Free A World Apart by Peter McAra

Indeed, Ernest Thurber has spoken for years of the desirability of such a match. You will not find Agatha hard to please. Quite the opposite, I’ll warrant.’
    â€˜But sir, Agatha is…’ He must not demean his shy, downcast neighbour in front of his father. ‘She’s…dull. No sensible man will wed her. She’s been to a London Season or two by now, and always come home without prospects.’
    â€˜That is of little import.’ The viscount straightened, fixed his gaze upon his son. ‘As her father’s only heir, she comes well endowed. She has the prospect of inheriting a generous fortune.’ He coughed. ‘Lately expanded at my expense, when I sold my cattle to Thurber for a song. Her parents, they expect the match. No doubt they see a brace of fine sons flowing from the union; a succession of gentlemen to carry on the family name. Last time I saw Thurber — it was at the horse sales — he said, I repeat his very words, “Your Harry is grown to a fine figure of a man, John. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a handsome look about him. I hear he is a goodhorseman, a crack shot, and a mean batsman on the cricket pitch. My Agatha sighs over him for days every time they meet.”’
    The viscount turned to his son. ‘To bait the hook to catch you, Harry, he has offered to buy part of our estate for a quite generous sum. A sum which will go some way towards paying my debt to those cursed bankers.’ The viscount paused. Harry waited for the fatal blow. ‘But he will buy the land only if the marriage takes place. To put it in plain words, Thurber is buying an estate for his heirs.’ Harry reeled. He was being sold as a breeding bull.
    â€˜We are bankrupt unless you make the match, Harry.’ Sir John had read the emotions plainly displayed on his son’s face. ‘Eight hundred years ago, William the Conqueror gave this land to one of his faithful generals as a reward for his conduct at the Battle of Hastings. Now, hundreds of years of De Havilland family history will end, hacked to death by those ruthless bankers.’ He hesitated. ‘Unless you marry Agatha.’ He watched as Harry stared into his glass, then continued.
    â€˜Thurber will populate our now barren land with cattle. Because our land adjoins his property, it will suit him well. To sweeten the pill, he has said that if I agree to the arrangement he will let me see out my days in this house. I guess that when I depart this life, you and your young wife will live here. And so may your offspring’s eldest sons, God willing, for another thousand years and more.’ He drained the contents of his glass, clunked it onto the table.
    â€˜You must marry Agatha, Harry. You must begin to court her forthwith. The Thurbers are to host a ball a few weeks from today with the express intention of having you court their daughter. The date has been chosen to fit with Oxford’s end of term. We expect you to woo her at that ball, then become betrothed soon afterwards. Very soon afterwards. My agent has hinted that he may persuade the bankers to hold back from foreclosing if they see some cash glinting on the horizon. Otherwise…’ The viscount emptied the last of the decanter into his glass, slumped back into his chair.
    Harry took his leave, sick at heart. He had been born into a household that put the value of the family estate above all else. It had provided his ancestors with a gracious, affluent lifestyle for the past seven hundred years. Now reality loomed. His father was poorly, and if his addiction to brandy continued unchecked he would likely die soon. Harry must not let his father die in disgrace, burdened with the knowledge that his foolishness had cost his heirs the estate which had belonged to the family for centuries.
    As Harry walked upstairs to his chambers, a picture of Eliza flashed into his mind yet again. As she stood to greet him at their rendezvous, she