Chapter Text
“It might be time you settled.”
Benedict stared up at him.
“You cannot be serious.”
Anthony did not reply, looking instead at Benedict’s bedfellow. “You. I am going to leave this bedchamber for—” he pulled out his watch, “Five minutes. I expect you dressed and walking out the door.”
And so his brother walked out the door and Benedict’s friend, Marlaina, oh, beautiful, sweet Marlaina, hurried to redress.
“Do not rush,” Benedict said. He lowered his voice. “I will make him leave.”
“You will not,” his brother called out from outside, somehow having heard him.
And so Marlaina, uninterested in incurring the wrath of an infamously mercurial viscount, redressed and ran quickly out the door, well before her five minute time limit was up. His brother marched back in, hands behind his back, barely sparing the girl a glance.
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Have you thought about what I said?”
“What you said? You mean what you have just said? Just a few moments ago?”
“Yes.”
“You expect me to have an answer?”
“Well, there’s not much to think about, Benedict. I think it’s time for you to get married.”
“You cannot be serious.”
“I am very serious.”
“And why should I?”
“Because I will increase your allowance.”
“I wonder if that is worth it considering I would have to manage a wife.”
“You have no trouble entertaining convenients every day of the week so I fail to see how this would differ. I imagine it would be much cheaper in the long run.”
“And yet you are asking me to do so because you do not want to marry. So clearly it is not worth—”
“Double. Double your allowance. No other sibling of ours would have such a privilege.”
Double. Well, that was different from an ‘increase.’ Double was something else.
“Why the sudden urgency? You seem…” He looked him over. “Spooked.”
It was quite early in the morning. Anthony’s usually tidy hair was windswept, his riding boots still on, his clothing slightly wrinkled. He imagined Anthony had just rode back into Mayfair from a brothel (the hypocrite) and perhaps, (and Benedict imagined this with great amusement) his horse had nearly thrown him off his saddle. Yes, that must be it!
“Imagine how many pigments you can buy and canvases you could build with double the allowance,” Anthony said, instead of answering. “And not to mention the legitimacy it would lend you among the Ton if you were married.”
“I do not care what the Ton thinks of me.”
“As an artist it may open more respectable doors. And you want a bigger studio, don’t you? Do not forget either. A woman comes with a dowry,” Anthony said, turning on his heel to walk back out his door. “Think about it.”
He watched as his brother left, closing the door behind him.
He could not believe that was what his brother had ruined his morning for. He grumbled, throwing the covers off his body. One of these days he planned to return the favour, he thought, as he begrudgingly got ready for the day.
It was days later when Anthony brought it up again, while they were breaking fast with the rest of the family.
“You should come with me to the Conservatory Ball tonight. We may look for your future wife.”
“Future wife?” their mother said. “What is this about? You are looking for a wife, Benedict?” Their mother’s face pulled into an expectant, hopeful smile.
“Do not get excited, Mother. Anthony is simply trying to pressure me into marriage so that he will not have to marry himself.”
Violet turned to her oldest and sighed disapprovingly.
“I fear Colin may be the first among us,” Benedict said.
“I should hope not,” Colin said.
“I pity the woman who marries any of you,” Eloise said.
“If I were a lady, and I had to choose between the three of us, I am easily the best choice,” Benedict said.
“I agree,” Anthony said. “Prove it, then.”
Benedict laughed.
“I would not be half-bad either!” Colin insisted.
Eloise scoffed. “You are either the worst or second worst.”
“And I am neither, correct?” Benedict said. “That is to say I am indeed the best?”
Eloise pretended to not hear him.
“I am well aware I am the worst,” Anthony said. “Do not feel as if you must spare my feelings.”
“No one had any intention of sparing your feelings, Anthony,” Colin said.
The two younger brothers laughed, along with Eloise. Their mother, on the other hand, looked quite put out.
“I think Anthony would be a good husband!” a voice called out.
Their heads snapped towards the youngest.
“I think Anthony would be a good husband!” she repeated. “You are being unfair.”
Anthony smiled tightly. “Thank you, Hyacinth.” He looked at the rest of his siblings. “How nice. If only we could all be so nice.”
“I thought you said we did not need to spare your feelings!”
“And there are things sweet Hyacinth does not know, Anthony!”
“Like what?” said sweet Hyacinth.
“And it should stay that way,” Anthony said, cutting in. “Anyway. I am going to the Conservatory Ball tonight,” he went on, looking directly at Benedict. “You may join me if you wish.”
