Chapter 3 - William #2
Thomas had recently called off his engagement to Miss Daisy Knope.
It was a public spectacle, to be sure, but he was infinitely better off without her than he was with her.
William was still shocked that out of all the flowers in the English garden, Thomas had somehow been able to find a Venus flytrap.
William nodded. "Nasty business.”
He watched his friend closely to see if he would take the bait. William always thought it best to approach sensitive topics with a glancing blow that the listener could either ignore or clamp onto, depending on the mood. It seemed Beaufort desired to talk after all.
He sighed. "I should have seen it. I thought perhaps she was a bit immature, but I never knew she was cruel. That blasted hunting trip—"
William arched an eyebrow. "That blasted trip was all that kept you from being leg-shackled to that woman until she drove you into an early grave."
"Indeed, though it was damned embarrassing it had to play out in front of my closest friends as it did.”
"Better your closest friends than all of London society. You know that none of us will say a word on the matter, so it’s left to conjecture."
"Don't you think that’s worse? Conjecture means there are a thousand options to ruminate upon."
"Yes, but no one knows which is the correct one."
He nodded. "I suppose you're right. In any case, I've been discreet. Hardly anyone knows I'm in the city at the moment; they think I'm still out in the countryside."
"I heard she followed you there."
"Good heavens, man, why do you think I'm back in town?"
William couldn’t help it—he chuckled. He was immensely relieved when his friend smiled in response. Beaufort would be fine, given enough time to heal.
"If only she’d leave me alone." Thomas ran a hand through that enviable hair. "I went to Norfolk to avoid her, but it's as if she believes that if she hounds me long enough, I'll propose all over again."
More likely, Daisy sought to corner him and trap him into marriage, but certainly his friend had thought of those dangers.
"You only need to avoid her for a few more weeks. Once the social whirl starts, she'll be drawn back to London like a moth to a flame."
"I certainly hope you're right. Sometimes it feels as if this will never end."
"It’s a Season, one that will come to a close as surely as any other."
"Enough about me," Thomas said. "How go your endeavors?"
“The house is refurbished. As for my sisters…” He gestured flippantly. "How am I to know how they are truly doing? They say they are well, that they suffered no real harm in my absence, but they aren't prone to complaining."
The letter he’d received a year ago, nearly to the day, had been from his sister Claire, informing William of his elder brother's death. Though she’d done her best to keep her chin up, he could feel the tension written between the lines on the page.
Things were not well at home, and judging from his sister's careful words, they hadn't been in quite some time.
However, even her delicately phrased panic hadn’t prepared William for the true nature of things.
The letter had taken months to reach him, and things had only grown worse in the interim.
His poor sisters—they weren’t sure if the letter had been lost, or if William was simply ignoring it out of spite.
By the time his shadow darkened the door of the once-elegant London townhome, things were dire. The lone servant they'd retained—their intrepid housekeeper named Mrs. Dunn—had thought him another bill collector when he first rapped upon the peeling door.
When he finally convinced her of his true identity—at least enough for her to allow him to set foot in the place—William had looked around with dismay.
The house had been stripped. Only a single, dingy carpet lay upon the entryway floor.
The paintings, the furniture…all of it was gone.
There wasn’t so much as a hall tree on which to hang his hat.
It had taken William months to fix the situation—he’d sent his eight sisters to Paris with their aunts as chaperones and used the time to restore and refurnish their family home.
The practical side of the situation was rectified easily enough—such things were simple when one had funds.
Upon being paid, even the most persistent of the creditors had fled like cockroaches when the lamp is lit.
“That dastardly lout.” Thomas shook his head. "I still cannot believe that even while he was banishing you from London, from your very family, he was nigh on destitute.”
“Pride does terrible things to a man."
Four years ago—that was the last time William had set foot in London, until Claire’s letter bade him return. That last disastrous trip, when he’d stood in his brother's study and told him how his fortunes had changed.
Richard had seethed and glowered at him, told him he was a disappointment and a blot upon their family name.
It was only trade, William had argued, and he was only the second son.
