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, hehardened. 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.”
