Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 90426 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90426 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Edgar gazed around the room at his daughter’s “paintings.” As he did, his eyes fell on the “books” that sat on the table beside her bed.
He returned his attention to her physician. “A five-year-old could paint a better bird and she reads children’s books.”
“Before she came here, she was twenty-three, and she didn’t read at all,” the man returned.
“I—”
The doctor squared his shoulders. “My lord, I’m sure I don’t have to remind you, your daughter…your lovely, sweet daughter, sustained a significant head injury at the age of six.”
Edgar drew in an affronted breath at being reminded of something he expended quite a bit of effort to forget.
The doctor persevered, “It was an injury of such magnitude, at the time, the physicians you called in, all four of them, told you not only that you were very lucky she was alive, but that it would take a miracle for her to live what is considered a ‘normal’ life. However, in all her notes, throughout her life, every physician who has had charge of her care has recorded that they’ve repeatedly shared with you that she could lead a happy life. However, only if she receives the proper care. She needs stability. She needs patience. She needs predictability. And she needs…”—the man held Edgar’s gaze—“care and love.”
Edgar stared at him, thinking, No, what I need is a miracle.
He lifted his nose. “I’ll be researching other facilities and will inform you by missive if she will be moved and where.”
“She has a name, milord. It’s the one you gave her. It’s Maxine,” the doctor retorted coldly.
Edgar glared at him, turned on his foot, and with his cloak snapping out behind him, such was the velocity of his departure, he left the room.
And he did so not sparing another glance to his daughter.
* * * *
Derryman~
Forgive that I offer no polite preamble. However, I do not for this is the sixth such missive I have sent in as many months.
Therefore, I will not delay before I remind you of clause 12b of the betrothal contract we two hold between my son and your daughter.
To refresh your memory, clause 12b states that if the Marquess of Remington should attain the age of thirty-five without you offering Lady Maxine’s hand in marriage, and that hand isn’t legally bound to my son and heir in order that they can pursue the efforts of continuing my line, he is no longer bound to the contract. As such, he will be free to choose who he wishes to take to wife.
It is time my son takes a woman to wife.
We shall be celebrating Loren’s 35th birthday six months hence.
I do hope we’ll be celebrating a wedding sometime before.
I daresay I will hear from you very soon.
Yours in loyalty to Hawkvale,
~Ansley Copeland
12th Duke of Dalton
Edgar tossed the letter on his desk in frustration.
He then stared across the room at the portrait of his very beautiful but very dead wife.
“I once was a titan,” he proclaimed.
This was not pride speaking.
He was.
He was known as The Dealmaker.
So renowned for his intuition of the markets, any investment, people from as high as Lunwyn and as low as Fleuridia sought his counsel.
So renowned, the great Duke of Dalton sought an alliance between their families.
The Duke of Dalton!
King Ludlum’s top general—the man credited with saving Hawkvale from total ruination when Baldur of Middleland invaded its sunny dales. A man revered, almost as much as Ludlum was (and he would have been more, if such wasn’t considered treason).
It was, of course, Ludlum’s son (and now their king), who eventually wrested the lands Baldur managed to conquer from that despot.
However, it was known by all that if it wasn’t for Dalton, the whole of Hawkvale would have fallen to Baldur.
And it was that Dalton who sought an alliance with the House of Derryman twenty-six years ago.
But even Edgar could not foresee that horrible accident (and it was an accident—any father would wish to teach his daughter how to ride a horse, it wasn’t his fault she couldn’t control the damned thing).
He focused again on the image of his wife.
She had hidden from him her weakness of character, a flaw that ran deep. In fact, in the end, she brayed of it so incessantly, it had to stop.
Of course, as she obviously took great pains to do this, he could never predict how she would react to the accident.
But that was done, and she was now gone, his daughter (mostly) out of sight and mind in order that he could get on with his life.
However, that life did take a turn for the better.
Clearly no one could foresee what would happen to the markets when a curse hit the land.
With the fantastical things that occurred, not even his stable of rats could assist him.
And then some time later, when he was finally digging himself out from under the variety of fiascos he, and the men he advised, found himself in, some Beast across the Green Sea rears up and panics the entire planet. Only for the result of the vanquishing of that creature to be trade routes opening that no one ever imagined would clear, and Firenz, Airenzian, Dellish and Marish goods flooding the market.