Bean

Presented to society at seven and ten. One of the many young potential brides. 

You had asked your mother to allow you to wait a few years- focus on your studies instead of marrying you off. As lacking in presence as your father was, even he said, ‘Absolutely not.’

The first year had a handful of potential husbands. But none of them could nack your witty remarks towards them. Causing your second year to have an even less amount of suitors.

The second year, you were already deemed a spinster by your parents. Attending balls and only sitting on the sidelines in the very same gowns you've worn before- only ever seeing it as a meaningless affair. Only present to watch the other young ladies receive marriage offers before you did. 

By the time you were two and twenty, your mother and father saw you and saw a sort of disappointment. An only child- raised and trained for marriage- and refusing to let go of the silly notion of going through life unmarried. 

They blamed you- but in reality it was a mix of their inability to keep up with the fashions of the seasons. Having to re-wear dresses didn’t help you in the situation either. That and the lack of an eye-catching dowry. Seemed as though no man wanted to marry a woman with a mere four figure dowry, no matter how beautiful. 

One afternoon, as you read a book in the drawing room, you sat on the couch lazily, wearing a day dress that you deemed obsolete—dressing up for no one but the servants and your mother. 

And your mama spouting- “I do not know why you insist on filling your mind with nonsense.” Pacing back and forth a few feet from you. 

Causing you to lower your book and look at her with pursed lips. “It is not nonsense, mama,” you snipped, lining up your eyes with the words again. “It is Shakespeare.” you muttered, a small smile curling on your lips at the look on your mother’s face. 

She was about to start speaking again- only your father walked into the room with an unaccustomed smile on his lips. Almost exasperated, “And what is it you have to smile about, my lord?” your mother scoffed, sitting on the couch across from you with a sigh. 

“I have found a proper suitor for your daughter,” he said, causing your shoulders to tense and your book to lower in disbelief. 

“I am your daughter as well- father.” you scoffed. Lightly pinching the bridge of your nose and sitting up. 

The gleam that shone on your mother’s eyes was one you hoped you’d never see. “Who?” she asked, breathless and eager to see who would finally take you from their hands. 

Your father flashed his eyes to you, almost worried for the words that dared spill from his lips- “The lord Kamo.” 

You closed your eyes with a soft sigh. You had been appropriately raised to not talk back to your father, but the vein that pulsed in your mind when he said that name almost made you snap at him. 

Lord Choso Kamo. 

To others, just another lord without a bright and shiny title. Firstborn son and heir of the Kamo name, his mother gave birth to 8 more boys- all one year apart. And on the eighth, his mother died. 

His father remarried within the year, speculated with a woman he had an affair with when his mother was still alive. Giving Choso one last little brother. 

And to you, three years your senior. Choso was a playful child growing up. Chasing you around- stepping on your shoes and stealing your ribbons at the various balls you would attend with your mother. 

But somewhere around the time his father died, he became more serious. Now head of the Kamo family at a mere five and ten, he grew taller and more serious-faced. And no longer picked fun at you, nor chased you around. If anything, he ignored you. 

Even as a child, you had developed a special kind of disdain towards him. Seeing him as an ill-raised boy, blamed for his misdeeds by your mother. “But mama- he is the one who chases me!” you would defend when she would pull you away by the arm. 

And in your teen years- you would avoid him like a plague. Holding your head high as your eyes looked over at him- his eyebrows, thick and furrowed with severe eyes scanning the ballroom. 

You disliked Choso not only for his actions as a child but also because he had a dismissive aura when it came to these balls—and when it came to you now, apparently. Far too mature and busy to even hold a conversation with you now. 

Only once when you were four and ten did you approach him. Standing much taller than you at seven and ten, hands behind his back with a stern look in his eye.

Choso stood near the far wall of the ballroom, his eyes scanning the lively room for his little brothers. To make sure they did not stain his legacy even further than his father had. 

“I think you owe me a dance, my lord,” you spoke, standing beside him but not bothering to look over at him, dressed in a dark plum suit, a color he had taken a liking to at his coming of age.

His face churned in confusion, “Owe you a dance? Whatever for.” he spoke- improper and uncaring of this supposed debt you imposed onto him. 