“I do not wish.”
“Then I shall do my research alone. I will keep you informed.”
“Do not bother,” Benedict said.
“But I will.”
And with that, Anthony took one last bite, then left the table to start his work for the day.
Men looked at her of course. Leered. Rarely approached. She was old enough to understand she was as beautiful as her sister. Commanded attention for her face and her body when she walked into a room. And she was smart enough to know they knew they could hold her age against her, pretend that made her less attractive to them. Try to force her to believe she was easy pickings.
She knew better. But she was practical. She did not intend on wrangling with a man for his respect or his ring. Her looks were not of no value, but she could only call so many of men’s bluffs.
She would find a pleasant, bearable match. With a man who regarded women not too lowly beneath him (to find a man who thought women equal was a laughable pursuit. Nevermind that the brutes were clearly more primitive). A widower might be a good match. An untitled man of good birth. Someone who would be kind enough to her. She did not require love. Depending on the man, perhaps she would prefer that he had a mistress, so that he may leave her alone most of their time together.
It was the only way to ensure that she could stay near Edwina.
The Sheffields’ terms were clear. One condition was that Edwina was to marry a titled man. Edwina’s dowry would be provided given she had managed such a match. It would also require that Kate meet a condition of her own.
Kate, if she wished to remain near her sister, was to marry a man of acceptable birth so that the birth of her own parents would be begrudgingly forgotten by the Ton. They would provide her a much smaller dowry for this. If she failed to secure a ‘blood-purifying’ match this season (that is what the Sheffields had called such a match), then her dowry would turn into fare for her ticket back to India and what remained would fund the start of her life there, so that she would not defile their newfound standing within the Ton.
And so Kate agreed, as life was beginning to grow difficult to sustain in India off of the funds they had, and she and her family used the little that remained to make the voyage to England. She had…obfuscated some of the details to her family. If everything went as it should, there would be no reason to tell them.
“That is Lord Lumley, over there,” Lady Danbury said, motioning over to a young, pleasant looking man.
“He is handsome.”
“Not as handsome as you,” Kate said, leaning over into her sister’s ear.
“You are convinced no one is as handsome as me.”
“And I would be correct.”
Lady Danbury chuckled.
“I do think either one of you could make a good match for Lord Lumley.”
Kate smiled wryly. “You flatter me, Lady Danbury, by suggesting I could match with a titled man. Feel free to address my sister alone in regards to such men. My feelings will not be hurt.”
“I was not being polite. It is not entirely impossible, my child. Of course, an untitled man is an easier bet, but one could always have a few suitors who are just within reach.”
“My sister can worry about the titled men.”
“Very well,” Lady Danbury said, smiling. “That is Mr. Emilio Gaw. Third son of a baron.”
Her eyes landed on the man the older lady had pointed out, slender, almost waifish, but appealingly so.
“Charming,” she said.
“He is indeed, is he not?” Lady Danbury said. “And I imagine he would enjoy your company. Four and twenty, I believe.”
“Then he is two years younger than me.” That might prove difficult.
“Then all the easier,” Lady Danbury said, contradicting her thoughts, in a tone that nearly made her laugh.
“I always imagined it would be easier to charm an older man.”
“That is what one would think. I find that the older men are too set in their ways and are both embittered and entitled. The younger ones, however…” She trailed off, smiling to herself, then turned to another corner of the ballroom.
“Lord Ramos,” Lady Danbury went on, looking at Edwina. “What he lacks in looks, he makes up for with wealth and favour with the queen.”
“Hmm,” Edwina said, looking at him. “His face seems…kind.”
“The only thing kind here is you, Miss Edwina.”
Kate stifled a laugh. Her sister did better at masking her amusement, pushing down a smile.
She looked around the ballroom, listening as Lady Danbury continued to point men out.
If she had any hope for herself, she would look for that strange man she had nearly ridden into at the park just days ago. He was clearly a gentleman, easily deduced by his audacity and the nature of his questions. Perhaps she would even admit to him that he was right about her going in the wrong direction.
She looked around. She did not see him.
It did not matter. She had not hope for herself. In any case, his wealth was apparent, and the threat of a title even more so; it seemed he could be an earl or even a duke by his demeanor and way of dress. That would not do, and even if she wanted to, it would be foolish to set her sights so high. It would be easier to find a man of more middling wealth for herself, who in turn demanded little of her. Perhaps the handsome third son of a baron, if she were lucky.
