Chapter Text
October 29, 1817
The air was crisp, the leaves were painted in brilliant autumn hues, and it was a lovely day for a ride, so Stede Bonnet was on his trusty horse, Revenge, on his way to see his parents. His father, the 10th Duke of Fleetwood, had requested a meeting, and given that the season was about to start next week, he had no doubt what his father wanted to talk about.
Stede was the last living son of Edward Bonnet, and thus the heir to the duchy. He hadn’t always been the heir- his older brother, Stephen, had been the chosen one. Stede had never begrudged him that. It had allowed him to live his life nearly the way he wanted, with little interference. There were perks to being the spare and not the heir. Then Stephen had died in a horse racing accident four years ago, and the spare had become the heir. Suddenly, Stede had responsibilities.
He’d escaped his father’s attention for most of his life by being bookish and somewhat effeminate, while Stephen was athletic and handsome - a son to be proud of. But when Stephen died, the Duke had taken an interest in Stede - and Stede didn’t like it much at all. He found it quite uncomfortable, in fact. He was frequently called on the carpet for some misdeed or another, read the riot act for not yet having a wife, and so on. Stede did his best to tune it all out.
That was what he expected he was about to walk into, a repetition of the same old song and dance. The first ball of the season was in five days, and Stede would, of course, be in attendance. He was certain his father expected him to find a match.
The problem was, Stede had no interest in young ladies, romantic or otherwise. He never had. He was quite homosexual. And his father knew that very well, although he pretended not to. It was mildly infuriating.
Nonetheless, Stede would withstand the lecture from his father, same as he had probably twenty times over the last four years, and then he’d go on his merry way doing as he liked, just as he had the last twenty times. Rinse and repeat.
He arrived at the ducal townhome and got off his horse, handing the reins to the boy at the front with a smile, then bounced up the stairs to the front door. His father never blustered for long. He’d be home with his scotch and his books within an hour or so, he hoped.
“Good afternoon, Wadsworth,” Stede said when the butler opened the door.
“Good afternoon, sir. Your father is waiting in the study.”
Stede leaned over and asked in a conspiratorial tone, “What’s his mood like?”
Wadsworth gave him a knowing look and the corner of his mouth turned up. “Much the same as usual.”
“So he’s grim. Good to know. Thanks, Wadsworth,” Stede said, and he sauntered down the hall towards the study.
He arrived at the tall oak door of the study, took a moment to check his appearance, square his shoulders and clear his throat, making himself ready, then knocked on the door.
“Come in,” came the voice of his father.
Stede pushed open the door, a little nervous in spite of himself.
“Ah, Stede. You’re here. Good,” the Duke said, putting down his quill and getting to his feet. “Come. Sit.”
Stede came to sit in the chairs in front of the desk, trying not to feel small.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you here today,” he said.
Not really, he thought, but didn’t dare say.
“I assumed it had to do with the start of the season,” he said blandly.
“It does, yes. And your lack of a wife.”
Stede almost sighed. He’d called it.
“You’re thirty-five, son,” the Duke said. “It’s high time for you to take a bride.”
There was no point arguing that he didn't want a bride, his father wouldn't hear it. So Stede argued against the inevitable.
“I’m only in my mid-thirties, Father. There are lots of gentlemen who don't marry until they're forty. Or even older. Why do I need to be different?”
“Because you’re the son of a Duke. And because I said so,” he said. “I am an old man and not particularly in the greatest health. I’d like to go to my grave knowing that my heirs are lined up for the next couple of generations.”
“There’s already an heir! When I die, the duchy will go to Uncle Thomas’ son, Bartholomew.”
The Duke waved a dismissive hand and said frustratedly, “My brother Thomas is a buffoon and his son is no better. I would never rest in eternity knowing that the duchy is in their hands. No, you have to provide me with heirs, and you have to do it as soon as humanly possible.”
“That's a lot of mental pressure.”
“That’s the life you were born into,” he said. “We’ve let this go on for too long…”
Let it go? Stede thought. I’ve barely had a moment’s rest!
