Jadish stood outside. “My Lady? Should I serve food?”
I was thrown, very briefly. “If they want it, then do,” I ordered. It was hard to keep things straight in my head. Jadish was a friend and a servant and a friend ... she’d seen me on my hands and knees, scrubbing the floor like a common laundry maid. “If they want shown out instead, please escort them to the door.”
Uncle Jalil caught up with me as I walked back to my father’s office ... to my office. I frowned inwardly, then remembered he probably wouldn’t have been welcome once I’d left. He wouldn’t have been welcome at all, not really, but they would have been politer while I was in the room. He wasn’t real family, they’d say. He’d married into the family. It didn’t make him trustworthy ...
I have to trust someone, I thought. I couldn’t do everything alone. And I trust Jalil far more than any of the aunts and uncles back there.
“You did well,” Uncle Jalil said, once the wards were firmly in place. I had no doubt my relatives would try to spy on me if they could. “Although you did back them into a corner.”
I nodded. “I don’t want them to have any room for ... creative misinterpretations,” I said, flatly. I’d spent half my time at school coming up with loopholes in the rules, but the stakes were a little higher now ... and the consequences for failure far worse. “I need them behind me, Uncle, or at least not trying to stab me in the back.”
“You bought yourself a year,” Uncle Jalil said. He strode over to the window and peered at the overgrown garden. “What are you going to do with it?”
I said nothing for a long moment. I’d gone through the accounts as carefully as I could, highlighting various points for later consideration. I’d studied the reports from the farms, contemplating the prospects for investment ... I’d even read the newspapers, looking for ways to make money. I was starting to understand, almost despite myself, my father’s desperation. We needed to spend money in order to make money and we couldn’t make money because we didn’t have the money to spend ...
No wonder they didn’t oppose me very effectively, I thought. It would have been amusing, if I hadn’t been the one in charge. Even a token show of resistance might have left them holding the bag.
I turned to face him. “Desperate times call for desperate measures,” I said. I did have one thing that was solely within my power to sell. Myself. “I’m going to get married.”
Chapter Eight
“What?”
Uncle Jalil caught himself as he turned to face me. “You’re going to get married? To whom?”
“Good question,” I agreed. “You can help me find a prospective husband.”
I tried not to smile at his expression. He looked as if I’d punched him in the stomach or gone out in public wearing trousers. It really shouldn’t have surprised him that badly. I was nineteen, easily old enough to marry. My father would have been looking for a husband for me from the moment he formally acknowledged me as an adult. I’d known girls who’d been engaged and married before they left school. Now ...
Uncle Jalil found his voice. “Lucy ... what are you thinking?”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” I said. I looked him in the eye. “What are my chances of marrying another aristocrat?”
I watched his mouth move silently as he tried to compose an argument that wasn’t completely wrong-headed. “You do have a famous name,” he said, finally. “And there are families who might value you ...”
“No.” I shook my head. “We’d be the junior parties in any aristocratic match. The only thing we have of any value is our seat on Magus Court and they’ll insist on gaining control as part of the marriage agreement. We’d continue to exist as a name, but little else. House Lamplighter will effectively vanish from the books. And that’s the best-case outcome.”
I went on, trying to hide my own doubts. “And even if that wasn’t true, who’d marry me? I don’t have wealth or land or anything, really. The most eligible bachelors won’t be interested in me. The ones who have power - or will inherit power - will be discouraged by their parents and families. It would have to be someone on the edge of their family and ... they wouldn’t have any real influence, with or without me. There’s no way we can ally ourselves with another Great House.”
Uncle Jalil didn’t look reassured, but he couldn’t dispute my logic. “What do you have in mind?”
“There are commoners, wealthy commoners, who want to move up in the world,” I said. “And we have something they’ll want.”
“I ...” Uncle Jalil broke off and started again. “You want to marry yourself to a commoner?”
I nodded, trying to ignore the memories of schoolgirls sneering at aristos who married beneath themselves. A commoner might be wealthy enough to stand amongst the aristocrats, perhaps even outshine them, but he wouldn’t be able to claim a title dating all the way back to the Thousand Year Empire. The most impoverished Great House was socially superior to a merchant family who could buy and sell everything the aristocracy owned out of pocket cash. I’d heard enough rumours, at school, to know there were merchants who wanted to buy their way into the aristocracy through marriage. They’d had few takers.
“We have something they want,” I said. “A name, a title, and a voice in government.”
“And everyone else will look down on them,” Uncle Jalil said. “They won’t be real aristocrats.”
“Their children will be counted amongst the aristocracy,” I said. The Great Houses had no qualms about convincing powerful common-born magicians to marry into their ranks. “My husband might not be counted as their equal, but my children will be aristocrats in their own right.”
Uncle Jalil shook his head, slowly. “And that’s your plan?”
