Lord Dominic O'Connor

She laughed again, all the humor dried up from the frustration replacing it. "Yet you kissed me at the ball to run away from your troubles," she pointed out. "You say it in past tense, but you repeat the same *shit-stained* behaviors. You sought me out to be distracted, as you did before. What else do you do with a whore? The only thing you didn't do is pay me for it afterwards." Although he knew how to stir her feelings, she could do the same. She wanted him to be angry, wanted to know he had some feelings about everything, even if they were negative.

His confession made her scoff, narrowing her eyes. "Not recently," she muttered to herself, arms crossed. His further denial of the letter only worsened her pissiness, and she lowered her arms to cross the room and nudge at dusty books on the shelves. "You may have wrote it on your paper, but you intended it for me. And there is nothing in that letter that states I am required to return it to you. So without any written word from you that it is considered a loan, I own it. It was written with me in mind, and with no plans to see me again after. Therefore, it belongs to me," she rambled, reaching up towards the highest shelf despite knowing she couldn't see anything. Again, she hadn't answered why she had given it up.

And then Ceara froze for a moment, glancing over her shoulder at him. Her eyes lingered longer than she'd been there. He wouldn't be so obvious as to hide the letter there. Anyone could come in and misplace it should something be moved. "Why did you do it? Why did you feel so inclined to kiss me, remind both of us of what happened? After so long of pretending, clearly, to not care?" It was what bothered her the most. He had embraced her as if he were making up for lost time. And then the next day, he was to be engaged. It was a whirlwind of pain and, more importantly, confusion.

She approached slowly, her entire face having softened even as she was a mere few feet from him.

He allowed the room to go silent after Ceara’s explanations, watching her as she searched his shelves. There wasn’t anything but ledgers and books for the estates. Bills he’d drafted, or that people wanted his support on. Nothing of interest for Ceara. “Sentiment isn’t ownership,” he explained, deliberately calmly and with a shrug. “The writing is mine, the ink is mine, the paper is mine. You intended to return it, so you have. That’s all there is to it.” It was like he was talking about nothing significant. A piece of paper that sounded as if it meant nothing. 

Since Ceara barged into his office, Dominic hadn’t had time to think. He’d been distracted with the evening's tasks, and now it was all out the window. Dominic’s jaw tightened as he tried to find a reason for the kiss. He was the one who followed her out. He was the one to kiss her. “There’s no reason behind it,” He shrugged. “I didn’t think, and that’s when I kissed you. The impulse came first; thought never caught up to me.” Until the letter dropped on the floor and Dominic read it. There wasn’t any positive reason why Ceara brought it. She wanted a reaction, and she got it. Whatever illusion that existed during that lapse in judgement shattered when Ceara’s gift fell. Now, Frederic knew about her. Katherine made a comment, and Dominic guessed it was only a matter of time before Leonora knew. Dominic didn’t move when Ceara approached, and his expression didn’t change. “That’s what bothers you?” He asks, scoffing with a hint of a laugh. “You’ve barged into my office over the letter and nothing more?”

Vitoria focused on the gloves, thinking of what little she knew of Leonora and her tastes. Nothing too frilly or impractical, something that would look nice but serve the purpose. “These, I think, would suit her nicely.” She picked up a simple but elegant pair of soft leather riding gloves, the type she had seen many ladies in London wear in the cold months. “She does not strike me as the sort of woman overly fond of lace.”

As Dominic spoke, Vitoria considered him. Perhaps she had been too harsh in her initial assessments of the man. There were glimpses of a real person beneath all that steel and hard edges. She imagined he and her brothers would get along quite well, if they were to meet. Perhaps what he had done to Frederic and Mary had come from a place of caring, in his own stoic way. “Most men would rather their wives not outshine them. You are unique, Lord O’Connor.”

He mulled over Vitoria’s choice before deciding on them. Leather gloves would be better for the Irish climate, but they didn’t look as pretty as the others. He’d only ever shopped for his mothers, and even then he’d known their tastes. There was still time to learn Leonoras. “I promise I am trying to get to know my future wife." He smiled. “But we can’t all be as thoughtful as your husband. How is he? I've seen his brother in the House of Lords, but only occasionally?" 