“And that’s why I’ve come to a decision. You will announce your engagement by the end of the season, or a bride will be chosen for you.”
Stede felt like he’d had an electric shock. “What? Father! You can’t!”
“I can, and I will. In fact, I have. Negotiations are already underway with the Allamby family. I believe you know their daughter, Mary.”
“Of course I do. But I don’t want to marry her.”
“Well, if you want to avoid matrimony with Mary, you are free to find another suitable candidate for marriage by the end of this season. Otherwise, you are going to announce your engagement by the middle of June.”
Stede was stunned, and had no idea what to say. The only thing that came to mind was, “But Father, I had always hoped that when I married, it could be for love.”
The Duke looked annoyed. “Peasants marry for love. Mary has acreage.”
Stede slumped in his seat, defeated. His father’s word was law. The decision was made, and he felt completely overpowered.
“If you want to skip the search, we can always announce your engagement now,” the Duke offered.
“No, no,” Stede said. “I’d - I’d like the chance to try to find someone to suit me.”
“Well, you have approximately six months to find a suitable candidate,” he said. “But in the meantime, preparations are still going to be made in contingency for Mary.”
“What about her? What if she finds someone she wants to marry?”
“She’s an obedient child. She’ll do what her father tells her,” the Duke said, “Now, is there anything else?”
Stede shook his head, defeated. “No, Father.”
“Good. I expect you to find a proper match. You know what I want and what’s appropriate for a Duke’s son. Don’t let me down. It’s already humiliating enough, the way you treat your servants as if they’re family.”
Stede just slumped.
“Now, before you leave, go see your mother. She was hoping you’d say hello.”
“Where is she?” Stede asked, brightening ever so slightly.
“She’s in her drawing room.”
Stede got up to leave.
“You’re excused,” his father said in a snarky tone, and Stede felt small.
“Sorry, Father,” he said in a low voice, letting himself out of the study as quickly as he could.
As soon as he was in the hall with the door closed behind him, he had an entirely silent rage fit that was very unbecoming of a gentleman, clenching his fists and stomping his feet on the carpet and screaming silently until his face was red. It wasn't enough, but it was all he could do for now, so he composed himself quickly and went to see his mother. Perhaps she’d have some answers.
He found Sarah Bonnet in the drawing room, sitting on her couch in the sun, and as soon as he saw her, he felt a warmth in his chest, a love for his mother. She had always loved him, always encouraged him, and always made him feel like someone special. She’d also always helped Stede make sense of his life when he couldn’t make heads or tails of it, so now seemed like a very good time to talk to her.
Stede knocked on her door frame and she looked up from her embroidery, her hazel eyes surprised at first, then warming into genuine pleasure. “Stede. I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Hello, mother,” he said, coming to kiss her cheek.
“Sit, please,” she said, patting the space next to her. Stede sat. “Your face is red. Either you’ve been out in the sun too much, or you’ve just seen your father.”
“I just left father in his study,” Stede said, his voice controlled.
Sarah looked sympathetic. “It’s for your own good, poppet.”
“It doesn’t feel like it’s for my own good. You know I don’t like women.”
“I know that.”
“And father does, too.”
“He chooses to ignore that which he sees as a flaw.”
“Which makes me fucking insane,” Stede said, then caught himself. “I’m sorry, pardon my language, mother.”
“It’s alright, poppet, I understand. But darling, he’s right. You do have to produce an heir. It’s a fact. And I’m sorry, I know you don’t want to…”
“There already is an heir. Uncle Thomas’ son will inherit after I die, and that’s fine.”
“It’s not fine with your father.”
“Why does everything always have to be fine with my father?” Stede lamented.
Sarah patted his knee. “When you’re the Duke, everything will have to be fine with you, too. It’s one of the perks. And you’ll get to tell your children what to do.”
Stede tried not to entertain the thought of being like his father. He couldn’t imagine anything worse. “I don’t want to tell my children what to do. I don't want children.”
