by Kai Butler
“I’m sure not,” Tiral said, honestly scandalized. “No one would dare turn you away.”
“You overestimate me,” Rit said, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “There are many places where the fact that we are new money still matters quite a bit. I know that my parents are hoping that with a title, our place in society will be secured.”
It was the frankest that Rit had allowed himself to be about his own marriage needs. He reached out tentatively and brushed their hands together as he took back the basket. They had almost reached their waiting cars, and he knew he didn’t have much time.
“I hope that you might find love, or at least companionship, in your match, also,” Tiral said. “It is what I am hoping for in my own.”
Looking at him intently, Rit asked, “Is that true?”
“It is,” Tiral assured him. He wasn’t sure how to convey that he thought they might be able to find it together, but Rit’s sudden, swift smile meant that he understood without any clumsy words.
“I’ll see you soon, then, Lord Gret,” Rit said.
“Please,” Tiral said, with a small smile. “I think you should call me by my first name. Tiral.”
“Tiral,” Rit said, smiling himself. “Then you should call me Yun.”
The moment broke and they both turned towards their cars, his driver rushing out to help him with the basket and blanket. At home, later, he thought maybe they might do well. They certainly could do worse and at least with each other, they would be able to learn to love.
He was able to float on that thought for a day, nearly two. Edah caught him staring out the window into the garden, frowning in thought, and began giving him sympathetic looks when their mother pressured him for more information about Yun Rit.
“Their family has contacted me about coming for a visit,” their mother said. “Very proper.”
Her tone had the sound of approval that made Tiral and Edah give each other one of the speaking looks that had served them well since childhood. This one was merely acknowledging that they were trapped into it now. As long as Yun’s parents managed to not offend his mother, he would be married by the end of the month.
The visit came and went with all the fanfare that was appropriate. Their mother hosted; the cook baked until the entire house smelled like butter, sugar, and flour; and Tiral and Yun managed to not laugh as their respective parents were increasingly formal as they each tried to impress the other.
“I say, Lord Gret,” Yun said, finally, raising his eyebrow significantly. “That book you mentioned. Might I borrow it?”
“Yes!” Tiral said gratefully. He gestured towards the door. “Let’s go to the library and you can see if any others catch your fancy.”
Once inside, Yun closed the door behind them and Tiral collapsed onto a chair.
“Well that was… stately,” Yun said, sitting across from Tiral. Yun offered a grin that seemed to make the joke of their parents’ meeting into something less stressful and more comedic.
“Positively decorous,” Tiral said. “I thought we might be pickled in the airs that everyone was putting on.”
If it had been Zev, he likely would have teased Tiral with a mocking ‘Lord Gret’ and they would show each other exactly how much formal language they could use.
Yun merely grinned and said, “I apologize for my mother; she is so eager, especially after last season.”
Tiral raised an eyebrow and asked, softly, “Last season?”
He remembered suddenly what Zev had said about Yun and his romantic history.
“I was engaged, but my partner broke it off when he was assigned to the outer rim. He didn’t want to tie me to him when he wouldn’t be here,” Yun said. The words were soft, but his eyes stayed fixed on the books on the far wall. “Last season, my parents threw me at every available partner who was the least bit open, but the results were mixed.”
“No offers?” Tiral asked, shocked.
“More that I couldn’t find myself interested in any of them,” Yun admitted. “This season, they made it clear that my interest was no longer necessary. My marriageable years are fading fast, it appears.”
Tiral winced in sympathy.
“I thought I would be able to get married for love. Marrying for politics, that was Lecc’s albatross,” Tiral said. “Now…”
Yun nodded and let the silence settle.
“Would you like to go to a museum?” Tiral asked. “Not today, but later this week?”
“That sounds diverting,” Yun said. He smiled again at Tiral, a shy thing that seemed truer than the more brilliant one that Tiral saw when they were in public.
There was a soft knock at the door and Edah entered, shutting the door behind her. “You abandoned me!”
“We came looking for a book,” Tiral said.
Edah's mouth twisted and she said, “Of course. Well I hope you've found it because they've managed to make each other perfectly ‘charmed’ and ‘delighted’ and are now ready to leave. With the promise of an intimate dinner soon.”
“You know it is my house,” Tiral said, frowning. “I should be consulted about such things.”
“I'm sure if you showed any interest in them, you would be completely ignored,” Edah assured him. Her smile was more than a bit mocking. “Luckily you are not interested.”
“I suppose we must go enjoy the fruits of such a momentous meeting,” Yun said. He rose and offered a hand to help Tiral. Tiral took it and smiled at him. Yun’s palm was warm, and Tiral waited a moment before releasing him.
It wouldn't be a bad hand to hold in moments when he needed comfort.
They re-entered the sitting room as Tiral's mother was assuring Mrs. Rit that it was no trouble to put together an intimate dinner on such short notice.
“For friends,” she said, “it's quite a pleasure.”
They exchanged their goodbyes and Masub escorted their guests out.
“Well done, Tiral,” their mother said, when the front door had closed. “Quite charming people. Very well-behaved given that their money can only be two generations old.”
