Chapter Ten
The day of the Haversham Ball, Sebastian awoke with a smile on his face. For the first time since his father’s passing several weeks before, he felt lighter, more like he had at Oxford when he, Browning, and Bancroft would mess about without a care.
He had a great many cares now, but it seemed at the moment that all of them were being looked after.
His father’s debts would soon disappear, and his family’s fortunes would be secured.
He would marry a woman who, despite her dour countenance, intrigued him, and who made him lie awake at night thinking of the way her breasts spilled out over the neckline of her gown.
They had spent nearly every day together since that day in Hyde Park.
He either called on her at home, where they drank tea with Reginald and spoke of appropriate topics, or they walked in the park, where they spoke more loosely with one another, though Miss Browning never strayed much from ton-approved talk.
At a dinner party that Lady Blackthorn had thrown the evening before - a small affair with only a few jovial, good-natured ladies and gents - they had been seated next to one another all evening.
“You are not a lover of sugared berries?” he’d asked her at one point, seeing her avoid the last few berries in her dessert bowl.
“Only the blueberries,” she’d said quietly, not wanting to draw attention to her distaste. “I was quite fond of the blackberries.”
Seeing that he had a great many blackberries in his own dessert bowl, Sebastian had deftly swapped their bowls so that she might have the last of his.
“You did not have to do that,” she’d said after glancing around to ensure that no one had seen his maneuver. There had been no chiding in her voice. Only open appreciation. It had given him quite an absurd amount of hope and joy.
It was true, he could admit to himself, that he would never have chosen her had his finances remained steady.
But in such a dire condition, he could only feel grateful that she had been an option at all.
Now, having spent some time with her, he thought that he might even be a bit lucky regardless of the dowry.
Until yesterday, it had been easy to forget the debts. That was, until he’d arrived home to find several letters from several unsavory sources, all insisting on payment by the end of the month. The joys of wooing were swiftly replaced with reality once again.
He’d sold off all of his father’s houses and dismissed the women that the viscount had kept within them. This had been enough to keep the worst of the accounts above water for now, but it was only a tourniquet in a battlefield. He needed more.
Now, the final step of his grand plan had arrived; he needed to convince Miss Browning to say yes.
After that night in the library, and their sudden connection in the park, he now found it difficult to imagine much else but her.
Mostly, her figure, though he thought also of their discussions and the strange interest she had in books on the mind.
He thought of her mouth, which often settled into a severe line when she thought deeply on something.
He wanted to open it, to make her breath hitch and her lips pout with lust.
His bedroom suddenly felt too hot. Beneath the covers, he hardened. He groaned, knowing that he could not take care of it now. Not when there was so much to do.
He forced himself out of bed, telling himself that all would be made right soon for his craving.
He’d never been exceptionally amorous - he had certainly had plenty of women at university, but since then he had slowed to a more casual pace, only seeking out comfort when needed.
He’d seen what happened to classmates who became consumed by lust. They grew unvirtuous over time in other ways, their marriages sour, their conversation skills dull.
His own father had been a testament to that.
Sebastian preferred a more moderate take on life.
In marriage, however, with Miss Browning’s soft body to greet him at the end of each day, he could see himself becoming a bit more inflamed.
Soon enough it would arrive. Tonight at the ball, he would ensure his good fortunes for the rest of his life.
He attended to business for the day, writing letters of apology to the more forgiving debtors, assuring them that he only needed a slight delay before payment was sent.
As for the less forgiving debtors, he left their warnings on his desk without response.
He assumed that there was little he could say now to change their minds.
Besides, he thought as he called for his carriage and readied himself - I still have to go through Browning.
*****
Browning’s study remained unchanged, including his tense posture as he leaned back against his desk, staring Sebastian down.
“I see we are here yet again.”
“It would seem so, Browning.”
His friend gave a short nod, his lips pursed. “Well, I do believe in getting to business. Are you going to ask for her hand?”
“That depends. Are you going to give it to me?”
Browning rolled his eyes, the protective older brother gone as he slipped back into Sebastian’s oldest friend. “Of course I would give it to you, you great idiot. What I am asking is if you are truly serious about her. Are you prepared for more than merely the money you will receive?”
Sebastian knew what Browning was asking. He’d asked himself the same question over these past weeks, as the loom of the altar drew closer and, along with it, the promise of eternity.
“I am,” he said confidently, and he largely felt it to be true.
He was a man of his word, and Miss Browning was sensible and pleasant, and men much greater than him had been brought down by bad marriages to bad women.
He could say with certainty that a marriage to Miss Browning would not be one of those.
“You do not love her, then?” Browning asked, looking down into his glass as though it held answers to his unanswered questions.
“No, I am afraid I do not.” Sebastian found himself searching for any reaction from his friend, but found nothing. “I have great respect for her, and believe her to be a fine, intelligent woman, and I would treat her in a way that reflected that belief.”
Browning mulled this over with a far-off gaze for a bit. Sebastian spent this time trying not to tap his foot in agitation over the man’s potential response.
“You know,” Browning finally said, “I used to have a lot of beliefs. Love and marriage and all that, and how it ought to be grand. I do not know if I believe that anymore. Marriages have begun on far worse things than respect, you know.”
Sebastian did not quite know what to say to Browning on this subject.
They had never spoken much of their own ideas on love and responsibility and family.
At Oxford, there had always been too much fun to be had, too many deadlines to meet.
Thereafter their talks had revolved around society and hunting.
Until this very moment, he could not have ever guessed at his friend’s romantic notions.
