In their youth, Yuuri and Viktor were nigh inseparable—forgoing the company of others their own age to mingle instead with each other. Young as they were, neither set of parents tried to discourage their amity.
For the Katsukis, it was an honour to be so linked to a Great family. For the Ladies Hertford, they were beyond a care—beyond reproach and dismissive of petty rumours.
There was no discussion of propriety, for what harm could come from a boyhood friendship?
Alas, they were no longer children.
Ω
Alcester, Warwickshire – 25 th December 1815
As the moment settled and Yuuri realized what he had just agreed to, he found himself needing to sit down, massaging his temples. “I can hardly believe this, what has come over me?”
Viktor chuckled, seating himself beside his flustered new fiancé, keeping a respectful space between them.
“Likely my sparkling charm,” He answered smugly, undeterred by the unimpressed look the younger man sent him under his lashes.
“What will we do now? We cannot just announce it to the world, we have yet to ask for my father's blessing.” Yuuri paused then, dark eyes widening, “Vitya, do we have your mother’s blessing?”
The expression on the alpha’s face gave his answer and Yuuri leapt up, his footsteps muffled by the Persian carpet as he paced by the fireplace. “Do you mean to say no one knows you meant to propose? You made it sound like you had thought it through, that—that it was not a spur of the moment decision.”
Viktor rose at that, his hands raised placatingly. “I had thought it through, the idea came to me when we first met again in Brighton. I have not spoken to Mother because I wanted to be sure of your feelings first. I have no doubt they will respect my decision; they have always been fond of you.”
“My lord…” He trailed off, but the single word formed a complete sentence, both reproach and admonishment clear in his tone. The firelight threw his face into sharp relief.
The earl clucked his tongue, “None of that, you have just agreed to call me Vitya when we are alone.”
“Vitya,” This time his name was said with exasperation. “You are not nearly as concerned as you should be.”
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For the next week, all anyone could talk about was the sudden and abrupt return of the marchionesses’ only son. The town was beside itself noting how tall Lord Yarmouth was, how distinguished his features and how handsome he had become. The ladies complimented his fashionable manners and the gentlemen had gone to the tailors in droves—eager to replicate his smart dress and modern cravat.
Viktor had returned ornamented by war and refined through his time abroad—something their little corner of England rarely experienced outside of merchants like Ser Okukawa. He was a novelty. Society clamoured to renew their acquaintance with him as they had with his mothers years ago.
Afterall, it was a truth universally acknowledged that a single alpha in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a mate, and Lord Yarmouth had both wealth and prestige in spades.
It was with that in mind that half the ton set their caps at him. All except Yuuri.
Privately, the omega found all these would-be spouses lacking, though he supposed that made them as incompatible with the earl as he was.
He could not fault their wanting.
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