“For stealing my ribbons and stepping on my shoes.” tilting your head slightly, so sure you were correct. 

He only scoffed, walking away from you and collecting his rowling brother. 

Choso’s coldness against you was upsetting. Not because you wanted his friendship but because of how improper and indifferent he was when it came to you. Not even bidding a goodbye before walking off.

In the third year you were on the market, you stood beside him once more—you, freshly twenty, and he, three and twenty. Thinking if no other man would have you, who was the Lord to deny you?

It was not as though he was the worst man of the bunch. A decent name, a decent fortune- and a better-looking face than most suitors. His only flaw was how standoffish he could be and how improper he was with you.

Yet still. You gave the man one last chance.

“You still owe me a dance, my Lord,” you spoke, watching the people dance at the center of the room. Choso looked over to you, quickly scanning the light pink gown you wore that evening, surely to attract a suitor.

Your gaze caught the bags below his eyes, a side effect of the late nights spent in his study with only candlelight illuminating the mess of books his late father left him. And his long hair tied back, giving you an unobstructed view of his strong jaw.

“Should you not be looking for a husband?” he spewed, looking back at the dancing crowd and lightly widening his eyes. Unable to see the youngest sibling he was watching. 

You let out an unamused laugh, “That is what I am doing, is it not?” looking over at him with a pleased expression. 

“No, you are talking to me-” he murmured. Walking off and trying to find the pink-haired sibling with a penchant for wandering off. 

After that, you swore never to speak to him again. There was a spark of hatred in your heart when you saw his stupid, serious face at the balls. And when his eyes caught on yours, you would look away, uncaring if people saw. If anything, you wanted people to see your dislike for that brinking-on beastly man. 

So when your father said that he- Lord Choso Kamo was to be your husband, you almost hemorrhaged on the spot. 

You did not speak to your father for three days and two nights. At the dinner table, you stayed silent. Picking at your food and avoidant of any conversation. And your mother held more than enough excitement for you both. Planning the flowers, the gown- all before the Lord even proposed. 

And when your father grew tired of your silence- he shouted at you to speak. 

You bowed your head, tears in your eyes—“Please,” you said in a tone of voice you had not used since you were a girl. Peering your eyes up at him, full of salt water and a weary lip. You said, “Please, do not make me marry that man, father.” 

Though your papa was generally uncaring when it came to what you felt. The way you looked at him- he saw a glimmer of his little girl in your eyes. The same little girl that would cling to his leg, scared of the strangers he would present her to. 

Your father took your hands in his- and you were so sure he would call it off. 

“I will allow you a two-week courting period.” He whispered, watching the tears spill from your eyes. “You must marry him,” he spoke your name softly. 

It wasn’t until the following day you heard your father speaking to your mother- the stoic man practically in shambles at the thought of using his only daughter as a form of paying his debts. 

Before the late Lord Kamo passed, your father owed him a substantial amount of money. A debt your father was still unsure how he would pay. And the news of Choso’s father's death washed over your papa as a wave of relief.

So when a six and twenty-year-old Lord Kamo wrote to your father- something along the lines of; ‘I have in my late father’s books that you owed him an undisclosed sum of money. I would like to discuss this face to face-’

Your father thought up a million things—selling off the silverware, the dresses, and letting go of the staff—but it didn’t amount to half as much as he owed. 

So when your father met up with the young Lord Kamo at a gentleman's club, he was far too inebriated. Drinking to fill the uncomfortability he felt with the severity Choso imbued in his words. 

“It is my understanding you have yet to marry?” your father spoke- glass half empty in his hand as he looked at the brown-haired man before him. 

Choso furrowed his eyebrows, looking at the drunk man and squinting. “I have yet to.” 

“Then the matter is settled. You may have—*hic* My daughter,” he said, thralling his arm around Choso’s shoulder with a happy smile. “She is well-read. And you have been friends since youth, have you not?” 

Choso parted his lips to speak—“Phenomenal!” your father said, “We will discuss the technicalities later,” ending the conversation and continuing to another topic. 