“Of course,” he said, because it seemed the only thing to say. Perhaps Browning contained multitudes.
“Well, then, I suppose we are in business discussions rather than talk of love. More’s the better, as I am a better businessman than I am a matchmaker. Do you have conditions for this marriage?”
Sebastian shook his head. “No. I shall show your sister the utmost care and give her whatever she needs and, when possible, what she wants as well. I will care for our estates with the same diligence that I have cared for the home up north. I only ask for the sixty thousand pounds and my continued friendship with you.”
“Excellent conditions. I have a few of my own.” Setting his glass back down.
“If you take a mistress, you will be discreet. And I do not mean ‘discreet’ in the way that other men in the ton are. I mean that no one knows about it. Not myself, not Bancroft, not a single soul. I will not have my sister embarrassed publicly.”
Sebastian had not planned on taking any mistresses. He knew that some marriages were not made up of great fidelity, but he’d always fancied himself the loyal sort, and had no unusual passions that a wife could not fulfill.
“Understood. I can agree to it.”
“Good. You will speak well of her to others, you will grant her freedom to move about, and you will never lay a hand on her. Are those amenable points to you?”
“Yes, of course. I would gladly give her that and more.”
“Alright, then. I trust you, Brightwater. I have seen how you treat your mother and sister. I think you would be precisely the kind of man that Auggie could admire. She is a proper, quiet sort who does not make waves, and she will never cause you to be looked down upon. That being said…”
As Browning trailed off, Sebastian’s ears perked up. He was very aware that whatever his friend said next would be the catch to this whole bargain. And whatever the catch was, it would last a lifetime.
Browning sighed, looking down in defeat. “No man will ever call me a deceiver. So, I must tell you a few things about Auggie before we make any agreement. She is…” he started, then shook his head, deciding against whatever it was he was about to espouse.
With each passing moment of silence, Sebastian grew more concerned. He’d known, of course, that Miss Browning was a wallflower, but she had been nothing short of respectable in every interaction they had had. A bit plain, a bit difficult to read, surely, but nothing so damaging to her character.
Now, though, the look on Browning’s face made Sebastian wonder just how defective his future bride truly was.
“She is ill,” Browning said, entirely too fast, as though he were spitting the words out. “But not…not in body. She is ill in the mind. Melancholia.”
Ah. The Braithwaite book sprang to his mind. He’d only gotten to the section on melancholia the evening before, at which point he’d set it aside to read later. Now, he had the urge to rush home and parse through it for answers.
Thus far, Sebastian was not well acquainted with the condition, though he had heard of it before. People who withdrew to a disordered degree, who stared off into space at parties and seldom smiled, and doctors sent them to the country for fresh air.
“I see,” was all that he could say on the subject without revealing his ignorance. “Was that what ended her first courtship, then?”
Browning nodded. “I believe so. She had a sudden spell before he could offer for her hand, and it lasted some time. It scared him off. I can’t say I regret it. He was a weak-willed man in many other respects, and my sister would never have seen him as a good leader.”
“Has she always had it?”
“Yes, I daresay, though it’s gotten better with time. After our parents’ death, it occurred quite frequently. Now, it is far less so. It almost always happens at least once during the winter, though it has happened at other times as well.”
The way that Browning spoke of it, so vague and threatening, made Sebastian think of the way that some people spoke of demon possession - in hushed tones, with great superstition.
“What do these…spells look like, exactly?”
“It is as though she becomes a specter for a time. Sometimes for a few days. At its worst, it lasted three months. She mostly stays in bed, though she does move to eat or do some other small piece of business. I talk to her, and she nods, but it’s as though she’s not actually in the room.
It can be frightening, if I’m being honest, though you are never to tell her I’ve said as much. ”
“Of course not,” Sebastian said absently.
“She always comes out of it on her own. I simply have to leave her be, and then one day she gets out of bed and joins the living again, and everything returns to normal. But the spells are chaotic. I’ve never been able to predict when one will happen.
At times we’ve incurred terrible tragedy, and she has persevered in good spirits, and other times nothing triggers it, but suddenly, she’s slipped away again. ”
Browning’s expression turned wistful and far away. Sebastian suspected that his friend had begun to wander through some distant memory.
“You do not have to worry,” he said, unsure if Browning was even listening. “I shall take care of her, both in and out of her illness. I swear by it.”
The expression disappeared, and Browning returned to their conversation with sudden clarity.
“I require your word, Brightwater. Whether you ever have love for her or not, you will always act as if you do. If ever her condition becomes severe, you will never stoop so low as to have her committed. I will not have my sister die nameless and forgotten in an asylum.”
“You have my word. I will never have her committed. She will always be in comfort, always in her home.”
Browning looked at him hard for several long seconds, as though attempting to discern any potential deceit in Sebastian’s words. When he appeared to find none, he gave a curt nod.
“Alright, then. It is settled. If you’ll have her still, then you have my blessing. You will have to secure her own blessing, however.”
“I’m sure she will be as pleasant as always. I have never found her to be anything but.”
Browning’s laughter was sudden and booming, making Sebastian step back at his friend’s heel-turn change in mood.
“That is quite funny,” Browning said, still laughing. “Very, very funny.”
“What do you mean?” Sebastian asked, confused.
Browning shrugged as his chuckles died down. “Oh…nothing. Here, let us celebrate.”
Bringing out another decanter, he poured a few more drinks. Together, they finished out their business deal with great mirth - Sebastian for his changing fortunes, and Browning for the future marriage of his dear sister.