#asil

“As if I don’t already have plenty of flaws to drive away potential suitors. I only need to say exactly one thing that shows even a fragment of my intellect and they run faster than a lion hunting its prey.” You recount, smirking to yourself and offering a hand to your brother. Thomas takes it, helping himself to his feet. He studies you intently as he brushes off any stray dirt or grass from his sleeve.

“You do know mama will force you to marry eventually? Father will not be able to delay her forever, and she will find someone for you if she must. This is your fourth season out. Wouldn’t it be better for you to pick a husband now, while you still have a say in who it is?” he questions. The expression on his face is more serious than you’ve ever seen from him in your lifetime.

You brush it off, stabbing your saber into the ground with more bite than necessary. “Please, Thomas. Papa absolutely can delay her, and I know he would not hesitate to take care of me in my spinsterhood…as would you.” you add, paying more attention to the cuff of your shirt than your brother. Thomas raises his eyebrows.

“Oh? I wasn’t aware I’d already agreed to this arrangement!” he chides. You slap his chest, effectively shushing him.

“You don’t need to. I know you, Thomas. Never mind how badly I may aggravate you; you would never turn me out on the streets or force me into a marriage I do not want. It’s not in your character,” you cross your arms in front of you. “Besides, I’m not the one in need of an heir to inherit my title as I have none. Unlike someone else I’m acquainted with, Lord Pemberton. When is your wedding to take place?” you drawl, poking his chest. Thomas fists his hands at your insolence, but a panicked voice cuts through the lawn before he can retort.

“Miss! Your mother has arrived early!” It was your lady’s maid, Jenny. Older than you by a few years, but she had become a close confidant over the time you’d known her. You hoped to keep her in your circle for as long as you could.

You share an alarmed look with your brother before racing inside your home, Jenny close behind you. Thomas calls out to you as part ways.

“I’ll distract her, you get upstairs and make yourself presentable. And please try not to take long. There’s only so much conversation with mama that I can take before my head starts splitting.” And with that, he disappears down a hall that leads to the foyer of your estate.

Jenny rushes you up the stairs. “I’ve already let Miss Prentiss know we need to move swiftly. She’s to meet us in your bed chambers.”

Miss Prentiss, or Emily as you called her, was your family’s housekeeper; relatively new after your previous housekeeper unexpectedly passed away six years ago. You’d been apprehensive of Emily at first, as your previous housekeeper, Miss Norton, helped raise both you and Thomas; a gem of a woman really. You were brokenhearted and didn’t possibly think anyone could adequately fill her shoes.

But Emily had grown on you, especially after she’d taken a specific liking to Jenny and you were obligated to spend more time with her. You found that you could only indulge in certain unladylike behaviors with both of their support, and you were thankful to have them when you debuted in London society just three years ago.

You throw open the doors to your bedroom, immediately taking in the hurried housekeeper as Jenny shut the doors behind you posthaste. Emily had just selected a day dress for you and placed it on your bed, sighing with crossness as she took in the state of you.

“Pinching time, aren’t we?”

“If I had known my mother would be arriving home early from tea with Lady Blake, I would’ve subdued Thomas much quicker.” You say with confidence, possibly bordering on cockiness. Emily twisted her mouth in disapproval, but said nothing.

“Jenny, help me with her clothes and getting her cleaned up. Then I’ll arrange her hair while you ready her face with powder. We’ll blame any spare redness on a new rouge.”

They worked quickly; peeling off your clothes, wiping you down with a wet cloth where it was needed, and frantically dressing you back up. You looked yourself over in the mirror, satisfied with your pale green dress and neatly arranged hair.

You released a breath of ease. “My mother should be none the wiser. Thank you both, I’m indebted to you as always.” You receive a smile from Emily, and a shoulder pat from Jenny before a loud knock at your door.

”Miss, your mother requires your presence in the drawing room, straightaway.” David, the butler. He had taken a liking to you since birth, having been with your family since he was your father’s valet. Your heart quickens before you can control it. Emily nods once, and you’re out of your chair and opening your bedroom doors.

“Of course, David.” You smile sweetly at him before he turns on his heel; a silent invitation to follow.

As you did, you quietly admired the ornate hallways of your family’s London home. The family portraits, the other paintings, the golden accents on the pale blue walls; you could never quite get used to the beauty of it all.

You were pulled from your thoughts as you heard your mother’s insufferable voice echo down the hall from the drawing room.

“You’re going to be Lord one day, Thomas. You may as well start acting like it. I expect you to be nothing but charming and sociable with the young ladies at tonight’s ball.” she said, her voice grating against your ears. Another thing you could never get used to.

Saving Thomas from your mother’s lecture, you strolled into your family’s pastel green drawing room and picked up the book you’d left behind just hours ago. “Well, that should be an exhilarating sight. I may actually have a spot of desire to attend tonight.”