In Choso’s mind, he knew the impending task of finding a wife had run at him at full speed. And rather than slotting through the many carefully primped young ladies, Choso found peace in knowing if he should have to marry, let it at least be you who he does. 

The least objectionable option. Finding it revolting how the many mamas would peddle their overly young daughters to grown men. Be it you- three years his junior and knowing you far better than he would know any of them. 

And when your mother advised you that the Lord Kamo had asked to see you- you felt a pool of nerves and unease form in your tummy. Knowing that the two-week period your father had granted you, would begin the minute, he would come see you. 

Your mother mulled over what you were to wear when he would visit. Trying to find the best option- an option that would make your beauty distracting enough to ignore your sharp tongue. 

“Mama, I’ve already told you- he is not interested in marriage” you insisted- your mother ordering you to hold a dress against your body. 

“Hush up.” she insisted, causing you to sigh. 

Tossing a light pink chiffon gown onto your bed- “I have known him since I was a child- mama, he knows what I am like.” sitting onto your bed with a scoff, “A frilly gown I’ve worn before won’t change his opinion on me.” 

Your mother shouted your name- “Your father has said that he already agreed- mouthy and far too mature as you are. Lord Kamo has agreed to marry you.” she insisted. Making your mind reel at the possibility that he only agreed to vex you, knowing him.

As your ladies maid fixed your hair- looking into the mirror and thinking of your foiled plans. Plans that had been entirely derailed simply because the Lord said ‘yes’ to marrying you. 

And as you sat in the drawing room- back slouched and a bored look on your face. Your mother did not hesitate to slap your back when the footman walked in “The Lord Kamo, to see you- my lady.” he directed at you. 

Straightening your back- fixing your face as you watched the man stand at the doorway. Flowers in hand and with his hair pushed behind his ears. Unfurrowed eyebrows and nervous eyes looking at you. 

You rose to your feet, “My lord.” you exasperated, lowering in a half-assed curtsey as he slightly bowed. 

“My lady.” he spoke- almost unsure and far too formal for the relationship you had with him. 

You clenched your jaw looking at him- your mother leaning to your ear, “Be kind, and smile.” she instructed through clenched teeth. Sitting at a tea table a few paces from the couch you were sitting on. 

Choso took a step towards you, holding out the bouquet. “These are for you,” he mumbled- yet another thing you disliked about him. He spoke unclear words far too often. 

You plastered a false smile on your lips, reaching for them- “Thank you. My lord.” dropping the smile and holding them out for your ladies’ maid to take them. Thinking of a snide comment, only laughing softly to yourself at- ‘make sure to leave them in the sun till next week.’ you said in your mind. 

“Did I say something funny?” he asked- watching you sit onto the couch and following you. 

You eased your expression. “No, unfortunately you didn’t.” you spit. Hearing a slight cough come from your mother, reminding you to be kind.

Choso parted his lips to speak- “May I ask you why you agreed to marry me?” you interrupted- a hushed tone so your mother would not scold you. Eyebrows stern and determined to know his reasonings. 

The Lord squinted his eyes slightly with a furrowed brow. “I have yet to ask for your hand?” he queried- as though you had the answers that you, yourself, were looking for. 

“My father says you agreed to marry me in two weeks.” deadpan face looking at his confused one. 

The corner of the Lord’s lip curled, “Your father was drunk when he struck that deal.” 

You rolled your eyes and looked off to the side. “So you do not wish to marry me.” you stated rather than asked. So eager to hear the words- ‘I do not want to marry you.’

“I did not say that.” 

You almost groaned in frustration at his words. Only your twitchy eye went unnoticed by the man sitting before you. “Then?” you pressed, pursed lips and squinty eyes awaiting his declaration- or an excuse. 

“I am reaching the age to take a bride.” he started, bordering on a mumble that only frustrated you even more. 

“And why not take on a well-behaved child bride-”

Choso’s expression churned in a flash of disgust. “I did not choose you,” he spoke your name in a whisper. Improper as ever- not even using your family name with a simple ‘miss’ before it. 

You blinked harshly at your name callously spoken as though you were already wed. 

“Your father offered-”

“And you accepted.” 

