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It was chilly in the estate—snow was steadily piling up in a tiny mountain range upon the window grilles. It was easy to imagine that this was the edge of the Earth, and that nothing lay beyond the confines of these brick walls.
Violetta busied herself with managing the affairs of the estate—updating her chart, mostly, filling in the empty spaces with new plans for trade and combing through the supply chain for the cheapest improvements to efficiency. She could certainly afford to hire an economist to take care of these things for her, take the time off to follow her more progressive woman peers to Oxford or Cambridge, but she knew not which of her humours she might indulge or how studying them would ever assist her. Business was drab, medicine was daunting, and narrative writing—as enticing as that sounded—well, there’s no faster method to losing passion for something than smacking a deadline on it.
(Snake-keeping was another possible route for Violet, should anyone see fit to concoct an entire degree plan for such a thing. What could she even do with something so delightfully useless? She could think of no service that snake-keeping would provide to anyone, except herself, and the snakes—who are in no shape to pay her a wage for it.)
She knew she ought to get married, and rather soon at that. Twenty-three was rapidly approaching twenty-four, which was the year of expiration as far as her girl friends were concerned. She wouldn’t mind the idea so much if it didn’t mean she’d have to dirty her hem with even a single spot of the ever-dreaded networking. Truly, there was no greater evil than that of casual conversation between members of high society… nevermind that she was herself a part of it.
It would be much more convenient if some clueless rich man simply fell before her feet within seconds of meeting her, but tragically, no such suitable fate has yet visited upon poor Lady Baskerville.
She would hardly get anything done if she went on like this. She had the winery to worry about, but that topic was so dreadful that even the never-ending joys of singlehood had apparently grown enticing enough to capture her wandering mind. She rose to her feet and straightened her skirts. A stroll through the front gardens might do something to clear her mind. After all, one of the great boons of winter is that it’s impossible to go outside and think of anything except for how much you would rather be indoors again.
The wind riffled through her clothes as she heaved the doors open, a sudden cold blast making the tip of her nose tingle. She tightened her cloak around her. Surely she won’t linger more than half an hour in this weather, and then she’ll be forced to go back inside and tend to her responsibilities. A perfect plan.
She was out for five and already beginning to shiver when she spotted somebody trudging through the bitter snow outside the gates.
“Who is it?” she called, fluttering down to meet them as quick as she could.
“Lord Barok van Zieks,” a young voice replied. “Might I request a moment of Lady Baskerville’s time?”
She was now close enough that she could quite tell that was the case. In addition to the tell-tale fluer-de-lis fastened to his jabot, that unkempt hairstyle of his was rather distinctive, though not as appalling as his choice not to don a hat on a day like this.
“You are speaking to her now.”
“Oh!” He jumped. “Forgive the discourtesy, your Ladyship. I can't see through this dreadful snow.”
“Please don’t worry about it, Lord Barok. Seeing you is a welcome surprise,” she said.
The gate squeaked in complaint as Violet pulled it open for him. He thanked her unnecessarily.
“Why don’t we escape this weather and share some tea inside,” Violet offered, abandoning her previous intentions. “Whatever you have to say, it will be more comfortably discussed where the cold is… marginally less distracting.”
“That sounds agreeable,” he said, smiling politely.
Barok, as far as Violet knew of him, was a hardworking young man with a stormy countenance, though he had learned his manners well enough to disguise it most of the time. Her friend Lord van Zieks spoke adoringly of him as if he were the baby at a christening.
Perhaps it was well-deserved. After all, while the Lord was off swinging his leg around in the Old Bailey, his little brother had generously taken on a less exciting kind of legwork in addition to his studies—that of negotiating prices and supervising his tenantry. Certainly, this was a business meeting, and an important one at that, considering the hour’s travel between here and London.
Once pleasantries had been exchanged and tea had been served, Violet and Barok situated themselves in the tea room. It wasn’t quite as extravagant as the rest of the house, and was decorated only with wicker chairs, antique tables, and simple heirloom rugs. But Violet rather liked the tasteful flooring and pewter light fixtures. Quite a shame for Barok that she was far too impatient to think of preparing her revered pear and ginger salad.
“What is it you wanted to speak of?” Violet asked.
