Derrick Williams stomped down the hall, the noise of his footsteps only mildly muted by the thick rug. Clenching his hands into tight fists barely kept him from ripping the portrait of his just departed father from the wall and hurling it to the floor.

How good it might feel to smash the ornate frame into tiny shards. He could almost see the paint flake off of the late Duke of Chesterton's bulbous nose as he ground the heel of his best riding boot on the face of the man who reluctantly raised him. He glared at the painting, contemplating numerous ways to reduce the canvas to its individual threads; his favorite idea included scattering the bits around the property so the birds could build nests with them. Such treatment of the dead man's likeness seemed fair, as in life he had set in motion the destruction of Derrick's plans for the future with equally exhaustive effort.

All his life, Derrick had been trained to perform his duties well. He learned his numbers looking at his father's ledgers, and when he wasn't studying with his tutors, he followed the Duke of Chesterton as he tended to the estate. Later he had been the sole witness to the man's deep abiding grief for his wife. In the aftermath of drinking and depression, Derrick swore never to fall in love or get married; any pain so severe as to make a man forget his dignity should surely be avoided at all costs. He resolved to keep any interactions with women short and formal as much as possible.

Upon arriving at the solicitor's office, he anticipated immediately being addressed as Duke Chesterton, but the lawyer simply motioned him to a chair near his desk. Only a few other people occupied the large office; this was not surprising, given his father's aloof attitude toward most everyone, and the poisonous pen he welded against anyone who slighted him. Derrick sat stiffly on the edge of the uncomfortable chair, icy tendrils of foreboding caressing his mind.

Given his father's assets, Derrick thought the reading would be long and detailed. His father had been precise about the value of things, both people and property. He used every opportunity to inform others of his assessments, and he would not have wasted this one.

The small number of people present would shorten the reading, but not much. A quick glance revealed five individuals he did not immediately recognize. The four men wore dark suits nearly identical to his own, their appearance varying only in their choice of cravat knots. The woman was clothed in a fashionable black gown topped with a veil so thick only the faintest outline of her features was visible in the light of the flickering oil lamps.

The lawyer called the group's attention to the front of the room by loudly clearing his throat. The sound echoed off of the mahogany paneling in the quiet, and Derrick braced himself for what was to come. It was worse than he had ever imagined.

"Thank you all for coming. The deceased, his Eminence, Reginald Williams, the Duke of Chesterton, dictated and signed this will while of sound mind and body many years ago, and an addendum was added near the beginning of his recent illness, while he yet retained a sound mind and mostly sound body. You are all gathered here as you are mentioned either by name or as a group in this will." Here the lawyer paused and looked at each person carefully. "Are there any here who do not wish to hear this reading?"

Derrick's mind raced. What addendum? He had hardly left his father's side since his illness began. When had his father had time to summon a solicitor and draft an addition to the will? Moreover, what new information was now included that was not present in the original document? His foreboding became a dragging sense of dread, and he drew in a deep breath to steady his nerves.

Hearing no reply to his inquiry, the lawyer turned his attention to the papers on his desk. "Now then, the Duke has decided to leave the property near the river to his nephew, Fergus Beltrain. He leaves the most recently purchased properties to Blain Edgewater, the son of his childhood friend."

Another pause, and another glance around the room, this time focused on the woman and the three men not yet named in the will, including Derrick himself. Beads of sweat formed on his neck, and his hands gripped his knees tightly enough to cause pain, but he did not relax them.

"The rest of the will is affected by the addendum, so I will read that next," the lawyer finally continued. "The addendum adds conditions to the distribution of the remainder of the Duke's estate. The estate and title shall become the property and responsibility of the Duke's only son Derrick Williams upon his fulfillment of these requirements. If he does not fulfill the requirements, either by failure or refusal, he shall receive only a small portion of the estate, and the remainder of the property and funds, as well as the title, shall be left to specific members of the Hollins family."

Still another pause, this time with a brief nod to the two men sitting with the veiled woman. Derrick's right leg started to bounce by itself, a nervous habit he'd had since he was barely thirteen. The Hollins name sounded familiar, but he did not know why, and a glance again at the men did not jog his memory. What game had his father decided to play?

Resuming, the lawyer spoke just a bit more slowly, as though for effect or to be sure that the next few sentences were clearly understood. "To my son: I want to be sure to leave you not just a title and lands, but the best asset to crown those things: a beautiful wife to make your house a home, and children to keep the halls from being too quiet, or to make you better appreciate the quiet. In either case, please know that the following are intended for your benefit, as I will not be around to guide you."

The man took a long breath following this curious address, then continued, "To obtain the title and holdings left to him in the will, my son Derrick will need to marry Angela Hollins within one month of this reading, and will need to consummate the marriage with witnesses within two months of this reading. An heir is not required, unless there is any doubt of the consummation, which is up to the discretion of the executor."