He’d seen a successful, loving partnership in his mothers’ marriage. Neither of them wanted to steal the shine from each other. They reminded him of the sun and moon. One more gentle than the other, and neither allowing their light to diminish the other's. When one set, the other rose, making room for each other’s light. “I’d hope not,” he said, blushing a little. “I want a true partnership. One where we can share the light equally.” Leonora would be the sun to his moon. Both of them take turns carrying the burdens of the skies, trusting each other to keep darkness or reality and the burden of duty at bay. That was the hope at least.

Straightening, she glanced down at the pair of gloves and mulled over them. She had heard about the engagement, both elated and saddened for Leonora. Her husband was not yet cold in the ground, and now she was to be the marchioness. It was a surprise, to be sure. And she was not sure if he wanted her advice on the matter, given their last conversation. "Er, they're beautiful. The lace is quite delicate."

She trailed her eyes across a cream, tulle pair of glvoes with silk ribbons and freshwater pearls dotted across the fabric. "This one here is beautiful, as well," she noted as she gestured to them. "But that is only if your intended would enjoy the itch of it. If she is the delicate sort, your pick is well. But something sturdier, like leather, maybe warm the lady’s hands better. Beautiful and functional.”

Biting her lip, Genevieve glanced at Dominic and lowered her voice as she said, "Lord O'Connor, I wanted to apologize for our interaction at the ball. It was inappropriate of me to speak ill of you the way I did."

“Your words were enlightening,” Dominic said, looking anywhere but her. “But I know you’re apologising to get closer to my brother. It’s not needed.” Part of him was still angry, more at Edgar, but Genevive was the messenger. Their match was something he’d created and improvised. His mother was against it, not wanting her favourite to move to France. She’d blame Dominic if things progressed and Edgar moved away from her, but Dominic could live with that. “I’m happy you’re so open to the courting; I didn’t think Edgar would take so well to my ideas.” He was smug about it, but there was truth to it. He didn’t expect Genevive to change his brother so quickly, and Dominic was right. The right match would alter Edgar and make him grow up. 

“Though I have moved to guarding the Princess instead.” It was neither a demotion nor a punishment, but lord did Sophia make sure he worked for his pay. At least at this exact moment he was almost completely sure he knew where she was while he was off duty. "It has been... certainly a change of pace."

“Do you want to be in this employment forever?” Dominic asked, nursing his drink. Some of the liquid hit his tongue and it took everything in him not to gag at the taste. It was too much to ask for a decent drink, but he’d make do for now. Oskar was a strong man, clever enough to avoid real punishment. A man like that shouldn’t be hidden away by the royal family.

"I know what you promised." his voice hitched slightly- it quivered. He remembers that promise well. he'd ruin the one person who made him feel *alive*. He'd ruin the only person he wanted desperately. He had such a sad, broken look on his face. He really couldn't help it- he's tried so hard to be unaffected, but after meeting up with Mary, it was hard to pretend like he'd be ok.

"You know that's not what I meant," He snaps, but he was tired of fighting with Dominic." You don't have to ask permission to do anything.... You can marry who you want! You don't need to ask Mother- you don't need her approval….I just follow your orders. I do everything you ask of me. I try so hard for you to just be proud of me. "But you'll never be," He looked at him. He didn't want to be upset with Dominic. He didn't want to fight with him. His arms tighten around himself as if he were trying to soothe himself. He wonders if Dominic wished to be done with him- to wash his hands of him. He would, wouldn’t he? One wrong move and he’d no longer be Dominic’s brother.

Their family still had influence. They still had their paper, and Dominic wouldn’t hesitate in using it again to bring Frederic crashing back into reality. Mary wasn’t suitable; he just needed to get over it. “Then why risk it?” He asked, curious more than accusatory. 