She gave him a look. “Now, Stede. I happen to know you love children.”
He backed down a little. “Yes, that’s true. I do love children. And I wouldn’t mind having some. But I don't want to make any. Can’t I adopt?”
“Your father wants natural heirs.”
“Right at this moment, I don’t give a rat’s arse what father wants,” he groused, then felt small again. “Sorry, mother.”
“You’re forgiven. You’re under a lot of stress, I understand.”
“And what about Mary? What about her feelings on the matter? I mean, yes, we’re friends, but she doesn’t want to marry me. Would her parents really force her into a marriage just because it’s advantageous?”
“Stede, arranged marriages aren’t as evil as you’re imagining them to be. You’re the product of an arranged marriage.”
His eyes widened. “I am?”
“You are, yes. Your father and I were betrothed from the time I was seven and he was fifteen. We were married when I was nineteen.”
“That just makes me sad for you.”
“Well, we resolved to let things be different for our children as a result. But Stephen, God rest his soul, was thirty-seven when he died and hadn’t married. He left no heirs. And now you’re thirty-five and your father feels the clock ticking. He’s tried to let you have your time. He’s only worried for you.”
“He’s worried for himself,” Stede said, feeling a little empathy for his father and not liking it one bit, frustrated with himself for it.
Sarah lay one of her hands on Stede’s. “Stede, son, you know I only want what’s best for you. I want your happiness, in all things. So as much as I know it pains you, there is a part of me that supports this plan of your father's. I truly believe that you could find happiness in a platonic marriage with Mary.”
“But mother, I want to marry for love,” Stede said, feeling pitiful.
“Get married first,” Sarah said kindly. “Let the love come later. It nearly always does.”
“Do you love father?”
Her eyes were a little guarded when she said, “I can’t imagine my life without him.”
Stede wanted to throw back his head and scream in frustration.
Stede was still frustrated when he arrived home an hour later, jumping off of Revenge and skulking up into the house, feeling like he was surrounded by a black cloud. His father’s decision shouldn't have surprised him one bit, but it had. And the shock should have worn off by now, but it hadn’t. He felt a lot of things. Mostly, at the moment, he felt anger, mixed in with a healthy dose of terror. He absolutely did not want to end up like his father, cold and unfeeling, someone who seems to think love is a foreign concept. But it seemed that’s where he was headed, and it blackened his mood more.
“Send me Lucius,” he said to one of the maids in a snippy tone he was immediately sorry for as he passed her on the way to his study. He wanted scotch. Now. Or some other kind of alcohol. And he could use a sympathetic ear to talk to.
He walked into his study, his favorite room in the house, but didn’t take the time to appreciate the room before he went straight to the credenza and poured a drink. He was fuming and downed the drink in two big swallows, then poured another. That one, he took to the chairs in front of the fireplace.
While he sat there, drinking his drink a little faster than was socially acceptable, he tried to think of ways out of this. How could he convince his father not to follow through? The short answer was that he almost certainly couldn’t. Once the Duke had an idea, his word was his bond. If he said Stede had to be engaged by the end of the season, then that was the way it had to be. And it didn't help matters that his mother was backing him up. That made the situation completely impossible.
Fuck. This was absolutely unbearable. What the fuck was he supposed to do? The thought of sex with a woman was…
“You’re home early,” he heard from the doorway, and looked up to see Lucius letting himself in, swishing his way over. Lucius had been his valet for the last seven years and Stede considered him more of a friend than an employee - the Duke’s remark about treating servants like family had been made in large part because of his disapproval of Stede’s friendship with Lucius. Although he didn’t approve of the way Stede treated his other servants, either. But Stede’s treatment of his servants had stemmed in large part from his upbringing - he wanted to be surrounded by authenticity as best he could, not the scraping and bowing his father seemed to prefer. Fuck. Was that something else he was going to have to give up for a wife?
“I thought you were off to the club this evening,” Lucius was saying as he came in and took Stede’s empty tumbler and went to refill it. “Should I get the cook to start on dinner?”