Thomas glares at you from his comfortable position in one of the armchairs, “As I was telling mama, I will be nothing but perfectly amicable with the ladies of ton. But I will not promise to marry one by the end of the season.” Mother harshly threw her hands down on the back of the sofa.

“It is your job to provide an heir, Thomas! If you do not marry soon, I will have no choice but to meddle!” As you sat on the sofa across from Thomas, opening your book, you tried to hold back your snort. 

You really did.

In your failure, mother’s attention turned to you as she whipped around the couch.

“I’m unclear on why you should find this amusing. Afterall, it is your last season to find a husband of your liking, as well as mine, before I find one for you.” Thomas shifted in his seat at your mother’s threat.

You keep your eyes trained on your book, paying no heed to the threat. You knew your adoring father had final say. He’d never force you to marry a man your mother, of all people, selected.

Mother scoffed at your disregard. “Insolent girl! Do you have any idea of the damage to our family’s reputation if, god forbid, you descend into spinsterhood?! Well I forbid it! You are to be the perfect young lady tonight, and I demand a house full of worthy suitors filling this room tomorrow morning.” Thomas snuck an apologetic glance at you. You, again, paid no heed to your mother’s threats, responding dryly.

“Yes, Mother.”

“Good,” she says, snatching your books from your hands. “Now, let us all see if you’ve any improvement on the pianoforte. Let us pray that I did not hire that tutor for nothing.”

The new Duke of Westford was barricading himself in his library.

Again.

Truly, he hadn’t meant to get carried away. His research simply overtook his mind, and he was not even aware of it until his butler carefully knocked at the door.

“Yes, come in, Aaron. What is it?” He said, eyes not breaking away from the documents sat on the sleek mahogany desk in front of him; the one fit for a duke, though not for him.

Aaron entered his office and approached with a slight bow of his head. “Pardon me, your Grace. If you are still planning on attending Lady Watson’s ball tonight, I would suggest leaving soon. Your carriage has already been prepared, and is waiting for you.” The duke snapped his eyes away from his research to pull a gold pocketwatch from his vest’s breast pocket. He grimaced at the time, clumsily shoving it back into his pocket.

“Hell, I nearly forgot. Thank you, Aaron. And please, no formalities needed. Spencer is just fine.” He unceremoniously shoved all his documents into a single, messy pile and pushed it to the side as he sprang to his feet.

“Of course, your Grace.” Spencer sighed, clearly not winning this fight. “Would you like me to inform your mother? She is currently resting.”

Spencer shook his head solemnly as he threw his waistcoat over his shoulders, adjusting his collar in an attempt to look polished, put together. “No need. Let her rest. You can let her know when she wakes, I’m sure it’ll raise her spirits.” Aaron nodded.

”I’ll inform the footmen and driver that you’ll be leaving shortly.” The stoic butler bowed deeply, leaving the room as quickly as he had arrived. 

Spencer fiddled with the cuffs on his coat as he frantically made his way out of the office. He stopped at the gold mirror that hung in the hallway, giving himself a once over as he attempted to straighten his crooked cravat. His family crest ring caught the light as a haunting reminder of what wrongly belonged to him.

For mother. I’ll do this for mother.

Something he’d been repeating to himself for the past two years. A mantra that seemed to help him push forward and fulfill his duties to the best of his abilities. He frowned.

He’d never wanted this life, this house, this title. He’d been perfectly happy burying himself in academics, in libraries, and laboratories all over Europe for nine glorious years. He’d even preferred it that way. Out of the way of his prideful and arrogant brother. Out of the way of his father who never paid him, the leftover son, any thought. The only person he had missed for those years away from England was his mother, and he would most likely lose her too. Soon.

Spencer furiously shook the thoughts away before he allowed his emotions to get the best of him. He nodded at his reflection in the mirror, as pleased as he could be with what he had to present.

He made haste, rushing through the halls of the manor. Aaron greeted him at the front door, hat and cane in tow. Spencer took them graciously.

“Thank you, Aaron. I’m not quite sure what I would do without your assistance.” He admits, carefully placing the hat on his head. Aaron bows.

“Of course, Your Grace.” Spencer turns to leave, but Aaron’s voice abruptly cuts through the foyer. “Forgive me if it’s not my place, your grace. But I do hope you take some enjoyment from tonight’s ball, if nothing else.” Spencer stopped in his tracks, flipping around to thank him for his words. But he was already gone.

Spencer pondered Aaron’s words in the traveling carriage, hoping for the same thing. He breathed deeply.

I’ll do this for mother. I’ll do this for mother. I’ll do this for mother.

disclaimer: no AI of any kind is used in the creation of my work, and i do not consent to any of my works being fed into any kind of AI. thank you.