Chapter 3
Three
According to local gossip, William Sharpe was the most eligible bachelor in the city of Endovier.
He spent most of his years courting young, fresh women, only to leave them heartbroken within days of meeting—a playboy if you will.
So much so that his mama had to place him on the marriage mart to redeem the Sharpe name.
I wiped my hands on the dress I’d been outfitted, a lamb to the slaughter with a pretty bow. I wore a gaudy pale rose dress with minimum details in the skirt and the bodice.
While the maids dressed me this morning, I avoided the mirror. My outfit covered up the fact I was nothing more than skin and bones touting health in its blush-pink fabric.
I ran my fingers under the hem and over the protruding collarbone many of my other dresses hid.
The drawing room of the Sharpes’ home was ornate and extravagant as their own reputation claimed them to be.
The walls painted an evergreen color stood as the backdrop to the gold trimmings and paintings dotted along the walls.
The artwork was of an unusual design, most of which I’d never seen before in any of the art galleries I’d had the luxury of going to from time to time when Mama wasn’t keeping me on a tight leash.
A couple portraits of previous Sharpe men hung alongside each other, looking old and dusty, while managing a stern pose.
Not many of the housekeepers snooped through here to see the young woman being fed to the man who was supposed to be the end of me. Instead, they left me to the dull, silent echo chamber and the ticking of the clock.
I focused on the mighty oak doors that stood between my only bid for freedom and who I was supposed to be happy to see.
I jumped to my feet to pace the room as the heaviness pressed into my chest again. I retrieved my handkerchief from my corset, coughed blood into it, and hurriedly stowed it away.
At the center of the room stood a large fireplace made of cool white stones and rugged red bricks.
Photographs lined the stone ledge, out of place for such grandeur quarters.
The photographs were old stills of black and white, depicting a husband and wife with their young child.
The young boy’s eyes spoke of the underlying rage spilled from their plicated smiles.
Loud and swiftly, the doors swung open, shoes clicking and echoing on the wooden floors.
I stood with my back to the photographs, the rage of the child burning into my back as I faced the man with the same violent expression hidden behind a false smile.
Smartly dressed, the man wore a suit coat of what should be expected of someone of an illustrious name.
Soft blond hair swept back off his forehead, and his suit was a matte gray.
He stood out flatly against the room. The finer image of a man of society presented himself immaculately and of what those around wanted me to dream of.
“I do apologize for being late. Something came up, so I must unfortunately take off, but I thought I’d drop in—” His narrow blue pools bore down at mine. “You must be Valeria.”
“William Sharpe, I presume,” I said, trying to keep my voice light and airy.
Practice pleasing others even if I felt like dying.
William crossed the floor, then took my hand in his and pressed a kiss to it.
“You are simply to die for. My mother was right when she said you were a thing of beauty in addition to being the daughter of such a fine man. Although you are looking a bit pale, here, take a seat.” William guided me to a chair.
I suppressed the urge to gag, forcing a smile to my lips.
Despite his attentive tone, his eyes continued to rake me for any hidden imperfection.
“Thank you. You are too kind.” I glanced over at the door, desperate to take off down the hall and to be rid of such a ridgid choice.
“I know this is all so sudden, but we need to discuss some rules.”
“Rules?”
“With my business connections, it’s important that we set some boundaries in place. I suppose it’s been sometime since there has been a man in the house, and there is a need to take over your father’s company as well. It’s incredibly important that you play the part of the demure wife.”
His words became more muffled the longer he spoke.
It all felt suffocating. Heat bloomed in my chest, the walls closing in on me as the next several months played out for me, beating as a drum against my vision. My stomach clenched at the thought of what my duty was to be before I would expire.
William took a seat next to me. “Our engagement ball is in a month, but I suppose we need to begin our courtship immediately if we are to act like we are in love. Presentation is important, especially given the circumstances. You understand that, don’t you?”
I managed a nod, my head spinning.
William went on explaining the “rules” of our upcoming marriage, yet I hardly registered it as his hand slowly encroached onto my thigh.