“I don’t need her approval because if this fails, if this marriage isn’t successful, then it falls to me.” Dominic couldn’t just marry anyone. He didn’t have that luxury that Frederic and Edgar had. “Mother thinks she’s the one who should approve of Leonora, and she’ll soon get over that idea.” Dominic muttered under his breath. Their mother had already said she didn’t approve. Leonora was too far removed from the duke’s title and assets, but she was Dominic’s choice. Dominic could marry a princess, and still it wouldn’t be enough because it was his choice. It’s just another argument between them. “Have you noticed how happy Edgar is with Princess Genevive?" Dominic asked, trying to catch Frederic off guard. “That’s my making. If you’d only trust me, you could have that same happiness.”

“You’re not?” He laughed. “Didn’t Whistledown write about your escapes, or did your new brother use his new money to buy things off?” New money had no place in high society. Dominic’s was passed down for years; Peter’s was earned through his own labour. Now, the man was an earl and in charge of this pathetic family. It’s a wonder why Ferederic still wanted to be part of it. “Do you all even speak to know what everyone’s saying about you?” He asked, biting back his laughter. They’d all soon break apart; all Dominic had to do was sit and watch.

Grace had managed to clumsily spill ink on the gloves that had been resting on her desk while she was writing after a particularly inspiring ball. Which meant she now had to replace them before anyone was any the wiser. She had brought her lady's maid with her but stationed her outside. The less the maids knew, the better. She was still trying to keep her writing something of a secret.

She put on her polite smile as the draft made the loose baby hairs around her blonde curls flutter. The sound of the bell announced her arrival, and Grace was met by the lovely aroma of lavender, one of her favorite flowers. She was in a good mood, or rather had been, until she heard a man's voice.

Her smile quickly faded, and she felt a cold, heavy stone settle in her stomach. Dominic O'Conner. The man who had ruined her sister's life. Grace knew he held far more power than she did, but in this moment, she found she did not care. There were few witnesses to perform politeness for, and after all, what more harm could he do to her family?

She stepped forward and looked at the gloves, tilting her head as though she were genuinely considering them. "I am yet to be considered a future wife, so I am afraid I cannot answer that. It is my sister, Mary, who should have been here to offer her answer. Her taste is immaculate."

His grimace turned into a smug smile at Mary’s mention. “I think she’d be better fitted for a habit or scapular." He didn’t make any attempt to hide his words. They weren’t muttering quietly but said it too casually for him to care. “I think she has plans for my brother, but Frederic already knows the consequences if he carries on with her.” Frederic could take Mary as a mistress. Dominic would welcome that only when Frederic were married to someone of his choosing. The Murrays still had Rosalind, and there was also one of the Americans. He’d take an American over a Lytton in a heartbeat. 

"you speak of them being mischeivous, yet they did such a joke to allow you an escape?" leonora can see in dominic that he loves his brothers, of course he does because they are family - but she wishes to understand the role he must play as not only their brother, but their patriarch. an imbalance of power can sometimes lead to a clash within families, and leonora wished to prevent such a fracture. if she was able in any way. shaking her head almost too quickly, leonora offers a tight smile to the offer, looking ahead rather than at dominic. "no no, i would...i would rather not return for now. one day, but not yet." each pebble she had passed over, each villager she had greeted, each child she had held, each plant she had cultivated - they called to her, but her heart was poisoned. afraid to return and be met by her mother in law who wished for her head. it would not do for a wedding tour to have the wife beheaded. no no.

"don't laugh, my lord, it is all true! my sweet tooth was rather accompanied in france, as was my need to have simple furnishings in my bedroom." she pouts for a moment, before a smile spreads upon her lips once more, much easier than the last. her bedroom had once been compared to one of a servant, or a commoner, wooden furnishings and plants scattered about everywhere - the maids had no love for tidying up as each day the mess return with more soil and scattered pages of research. upon his words, her flush returned, less pink and more rouge as it prickled her cheeks - perhaps it was because her old husband had wished for them to have seperate bedrooms and only join to fornicate, that the idea of dominic wishing her not to use a seperate room caused such a reaction. "yes, of course, dominic - though i may have to turn . . . turn my room into a sanctuary when i am ill, i would not wish to cause unjust symptoms upon the marchess." smooth. at the mention of the gardens her eyes light up, she looks to dominic once more as if she were being told she would be a published writer, glee and wonder. "do you have a single gardener or a number of garderners for hillsborough? may i meet with them and learn their ways? do you have anywhere to plant and cultivate herbs?" her questions spill unladylike and wholly curious.