“Ah, well…” Barok hesitated, toying with a loose thread from his cuff that Violet could barely keep herself from offering to snip off. “You've met my brother, Klint.”
“I have.”
Indeed she had; he was quite a memorable person. Strong personality, intelligent, handsome face. She’d only met him a few times during trips to London to socialize, and every time they had hit it off with lively political discussions. What Violet would give to wrangle Lord van Zieks into a private spot where he could speak his mind without fear of repudiation, for she suspected his tongue was even sharper than it seemed.
“Well, there’s this event happening in a few weeks, the Prosecutor’s Ceremony. And I wanted… I wanted to see if Klint would consider taking you as his date, but he refused! He insisted I come with him instead so that I can speak with other prosecutors about my studies.”
Violet blinked. “Wait, you wanted him to take me?”
“You can’t deny that it would be quite beneficial to all of us if you two, erm, tied the knot, so to speak.”
And that was certainly a leap. What was it with these van Zieks men and going from zero to one hundred? It was true that the economics lined up rather smashingly, but Violet felt a little astounded that this boy, who was less a friend to her and more a very occasional business partner, had presumed to do her such a favor.
A thought floated to the front of her head unbidden. It really wasn’t beyond belief that some path of her future could lead to Barok becoming her sibling-in-law. Oh, don’t think of it! Violet scolded herself.
“So you tried to set me up,” she concluded, leaning back in her chair. Barok had the decency to look sheepish.
“I—I’m sorry. I thought it would have given the two of you the opportunity to speak.”
Violet hesitated. Barok was pressing his lips into a thin line, the cogs in his mind visibly turning as he calculated a new plan of attack in his head.
“I suppose it’s a shame to have missed the opportunity,” she said slowly. And really, perhaps she was being somewhat reactive. If any of her girl friends had done something like this for her, she wouldn’t have held much ire for them, even if they were hardly known to her.
“…But judging by the fact that you’ve come all this way, my guess is that you have an alternate proposal in mind.”
Barok smiled slightly at that, harnessing a rather awkward, baffled energy that simultaneously endeared Violet and sharpened her cynicism. “Yes, exactly! I think I’ve come up with a way to get around the issue of Klint’s inclination towards avoiding the women he likes, if you would be so kind to hear it.”
He likes me?! Violet thought immediately, and it took all her self-control not to let the childish words slip from her mouth. Waving her hand idly as if she could fan away the faint blush on her cheeks, she asked, “Alright, then. What do you have in mind?”
“Well, firstly, we’d have to get you into the ceremony,” he began, but Violet’s mind was already working faster than his rather drawling pace.
“Do they check everybody’s identity at the door? What do you know of the security?”
“I—I don’t know. I was going to suggest you would accompany me.”
She frowned. “But aren’t you already accompanying your brother?”
“Er, yes, but I thought… I’m essentially an honorary prosecutor, anyway, so I suspect we could get away with it.” he said, rather arrogantly.
A sip of tea did little to chase down the uncomfortable feeling that remark left her with. To not only acknowledge one’s special privileges with such boldness, but to admit leveraging it over others of less fame and reverence—it was either the foolishness of a child or the beginnings of a spoiled adulthood. Of course nobody would question Barok, for he was the little brother of Lord van Zieks himself, and the boy was evidently accustomed to this truth.
“I see,” she said, holding her tongue for nothing if not her own curiosity. “Then what, pray tell, would we do?”
Barok’s lips twitched with another smile. “My brother is not so audacious as to rob me of my company, so we would have to get his attention with an alternative approach.”
“Nothing too explosive, I would hope,” she mused. “I’m sure there are many important, professional matters that will be tended to at this ceremony.”
(None of which, admittedly, would she terribly mind disturbing.)
“No, nothing of the sort!” he said, aghast. “The plan is quite simple and barely requires you to lift a finger. You see, I will start by spending a bit too much time at the bar, until it would be reasonable to assume my head has become quite fuddled, though in truth I’d be perfectly clear of mind.”
“These are your future coworkers—are you suggesting you would embarrass yourself in front of them?” asked Violet, setting her teacup down with a clatter. Barok held steadfastly to his own, apparently unworried by the direction his proposal has taken.
“It may be troublesome for a short while, but the memory of it would be gone from their minds by the time I’m ready to join them as a prosecutor. Now, if I may continue—”
“Not to mention the believability,” Violet went on, “would anybody even be convinced?”
