London, November 1884

Henry observed with a measured gaze as the two gentlemen meticulously prepared the requisite documents for the inheritance claims, including what was undoubtedly a bequest penned by Andrew himself. His impatience simmered beneath his composed exterior; one would anticipate that all arrangements be made promptly, mindful not to squander his valuable time. Although his duties were still being gradually introduced, overseen by his uncle Giles—a man who had served initially as his father's personal secretary before assuming the same role for Andrew following the late duke's passing—Henry found himself with prolonged moments of relative idleness.

Lord Giles Clarke sat beside Henry in an armchair, his pipe emitting wisps of smoke as he maintained an air of casual nonchalance, as though time were of no concern to him. Having witnessed several bequests in his time, he appeared unperturbed by the current proceedings, perhaps anticipating this moment as inevitable, much like the rest of the family.

"Uncle," Henry began, breaking the quiet that settled in the room as the solicitors briefly departed, "I would like you to continue serving as my secretary."

"Honestly, I feel I'm too old to bear such a daunting responsibility. Exhausted, too," Giles replied, releasing a puff of dense, white smoke. "I'll assist you wholeheartedly in the initial months, of course, but you'd be better served by someone much younger than I."

Only God knew how much of the ducal direction was truly Andrew's, and how much was Giles' meticulous efforts to shield the world from discovering that the duke was mentally crippled. It was nothing short of miraculous that Andrew navigated numerous official functions without as much as a smudge upon his standing, a feat undoubtedly shouldered by his wife's substantial involvement in their successful endeavour.

The reminiscence of Caro made Henry smirk. Although he locked his door to prevent her further visits to his bedchamber, it didn't deter his own nocturnal endeavours that ended up with her waking up to his cock deep inside her pussy or at the height of her pleasure. She would always plead for him to stay in her bed, but he never did.

He would not abide her making the rules, visiting him at her whim, and getting her desires fulfilled so freely, not at all. It was he to rule over her, and he didn't hesitate to admit that he was only using her lust for his amusement. Caro served as a convenient intimate partner to him, much like Moira and Victoria, and darn it, he even found himself reconsidering his once-devoted affection for Lady Lucy Reed.

Henry was at most infatuated with Lucy, and it was unlikely that he would have remained faithful to her had he remained in England. Upon meeting Caro for the first time, her beauty intrigued him to the point where, in moments of intimacy with Lucy, he imagined tupping Caro, though he remained in denial that he harboured affections only for Lucy. His restraint in not seducing Caroline stemmed from her subsequent marriage to Andrew, making her off-limits and unattainable.

During his time abroad, the main reason that kept him from getting intimate with foreign women was that he had seen how his colleagues contracted various diseases as a result of doing so. It just wasn't worth the risk. To this day, he preferred to have several long-term sexual partners rather than picking up someone new every time the opportunity presented itself.

He met Miss Moira Haggarty when he was sitting at his favourite coffee house, observing the people who passed by. It was she who had the nerve to join him at his table, even to shake his hand and introduce herself, that hoyden of a woman. As it turned out, she had been spying on him for some time but only now mustered the courage to approach his table with an indecent proposition in mind, which she whispered decently in his ear.

They ended up in her bed shortly after.

It was much later that Moira introduced him to Lady Victoria Bellamy, who had been widowed at an early age, three-and-twenty or so was it. Henry could only guess that her marriage had been a source of some trauma, for she would never allow him to be as rough with her as he had been with Moira on occasion, and he could never take her from behind. In fact, he harboured a suspicion that Victoria was more into women than men in general, but since she was welcoming to him, he didn't make a fuss or give the matter a second thought.

Except for a few brief flings, all four of the women he has had in his intimate life as long-term partners, possessed light hair and eyes along with a slender frame, being the usual type he pursued. It was indeed flattering to have such beauties on his roster, and to be able to offer them his cock and attentions.

He appreciated and respected them enough to keep them company, but Henry would never again commit himself to a single woman; love was something he never saw nor felt in his cold-hearted household. The only person he dared to truly love was his brother Andrew, but behold now, how horribly he was let down by that idiot.

The sound of a cough brought him back to reality.

"Your Grace, please accept our sincere apologies for the delay," spoke one of the gentlemen as he took his seat across the noblemen, "but we needed to ensure that all necessary documents were prepared for this occasion, including the stipulation outlined by your late father, Lord Richard Clarke. It is with great sorrow that we acknowledge the sudden passing of Lord Andrew Clarke, and we extend our deepest condolences to you."

Henry's brow furrowed. "It has been two weeks already."

The solicitors couldn't ignore the prickly undertone, prompting one to commence reciting the bequeathal text in accordance with legal conditions, detailing all that had transferred from Andrew's possession to Henry's. Henry, barely attentive, would've yawned here and there if it wasn't considered rude. Giles, however, remained markedly attentive, even querying the solicitor on two specifics.

"And thus concludes the bequeath," announced the solicitor, neatly returning the final document to the stack.

"Splendid!" Henry exclaimed, rising from his seat. "Do you require my signature on any of the documents? I have pressing matters elsewhere and would appreciate expediting the process if I may."

"Ahem, Your Grace, there remains the matter of the stipulation," interjected the first solicitor.

"What stipulation?" Henry inquired, raising an eyebrow as he glanced towards his uncle.

Giles briefly furrowed his brows, then uncharacteristically rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Oh, dear God."

"What stipulation?" Henry pressed the solicitor once more, his tranquillity disrupted by Giles' demeanour, sensing a dreadful revelation in the air.

