“My lord, I know nothing of nonsense. But I have been thinking—”

“Then stop it! What good did that ever do a man? You think too much, Morgan. If you’d please me, then act.”

Mouth dry, he stared at his slowly dying father. Every time he thought himself reconciled to duty, to Maris Garrick, his misgivings awoke to prick him anew.

And am I to ignore them, just to keep an old man happy? When he is dying and I’m the one who’ll suffer for the mistake?

“My lord,” he said at last, sick with apprehension, hurt by the rebuke, “I think of little else but pleasing you. But let me speak plainly now. Let me tell you the truth as it appears to me.”

His father looked offended. If his wits had wandered earlier, they were sharply focused again. “Did I ever ask for your lies, Morgan?”

Not in so many words, no. Not quite so plainly. Was his father asking for a lie when he expected to hear only what he wished to hear?

I think he is asking for a lie’s kissing cousin. But I need to speak my mind. My heart. There is no-one else to speak it for me.

“My lord, how pleasing will it be if I choose a wife in haste and in so choosing, choose poorly? Once I handfast with Maris Garrick we are parted only by death. I’ve known her only a handful of weeks. I knew Luzena for years. I—”

“No! The girl is dead, Morgan. Leave her buried.” His father’s feeble fist struck the mattress. “What kind of a son have I raised? One who’d not set a dying man’s mind at ease! You care nothing for me or for the Danfey name. If you could fuck a marble statue you’d do it, leaving me to languish my last days in despair!”

He had to blink to clear his vision. “That is a monstrous thing to say.”

“Ha!” His father punched the mattress again, blood-tinged spittle flecking his greyish lips. “The monstrous son calls his father monstrous.”

Morgan slid from the chair and retreated to the chamber’s fireplace, with its crackling flames. He scarcely felt their fierce heat against his skin. “I never said I wouldn’t marry. I won’t deny you my heir. But we talk of my life. My—my happiness. Am I no more to you than fertile seed?”

His father had the grace to look taken aback. “Of course not. How can you ask it? Morgan, you’re my son.”

“Then why will you not grant me a moment to think before I commit myself to Maris Garrick?”

“To what purpose?” his father demanded, his rheumy eyes blazing. “Name me one First Family ranked higher than the Garricks in possession of an unmatched beddable daughter!”