“Because I have known you since I was a boy.” he defended, “I found marrying you to be simpler than carding through the many eligible young-” you sighed at his droning on. Giving you every excuse besides the one you wanted to hear. 

“You also said 'yes' to this union, did you not?” he asked. You looked off to the side, scoffing at his assumption. 

Intertwining your fingers together and pursing your lips, “This union is everyone’s choice but mine.” you muttered. Looking down to your hands with a frustrated look on your face. 

Choso called your name again- this time in worry. Making the vein in your temple pulse from his improper tendencies. “If you do not want to marry- I will not force you to.” 

“You do not know a thing.” you spouted, causing your mother to look up from the embroidery cloth to see why you were seething in your words. And Choso only smiled at your mother, assuring her it was okay. 

Clearing your throat- standing from the couch and urging him to do the same. “I think it’s time for you to take your leave, my lord.” You spoke- hearing your mother stand. 

“Can’t you stay for tea?” she asked- only for Choso to look at you. Mouthing a soft ‘No,’ instructing him to assure your mother that was not necessary. 

The next time Choso saw you was at a ball. You stood near a wall, a pondering look on your face, an unsipped glass of lemonade in hand, and an empty dance card on your wrist. 

Looking off as though you were physically here- but your mind was elsewhere. 

The Lord came up to you for the first time since he was seven. Calling your name in a mutter and pulling you from your thoughts. 

“Yes, my lord?” you spoke- refusing to turn and look at him. 

He inhaled sharply, “Have you thought more on-”

“It is all I think about these days.” 

Choso tried thinking back on the lessons he was taught as a boy- how to approach a lady and how to ask for a dance. 

He parted his lips to speak- “What is it you want, my lord?” you asked, interrupting his attempts to communicate with your tone bordered on frustration. 

“I owe you a dance, do I not,” speaking your name with the same thoughtlessness as he always held. You sighed, placing your glass on the table beside you. 

Looking over at him with a peaked brow, “Why is it now you want to dance? Not once have you ever shown interest before.” 

He scoffed softly, “I aim to court you- dancing is part of it, is it not?”

You let out an unamused laugh, “If dancing meant courting- you declined that proposition long ago, my lord.” taking a sarcastic tone, holding your head high as he furrowed his eyebrows. 

Unknowing what you were talking about, Choso squinted his eyes. “Why do you speak to me in that tone?” he looked over at you, trying to recall if he had insulted you or even done something to warrant your curt behavior. 

You sighed harshly, bored of this conversation- and irritated that Choso had the guts to ask that. “My mother is summoning me-” Trying to find an escape from this conversation; you chose to lie. 

Turning to face him, pursed lips and your jaw slightly clenched, “Good evening, my lord.” you spat, his eyes widening and scoffing. 

As you turned to walk away, he called your name- loud enough for more than enough people to turn their heads to the source. Seeing you still in Choso's presence, his face troubled as he looked at the back of your head. 

The control you had in not turning around and snapping at the man, was control you weren’t sure you held. You only breathed in a small breath and continued your steps, hearing the Lord step behind you as you walked out of the ballroom. 

Nodding your head 'no' as you stepped onto the terrace- breathing in the crisp evening air and clenching your jaw. Your name was spoken again, in the same uncaring tone he always held when he referred to you. 

“If I have done something to offend you-” You turned around swiftly, angered by the face before you and your eye threatening to twitch. 

“If? If you have done something?” you scoffed, finding it unbelievable that he didn’t even know what he did wrong. Choso turned his head, awaiting your explanation as your gloved hands balled into fists at your side.  

Choso parted his lips to speak, your name falling from his lips carelessly, making you even more upset. “Please, tell me if I have done something wrong.” The urgency in his tone fell on deaf ears. 

“I do not wish to speak of this any longer-” you muttered, “My Lord.” you gritted, a breath leaving his lips at the name. 

“Why do you insist on calling me that?” he lightly grimaced, cringing every time you’ve ever referred to him as that. 

The control you held slipping from the satin covering your fingers. “Because it is polite—something you do not harbor,” you spat, shivering at the crisp breeze brushing against your arms. 