Barok blinked for a moment, then seemed to sink into his wicker chair, resting an elbow on the arm so he could twist a loose strand of hair around his finger. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re a respectable, well-behaved man. Such a disgrace would certainly stick out—well, unless you’ve already set precedence for drunken misconduct in public spaces?” she attempted a joke.
However, a blush spread tellingly across his face, which he dutifully hid behind the corner of his coat. “…Not among the public, no. But Klint—he’s the only one who would require convincing, really, and…”
Understanding dawned on Violet, and she felt momentarily guilty for needlessly embarrassing the poor boy. “Alright, alright. Tell me the next step of your plan.”
“Only if you’ll let me,” he snipped.
“…You’ll see no more interruptions from me,” she forced out in reply.
“Thank you. So then, once my brother has noticed my inebriation, we shall give him an opportunity to see you in a new light. I’ll approach you and, erm, pretend to bother you a bit”—and here he hurriedly waved his hands in a gesture that was probably meant to be comforting—“I would not truly lay a hand on you or make you uncomfortable in any way! Just enough so that Klint would come to see what the fuss is about, and when he sees my untoward behavior, he would come to your aide. And upon your thanking him, he would doubtless offer to accompany you wherever you wish, while I eject myself in shame from the situation, so there would be no excuse left that could part the two of you.”
His cadence grew uncharacteristically fast throughout the speech, but then his mouth shut so abruptly, Violet thought for a moment that he had been startled into silence. Like the low sweep of a pendulum, Barok’s face oscillated from excited to steely and opaque, then back to excited again. Now, his fingers dug unto the fabric of his pants, the only spot where his nervousness was in any way observable.
“Oh, are you… are you finished?” She said slowly.
He nodded stiffly. “You may offer your thoughts now.”
As much as she tried, she couldn’t swallow her sarcasm in time. “Thank Heavens you’ve graciously permitted me speak, my Lord.”
“I—I’m just trying to regulate the flow of conversation,” he stammered, “you’re under no obligation to act a certain way by my request.”
“Well, good,” said Violet, finishing off her tea (gone lukewarm by now) before continuing:
"Because, and I say this with the utmost respect, that is a terrible idea.”
“What?!” He gasped. The poor look on his face didn’t inspire her to mince her next words.
“Do you not have any single conception of what makes a woman attractive to a man?”
“Um—!”
“If your goal is truly for us to wed, surely you couldn’t think there’s any longevity in a relationship built upon mere saviorship. Would you continue to put the both of us in awkward positions until your brother has no choice but to fall in love with me? I realize you’re only a child, but—”
“I’m already sixteen!” insisted Barok. “And, well, I thought—I’ve read that…”
“Oh dear, there’s our issue,” she smiled despite herself, feeling a little more sympathetic than before. “You read it!”
As for what, exactly, the boy had been reading, Violet figured she was better off not knowing. She was no stranger to enjoying a novel of the romantic variety, but if his first thought had been to paint her—an adult woman perfectly capable of rebuffing such invasions—as a damsel, then surely his library was of vastly inferior quality. She might have offered some recommendations were she not something of a complete degenerate.
“What do you mean?” he asked, appearing to be genuinely dumbfounded.
Oh dear, indeed, she thought.
Violet took a breath. “I regret to inform you, Lord Barok, that fictional courting is not anything like the real thing. In novels, it must be exaggerated so that its readers do not grow unspeakably bored with it, but very few romances of our world are filled with so much drama.”
Barok was completely silent for a moment, during which Violet briefly wondered if she had broken him. His eyes were wide as he took all the time he apparently needed to integrate this revelation into his worldview.
“I… see,” he said ponderously. “I am not well acquainted with the protocols of typical romance.”
“Don’t worry, dear, I’m sure you’ll, erm, gain experience at your own pace…?” said Violet, unsure what words might serve to comfort him, if that was even something he desired.
Despite what she intended as a kinder tone, Barok blanched at her words. “N-No! I mean, that’s fine! It’s only right for the eldest son to find happiness first, so my own problems are of little concern.”
“Ah,” she said idly, hardly even noticing she had made the noise.