It did not take much meddling by Lady Danbury for men to ask for the two sisters’ dance cards. After all, she and her sister were part of a small crowd of new faces for the Ton. She hoped that at least Edwina’s novelty would not wear off.
Kate danced with a young widower, then a foppish man of forty who had never married, then Mr. Gaw. She was enjoying a lemonade with him as she kept an eye on her sister, who was now dancing with Lord Lumley. Mr. Gaw was even more handsome up close—dark eyes, dark hair, slightly tan, olive skin. His father’s family, he explained, had come from the same continent as hers—just a little further east.
It would not be so terrible, would it, to be in the company of a man who might understand, just a little better than the average man from this country, from where she came?
Another man asked her to dance, and she could not say no. Regrettably, she left Mr. Gaw’s company. Then, when the dance was over, she thought she might step out for some air, and to take a break from the relentless barrage of men, curious to see a new foreign miss (or to speak to the older sister of the miss they truly wanted to speak to). She looked around to find Edwina now under the surveillance of their mother. She glanced quickly at Lady Danbury to see where her attentions lay, and found her talking to a stately lady she did not recognise— a brown haired woman in a pastel blue dress.
Her social muscle, after all the introductions and forced smiles, was quite tired, and so she did not go to Lady Danbury to excuse herself, unwilling to go through another introduction to yet another unknown member of the Ton.
She slipped outside, taking care to make sure no one saw her and that no men were closely behind her.
The air was not quite cool, but it was fresh and it was welcome. She inhaled, then sighed, looking over the dimly lit lawn when a few faint voices carried over to her ear.
“I did not realise you were entering the marriage mart. Saw you talking to some of the debutantes.”
A laugh. Familiar.
“Absolutely not.”
Slowly, and carefully, she crept towards the source of the sound.
Her eyes landed on a rather rat-like man. Whoever he was, she immediately disqualified him from the running for her sister, titled or not. She simply did not like his face.
“Then whyever were you speaking to them? Perhaps you are looking to ruin some of them?” she heard the rat-like man say.
“I do not ruin ladies.”
Her eyes darted to the man who spoke.
The man. From the park.
The other men snickered.
“Ah. Of course. You prefer the company of more experienced women.”
“Indeed I do. I cannot imagine there is much joy in laying with a virgin.”
She swallowed down a disappointment she thought herself too wise to feel. It was not as if he would have ever been an option anyway. He had taken himself out of the market, and even if he had not, she would have taken him off herself.
Still. She stared at his face. He looked different in the night, or perhaps it was the disgusting company he kept. Gone was the free, arrogant man she had met in the park, grinning widely as he completely lost to her. In his place was a stiff, restricted, arrogant man, a furrow in his brow, a frown always at his lips, even as he laughed. Both arrogant, but not at all the same. The freedom made all the difference.
“So then pray tell, what are you doing lingering around the virgins,” said a second rat-like man, drawing her attention away from the man she had met before. He too was out of the running. She shall remember that face and not let him within several paces of her sister. If any of them uttered a title or a name to identify any of this sorry group, she would commit it to memory as if her life depended on it.
“I am looking for a suitable wife for my brother.”
The other men guffawed.
“For which one? The spare?”
The man did not take kindly to this.
“Do not call him that.”
And the other men fixed their faces just a touch before going on.
“And does he know you are?”
“He is well aware.”
“And this is something he wants?”
“He pretends he is not considering it, but he is.”
“I do not understand. Let the man look for himself.”
“Frankly, I do not trust him to make the right choice without guidance. There are some requirements, I believe, that the lady must fulfill.”
The first sniveling man spoke again.
“Now I am curious. Do tell us you want in a wife. For your brother.”
“Hmm,” he started. “A pleasant, preferably pretty face,” he said. “But perhaps not too beautiful. That seems a little uncouth, somehow, does it not, for a wife?”
There were some murmurs of agreement among the men. Good God, could a man ever be satisfied? He would hold her beauty against her while at the same time demanding it?
“Of course, hips wide enough for child-bearing…”
One snickered as he spoke, “Do you intend on sharing?”
The other men laughed. Oh, she hated them. The man, meanwhile, chuckled, but continued on seriously.
“Do not misunderstand! Of course I would not subject my brother to an ugly woman. I am not so cruel. Nor will he suffer an impolite one. Of course she shall have to be well and mild-mannered, be of acceptable wit, understand her place in the family. After all, she will have to mother the heir to the title.”