The comment made even Edah raise an eyebrow. A maid entered to take the tea tray out, and they waited until she’d left before continuing.
“Thank you, Mother,” Tiral said drily. “Now, there are things I must attend to.”
He stood and nodded to both of them before escaping to his room and the difficult last chapter of Rexe's thesis. He was able to avoid any alone time with their mother through a careful coordination of Rexe, Edah, and calls to Renn. It worked so well that his mother was likely only aware he was taking Yun out because a servant had talked.
He chose a museum in town and picked Yun up at the house that the Rits were renting for the season. Their butler was even more formal than Masub, and Tiral waited patiently as the man glowered at him.
Yun smiled as he came down the stairs and they left immediately.
“Did you time it so my parents would be out?” Yun asked.
“I timed it so my mother would be out,” Tiral admitted. They shared a soft laugh as Tiral guided them to the car. He’d chosen to drive them himself so that they might be able to have a conversation without any listening ears.
Unfortunately, a level of awkwardness Tiral hadn’t foreseen settled between them as he drove.
“You handle the car quite well,” Yun offered eventually. He was staring out the window, his fingers fidgeting with a button on his coat.
“Yes, I’m used to driving myself,” Tiral said, confused. “Having a driver — as an earl is expected to employ — is what seems strange now.”
With a noise of agreement, Yun remained silent until they parked, his brow furrowed. Tiral cleared his throat. “If art isn’t of interest, we might go somewhere else?”
“Can we speak frankly?” Yun asked, turning to him. His brow was still furrowed and his eyes were shadowed.
“Yes,” Tiral said with a sigh. “I would like that. I have something that I’ve been unsure how
to tell you.”
“Yes?” Yun asked.
“I know the delicate way to say it,” Tiral said, remembering all the phrases that Zev had taught him, all the ways to say it without saying it. “But I’d prefer to be blunt. My estate is… let out. The only thing I would have to bring to a relationship is my title and… love.”
“I know,” Yun said, raising an eyebrow. “My parents…”
Of course. Tiral blushed. His parents did what any good family would and had probably hired investigators to find out what sort of man he was and what had happened that he was so eager to pursue their son.
Tiral exhaled in acknowledgment and forced a small smile. “So is this the end?”
“Oh, no!” Yun said, his expression surprised. “No. The opposite. My parents would like me to offer for you.”
Tiral licked his lips and swallowed. Forcing bravery, he said, “And what do you want?”
“I would like to marry you,” Yun said. He smiled, hesitantly, and Tiral realized that Yun's situation was no less difficult. A aging count on one side, pressuring parents on the other, and Tiral his only way out of the vise he was in. “I know that you still care deeply for Yuls, but I think that maybe, with time, we might learn to love each other.”
“Grow to have a strong affection,” Tiral said, surprised at how closely Yun's words followed his own thoughts.
“Yes,” Yun said. “I know how it is to love one you cannot have and I think we might be able to heal our hearts together.”
“This is sudden,” Tiral admitted.
“Is it?” Yun asked, confused. “I thought — that is, I assumed —”
“Only I thought we’d have more time,” Tiral hastened to explain. “I thought we might have a few months before we needed to make a commitment.”
“No,” Yun said softly. “We aren’t granted that reprieve.”
“Ah,” Tiral said, feeling like an idiot. “Of course. Well, might I at least think on it for a short time?”
“Yes,” Yun said. “Are you… having second thoughts?”
“No,” Tiral said. “Your thoughts are my own.”
Yun frowned, the expression marring his usually pleasant features. He clearly wanted to ask, but politeness muted him.
“Just to be sure that I will be able to give you what you deserve,” Tiral said. “Which is a good marriage and… love.”
“With time,” Yun reassured him.
Tiral smiled, honestly this time. He felt a crack in his chest and was positive the wound was physical.
“With time,” he agreed. Tentatively, he reached out to grasp Yun’s hand. The touch was warm, but not electric. His body didn’t spark as though he were going to catch fire. “Now, the museum?”
Yun agreed easily. The rest of the day was spent ignoring the awkwardness that had settled between them.
18
From her position across the room, the actress gave him a sultry smile that he supposed should have sent his blood boiling. He wanted to be the sort who would take her home, have his way with her. Except, as she’d made clear, he would need to enter through the servants' entrance and be gone before they came to wake her in the morning. With a lukewarm smile, he turned back to the conversation he’d been roped into.
“I say, Deva, you’ll win the bet.” Zev searched his memory for the speaker’s name, and came up empty. It was someone that he knew vaguely from the club, but no more information came to mind.
“No inside information, just a good sense of how the season flows,” Deva said graciously. “When you’ve seen enough of them, you know when the first askings happen.”
“Askings?” Zev drawled, bored.
“Proposals,” the man said, laughing heartily. “Throwing the handkerchief, placing the hat.”
“And who is the unlucky sport now?” Zev asked, against his better judgment. He tugged at his sleeve and surreptitiously glanced over at where the actress had been. Taking his cold shoulder for the set-down it had been, she was now hanging off the arm of some poor youngster likely in his first season.
