In a discreet, wood-paneled establishnt in the heart of the city, a place where old n made quiet deals that could change the fate of fortunes, Baron Edgar was sitting across from Lord Burton, the head of the Ellington family’s advisory council.
"So, how is the transfer of the shares coming along?" Edgar asked, his smile brightened by a confident, hopeful energy. He adjusted the lapel of his fine wool coat, a garnt he had carefully chosen for this eting. He needed to look the part of the powerful patriarch, to avoid Lord Burton finding out that he was now living in a simple, humble house in the commoner’s part of the kingdom.
Lord Burton, a man with a heavy face and small, calculating eyes, did not say anything. He simply took a long, slow sip of his drink.
Edgar’s smile began to falter, a flicker of unease disturbing his confident mood. "Have you forgotten, Lord Burton?" he pressed, his voice a little more urgent now. "That is the entire basis of our eting here today. The transfer of my majority shares to my granddaughter, the Duchess Delia."
Lord Burton finally set his glass down on the table with a soft, heavy thud. "It is not possible anymore, my lord," he said, his voice a flat, emotionless drone.
"What did you say?" Edgar asked, leaning forward, certain he must have misheard. "What does that an, ’it is not possible’? What do you an by that?"
Instead of answering, Burton asked a question of his own. "Where have you been all this ti, Baron? You left your residence weeks ago, and you did not even say where you were going. There have been... concerns."
"I had a very good reason to stay hidden for a while," Edgar replied dismissively. "But that has nothing to do with this. Why can I not give my own percentage of the company, my own property, to my own granddaughter, Delia?"
"Because," Lord Burton replied, his gaze steady and unwavering, "your daughter-in-law, the Baroness Augusta, already petitioned for soone to take over the position of chairman a few days ago. The petition was filed under your own na, of course, for the good of the company."
"What?" Edgar asked, his voice now a low, angry growl of disbelief. "But I told you about my plans months ago, Lord Burton! I told you I wanted Delia to be the one to take over! You should have delayed her petition. You should have waited for !"
"The Baroness brought proof," Burton replied, his tone that of a man who was simply following the rules. "She brought the doctor’s official reports on Baron Henry’s declining health condition. And she brought up your own situation." He looked at Edgar with a look of feigned sympathy. "For you to leave your grand residence for no given reason, to simply disappear into thin air... she argued, and quite convincingly, that your old age is already catching up with you. That you would not be able to lead the establishnt more effectively in its ti of crisis." He sighed, a sound of deep, false regret. "My hands were tied, Baron. I had no choice but to accept her petition."
As he spoke, his mind flashed back to the real reason he had agreed. He rembered Augusta, sitting in this very sa establishnt a week ago, a heavy pouch of gold coins on the table between them. "Lord Burton," she had said, her voice a silken promise, "My father-in-law is a sentintal old fool. He is trying to ruin the family with his emotional decisions. The company needs a strong, logical hand right now. My hand." He had felt the satisfying weight of the gold in his own palm, and he had smiled internally, just as he was smiling internally now.
He looked at the old, defeated Baron across from him. "Anyway, Baron Edgar," he said, his voice full of a deep, false sincerity. "I truly did my best for you, I’m sorry it wasn’t enough."
He stood up, gave a slight, formal bow, and left the room, leaving Baron Edgar sitting all alone in the dark, quiet parlor.
Edgar just sat there, the weight of his failure crushing him. What do I do now? he thought to himself, his own mind a chaotic ss of anger and despair. I have promised Delia. I have promised her everything. I do not want to let her down again. He had failed her mother, and now, it seed, he was about to fail her, too.
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The Ellington manor was quiet. The afternoon sun cast long, lazy stripes of light through the heavy curtains of Baron Henry’s bedchamber, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the still, silent air. In the center of the room, in the large, imposing bed, the Baron himself lay in a deep, comatose state, his breathing so shallow it was barely a whisper.
Augusta sat by his bedside, a bowl of warm, soapy water on the table next to her. With a soft cloth, she was gently cleaning his hands, her movents slow and careful.
"You know, Henry," she spoke to the still, silent man, her voice a low, confidential murmur. "It ended up being a very good thing that your foolish old father went into hiding when he did."
She carefully washed between each of his limp fingers, then patted his hand dry with a clean, soft towel. She looked at his peaceful, unconscious face and gently touched his hair, smoothing it back from his pale forehead.
"I saved your precious company, you see," she continued her one-sided conversation. "I stopped your stupid, sentintal father from giving it all away. All of my years of hard work, all of my careful planning, he was going to just hand it over to the daughter of that lowlife rchant woman."
A cruel, bitter laugh escaped her lips, a sound that was ugly and out of place in the quiet bedroom. "Well," she said, her smile turning triumphant, "my own plans are going very smoothly now. The family lawyer is coming to visit tomorrow. And when he cos and sees you in this... unfortunate condition, he will have to listen to , won’t he? And what will I say to him?"
She leaned in closer to her husband’s ear, as if sharing a wonderful secret. "Of course, I will say: ’My dear husband, in his wisdom, has decided to delegate the full managent rights of the Ellington Textile Establishnt to for the ti being. Just until he is awake and well enough to take up his duties again. And then, of course, I will happily return all of the rights back to him.’"
She pressed a soft, dry kiss to Henry’s forehead, a gesture of pure, chilling hypocrisy. "Of course," she whispered, her voice a silken purr, "I wouldn’t want your true condition to be known to the public just yet. I still need to use your authority, and your good na, for a little while first."
She stood up and called for a maid to co and dispose of the dirty water. As the young girl entered, Augusta’s expression imdiately shifted from one of a gloating conspirator to that of a worried, devoted wife. Her voice turned sweet and full of a gentle, sorrowful concern. "Rest well, my love," she said to her silent, unhearing husband. "Just rest and get better soon."
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