A/N: We've got fanart! Thanks to HeadCowInCharge/thenotoriouscow for drawing Johan and Clara! A link is on my profile, for the curious.
Additionally: this chapter takes place when Lena is six and Astra and Tara are four. The Marquis and Marchioness are fifty-six and thirty-seven, respectively.
Chapter Five: The False Heir
The day the Marchioness Clara gave birth to her fourth child was the day that marked the marquisate's temporary descent into madness and confusion.
Well, within the general order of things the day was fairly ordinary. The sky was blue and the sun shone brilliantly and the songbirds still sang upon the sill. With daughters at their lessons, the Marquis sat in the nursery, rocking the cot with his foot as he waited to be allowed in his bedchamber. His wife had been quiet for some time, and the baby's first cries were long-wailed, and he was beginning to become impatient.
"Milord?" the midwife said as she opened the door. "We are all done in here."
"Very well, thank you," he replied, standing up and making his way towards the other room. He entered and found no one else aside from the Marchioness and their newborn. The maids had done their cleaning and the midwife took her leave immediately afterwards, allowing the parents privacy.
"They lie," the Marchioness laughed weakly as her husband sat on the edge of the mattress and kissed her cheek. "It does not become easier with each passing child—either that or I'm just the lucky one."
"I'm the lucky one, to have a wife that puts up with my children so," the Marquis chuckled. He slid one arm around her waist and used his free hand to trace the brow of the sleeping baby in her arms. "Now what are we going to call you, starlet? A name just as pretty as your sisters', no doubt."
"I don't know if he will thank you for giving him a pretty name," the Marchioness said. She rested her head against the Marquis's shoulder and sighed. "This is our son."
"Our son? Are you sure?" he asked, blinking curiously. "You can make those?"
"If I'm capable of having daughters, then I'm capable of having sons, yes," she groaned. "Our girls have a little brother to teach how to play ball and nursery games and how to read."
"I don't know, Clara," the Marquis frowned. He held her hand in his and kissed it. "Aren't sons supposed to be different? I have daughters down pat, but I don't know the first thing about sons."
"Our children have attentive parents that care about them, that is all," the Marchioness said. "This little boy has changed nothing about how we raise children, or the paths of any of his elder siblings. So what do you say, Papa? Is this the next Johan in the line?"
"Stars, no," he scoffed. "Too many Johans already. If the kids want to name their sons Johan, that's their problem, but we can take a cue from Grandmamma Donata and do something different."
"You want to name our son 'Troy Kalyoan'?"
"Doubly no—I'm fairly sure my lord father was as odd as he was because he had an odd name. I was thinking, if his sisters are named for the stars, then he should be as well."
"…but the boy in the legend of the moon and stars didn't have a name," she said. Her husband shook his head.
"No, but he is our little star-ling. What do you think, lad? Do you like Sterling?"
The infant opened his eyes and looked up at his father. He made a small noise, at which the Marquis smiled.
"Then Sterling it is, young man. Your middle name is not going to be Johan though and don't argue that."
"He can't understand you yet," the Marchioness chuckled.
"Didn't you know? All fathers can speak baby to some degree." His wife rolled her eyes and bounced the baby in her arms.
"I'll make sure to remember that during the red of night and he won't stop being fussy," she quipped. They kissed and the door to the room flew open, their daughters bursting into the room.
"We came as soon as we heard!" Astra shrieked. "Is it true we have a brother?!"
"Yes it is, starlet," the Marquis said. He watched as his daughters all climbed into the bed to get a closer look at the boy, who stared at them in wonder. "His name is Sterling."
"Hello Sterling," Lena said. She scrunched her nose as she watched him wriggle in place. "He's really tiny. I don't remember Astra and Tara being this tiny."
"That's because you were small still yourself," the Marchioness explained. "One day it's likely Sterling will grow bigger than you, even though he's younger."
"I doubt that," Tara frowned. She jabbed a finger in her brother's midsection, causing him to cry. "Wow, he whines a lot."
"Anyone whines when their sister is mean to them," the Marquis said. "You have to be careful with babies, or else they don't grow properly. We made sure that Lena was careful with you, and now you have to be careful with Sterling."
"Okay then, Sterling: grow up so I can poke you and throw you around and you don't cry," Tara ordered.
"That's not how babies work, Tara," Lena groaned.
"How would you know? You can't even remember when I was a baby!" The two girls began to bicker back and forth over who was right, while Astra ignored them and gently kissed their brother on the brow.
"Welcome, Sterling," she said. "We all love you very much."
"That's a good girl," the Marchioness smiled. She stroked her daughter's hair and watched as her husband pulled their other two daughters apart. Their family was growing steadily and healthily, and it was everything that she could want for them, unaware of the unpleasantness that was soon to come.
By the week's end, the Marchioness was feeling refreshed enough to begin joining the Marquis and their three older children down in the dining room for meals. With Sterling nestled sleepily along her arm, she worked one-handed as she ate her breakfast.
"What did you do when Astra and Tara were babies, Mama?" Lena asked curiously. Mama shrugged as she bit into some toast.
"Oh, that's what I had your Papa for," she explained. "You either sat in a lap or on a stack of books and your Papa and I switched off which twin we held."
"Were Tara and I hard?" Astra asked.
"We had three babies at once—that's difficult on anyone who refuses a governess," the Marquis added. A servant came in and handed him some letters which he thankfully took. "We don't want you kids being raised by someone we don't know and who is only caring as long as they have a job. Usually it is only the smallfolk that don't have governesses, and those children attend schools with kids from other families, so really people consider your situation unique." He opened the first of the letters and began to skim the contents—a social correspondence—though his attention became increasingly rapt as he went along.