“Not quite.” I tried not to show my own qualms. “I have some ideas for making money, but a terminal shortage of cash. We need money and quickly before we can do anything. So ... we find a wealthy commoner who wants to marry into the aristocracy and come to terms with him. A year-long engagement, backed by cash. If I decide, at the end of the year, not to go through with the marriage, we repay the cash. It’s simple.”
“Really.” Uncle Jalil didn’t sound pleased. “You’re basically selling yourself for money.”
“We take the money they give us and use it to make more money,” I said. “And then we repay them and break the engagement at the end of the year.”
Uncle Jalil snorted. “And what if you can’t repay them?”
He turned and paced over to the windows. “Lucy, you’d be putting your name to a contract stipulating that you’ll be marrying him, or his son, in a year. What happens if you can’t repay him? You’ll be sued. You might wind up having to marry him anyway.”
I smiled at his back. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“You might wind up having to marry him anyway,” Uncle Jalil repeated, with icy patience. “Or you might wind up being kicked out of the family ... which will make life interesting because there’s no one who can take your place in the marriage agreement. Or ... the best you could hope for, I think, is becoming a laughingstock. No one would ever take you seriously again.”
“I don’t think they take me seriously now,” I said, as I reached for the newspaper. There’d been a time when changes in House Lamplighter would have been reported in breathless tones. Now ... I’d read the newspapers religiously since I’d returned to the city. We hadn’t been mentioned, not once. My name hadn’t even been included in the list of debutantes who’d be starting their season in a few weeks. “Has anyone made an offer for my hand?”
Uncle Jalil swung around to face me. “Lucy, this isn’t funny,” he said. “You’re agreeing to marry a stranger, to bear his children ...”
“I know.” I shook my head. “Do you have a better idea?”
“No,” Uncle Jalil said. “But as your uncle I have to warn you ...”
“We have very little we can leverage to obtain money,” I said. I understood his concern,
but we were short on options. “My hand in marriage is the only thing we can offer, as far as I can tell; it’s the only thing that will give us the leverage to get what we want on favourable terms. And even if it goes wrong ... it won’t be the end of the world.”
“You may feel differently, after you’re married,” Uncle Jalil warned.
“Good point,” I agreed. “You’d better make sure you find someone young and handsome as well as someone wealthy.”
Uncle Jalil emitted a strangled sound. “Lucy ... are you sure?”
I met his eyes. “Yes.”
“I hope you’re right,” he said. “You want me to handle the search?”
“Yes.” I couldn’t trust anyone else to handle it. I couldn’t handle the search myself either, not when I was the one who’d make the final decision. Uncle Jalil could always tell an unsatisfactory partner he’d have to check with me, giving him a chance to break off the negotiations without insulting the other party. “Someone wealthy, someone with resources we can use” - I allowed my voice to harden - “and someone desperate enough to pay in advance.”
“I hope they gave you the talk when you were at school,” Uncle Jalil said, darkly. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”
I snorted. I’d grown up in the aristocracy. I’d known my parents would have a say in who I married, unless I wanted to elope. The concept of being married to a stranger was hardly unknown. The aristocracy tried hard to ensure the couple had a chance to get to know one another before they signed the contract, but they could never be left alone together. I remembered some of the stories from the dorms and shuddered. There was no shortage of tales about girls who only discovered the terrible truth about their husband on their wedding night. I hoped most of those tales were exaggerated.
“I know,” I said. “Once you have a list of prospective candidates, let me know. I’ll go through them before we make any final offers.”
Uncle Jalil nodded, curtly. “I’ll see what I can dig up,” he said. “But it won’t be easy.”
“Just don’t tell any of the others,” I said. “We don’t want them insisting on having their say.”
“They’ll insist anyway, when they find out what you’re planning,” Uncle Jalil said. “I doubt they’ll be happy if - when - you marry a commoner.”
“No,” I agreed. “But they’ll just have to cope.”
I looked down at my hands as he left the room. Uncle Jalil was right. It was a gamble. It was a terrible risk. No one would say anything if we repaid the money before the deadline - marriage contracts were rewritten or broken all the time as the balance of power shifted from side to side - but if we failed to repay the money, we’d find ourselves in hot water. We would be sued. Or worse. I could easily see my prospective husband using the disaster as evidence we shouldn’t be trusted with his money. That would be awkward.
Particularly if he has to take on our debts, I thought. I’d seen the figures. We were in deep trouble. He might balk at letting us have anything.