“It did for a time." He smiled at the memory. For a time, their grandfather was distracted with protecting the precious art works and portraits while Dominic escaped. His escape didn’t last longer than an hour, but he was thankful for his brothers. “Honestly, I think they wanted to see what mess the pig would make,” he smiled again, only not as big, “but the hour or so it freed me was appreciated.” Dominic felt like a fool. Of course Leonora wouldn’t want to go back to France on her honeymoon tour. It wouldn’t be the best start of their new life together, being in a place where she was previously married. “We can go anywhere you’d like, but I’ll have to warn you I’m terrible on boats.” He hated the waves, and the Irish Sea was known for the tumultuous crossings. Seasickness usually followed Dominic when he reached land, but there wasn’t anything to be done for it.

He tried his best not to laugh, but Dominic failed miserably. “So to make sure my wife is happy, I’ll have to have endless sweet treats and greenery? I’ll note that down.” He teased again, pretending to reach for an imaginary piece of paper in his pocket. Hillsborough Castle would be overwhelming at first. The gardens, Dominic thought, were something Leonora would love. Maybe she’d enjoy the Yew Tree garden walk, but Dominic always preferred the walled garden or meadow. On sunny days, he’d swim in their lake, but that’s when he preferred peace over conversations or duties. As far as he was concerned, Leonora could do whatever she wanted to her rooms. If she wanted it for complete privacy, he’d oblige. There was a cottage on the edge of the land, but that was the dowager house. His mother would have to move in eventually. He noticed the slight blush in her cheeks and smiled. “Your rooms will be completely private,” he said, patting her hand to reassure her. “But mine won’t be closed off to you if you ever need anything.” His marchioness would be in control of her own dominion, including her rooms or part of the castle. “We have a lot of gardeners for the entire hundred-acre grounds, but they’ll be happy to meet you and help find a place for your herbs."

Dominic paused on their walk, a thought suddenly popping into his head. “I know there’s a fair coming; would you join me in attending?” He asked, oddly a little nervous. “Your ring should be ready then, but they’ll probably have sweetmeats that’ll be to your liking?”

Katherine hated how composed Dominic seemed. Calm and mad was worse than theatrical and mad, it made her want to act out more, see if she could get a bigger reaction. Then cry about how Lord O'Connor yelled at her in front of everyone at the park. "How dare you accuse my family of being liars? My father is a respectable man, I will tell him what you said!" Oh she could just imagine it. She could weave a story of how Dominic was making the Thornes out to be deceitful monsters. Turn her father against him. It would be wonderful.

Beyond any matches. That hurt more than she cared to admit. "Perhaps it is your family that is the problem. Mr. O'Connor was nothing but horrible to me, have you lectured him about it?" At this point it was about more than just their little spat about dresses and colors. She wanted the satisfaction of knowing he was getting punished.

Kitty caught sight of the subtle flinch and smirked, pleased she had poked at a sore spot. "And your poor bride will have to deal with the fact that she married such a beast." She pouted for emphasis and let out a sorrowful sigh. "I do feel quite bad for her." She was well aware she didn't really have anyone interested in her. She never really did since her debut. She pushed back the negative feelings Dominic was stirring inside her, the fear of ending up alone. "You seem to want me to end up alone quite badly. How sad it is for a man of your age. I think you yourself are afraid that you will end up alone." She paused for a moment and tilted her head, as if analyzing him. "Not physically, of course, you will have your wife. But emotionally, you will be just as alone as you hope I will be."

