradle." Nicholas snickered and Harcourt’s lips twitched, both amused at Draven’s expense.
Draven gave both men a look of profound displeasure. "Are the two of you finished?"
"Not remotely," Nicholas replied.
Despite himself, Draven felt some of the tension ease. Only for a moment. Because beneath the amusement remained the uncomfortable reality that Harcourt’s suggestion was not entirely without merit.
Simon had found a way to force the matter.
Draven could fight him and risk a public dispute, or he could continue paying him and watch thousands a year disappear into the hands of a man who had already demonstrated that he could not be trusted with anything.
And if he allowed this to go on, Simon might grow bolder in the future and demand for more.
Or he could do what everyone had been telling him to do for years.
Marry.
Produce an heir.
End Simon’s claim.
Draven hated how practical the solution was. His reluctance to marry was not because he disliked the idea of someday taking a wife.
He had simply always assumed that, when the time came, marriage would be a choice rather than an obligation. A necessity. He imagined choosing a woman he genuinely cared for and respected, someone with whom he could willingly spend the rest of his life.
Someone like... He banished the thought before it could form and sink its roots deeper into him.
"I will delay any response to Lord Simon’s counsel until you have decided how you wish to proceed." Harcourt said, ready to be on his way. He was nearly at the door when he paused. Turning, he said, "Your Grace. I truly would advise you to consider the matter seriously. If Lord Simon proceeds, this may become considerably more unpleasant than it needs to be."
"I am aware," was the only form of response Draven could muster up.
Seeing that he wouldn’t get more out of him, Harcourt bowed and left. The door closed behind him.
Draven returned to his chair and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. The evening had begun with a smuggling investigation and ended with his solicitor advising him to find a wife.
Nicholas leaned back and studied him. Only he could look so jolly when Draven was in an awful mood.
"You know," he said after a moment, "there are worse fates than becoming a husband."
"Name one." Draven didn’t know why he was even indulging his friends’ antics.
"Becoming your wife and having to deal with your peevishness. That is a worse fate, I dare say. And to your future duchess, heaven help her. She will certainly need it."
Draven’s scowl made another appearance. "Devil take you." He could already feel a headache coming on. "I question myself for keeping you around when all you do is vex me."