Chapter 15
Braemoor House
LANIE
On a Wednesday, Baz and I flew up to Braemoor House.
I was still unsure if this was the right approach.
I loved our game. I longed to be doted on, but fought the nagging feeling I lived a lie.
With every interlude and enraptured look, I became more invested in Baz.
Whatever began as harmless fun turned to me torturing him took on a new life.
If I told myself I was only going to Braemoor House to dig into family history and potentially put the screws on the Osgoode Family, I’d be lying.
I was curious and called to take this opportunity to see a place my mother longed to revisit, but I didn’t want to hurt Baz.
I knew there was a very real opportunity he might discover my true identity.
I expected him to do so with a quick Google before this, but I sensed he neither cared who I was nor wanted the real story.
If we never talked about anything too weighty, there was no risk of hurt feelings.
As we rode forty minutes from the airfield to Braemoor, Baz gave me a rundown of expectations.
“I apologize for my family in advance. Father may look over you like someone does a horse they look to buy. Well, I suppose that assumes you understand horses.”
“I understand,” I agreed. “Dora Elizabeth rides competitively. We all rode growing up.”
“Good. Apologies. He is a frightening person when it comes to potential wives. He put Alex’s wife through the wringer even if she is the most inoffensive sort of person.”
“What is her name?”
“Nessa. They have a son, B.C.”
“B.C.”
“It’s short for his first two initials. He’s twelve and loud.”
“I have five siblings. I am used to loud.”
“Five? Jesus, Lanie!”
“I’m Catholic,” I shrugged.
“Are you Catholic?”
I snickered. “A very bad one. But I did all the things. No one in our generation was married in the church to my mother’s horror.”
“We are technically Catholic, but I believe in nothing.”
“Would your prospective wife have to convert if she wasn’t? I’m asking so I nail this role.”
“Not necessarily. It’s a big bonus and something I hadn’t thought about.
However, my heir must be raised Catholic.
That’s part of the terms of the estate and how father inherited it.
He was so far down the list and the lone Catholic.
An heir—per the title holder’s directive and that of five hundred years of tradition—must be male, of noble or royal blood, and Catholic. ”
“I’m just an American,” I lied.
“Uh-huh,” Baz said. “Well, you tick the other boxes, and we can excuse that because of me. Would it help if I gave you a synopsis of what he expects?”
“Yes, please,” I said.
“Be demure. Properly address people. Can you do that?”
I nodded.
“Be your clever self, but not too forward.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Americans generally get a pass because people find it charming, but Father will not. And try to make nice with my sister.”
“Who is she?”
“Eleanor. She’s the baby. She’s technically my half-sister.”
“Oh, so your father remarried after your mother died?”
Baz cocked his head. “How did you know that?”
I flushed. I knew it because my mother told us about Basil the Elder’s wife dying.
I shrugged, “I gathered it. I got a vibe.”
“You’re perceptive. Yes, after father remarried, they quickly had Eleanor.
Unfortunately, by the time she was three, she had a freak stroke.
She’s very beloved in the family, but Father often talks down to her.
I hate that. She’s the peacemaker and would be an ally for a prospective wife.
If this was real, I’d rely heavily on my sister’s opinion of you. ”
“So, charm the sister-in-law? Can do.”
“Yes. And don’t bring up my mother. It… it bothers him.”
“Oh? Was their marriage unhappy or—”
“If anything, I think he did love Mum. He just never had the emotional ability to process grief. He took it out on us that she died—especially my brother because she died in childbirth. Thankfully, he loves Eleanor and blamed her less for the death of her mother.”
“How could you blame a child for that?” I gasped.
“Dad is… likely a narcissist. Mum was barely in the ground when the previous Baron called Father up and… basically proposed a relationship to the Baron’s daughter. She was a girl still in uni, and Dad was in his mid-forties by then. She didn’t love him, but she agreed to it.”
My heart stopped. Was he speaking of my mother? I knew the match was floated, but I didn’t realize anyone took it so seriously. The story she told us was very vague and Daddy was already in the picture. I used every bit of my acting chops not to react to this story told from his perspective.
Baz continued, “I’m sure it makes no sense to an American, but the pairing would have kept the estate in her family.