Derrick shot to his feet. "He could not have been serious! An arranged marriage to someone I don't even know or else her family will get the title and bulk of the estate! This is lunacy!" He paced back and forth, brows drawn so low his field of vision narrowed significantly. His scathing glare ricocheted around the room, searching for a target for his agitation.

"If I may," the taller of the two men seated with the veiled lady spoke up, his voice seeming overly loud in the chamber. "Allow me to introduce my step-sister, Miss Angela Hollins." He wrapped an arm around his companion's waist and guided her to stand with him. Unbidden, the blonde gentleman at her other side also rose, his hand cradling her elbow.

The veiled lady moved with care into a curtsy worthy of the title he did not yet possess, and murmured, "It is an honor, sir."

That voice. It paralyzed him for a moment. He was transported back in time to a simpler age, before he had been sent off to a boarding school to complete his education. His playmate then was a young girl from a neighboring estate, Angie, and their friendship fueled his reluctance to leave home and his resentment about his responsibilities. His father treated him mostly with indifference, a blessing he would appreciate later, and his mother died in childbirth when he was eight; nothing really tied him to this place. Except her.

When he had returned from university a few years ago, he had tried to discover Angie's whereabouts, curious about her fate. His every inquiry was turned back to him empty, and when his father began giving him more and more responsibility around the estate, there had been no more time to chase the wisp of wind that had been his best friend.

But now he heard a thread of Angie's voice in the soft tones of the veiled lady, and curiosity overcame his agitation. He strode to her with purpose, and holding out his hand, he said, "The honor is mine, miss."

He held his breath, waiting, and after an eternity, she placed her small gloved hand in his. He closed his thumb over the delicate fingers now in his grasp and raised them to his lips. He lingered perhaps a moment too long, struck by a tingle of electricity that tickled his well-trimmed moustache when he made contact. A rushed inhalation of the lady before him suggested that he was not the only one affected.

The lawyer huffed and said briskly, "I need to know your answer, sir. Will you attempt to fulfill the demands of this will, or should we proceed with dividing up the estate at this time?" The tension in the room rose suddenly, and the room felt too small.

Derrick wasn't sure he could fill his lungs with air, let alone come up with a coherent answer. Damn, but the shock must be getting to him. He had never felt like this; of course, he had never been in quite such a situation before.

He took in an unsteady breath and replied, "What of the lady's wishes? Is she a willing party to this madness, or is she being forced into this awkward state, as I am?" He glanced between the lawyer and the two men with the veiled lady, begging them to answer.

Head tilted toward the floor, she answered him herself, to his surprise. "I did not know the details of the addendum to the will, if that is what you are asking. As for my wishes, I have no objections. I am no longer a young debutante, and my prospects for marriage are poor. In addition, my health is fragile, so an arranged marriage with few expectations of romantic entanglement is not unacceptable."

Angela hesitated and shifted her weight, causing her skirts to rustle, the slight sound amplified by the silence. She raised her head before she whispered, "This is quite awkward, sir, but it need not be unpleasant for either one of us. We were friends, once."

With that, the lady shifted her hand to tap the fingers of her older companion who yet stood by her side with an arm about her waist. With great care, he raised his other hand to grasp the edge of her veil just beneath her chin. As if in a dream, Derrick watched as the man lifted the veil and revealed the mature feminine face that was surely his childhood friend.

She did not appear to be well. Deep shadows pooled beneath her kind eyes, more than the dim light in the chamber could account for. The rest of her face was unnaturally pale, and faint wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth added years to her appearance, despite the hint of a smile curling her lips. Her figure was a bit too slender, too delicate, nothing like the vigorous girl from his youth. His heart broke even as his mind wondered what had befallen her in the decade since they had last played together.

"Are you satisfied now?" The lawyer's soft question brought Derrick back to the present, even as the men with Angie replaced her veil and assisted her back into her seat.

A nod was all he could manage, his eyes locked onto the frail form before him. He turned to face the man at the desk, but found he could not do so without releasing the small hand still cradled in his own. Reluctantly, he knelt to place the hand on its owner's lap; he immediately missed its warmth, its tiny weight.

"Quite," he replied. He spun to face the front of the chamber, eager to be finished with this business so he could flee to the predictable calm of the family manor. "I will attempt to fulfill the demands of the will and promise to keep you and the Hollins family abreast of my progress. I would like a copy of the relevant parts of the will delivered to my home as soon as possible."

He barely waited long enough to see the lawyer nod before pivoting on his heel and marching out of the chamber. Outside, he sent his carriage back without him, needing the long cold walk to steady his thoughts.