“Gret, of course! I have it on very good authority that Rit’s parents have pressured him into offering!” Deva nudged Zev’s arm with his elbow and grinned. “Bet you wish you’d gotten in on the betting now. I’m set to make a pretty penny off of this.”
“And he accepted?” Zev asked, his voice sounding too loud.
“Ah, so you did set a sum down on the action,” Deva judged. “No word yet, but from all I’ve heard, he’s been hanging out for a ring this whole season. Won’t say no to an offer like Rit’s. Good family, well off. Couldn’t do much better with only the title to offer.”
“Deva, he clearly didn’t place a wager. Yuls is a man of principle and he’s much too close to Gret to put any money on him. There’s no sport in it if you know the outcome,” Asta said. Zev glanced at him sharply, and the man raised a shoulder in a lazy shrug.
“That so? Well, good on him,” Deva said amiably. “I’m still glad that I got in when the odds were in my favor.”
“I have to go,” Zev said, the words tumbling out of his mouth numbly. He felt stupid in the moment, unbearably clumsy as he made poor excuses and goodbyes to his companions. Brushing past the actress on his way out, he didn’t even turn when her fingers trailed over his arm.
He was in the backseat of his car when he realized what a fool he must have looked. It would be the talk of the salons in the morning, how he’d rushed out after learning of Tiral’s engagement. After their dance, after they’d disappeared in the middle of that wretched ball, how could anyone not put the pieces together and start crowing that he'd lost his heart at long last?
He was in no mood to deal with another problem, but his fob buzzed and announced that Nosre was calling. Swiping the connection on, he snapped, “What is it?”
“Hello to you, too.” Nosre was holding a handkerchief to his head, staunching what appeared to be blood. “I’m doing well, thank you for asking. Everything is fine here, except that graduate student you sent me after is an absolute harridan.”
He spat the last off camera, as though speaking to someone.
“What happened?” Zev asked, confused.
Nosre threw him a withering look. “I went to offer funds to build a prototype of her research and she called it ‘blood money’ and threw some wretched mechanics’ tool at me —”
Off screen someone muttered, “aeromech” and Nosre rolled his eyes upwards, “Oh, excuse me, an aeromech spanner.”
The voice grew closer, and Nosre was nudged to the far end of the screen. Rexe’s face filled his view, distorted from how close she must have been to Nosre’s fob.
“I said I would keep silent, but if you send another of your lackeys to offer to pay me off, like I’m some ‘abbess’ who you’ve spent the night with, I will make sure that it becomes very public not only who you are, but also every partner I can link you to, and some I can’t!” The screen went garbled for a moment, as she appeared to throw the fob back at Nosre.
His face reappeared, looking faintly smug.
“Well,” Zev sighed. He rubbed at his temples. “I suppose we must withdraw and yield her the field.”
“As you wish,” Nosre said, signing off.
The rest of the ride was blessedly silent. Zev eventually pulled out his fob and did some quick work that he sent over to Ovi, who responded with a short text reading only ‘????’
Looking back at what he’d sent her, he realized that it had been attached to the wrong department. With a sigh, he corrected the error and resent the document. At that point, they were home, and he took the stairs two at a time, acknowledging his butler with only a brief nod before ensconcing himself in his office. With a tap, he activated his desk, but all of the items still to be completed — review the shipping numbers from last quarter, look at the newest mess that aeromech would have him pay for — irritated him.
Instead, he pulled up the file that he’d had Ovi put together. It was thorough, and damning. Y
un Rit was as charming and sweet as Tiral deserved. The money to bail out the Gret estate wouldn’t exceed the profits Rit's company had made in the last year. Rit had had three lovers; the last he’d been engaged to only to be left for the outer rim. He was known to be a good manager as well as a generous friend and had never put a servant in any sort of inappropriate situation.
In other words, he was more than Tiral could have dreamed of as an outcome. And for some reason the idea of him made Zev’s blood boil. He wanted to lash out at Rit, destroy his company, make it clear who had the upper hand in this situation.
But that was ridiculous, not to mention disproportionate to the damage done to Zev. Which had been what? he asked himself.
Nothing other than being a man willing to court and marry Tiral.
No, Zev reminded himself. The man who would marry Tiral. His stomach clenched and he realized that his stylus was digging into his palm, a reminder that he was here, at his house, and that he wanted no part in any marriage scheme.
A chime sounded on his desk and he answered it.
“What?”
Raising an eyebrow, Ovi’s face was otherwise expressionless. “I have some new information about the late Earl of Gret. Are you still interested in it?”
He debated closing the call without giving an answer. There was no need for him to be interested. He could move on from the whole mess, put it behind him as an ill-considered seasonal fling, and smile and congratulate Tiral when he saw him next.
“I’ll hear it,” Zev said.
“It’s best said in person. Are you in your office?” she asked.
He nodded and she told him she’d be there in a moment. He stared at the blank screen and tried to think of what he should do with the information she had. Tiral would obviously deserve to know any and all details about his brother's death, but what right did he have to intrude on what was likely a joyous occasion? Moreover, his continued presence would only prove true what Tiral had told him. With Zev constantly there, Tiral would have no room to move on to someone who could actually give him what he needed.