Though the young Lord had first introduced his plan with a reference to its most practical benefits—the trades of their estates were most certainly compatible, they were of comparable social class, and the two of them seemed to like each other well enough already—but he’d been quick to throw practicality out the window by putting his reputation on the line, all for the sake of a child’s matchmaking game. And then he’d gone and based his ideas not on politics, but on romance novels, naive though his attempt may have been.
The sunlight may have been rendered thin by the still-gentle flutter of snow outside the window, but its sheen remained tangible along the line of Barok’s arm. Over the course of their conversation, he’d sunk deeper into his seat, though his legs were still like beanstalks in comparison to its small size. Violet sighed and placed her hat upon an empty tea-table, pushing away any annoyance she might have felt at the boy. There was something that set him apart from the high-society culture that made her stomach squirm.
Perhaps it was simply that he’d taken a two-hour trip to hook her up with his big brother, on the off-chance that they might make each other happy.
“Perhaps I might provide… a counter-proposal, of sorts,” she said haltingly.
Barok’s eyes brightened. “Truly?”
That look was itself reason enough for her to continue.
“Firstly…” Violet began thoughtfully. “We must think of what your brother values. I know he is of quality character, and values integrity. At the very least, we must ditch this damsel-in-distress business. His kindness may, in his perception, oblige him to never see me in a romantic light again.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” he said. “I imagine you’re right.”
“If you’re still willing to play the part of a drunk, well, that could be useful, if we can guarantee the results will be worth the embarrassment.”
Barok smiled, more sincere than she’d ever seen, though it was still a subdued little thing. “Most certainly.”
If Violet hadn't thought he was a strange child before, well, she definitely did now. What, was he excited to take on such a terrible role?
“Perhaps you have an enemy, or a rival?" she continued. "Someone you could reasonably get into a spot of trouble with.”
“Hmph. I’m sure many of Klint’s friends find me quite the bother.”
Violet clapped her hands. “That’s perfect! If their only complaint is such a common annoyance, then they’d be inclined not to hold anything against you. So, if you were to provoke one of these friends into a poor reaction…”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult. I’ve seen the fits that some of those men can throw after losing a case,” he said, the distaste ringing clear in his voice.
After taking another moment to bask in her racing thoughts, Violet found herself smirking. “Lord Barok, how would you feel about a little role-reversal?”
“A role-reversal…?” Barok muttered, but shortly thereafter his entire posture lifted with enthusiastic comprehension. “Ah! If you were to rescue me instead, then… why, you’d be in Klint’s good graces for the rest of time!”
“Precisely,” Violet grinned. “Your brother would be happy to come to my aide because he is a just man. But he would much rather see me come to your aide because he is a good brother.”
“Yes… in fact, I suspect the greatest challenge with this plan will be to prevent him from getting to me first,” said Barok bashfully. “He can be, er, overprotective at times.”
Violet raised an eyebrow. “Well, if I were you, I’d take advantage of it as long as he’s willing to give it. I can’t say I disagree with him that you’d benefit from some oversight, considering your willingness to pull a stunt like this!"
Barok’s face turned stormy and he scoffed, offended. “Such a bold remark. This is why I think your Ladyship perfect for him.”
“Lord van Zieks has a liking for women who pay no regard to social custom, does he?”
“Oh, yes,” replied Barok, “he doesn’t have much respect for it, himself, which is why I’m so eager to advocate for him in his stead.”
If that is the case, then perhaps this match-up is truly worth such a fabulously unnecessary plan, Violet thought to herself.
"It seems you're amenable to this arrangement," she said.
"I believe it's a splendid idea," Barok admitted. "I'm sure we can work out the finer details when the date is closer, but for now, there is another topic to discuss, one that I hope you will find as enjoyable as I do."
"What might that be?"
He smiled again, small but earnest. "The dress code, of course."
And if they spent the next hour discussing how to most tastefully match each others outfits and hammering out a later date to shop in London for accessories, that would be absolutely nobody's business (excepting, of course, that of present company).
Lord Klint van Zieks, yes… Violet could most certainly get behind courting such a man, though her opening move will be quite unorthodox and prone to trouble. But that was a better preoccupation for her future self. For now, she was finding companionship with his dear younger brother, and in defiance of all logic or expectation, she found herself secretly, selfishly pleased by the possibility of becoming a sister to him, as well.