Eighteen Avirin
EIGHTEEN
Avirin
Lord Reid bows. His skin is a sickly beige beneath his receding brown hair and eyeglasses, and there is something odd about the way he looks at Avirin.
She’s certain they’ve never been introduced, yet his eyes meet hers like he knows far too much about her.
Only when her mother tenses does Avirin remember to curtsy and take the seat next to her.
These surprise visits always throw her out of kilter, but she rifles through her mental scripts to recite something polite. “How kind of you to pay us a visit!”
Her mother settles a hand over Avirin’s. “Lord Reid and I have become reacquainted this season. He’s an old friend of your father’s from their university days.”
Avirin has been so thoroughly distracted with Pye, she’s been oblivious to her mother’s activities. Avirin remembers Lord Reid from her debut season, a widower twice-over and engaged to be married again.
A widower thrice-over, now. Not three months ago, his latest wife fell from the cliffs of his estate. They say she slipped off the rocks, Avirin’s mother relayed one morning over breakfast. The poor man had to witness it all. He must be heartbroken to lose another bride so young.
Avirin’s mother clears her throat, and Avirin plasters on a pleasant expression. “I’m happy you’ve kept each other company.”
Her mother smiles. “Yes, the viscount and I have spent much time together. Discussing our current stations. The futures we’d like for our families.”
A sickly feeling swells in Avirin’s stomach.
It’s the same feeling she gets when her mother performs contortionist acts with her words.
When she makes a statement, but is looking for an answer.
When she asks a question, but hides a separate query underneath.
Avirin’s hand grows sweaty beneath her mother’s. “What do you mean?”
Avirin’s mother pats her hand, like she’s trying to soothe a baby. “There is an opportunity that could benefit us both.”
The sickly feeling becomes a knowing one. It can’t be. It can’t. “Please speak plainly,” Avirin whispers.
Her mother presses her lips into a thin line and removes her hand. “Lord Reid has very generously offered to take your hand in marriage.”
Avirin’s world narrows to a pinpoint. She replays the phrase in her mind, desperately searching for a misunderstanding, a loophole, anything. Her mouth feels full of gravel. “No.”
Lord Reid stiffens.
Her mother starts to chastise her, but Avirin shudders in disbelief. “No. No.”
Her mother grabs her wrist. “Avirin!”
“He’s more than twice my age!” She knows Lord Reid is watching them, that he can hear every word, but she can’t calm herself. Her voice rises. “It’s only been a few weeks! I’m not —”
“Avirin,” her mother hisses, “you are in no place to turn this down. This is charity.” When she tightens her grip, the bones in Avirin’s wrist grind. “Your situation is dire, and it hasn’t been helped by the wastrels you’ve been seen with.”
Avirin’s world tilts. “How —”
“Do you think the servants in this house don’t gossip? That I haven’t heard the whispers in the shops?” Her mother’s teeth clench. “Whores and mollies, of all things, Avirin! I had to fire that abysmal footman for cavorting you around town.”
Avirin’s chest heaves. Being caught is bad enough, but she’s lost Mr. Brandiron his position? She tries to pull away, but her mother digs a ring of red around her skin. Avirin’s eyes dart toward Lord Reid, but he watches it all without a flicker of emotion.
“You have no other options,” her mother seethes. “No prospects. A reputation one slip away from ruin. Who else on this earth would take you?”
Avirin opens her mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. A weight spreads across her chest, pinning her beneath it until she cannot move at all.
Her stilted silence is enough. Her mother releases Avirin’s wrist and flexes her fingers when she stands.
“Wonderful. We’ll draw up the marriage articles.
” She inclines her head toward Lord Reid, smiling as if the vein in her forehead isn’t pulsing.
“There are the matters of the dowry and pin money, of course, but I’m sure we can come to an agreement.
If we work quickly, we can secure the church for next week and announce your engagement at the Gildings’ party. ”
Avirin might be sick. She grips the arm of the couch while her mother and Lord Reid move toward the door, but her mother pauses on the threshold and looks back at Avirin.