I tried to put the thought out of my mind as I opened the newspaper and started to skim the society pages. As always, the news was a mixture of gossip, rumours and statements put out by paid shills ... I shook my head as the reporter detailed the deeds of a notorious rake old enough to be my father. The rake should have shown a little decorum, the reporter insisted; I had the feeling, reading between the lines, that the reporter was a little envious. I rolled my eyes and read the next story. The wedding of Akin Rubén and Caitlyn Aguirre would be formally announced later in the summer - I was sure I’d read the story somewhere before - but no date had been set. I frowned, feeling a twinge of envy. Akin Rubén and Caitlyn Aguirre would be one hell of a power couple. No one would ask them to repay their debts.
“If they even have debts,” I muttered. I flicked through the pages as a thought crossed my mind. “If she’s producing Objects of Power, she can practically set her own prices.”
I cursed under my breath. Some people had all the luck. There’d been a flurry of interest in girls who had little or limited magic, the year after the story broke. Grayling’s had tested each and every girl in hopes of finding a Zero, to no avail. Everyone had magic, even the ones who could barely cast a spell to save their lives. I’d never been good at forging - it wasn’t a reputable career for a young lady - but if I’d been a Zero ...
There’s no point in fretting over what could have been, I told myself. I’ll just have to make do with what I have.
I found the page I was looking for and read it again. And again. House Rubén and House Aguirre were planning to hold their first joint ball in two weeks, but they didn’t have a venue. Or so the reporter claimed. It sounded silly on paper - both families had multiple properties within the city - and the reporter clearly thought they were being stupid, but I could see the problem. Neither of the Great Houses would want to give the impression that they were submitting to the other. If one Great House hosted the ball, the other would be offended. And there wasn’t anywhere neutral ...
“Everyone’s taking sides,” I muttered to myself. I’d heard the rumours. House Rubén and House Aguirre were just too powerful. The remaining Great Houses were starting to unite against them. “But no one thought to ask us.”
I felt a twinge of irritation at being ignored, even though I knew I should be relieved. We had no armsmen, no army of powerful sorcerers and forgers to take the war to the enemy ... the last House War had broken us and we hadn’t even been involved in the fighting! We’d been collateral damage. A handful of the more alarmist rumours even suggested we were staring down the barrels of another House War. House Lamplighter might be obliterated in passing or snatched by whoever came out ahead. And that would be the end.
The thought I’d had earlier resurfaced. “We don’t owe anything to either side,” I muttered, as I put the paper to one side. “We could host the ball.”
I stood and headed for the door. Dust hung in the air as I walked along the corridor and down the stairs, trying not to notice all the missing portraits. There’d been a painting of me as a baby hanging at the bottom of the stairs, if I recalled correctly. Where was it? I couldn’t believe father had managed to sell it. Who’d want to buy? I told myself I’d check the basement as I walked into the ballroom. It was dark and cold. Dust lay on the floor like sand on a beach.
Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked around. I’d been a child, the last time we’d held a ball, but I still remembered the lights and sounds and fancy dresses as aristocrats moved around the room. I thought I could hear the band playing a dance tune as I ploughed through the dust, peering into alcoves and small hidden rooms where the real business had been transacted ... once upon a time. The rooms were shabby, the privacy wards frayed and old. I was surprised my father hadn’t maintained them. Surely, he’d hoped to give me a Season ...
He didn’t have the money, I thought. My heart twisted. I’d been promised a Season ... I tried to tell myself I was being silly, or selfish, but it still hurt. I’d heard the stories of fancy gowns and glittering lights and adoring hordes and endless dances while one’s parents hammered out the marriage contract. Father couldn’t have afforded a Season for me.
I gritted my teeth. Kate had pointed out, rather sarcastically, that the debutantes were treated like prize animals, put on display for potential buyers. There was no difference between a debutante ball and a shop window ... I’d been mad at her at the time, but I was starting to think she had a point. Maybe she was the lucky one. She wouldn’t be put on display ... she might even have the freedom to say no, after both sets of parents had hammered out the contract. Akin Rubén and Caitlyn Aguirre might have the power to say no and stand against their families. There weren’t many others, boys as well as girls, who could defy their elders without getting kicked out and disowned.
The sinking feeling in my heart grew worse as I walked up the stairs. I remembered the marble shining under the lights, but now it was gray and dull. The dust had made the stairs slippery.
I held the banister as I reached the top of the stairs, trying not to curse as the dust - somehow - grew thicker. The spells that should have kept me safe were long gone. I made a mental note to replace them. Nothing could be left to chance. The railings on the balcony didn’t look very safe either. I’d have to have them checked too.
Ellington stepped out of a servants' entrance and looked at me. “My Lady, the remaining councillors have left the hall.”
“Good,” I said. I waved a hand at the floor below. “How long would it take to clean up and fix everything?”
“If we had the staff, a week,” Ellington said. “Right now, we don’t.”
I nodded. He was right. “I want you to think about how to handle it,” I said. “If we hire the staff ... how much do we need to do to make the hall presentable ... things like that.”
The Lady Heiress (The Zero Enigma Book 8) Page 8