“Why would I?” He asks with a scoff. “If this is how you speak to me, I can only imagine how you spoke to my brother. If anything, he didn’t speak harshly enough.” Dominic and his brothers had their issues. He knew his expectations were too high, his control too unrelenting, but they were his brothers. He wouldn’t have Katherine trying to twist Frederic into something he wasn’t. As far as Dominic was concerned, Frederic deserved some small reward for whatever words he wounded Katherine with. Maybe he’d even consider offering him a role in the paper.

Everything was starting to fall in place. Leonora would be his wife, and soon enough the family’s future would be secured. Dominic didn’t need anyone ruining that. Not Albert, not Ceara and definitely not Katherine. “Ms Mercier and I get along really well; she is everything I could ask for in a wife, and I will ensure that she is respected and happy,” Dominic explained, still a little chuffed at his explanation. “While you will watch society from the sidelines. Time will pass you by and you will be alone." Dominic paused before continuing, “But don’t think anyone will care enough about you to think about you. You will become irrelevant in all aspects, and for someone like you, that’s an unthinkable fate.” 

He opened his mouth and then closed it promptly. The first five things that ran through his head to say he discarded. Junho was a Lord now. Tim would not make his brother’s life harder just because he was jealous of a situation he didn’t understand.

“I have had much heavier tomes dropped on my person, not to worry.” Tim said cheerfully as he picked up the book. His eyes ran over the words as if he had any hope of making sense of them. “Is the book yours? If it is not, I think perhaps I ought to return it to Ceara?”

He didn’t do anything at first; instead, Dominic just watched Timothy pick up the book. “It’s mine,” he said a little too quickly. Dominic took the book, his eyes scanning over the words. Irish and English blended into one in his mind. He’d been speaking and studying both; he wasn’t sure what his native language was. “Miss Dempsey doesn’t know this exists; I think it’s better off in the donation pile, don’t you?” Dominic was distracted; he didn’t realise he’d slipped up. Timothy hadn’t brought up her family name in such a casual way. The book was intended for her, but it didn’t count if it wasn’t ever delivered. 

He felt pity for Frederic. Like everyone at that ball, they say how in love he was. He doesn't know how that look could be 'think' they're in love. Anyone with eyes could see that Frederic was in love with Mary.  He felt like he had said something he shouldn't have. He didn't want to make it worse- he was trying to help kitty, is all. He put his hand up. " Well, she did do the job. Not sure how well it did. Seeing as she didn't hide it very well, they did meet up. " He shook his head. "i think you should watch yourself before you regret something with your young brother," he advised, even though he highly doubted he'd take it” I know, I know. I’m just a servant who should know my place, blah blah, but if something happened- I will see you and tell you, “I told you so.” he sounded almost serious about it.

Since the Barnett’s ball, everyone has spoken about Frederic and Mary. They were in love, apparently, but people didn’t take into consideration their youth and her family past. It wasn’t suitable, and soon enough, they’d both grow out of it. “So they did meet up,” Dominic said suddenly. It was strange. He felt both vindicated and enraged at the same time. He’d warned Frederic, and now he had to ruin the girl. Dominic wasn’t the sort of man to back down on his threats or conditions. Dominic couldn’t help but scoff. “You’re a valet in the Thornes', and you think it’s appropriate to lecture me on family?” He asks in disbelief. “What do you know of a family? You're alone without your employment.” 

It wasn't entirely true, though his propensity for lying about his feelings was right as rain. In the silence between them, she continued to glare. The dim lighting of his study made her eyes darker and nearly vacant were it not for the candelight, closer to dark brown than their usual olive hue. When he denied her, she scoffed. I never said I was done with you, she wanted to say. But why would she not be? "You have no need for it," she grit out. "I did not intend on giving it to you after...what transpired, I had something else. But that does not matter anymore now that you're spoken for. So give it back to me. You intended it for me to begin with, so why be spiteful and keep it?"

Answering his question with a question of her own was better than admitting the letter was the only sign she had that they had been together at all. Her memories didn't count, she could name they as dreams. But that was tangible, it had been at Hillsborough Castle, he had written it himself.