I dropped my gaze to my leg, to the gaudy signet ring on his pinky tapping away at my lap. Blood bubbled in my lungs, and bile rose, stinging the back of my throat.
I couldn’t breathe, my body going rigid, stomach churning as my thoughts raced.
William’s words bleated onwards, his touch repulsing me, and all I wanted to do was run. The gilded cage slowly closed in around me as I desperately wanted to scream out.
Instead, I plastered the fake smile I’d been trained to use and nodded.
“How did it go?”
I slammed the carriage door behind me, the traces of William’s hand still fresh upon my skin.
Miriam was alone in the carriage, another blessing I’d to be grateful for but still another wandering eye.
I turned to look out the window as the carriage trotted down the street and onward to home—at least home for the next month.
Miriam’s curious gaze strained, waiting for an answer I did not want to give.
“Did William cut your tongue out, sister?”
“No, but I fear that he may be a beast all the same,” I growled, my lightheadedness fading as the thought of home beckoned.
Even though I began to think of an escape plan that could get me out of this horrid marriage, I realized that, sadly, most wouldn’t work.
“Come now. He cannot be all that bad.” She smiled innocently and sweetly, and I feared it began to rot my own insides. “You could have chosen the worst on the marriage mart. At least he is a fine man of fine upbringing.”
I fisted the fabric of my dress.
I hated it all, the way that many of the “choices” I was given were not choices at all but fabricate disillusionment handed to me on a silver platter to only be dressed up to appear as one.
Everyone had done it, Mama, William and his own family—and even Miriam.
I struggled to fight the burning hot tears and the choking sob threatening to pour out.
“I can’t wait until I find my love match and we are wed,” she whispered excitedly to the thick, tension-laced air.
“I think he is far worse than what we have ever thought,” I said, grainy and tired. “You still have your freedom, Miriam. Cherish it before it is too late.”
“Cherish it? Why, marriage seems so beautiful and wonderful. To love someone with all of your being under the eye of the gods. It seems so magical. It seems so—”
“Hellish to be shackled to a man who cares so little for the person he married. That simple freedoms are dependent on a man where there is a chance that one can end up unhappy more so than if one were to be alone.”
Miriam’s mouth dropped.
“Valeria, you don’t honestly mean that, do you?”
“Miriam, I am starting to think that you do not understand much about the world or what is going on. You speak of love and of such wonders that would be afforded to us, but I am here to tell you that it’s not the case.
We are broke, I am dying of what killed Father, and I am to be wed to a beast who will surely see that I am in an early grave.
These are the hard truths that I must face.
I hardly have any time to wonder about love or even the chance to choose for myself. ”
“You have choices, Val. Mama didn’t force you into the match.”
I glared, rage boiling in my veins. “No, Mama did not force me into marrying the beast—she practically handed me over to a stranger who essentially did not want me anymore than I wanted him all because we do not have time to secure our livelihood in society. These are things that you do not understand and—I am afraid—you never will have to contend with.”
Sniffling, Miriam bit her lip, tears glinting in the corner of her eyes. “I did not know.”
“How could you have known?” I said matter-of-factly as my patience for this conversation was nearing an end.
The carriage came to a stop. When the doors of the carriage opened, the driver greeting me as he prepared for us to step out into the late evening air.
“I am Mama’s dirty little secret.”
I stepped out, taking a hold of his hand, then climb the stairs of our crumbling estate with Miriam at my heels.
“Valeria, wait.”
Ignoring Miriam’s cries, I trudged on.
The door to the estate opens as Mama stands with arms crossed, a frown adorning her stern face.
“I take it that it went well,” she said.
I brushed past her, racing up the steps to my room to be away from the world.
Mama consoled Miriam, speaking in hushed whispers that reminded me of when we were girls. Miriam’s cries quieted, disappearing altogether the higher I climbed.
That night, I dreamed of shadows and of blood underneath a hare’s moon, of a boy standing alone in a tulip field bathed in ribbons of scarlet glistening under the glow. The boy stretched an arm out to beyond—to the sky—to the gods, raising it high to the moon as a quiet sob filled the night’s air.
What have I done?