"Um," the solicitor began, feeling as though he sat upon a molten throne beneath the duke's penetrating gaze, "there exists an agreement between your late father, Lord Richard Clarke, and a certain Mr. Cornelius Hartley. It stipulates that in the unfortunate event of Lord Andrew Clarke's untimely demise without his heir, and should Your Grace remain unwed, you are obligated to marry Mr. Hartley's daughter, provided she too remains unmarried at the time of Lord Andrew Clarke's passing."

A heavy, yet deafening silence filled the room, while Henry's entire body tensed from the sudden surprise. He blinked slowly, disbelief etched across his features as he processed the words spoken by the legal representative.

"Surely, this is a jest?" Henry inquired with measured restraint, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I regret to inform you, Your Grace, that it is not," the solicitor responded, his tone unwavering.

"And what if I choose to disregard this... stipulation?"

The gentleman hesitated before responding, fully aware that his answer would not be well received by the stern aristocrat.

"I regret to inform you, sir, that Miss Hartley stands to receive a substantial settlement."

Henry struggled to maintain his composure, though his intense stare prompted the solicitor to disclose the exact figure. Initially, the duke's eyes widened in disbelief at the staggering amount. In the next instant, his clenched fist struck the table with a resounding thud, causing items to topple from its surface and the solicitors to recoil in fear for their lives.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed so loudly that Giles replied with a reproachful tone, "Henry! We are in public!"

"Your Grace, if you please—" one of the solicitors began, but his speech was quickly interrupted.

"Fuck the propriety!" Henry burst out. "Who in their right mind could conceive of such an absurd agreement?!"

"Two gentlemen whose faculties were greatly impaired by the copious amount of scotch they consumed that evening, in the company of a third—a reputable solicitor," Giles remarked, his tone composed. "Those fools thought it wouldn't even come to pass, only serving as a mere jest from their grave."

"A jest?!" Henry exclaimed, throwing his arms up in a gesture of profound displeasure. "Do you think I find cause for laughter and merriment now that the impossible has become reality, Giles?!"

The solicitors departed silently, affording the duke and his uncle the solitude of the office.

"Henry, my boy," Giles began, rising from his chair and placing a comforting hand on his nephew's shoulder. Henry swiftly shrugged off the gesture. "I nearly forgot the whole stipulation as it was read in Richard's bequest, considering you were absent during that period, either in Egypt or the Middle East."

Henry's breaths came in heavy, resembling a bull preparing for another charge at the matador.

"If my recollection serves me well, the Hartley woman must surely be in her thirties by now, and there is a strong likelihood she has been already wed and borne a cohort of children," Giles continued, endeavouring to bring comfort to his nephew's troubled thoughts. "I implore you not to draw hasty conclusions."

Henry scoffed lightly. "Was I not supposed to be married with a cohort of children by my age, or am I mistaken?" He stepped toward the windowsill and turned back to his uncle, his hands clasping his head in a sudden pang of ache. "Given my luck in recent days, she's likely ugly as sin and unmarried, ready to turn my life into utter ruin."

"You cannot possibly know that yet," his uncle replied calmly.

"Such a sum promised... What in blazing inferno, uncle?! If I decline to marry her, we stand to lose almost everything we possess! I can only hope that if she remains unmarried, she will choose to maintain her independence and refrain from getting her hands on me and my estate."

"In truth," sounded the voice of a solicitor who returned to the office upon sensing the duke's initial ire waning, "should Miss Hartley choose to disregard the stipulation, she would be required to pay an equivalent sum to Your Grace."

Henry chuckled nervously, while Giles inquired, "Are you aware of her current marital status?"

"I have instructed my associate to send a telegram to New York. I believe we should soon receive confirmation regarding Mr. Hartley's daughter's marital standing. Should she still remain unwed, the wedding must occur within three months following Lord Andrew Clarke's passing. Otherwise, both of you forfeit an equal sum designated for charitable distribution, per the wishes of Lord Richard Clarke and Mr. Cornelius Hartley."

Henry didn't utter a word further, but hastily grasped his hat and exited the office with swift steps. Giles struggled to keep pace with his indignant nephew, who strode with purpose and muttered curses under his breath. Throughout the carriage ride home, not a word passed Henry's lips still, his expression clouded with frustration.

Upon their arrival, Regina Clarke awaited them with anticipation. Upon learning of the ancient stipulation, she could only hiss, "Bloody fool, that Richard! What will society think of such a prominent duke, a relative of the Queen herself, marrying an American?!"

"We do not yet know if Henry is marrying the woman," remarked Giles wearily, pressing the bridge of his nose. "And you're already behaving as if it were the end of the world."

Henry poured himself a generous glass of scotch and downed it as swiftly. "I'd wager the idea doesn't seem so repulsive to you, mother, the thought that I should've married Caro."

Regina scoffed, waving her hand with indignation. "Oh, cease mentioning Caro altogether. One might think you're already tupping her if that is your desire."

Her son raised an eyebrow. "Would you truly be at peace knowing I'm involved with her?"

„That woman is past her prime, used and barren, utterly devoid of prospects. Given her age and her maddening disposition, I doubt anyone would willingly take her as a wife. Therefore, I do not give a shilling about your dealings with her, so long as you attend to your duties," she stated with an icy demeanour, her lips tightening to signal the end of the discussion.

Henry was deeply repelled by her words, but he remained silent, pouring himself another glass. As night descended, he found himself preoccupied with thoughts of Miss Hartley's situation. The impending marriage dimmed his hunger for intimacy, causing him to reconsider any visit to Caroline's chambers.

Whoever she might be, however, that bloody American woman might appear or whatever her past endeavours, he didn't care at all. Amid grappling with the loss of his brother and the burden of a ducal title, he found himself unprepared to entertain another person into his life so hastily.

And for once in his life he embraced a devout Christian faith, fervently praying to God that she was wedded and would never in her life set her foot upon the English soil.