He wasn’t bothered by the silence. Dominic used similar tactics when he negotiated anything in his life. This didn’t move him. Dominic just watched her unravel while the letter remained undisturbed inside his breast pocket. Things had been going missing lately; he didn’t want to risk this letter. “No,” Dominic repeated calmly, “The letter remains where it is.” He sighed before sitting on the edge of his desk. “You’ve carried it around for this long; why did you want to give it up?” He asks, watching Ceara closely now. He didn’t believe that the letter meant nothing or that it wasn’t some plot to hurt him. Ceara had already tried to ruin him. First, trying to give Mary employment, and now Frederic knew there was something between him and Ceara. If she wanted to ruin him, he wouldn’t make it easy. “It’s my property." Dominic shrugged so casually he knew it would’ve frustrated her. “I wrote it on paper I owned. It was just a loan for you.” 

His gaze wandered with curiosity, measuring the strength of another’s foundations. It rested upon the hard line of Dominic’s jaw. Men accustomed to seeing the world kneel seldom endured another who refused to bow, and there was a peculiar pleasure in discovering such obstinacy. Men accustomed to the world’s obedience rarely relish the sight of another man’s composure; still less do they relish wanting to break it. Niccolò savoured the quiet between them, the frank and unashamed staring, for it had the shape of a duel, and in a duel it scarcely matters who falls, since both combatants rise afterward with the same mud on their boots.

“I normally don’t like games I can’t win, but I’ll give this one a chance.”

There were contests fit only for fools, the old saying warned, and their rewards were fashioned in the same image. Yet what consequence had folly to a man already standing upon the edge of the cliff? Whether he emerged triumphant or broken mattered little now. If the house must burn, he would sooner warm his hands beside the flames than perish shivering outside. Better still if those who had built its walls discovered, too late, that they were burning with him.

The first hand came and vanished with startling haste. Niccolò gathered the scattered coins with little more than the ghost of a laugh. Across the table, the other gentlemen bore the crimson indignity of men whose tempers had outpaced their dignity; one appeared moments from bursting the veins at his own temples. Yet Dominic scarcely seemed aware of either victory or loss. His attention lingered somewhere beyond the glittering stacks of money. Oh, he’s studying me. 

How curious, how flattering!

“My dear, I confess I do not believe in fortune in the least,” Niccolò murmured, eyes drifting over the cards as he set them down, unhurried, final. Another round; another small victory laid at his feet. “Luck has never chosen a man’s path, it merely arrives after his feet have already committed to it. Our decisions create the miracle people are too frightened to explain.”

A chorus of groans answered him. One gentleman dragged both hands through hair that had been immaculate only moments before; another cursed beneath his breath with admirable devotion.

Poor creatures, the only certainty luck had ever offered was its faithlessness. It lingered nowhere forever.

“And lately,” Niccolò continued with a faint smile, “mine appears to have mistaken me for a favourite.”

One by one the defeated men abandoned the table, muttering curses over their shoulders, he acknowledged their retreat with only a languid wave. Sore losers always fancied Providence had cheated them.

From the crystal tray at the table’s centre he selected another cigar and turned it between his fingers before offering it to Dominic.

The stories surrounding the man were not exaggerated. There existed people whose attention made one feel honoured; Dominic possessed the rarer talent of making a soul feel exposed. To meet those unwavering eyes was to become some unfortunate moth transfixed beneath a collector’s pin—stripped of every comforting illusion of concealment.

He would have made a fine clergyman. 

“Will you suffer another round,” Niccolò asked, lifting the cigar until it hovered just before Dominic’s lips, “or has this evening extracted enough tribute from your purse?”

He struck a match. Smoke unfurled between them in pale ribbons, climbing toward the ceiling where it mingled with the dim haze already haunting the club.

“I must confess to eavesdropping earlier… allow me to congratulate you on your engagement.”

What singular loneliness wealth could purchase.