Choso furrowed his eyebrows- even more confused than before at your proclamation. You scoffed- “Do not pretend you are unaware of what I speak of.” your chest puffing and slightly spilling from the top of your gown. 

You abandoned the topic, knowing he would only look at you with the same stupid expression in wait for you to further elaborate. 

Turning away from Choso and placing your hands on the balcony’s edge, sighing softly before a smile crept onto your lips. 

“We have yet to marry, and we are arguing already,” you whispered, looking out into the gardens with a pummeling headache. 

Choso sighed, his face troubled. “I’ve already told you—if this marriage is not of your will, I shall decline your father.” 

You breathed a sharp exhale from your nose at his claim, knowing it was not up to you nor him. It was a duty your own father entrusted to you. 

“It is of my will.” you muttered, hearing his footsteps creep beside you. Looking out to the same view as you. 

“Then why is it you hold such disdain for me?” he whispered, looking to the side of your face in worry. 

Dropping the veil of anger to answer his question in earnest. “Do you remember when we were children? And you would chase me around the Easter gardens?” you asked, taking a softer tone and looking to the very same gardens below you. 

“Or when you would step on my freshly polished shoes- or steal the ribbons of my hair?” Looking back to him with a soft expression- watching his face churn to a pensive one. 

A small smile formed on your lips, “I was able to forgive all of that- but when I was ten and four, you declined my offer for a dance.” your mouth in taught purse, watching his lips part to defend himself. 

“And when I was twenty, I offered again.” the corner of your lip curling in disbelief, “And you declined- again.” 

“This is all because I refused to dance with you?” Choso asked in a half laugh. 

You huffed a smile, “No, not because you declined my offers for dancing, my lord.” clenching your teeth and the seething below your skin burning in your cheeks. “Because after all of that- you somehow managed to foil my plans for the future.” 

Sighing in a straggled breath, “After all of that- you agreed to marry me. And go on as though we have been friends since childhood.” You nodded in disappointment. 

“But we have been-” Choso stated in almost a question. 

“You bullied me in childhood. We are not friends.” You spat in a whisper, turning and taking a step away. Only for his hand to grasp onto your clothed forearm, holding you back with an amused expression. 

“Bullied?” he asked in a surprised tone. “If anyone was a bully- it was you,” speaking your name and looking at your angered expression. 

Choso loosened his grip on your arm, “Do you not recall? When you would pull my ears or push me?” he smiled, remembering the memories he held fondly. 

“Or when I would call you 'my lady'- and you would snap at me? Tell me that was not your name- and that you were no lady?” he scoffed with an earnest smile. You furrowed your eyebrows, barely able to remember the memory he was referring to. 

“If I am so horrible- why did you agree to marry me?” you whispered, the smile on his face only growing in the slightest. 

His cheeks slightly flushed and daring to inch closer to you. “I do not find you horrible,” the tone he took when saying your name made your own cheeks threaten to warm. “I never have.” he smiled. 

Watching your tight expression soften, you parted your lips slightly. Darting your eyes back to the ballroom and seeing a pair of debutants whispering whilst looking through the doors. 

You cleared your throat, taking a step back and exhaling a shaky breath. Choso furrowed his eyebrows and looked over to where you had looked, “A dance, my lady?” he offered his hand out to you. 

You took it with a sigh, what you interpreted as anger filling your cheeks. Allowing him to guide you back to the ballroom. 

A hand on your waist and other holding yours, taking precise steps as your eyes avoided his. Thinking of a way to break the tension without stuttering. “If you insist on marrying me- I ask we speak of agreements beforehand,” you expressed, avoiding the gaze Choso held on you. 

His hand guiding you into a waltz, “Agreements?” he murmured, snapping your eyes back to him and nodding. 

“Yes, agreements. Discuss what shall happen if we marry.” you reiterated, keeping a stern brow and ignoring the wisp of a smug expression on his face. 

Choso lightly smiled, “Very well.” he murmured again, making you nod your head no with heat rising in your cheeks. 

“Bring freesias for my mother- and stop mumbling.” you seethed, watching his smile deepening as he heard your demands. 

-

(a.n) sooo niche and I overindulged I know, but I don't CARE.