“I have assured Lord Reid that your union will still be a legitimate one.” Her mother sniffs, as if she doubts the truth of it.
“To ensure that, you will not leave my sight. The staff have been given strict orders to watch you day and night. You will not attend any event without me at your side. Do you understand?”
Avirin’s pupils threaten to spread. She breathes through clenched teeth, but it’s like she’s in free-fall, spiraling deeper into the earth and clawing for anything to hold onto…
But there’s nothing. The world keeps moving.
Lord Reid and her mother talk quietly for a moment, and with a sharp glance toward Avirin, her mother finally nods. She bustles out of the room, pulling the door shut and leaving Avirin alone with the viscount.
Avirin’s spine straightens. This isn’t right. She should not be alone with him. No matter how desperately she wants to be free of her mother, her eyes flick toward the door in a silent prayer that she’ll return.
Lord Reid braces his hands behind his back. “Miss Ellison.”
Her stomach turns. His voice is soft, like they’re sharing a secret, and she is reminded of when Pye whispers to her. With Lord Reid, it’s twisted and wrong. She wants to cover her ears. She wants to run away.
Lord Reid takes his time to cross the rug, letting his gaze rove Avirin before he comes to a stop before her. “Perhaps my age gives you pause, but I assure you, my experience is to your benefit.”
A sour taste fills Avirin’s mouth. She doesn’t want to look up at him. She doesn’t want to look at him at all, but he stands so close, a menacing tower that blocks the light from the windows.
“Your maiden nerves will pass,” he coos.
Avirin’s nails dig into the sofa.
“They should cause you no worry. Given your affliction, you should look forward to the promise of a marriage bed.”
Avirin’s stomach roils. How does he know? This secret, this thing she’s been told to keep hidden above all else, and her mother has shared it with a stranger?
The betrayal stings like a slap. Tears prick her eyes. She has to escape this. There must be something she can do, something she can say, something —
“Should you not find a wife with more promise?” Avirin asks.
Yes. She remembers Pye’s words from all those weeks ago.
Stroke his ego. Men love to speak about themselves.
She forces herself to meet Lord Reid’s gaze, to infuse sincerity into every word.
“A man such as yourself could easily find someone more on your level. A woman of stronger virtue. A worthy addition to your lineage.”
Lord Reid’s head tilts, and a hopeful feeling alights in Avirin’s chest. This could work. This could convince him. This could send him in a different direction —
But a smile settles onto his face, and the ground drops out beneath Avirin.
“As your mother said,” Lord Reid murmurs, “this union will be beneficial to us both. Despite my marriages, there is no heir to the Reid line. I intend to correct that with your proclivities.”
Fear rises like bile in Avirin’s throat. She clutches the seat cushions to keep herself upright. She has always known what is expected of her, but last night, for a moment, she’d thought she’d found a way out. She thought she had escaped it, but now —
“Besides,” Lord Reid continues, “I had the Grand Tour of Orena long ago. I have seen things the likes of which you couldn’t imagine.” It sounds like a threat, yet his eyes soften like Avirin should be overjoyed. “If I am honest, I’ve developed a particular…affinity for peculiars.”
He’s standing too close now. His hand extends toward her, and she recoils, but it does nothing to dissuade him. He runs his palm over the top of her head, but Avirin can feel how desperately he wants to latch onto the back of her hair.
His voice lowers. “I know how to handle them. To remediate them. To make them atone for their sins.”
Dread seeps out from Avirin’s pupils to cover her eyes.
The light is too harsh, but she does not try to hide; she sets her jaw and raises her head.
This man is all talk. The blacks of her eyes are the only thing that can save her.
He doesn’t understand what she is. He hasn’t seen her.
She will disgust him, just like she disgusts her mother.
But when Avirin lifts her gaze, Lord Reid does not flinch. He does not recoil. He traces the corner of her eye. “Do not fear, little one.” Lord Reid gives Avirin a smile that chills her to her core. “I know how to drive that demon out.”