The room overflowed with laughter, congratulations, crystal glasses raised in Dominic’s honour, hands clasping his shoulder with practiced affection, yet he seemed no more among them than a solitary star imprisoned behind clouds: visible to every eye, companion to none.

He gestured toward another card table across the room. “The gentlemen there are considerably richer than these.” His hand brushed the front of Dominic’s coat, smoothing a fold that scarcely existed. The touch was fleeting, almost courteous, and all the more insolent for pretending innocence. “If we play together,” he said, “I can triple every shilling you’ve lost tonight, and more besides. Call it a wedding gift.”

His fingers lingered only a heartbeat before withdrawing.

“Afterward, you may indulge my curiosity and tell me why a man applauded by an entire room wears the countenance of one attending his own funeral.” 

Smoke escaped him in a slow breath, unfurling between them until it softened the lamplight and drew a pale veil across Dominic’s face. It crept where courtesy could not, lingering in the space between them with quiet insolence. One could bar a door against an unwanted guest, but not against a presence that had already settled beneath the skin.

“Tell me,” Niccolò continued, the faintest smile touching his mouth, “is it matrimony that sits so heavily upon your heart, or merely the woman waiting at the altar?”

The first few rounds only increased Dominic’s fascination. The rare times that Niccolò suffered a loss only provoked Dominic more. Niccolò had an elegance to his movements, but something about it bordered on performative. “My thanks,” Dominic said, gladly accepting the cigar while an attendant lit it for him. He took a moment to think over the offer. Neither of them wanted to willingly surrender, and Dominic’s interest in getting the measure of the man was stronger than any impact of losing money. Congratulating a man on his engagement while finding a reason to get close was intriguing. Dominic didn’t react, didn’t move when Niccolò fixed this imaginary imperfection on Dominic’s clothes. He didn’t know the man, but he was starting to get the read of him. “Very well,” Dominic said, agreeing to the game. He didn’t mention his fortune or the estates he ran. Everyone knew the O'Connors' wealth wouldn’t be impacted by a game of cards. Dominic always took measured risks, and Niccolò was just that. A measured risk.

“There’s no need for a wedding gift,” He said, rising from the table, “But I’ll join you in the game.” When they crossed the room together, Niccolò’s question almost made him pause. Niccolò wasn’t the first to question his choice of a wife, and he wouldn’t be the last. It wasn’t a great love match that people wanted. It was a pragmatic one, one that was favourable for them both. For Dominic, that was better and more permanent than a love match. “My concerns don’t begin or end with my fiancée,” Dominic said, trying to keep his calmness intact. “Lady Leonora is the least of my worries. It’s my brothers that continue to test me; one’s had a sudden change in perspective while the other is love-lorn.” Both were the cause of Dominic’s growing stress. Neither understood how he’d worked hard to ensure the family’s wealth continued, but they still reaped the benefits of it. 

Aera always found art very calming for herself. When she needed to decompress after a long day she would doodle around her written out thoughts or take out some clay and sculpt whatever came to mind. On this particular day, she decided to go to Mayfair's art gallery she had grown fond of.

A sense of peace washed over her as she quietly wandered the rooms, eyes fixated upon giant paintings and sculptures that were so easy to admire. She took her notebook out while looking at a particular piece, scribbing out her thoughts. A shadow appeared next to her and she took a gentle step to the side, her eyes focused on her notebook as she wrote.

"I hope I am not in your way. I just- I needed to write out my thoughts. This art is beautiful, no?" She asked, just briefly looking over at the other person. "The colors, the texture, everything."

“I think Mary could do well with a match,” he explained. Then an idea came into his head. One that would suit Peter’s new family, raise Mary’s standing and keep Frederic at bay. Dominic never would’ve imagined that an American could be his solution. “Lord Lytton is rich and titled,” he began explaining. “Your sister-in-law could do worse than a match with him, and he seems kind. He also needs someone who knows this country; she could be that.” Framing it as a way to help Mary wasn’t something Dominic expected. If Peter wanted the best for his new family, Dominic couldn’t see how Mary could do any better.