The Baron had many daughters but no sons.
It was practical, she could still produce children, and she was of acceptable breeding and background.
For my father to approve of this match, my opinion or love for you would matter not.
You simply must please him on paper, not openly offend him, and be willing to wed me and give me a male heir in theory. ”
“What happened with the girl?” I asked.
“Uh… she spurned him if you ask my father. My memories of that time are now so fuzzy as I wasn’t yet five.
I do remember thinking she was kind and that if we had to have a new Mummy, she would do.
Our stepmother never took to us, so I always wondered how it could have been different.
In the end, the almost-wife married some rich American and moved away. I certainly don’t blame her now.”
I played it off. “Why, because you find American accents irresistible?”
He rubbed his chin stubble. “Something like that, yeah.”
I couldn’t manage words, trying to think about the math.
Mum had accepted his proposal, but she’d still run off with Dad?
I assumed the cruelty Baz implied was the reason she ended things with him and ended up with Dad.
My heart hurt for my mother to be passed off like that.
She was brave, in the end. I tried not to transfer my feelings to Baz about how much this had damaged her.
After all, if his father was the cruel bastard he implied, Baz was also a victim.
“It sounds brutish,” I said.
“It is life. All of us are objects in his game of chess. If you can funnel all of that into a character who would be willing to marry me not despite that but due to that, then you’ll be the best woman for the job.”
“I can do that,” I said. “It’s a role of a lifetime.”
It was. Part of me wanted to play the game all weekend, then drop the gauntlet.
The other prayed I’d never have to speak the truth.
Eventually, Baz would tire of me as Caleb had.
I’d tire of him, too. We’d be spent. I’d have fulfilled the purpose and allowed someone I thought was good enough to take over the estate.
What was done with his father was finished.
I couldn’t fix it. I could touch it for a moment if I played the game.
But what good did it do to hurt Baz? He’d never been unkind to me or anyone else in my presence.
I didn’t want to hurt him, so I’d play on.
Then, we’d slow fade. I’d go back to my work, and he’d return to his.
The old bastard would die none the wiser.
BAZ
Lanie was better at this than I predicted.
I’d saved the choicest bits for once we arrived in Scotland.
Half of that was because I’d thought up what to say for days.
The other was due to a fear she might run when she heard about my awful family.
Instead, she asked me to direct her into being wife material.
I worried that her American-ness would turn the old bastard off, but she’d meet every other stipulation.
In the end, I vastly underestimated Lanie’s performance.
Upon arrival, the staff led us to the drawing room for tea.
My father was in his usual chair, looking paler than before.
To my surprise, he did not stand. My heart leapt with joy.
After all, if I could fool him this time, he’d be assured I changed my ways and never update the will.
Even I had a pang of guilt and remorse for feeling glee at the prospect of his passing, but he’d never been good to me.
To him, I was a worthless fuckup until I wed a desirable girl.
Lanie gave a little bow as I introduced her.
“This is Lanie Day. I met her through Caleb,” I said. I wasn’t about to tell that story in full.
“Nice to meet you, Lord Osgoode,” Lanie said sweetly.
“And what are you doing in London?” Father asked. “You are American?”
“I am. I’m an actress, actually.”
“An actress?” He was displeased.
I should have known that wouldn’t fly.
Though off to a rough start, we sat for tea. Lanie impressed with her ability to not only pour tea properly, but to sip with grace.
“Miss Day, how long have you lived in Britain?” Father asked.
“Off and on for about a year. I am filming a period piece. I was a small player in last season, but the director just informed me I am playing the lead for this series.”
That was news to me. She said she was renewed but I never knew she was a lead actress on a show Leah Roughy put together. I felt something similar to pride now.
“And yet, you are adept at tea,” Father said.
“My mother grew up in Britain,” Lanie said. “I am adept at many things and familiar with societal expectations. She didn’t raise me in a barn.”
“That is good to hear,” Father said.
Lanie confounded him as much as she did me. But while I lived for the unexpected, Father loathed it. This wasn’t a feature, but a bug.
My sister entered. I rose to hug her and Lanie followed suit. Introductions began anew and Lanie bowed slightly once more with great poise. I suspected whatever work she did on her series paid off.