“And why will you not father the heir? There are worse things than fathering an heir, you know. I myself am rather looking forward to it.”
More laughs. Oh, the men of England had such great senses of humour, did they not? Nuanced and rivetting. Single-noted it was not.
“Oh, I cannot manage a wife.”
“It is not as if you cannot pursue more pleasurable pursuits on the side!”
“I simply refuse to take a wife. I could not deal with such a…thing.” He gave them a wry grin. “Of course, I would never turn down a pursuit.”
Again, the group of hideous men laughed. It seemed they only grew more hideous the longer she looked at them. So it went that she could no longer bear to.
She began to back away, but it seemed that they had a similar idea to disperse, and so she was forced to hide rather inelegantly behind a well pedicured bush.
The man was now alone, and now walking toward her hiding space. She cursed to herself, and tried to move out of sight. She stepped on a twig in her haste. She grimaced.
“Is someone there?” he said. “I can hear you.”
She steeled herself, then stepped out of her hiding place, seeing no other recourse. His eyes landed on hers.
“You,” he said, a grin slowly growing on his face. “I never got your name. I was wondering if we'd meet again.” He continued to smile, widely, flirtatiously. He had some audacity doing so. Oh, it was frightening, the way he could speak the way he did just moments ago and smile at her the way he was now!
“So you might discern if my hips were wide enough for child-bearing? No, excuse me. I imagine you would see me as little more than a pleasurable pursuit.”
His rakish demeanor half fell. “You were eavesdropping?”
“It was hardly an effort, seeing as you were proclaiming your many requirements for a wife loud enough for the entire party to hear. Nevermind that you do not even intend on taking one for yourself.”
“You take issue with them?”
“I take issue with any man who views women merely as chattels and breeding stock.”
“None of that was meant—”
“What kind of brother-in-law would think of his sister-in-law in such a way?” She cast him a look of disdain. “Perhaps it is not by choice that you do not marry. I imagine most women cannot stand to be in your presence unless otherwise incentivised.”
He had the gall to look shocked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“And I cannot imagine your brother would fare much better than you. Unless a pleasing smile is all it takes to win over a young lady of London.”
“Is that to say you find my smile pleasing?” he said, his eyebrows knitting in a way she found insufferable. “Considering you have assigned that attribute to my brother.”
He was unbelievable.
“It seems your English comprehension is as poor as your horsemanship,” she said. “Strange, considering that is probably the only language you speak. I shall bid you goodnight.”
She stormed back toward the ballroom.
“Miss!” he called out after her. She did not turn around.
Her mood completely soured, she found her mother and Lady Danbury to excuse herself, claiming a headache all the way up to her chamber, taking an early night. Oh, he was odious! He had completely ruined her night, rendered useless all the small triumphs she had found for herself. She could not bring herself to look at another man—his words had reawakened her hatred for his gender. What a harsh, yet necessary reminder not to fantasise at all about a single one of them. Not Emilio Gaw, not a charming young widower, and certainly not the disgusting man she had the misfortune to meet twice.
Could she really subject herself to a marriage with a man? She imagined far too many of them had opinions that aligned with that of that man. And his friends.
But to return to India alone, while her sister and her mother remained here…
She tossed herself to her other side in her bed, restless, the bedclothes tangling near her ankles in her frustration.
In any case, even if she wished to return to India alone, she might not have the choice to remain husbandless still. With no close relatives, let alone male ones, it left her vulnerable. If she returned to her hometown without her family, it would be obvious to those who knew of her that she was alone. And if she decided to choose elsewhere to live, then she would be surrounded by strangers who she knew nothing of.
Alone.
She wondered, for the first time since she had made her decision and accepted the Sheffields’ terms, if she had made a grand mistake.
But if she had not accepted, where would they be now? They would only be a few months from destitution. There was just so little left. No, there was only an illusion of choice. There was no reality in which she could not have accepted the Sheffields’ offer.
She closed her eyes and took deep breaths to dispel the tightness that had settled in her chest. She could not sleep, though she wanted it so. She knew that she would feel better in the morning, no matter how false that comfort was, if she could just get to sleep now. But tonight, like many other nights, she could not get rid of it. She turned away and pretended to be asleep when Edwina finally made her way into their room, and she remained wide-eyed, staring at the wall far after Edwina’s breaths had slowed.
The tightness in her chest remained.
Her life was not her own.
This was a common symptom.