“I have to marry a woman,” Stede said bluntly.
“Oh?” he said with a little grin. “So it was that old song and dance, was it?”
“No, he’s serious this time. He’s saying that if I’m not engaged by the end of the season, he’s announcing my engagement.”
Lucius made a face and returned with his full tumbler. “To whom?”
“Mary Allamby.”
Lucius shrugged a little at that and sat in the chair across from Stede. “You could do worse. You’re friends.”
“You’re missing the point, Lucius. I don’t want to marry any woman.”
“No, I take your point, but I think you’re out of options. You had to know this day was coming, honey.”
Stede heaved a heavy sigh. “Can I tell you the truth?”
“Of course.”
“Even though it will expose me as the horrible person that I am?”
“Yes, even though.”
“I was hoping he’d die before I had to worry about it,” Stede said, then immediately felt guilt wash over him. “I know that makes me a terrible son.”
“No, it makes you human. But nevertheless, that didn’t happen. And now you have… what? Six months to find a wife?”
“Yes. And if I don’t, he’ll announce my engagement to Mary. You know,” Stede burst out, changing tacks. “I just think about how unfair this is to her, not just to me. She’d probably like to find her own spouse, too. This isn’t just monstrous for me. She deserves better than to be treated like a pawn in a game of… I don’t even know what the fuck,” he finished lamely.
“It might be monstrous, and yes, she deserves better. So do you. But Stede, it’s been done this way for centuries. You don’t think the rules are magically going to change for you, do you? You don’t have main character syndrome that bad.”
“I don’t have main character syndrome at all!” Stede protested.
Lucius patted his leg. “Of course you don’t,” he said. “I misspoke.”
Stede huffed. “I just thought you’d be more sympathetic,” he sulked.
“I’m immensely sympathetic. You’re not the only one this is going to affect, you know. You’re going to marry someone and it’s going to shake up the whole household.”
Stede ignored that. “I had hoped for a love match.”
“Stede, hon, only the very lucky or the poor get to marry for love. And I don’t think you’re that lucky.”
“I wanted it to be like Romeo and Juliet.”
Lucius gave him a look. “I know you don’t mean that. That was a love story that lasted three days and resulted in everyone dying. It was a tragedy.”
“No, what’s a tragedy is this,” Stede argued. “And you know what I meant.”
“I know what you think you meant,” Lucius said. “Did you get to talk to your mother about it?”
“I did. She supports him because she thinks I’ll be able to have a happy platonic marriage with Mary, and she wants grandchildren. She said to go ahead and get married and let the love come later.”
“That’s not the worst idea.”
Stede looked at him, affronted.
Lucius shook his head in the face of Stede’s offense and leaned forward. “Look, if it were me, I would do what’s expected of me. Go through with this plan. Go to the balls and musicales and whatnot and see if you can find a woman you can live with that your father will approve of. If you don’t, Mary is a safe bet. You’re friends, and there are worse things than being married to your friend.”
“But I’ll be expected to provide kids!”
“So do so!”
“I don’t want to touch her, mate!”
“Stede, you’re not thinking. Take your wife on an extended holiday to the continent and come back with a baby you secretly adopted while away. You could write to people while abroad and tell them the happy news. The hardest part will be convincing your wife, but honestly, if she’s getting a baby and doesn’t have to go through childbirth, she probably won’t care.”
Stede considered this for a minute. “I hadn’t thought of that. It could work.”
“And then, it’s a time-honored tradition for the nobility to have affairs.”
“I don’t particularly want to do that to my wife. My father did that to my mother, you know.”
“I know. Virtually everyone does it. You’d just be doing what everyone else has done for hundreds upon hundreds of years by taking a lover. Or two. Or three or four. I’m a fan of you being a little slutty, personally.”
“I’m sure you are, whore that you are,” Stede said affectionately. Then he sighed. “Alright. I suppose you’re right. I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”
“Not really, no.”
“Then I guess that’s the only way forward. Are we ready to go for the season?”