"So I'm just supposed to marry this girl and forget what I want?" he snapped.
His father didn't flinch.
"Your wants don't matter in the bigger picture." His voice was sharp. "You're part of this family. You'll do what's necessary."
Harvey scoffed. "Necessary? For who? For your pride?"
"This isn't about pride. It's about legacy."
His father stepped closer, voice low and hard.
"You think you're the first to be told who to marry? That's how it's always been. Wealthy families don't grow by chasing feelings. We make moves. We build alliances."
Outside the tall windows, the rolling hills of West Morland stretched into the grey morning mist. Harvey hated it more each day. He stayed silent for a moment, jaw tight. His father took that as a sign to keep going.
"Your brother was arranged too. Henry followed through. Now look where he is."
Harvey's chest rose sharply with a breath. Of course, it always came back to Henry.
Henry had been the golden one, tall, handsome, good with horses, always smiling. Everyone adored him. Even Harvey once did. When they were boys, he'd watch him ride through the countryside like he was born to belong there.
A true heir and then Henry got married to a woman from the North—her family owned half the textile factories in Yorkshire. It was a perfect match on paper. Harvey had watched it all happen. How Henry's wild spirit slowly disappeared. His laugh came less. His visits became rare. Now he lived with his wife on their countryside estate, quiet and distant, dressed in duty.
He fell in love with her eventually. At least, that's what everyone said.
Harvey's mouth tightened.
I won't end up like him, he thought. He wasted his life, let them shape him into what they wanted. That won't be me.
He looked his father straight in the eye.
"Just because I'm your son doesn't mean I'm your puppet."
Lord Wentworth's face hardened. "You sound like a boy. Not a man raised for this life."
"I'm not Henry," Harvey said coldly. "And I'm not marrying for power."
"You think freedom is worth more than land, contracts, and legacy? Grow up."
"This isn't legacy. It's control," Harvey hissed.
There was a long pause.
Then, his father's voice turned cold.
"The Deverells are expecting an answer. This marriage will happen, with or without your approval."
Harvey turned his back to him. His father didn't rise. He simply watched his son with a sharp stillness, the kind that only came from years of business, war, and winning.
Then, slowly, he leaned back in his leather chair and let out a tired breath.
"You'll do it," he said.
Harvey's mouth opened like he might argue again, but his father raised a hand.
"You love money more than you hate me," he said simply.
"Always have."
A long silence stretched between them.
"You think you're different from me," his father added, almost amused. "You're not. You're just younger."
The flames from the fireplace crackled, throwing a dull glow across the stone floor. Harvey said nothing. His jaw worked slightly, but he didn't speak.
"You won't give up the cars. The summer houses and your tailor from Mayfair. You won't give up the life."
His father's voice dropped, quieter now, but firm. Final.
"Because without our name, you're just another man. And you know that."
Then he turned his eyes back to the folder on his desk and dismissed the conversation without another glance.
Harvey stood frozen for a moment, pride still burning in his chest, but the weight of truth already sinking in.
He hated how right the old man was.
No, he wouldn't throw it all away.
Being rich wasn't easy. But it was better than being nothing.
He clenched his fists once before leaving the room in silence.
***
Harvey galloped hard across the open field, the chestnut stallion's hooves thundering beneath him. Wind tore through his hair, the cold sharp on his face. Beside him, his childhoood friend kept pace, his black gelding moving with effortless grace.
"Bloody hell," Raffaele called out, pulling up just slightly so they could ride level. "Still fuming, are you?"
Harvey didn't answer at first. His jaw was locked tight, posture rigid in the saddle.
Raffaele smirked. "Come on, mate. You've got that 'my father's a bastard' look again. Which one of his threats got to you this time?"
"Shut it," Harvey muttered, not breaking stride.
"Was it the 'cutting your funds' bit?" Raffaele pressed, grin widening. "Or the charming reminder that you're just a 'cog in the empire'?"
"Piss off."
Raffaele held up his gloved hands.
"Alright, alright. But you know could be worse. Heather's minted. Gorgeous, too. You could do a lot worse."
"I'm not marrying a bloody cheque." Harvey shot back.
Raffaele gave him a sideways look. "No, but you're not exactly turning down the perks, are you?"
Harvey didn't reply. He yanked slightly on the reins, slowing the stallion as they reached the rise of the hill. He looked out over the misty countryside, jaw tightening.
"This isn't about her," he said finally. "Or marriage. It's about pride. I'm not a pawn. I've worked my arse off in that company and he still thinks he can move me around like I'm sixteen."
Raffaele hummed. "You did used to cry when your horses lost races."
"I was eight."
"Still dramatic."
Harvey rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
"You know what your problem is?" Raffaele said, steering his horse in a lazy circle. "You think you're the rebel, the storm in the family. But deep down, you like the game. You just hate that he's better at playing it."
Harvey was quiet. The only sound was the horses breathing, the soft clip of hooves on damp grass.
"I looked up to Henry," he said suddenly. "You remember him, don't you?"
"Your brother? The golden boy?"
Harvey nodded. "Perfect Henry. Rode better than all of us. Fell head over heels for the girl he was meant to marry, gave up everything for her. Now he's tucked away in some forgotten village, helping run stables like it's a bloody dream."
Raffaele raised a brow. "Isn't it?"
"No," Harvey said flatly. "He wasted it. The name. The power. All of it."
He looked over at Raffaele, eyes flinty.
"I won't end up like him."
Raffaele studied him for a second, then gave a low chuckle. "No, I suppose you won't."
They rode in silence for a few beats more, the early evening sun dipping behind the hills.
"Still think Heather's fit, though," Raffaele added casually.
"Raffa—"
"No, your dad's filthy rich. What's one marriage in the grand scheme?"
"It's the principle. I don't want to be paraded around like some bloody asset."
Raffaele snorts. "You kinda are, though. Like a very angry, very expensive show pony."
Harvey shoots him a glare.
"I'm serious. I'd lose my time, my freedom, all of it. Just so he can seal some deal with a bow on top."
"You say that like marriage is a prison sentence." Raffaele chuckles.
Harvey looks ahead, face set.
"It might as well be."
A short silence falls between them, only the rhythm of hooves filling the air as they ride across the field.
Raffaele finally says, grinning, "But be honest, Heather's gorgeous. Prettier than her sisters. Sweet, too. You could do worse."
Harvey exhales sharply, eyes narrowing.
"Her money means nothing to me."
"Right, right," Raffaele says with a mocking nod. "Coming from the bloke who grew up in a manor bigger than the town hall."
"I'm not jealous," Harvey snaps.
"Didn't say you were," Raffaele replies, lips twitching into a grin. "Just saying, funny how wound up you get about this. You're usually cool as hell."
"I'm calm when things are mine to control," Harvey mutters.
Raffaele barks out a laugh.
"Well, there's your problem. This one's out of your hands."
Harvey doesn't respond. His posture stays stiff, but there's fire in his eyes.
Raffaele glances sideways, eyes twinkling.
"Still, if I were you, I'd at least try to enjoy the view. Heather's not just any girl. She's practically a duchess already."
Harvey scoffs, pulling his horse slightly ahead.
"I don't want a duchess. I want to live."