Yet Richard had hissed and thrown him out, cutting him off from the family as if it were whores and opium William was selling, rather than silk and black pepper.
Now William saw things differently. He could read the memory better— the curl of his brother's lip was perhaps more jealousy than disgust. Richard’s own idiotic pride had kept him from admitting the truth—that even as he threw his younger brother from the family home, that family home was in grave danger.
William would have done anything to help Richard—he was his brother—yet Richard had sent him away instead.
"It couldn't have been easy for him," William found himself saying. He winced at the aftertaste of the words.
"If he’d done so to his own detriment only, I could forgive him. But your sisters…”
"There we agree."
William’s sisters were the current and most pressing problem. The eldest, Claire, was twenty-seven, and though it was not unheard of for a twenty-seven-year-old to have a Season, it was certainly rare. But William wanted to give his sisters the best chance possible at good lives.
His brother either hadn't understood or hadn’t cared that the future of a family depended upon solid marital matches. Richard also hadn't cared that there was far more at stake than just the family name.
His sisters’ futures—though secured easily by William's fortune—also depended on their finding quality men to marry. Not just quality in the way that some viewed it—titles, holdings, a good reputation—but also love.
It was an element that had been lacking in their household growing up, but a wider experience had given William a better understanding of what truly brought happiness.
Though the astronomical figures upon his ledger didn't hurt in the least, they were not the crux of the matter when it came to happiness, especially not for his sisters.
Therefore, his sisters' first Season—or in the case of Claire, her second—was imperative. He did not wish for them to be mocked or belittled. Everything must be perfect, or as close to it as was possible—their appearance especially.
William was well-versed in what the nobility expected. He knew better than most how voracious ladies’ appetites were for silks and fine fabric. He understood that women were judged upon how precious their clothing was.
His sisters had done some shopping in Paris, but he’d thought to take them to Madame Aubert to finish their wardrobes off before the Season began. However, there was trouble on that front, and it couldn't have come at a worse time.
"No matter," Thomas said, interrupting his troubled thoughts. "You are here to put things right now."
"I’m here to try."
Thomas swirled his glass and stared at it as if it contained all the answers of the universe. "Are all eight of them to be out at once?"
"Don't be ridiculous.”
“Why not? They’re all old enough.”
“Simple economic theory of product—too much supply reduces the demand.”
He blinked. “In this scenario, your sisters are the product?”
“Precisely. If there’s a glut of Preston ladies on the market, it will reduce interest.”
“You’re diabolical, but probably right. If only Lord and Lady Rinella had you to advise them.”
There was a moment of silence, where the only sounds were the low crackling of the fire, the dim echo of whooping from the gambling hall, and the little satisfied smack Beaufort made when he sipped from his glass.
“I can't imagine what I was thinking," he finally said, shaking his head. “About Daisy.”
"Come now, no need to lie. Daisy has a fine figure. She's quite lovely. If only she’d kept her mouth shut."
"A scandalous thing to say of ladies."
"Make no mistake, I'm not saying it of ladies in general. Only Daisy in particular."
His friend chuffed into his whiskey. There was a lightness in his eye that William hadn't seen in quite some time, which bade him continue.
"Daisy is much like a painting. Pleasant enough to look at from time to time, but one never wants to know what a painting is thinking." William smiled as he pontificated. "The Mona Lisa, for example, might shriek like a rusted hinge if given the chance, but thankfully, we’ll never know."
“You’re terrible.”
“However, not all women are harpies like Daisy and the Mona Lisa. My sisters, for example, have many witty things to say. They surprise me every time we speak.”
“Perhaps I did judge this particular book by its cover." Thomas frowned. "The most frightening part is I didn't realize I was doing so at the time. It makes me concerned that I'll make the same mistake in the future."
"Don't waste your current suffering. Learn this lesson, or you're doomed to repeat it."
"Indeed." Thomas swirled his glass, the liquor catching the firelight with an amber glow.
"You know…" William cocked his head. "If you're looking for a wife—someone who's pleasant and lovely and from a good family—I know of eight such young misses who are in want of husbands."