"Knock, knock," the tutor said as he entered the dining room. He strolled in and came straight up to the table, eyes locked on his students. "Are you ladies ready for today's lessons?" Met with a chorus of groans and almosts, he chuckled and turned his attention to the newborn. "And hello there. You're a little young for the schoolroom, aren't you?"
"Just a bit," the Marchioness laughed. She looked up at her old love and raised her eyebrows cheekily. "How are things with you and that lady friend of yours? Well, I hope?"
"Yeah… I think so," he grinned. "She's no great lady, but I think she's willing to become one in-name if I ask." He glanced over at the Marquis, whose face was drawn long and still as he read another letter with a lordly mask, and frowned.
"Are you okay, Johan?"
"What? Oh, yes, I'm fine," the Marquis said, snapping out of his trance. "Girls, time for lessons. Now. Go with Sir Daniel."
"You heard the man, team! Let's go!" the tutor announced, forcing pep into his voice. The girls jammed as much of their remaining breakfast in their mouths as possible and followed their tutor out the room. With daughters gone, the Marchioness turned her attention to her husband, who was now angrily going through the letters.
"Johan? What's wrong?" she asked.
"They're all offers," he replied stiffly. The Marquis slammed the letter in his hand on the table and cursed in the ceremonial tongue. "They're a bunch of rabid dogs circling her like a wounded animal!"
The Marchioness furrowed her brow in thought, fully aware his ire was not directed at her. "What are you talking about?"
"We announce we have a son and I get congratulated in court with much more enthusiasm than with the girls. Not even a week passes and look at this! Althos, Shoreditch, Chatham, Bristol, Chiswick… all offers of betrothals for Lena! Chiswick! My grandmamma was from Chiswick! Even if I were marrying her off, I can't marry her to a cousin like that!" He scoffed angrily and tried to drink some tea to calm his nerves; it didn't work. "I thought the past six years of me saying 'my daughter will inherit the marquisate' would have been enough, but apparently not!"
"It's what they would be doing in your shoes," the Marchioness sighed. "According to them, you now have a real heir and Lena can go back to being a proper little lady."
"She is a proper little lady already—just one who is going to run circles of greatness around all their unworthy sons as they pick their noses trying to find the pudding stuck in there," the Marquis growled. "This disgusts me; the only one who has any right to write to me asking for one of our children is your papa, if he can't find a decent mind out of your extended family to succeed him."
"It will only be one that his wife approves of as well, so that leaves out basically anyone from his side of the family," she mentioned. Sterling woke up and began to fuss, prompting her to feed him. "Papa knew what he was getting into by marrying me off to an heirless widow instead of cloistering me away until he found a suitable man without a title to wed me."
"Oh, I can't imagine you living like that," he replied, the comment dragging him from his anger. "Surrounded by great pious ladies that just get drunk from boredom when no one's looking? How exciting."
"A fate I'm thankful I never met every day," she said kindly. The Marchioness reached across the table and took hold of her husband's hand, stroking the knuckles with her thumb. "I'll write the responses, if you like. It will be less likely you go off the handle that way."
"No… the letters are addressed to me and if I don't respond personally then it will be considered a slight," the Marquis grumbled. "I might as well start writing them in bulk. If we got five today, think of how many we're going to get in the long-run."
"Think about it too much and you're like to pop a vein," the Marchioness said plainly. She carefully maneuvered her son and tapped his back to burp him. He made a little croaking sound and she returned to the feeding. "Act otherwise like nothing's changed…"
"…but it hasn't changed, Clara…"
"Precisely. Keep on as normal and you'll get the message across," she said as if it were the easiest and plainest answer in the world. "Have Lena attend court, continue her lessons, make it very clear that just because you sit there with an infant son that doesn't mean that your eldest daughter has lost her place in line."
"You do always know what to do," the Marquis smiled. He picked up his wife's hand and kissed the back of it; he was certainly lucky to have such a sure-headed bride.
"May I ask you something, Psi? Friend to friend?"
His host, the young Earl of Braxos, laughed and moved a piece across the chessboard. It was after dinner and they were alone in the lounge, sharing a game while their wives talked the room over in the library. "If we're using given names, then of course, Johan. I didn't know that my inheriting my father's earldom meant I inherited your friendship along with it."
"Not that many I can call a friend these days, I'm afraid, and I think you have a better chance of understanding me than most." The Marquis took another sip of his drink and leaned back in his chair, studying the game pieces before him. "Clara and I have been getting a lot of letters about Lena."
"Jumping on the news of Sterling's birth without thinking things through, huh?" The Earl watched his opponent consider his options and his face dropped in sympathy. "It's only been two months—things can't be that bad."
The Marquis moved up a piece and frowned. "They are, I hate to say. I've received dozens of inquiries about her status and if I plan to betroth the poor girl, but I just can't do it. Clara and I were very fortunate with our marriage, but that doesn't mean that I want any of my children to be forced into a match that they don't approve of themselves before the wedding day. Arranged marriages and betrothals are so tricky."
"For a man who has been in both, you are certainly reluctant towards either notion for your children's futures," the Earl shrugged.
"Yes, well," he shrugged uncomfortably, "I've seen the alternatives. Your mother and father—may he feed the earth well—disliked one another so much that it wasn't clear you were legitimate until you grew up. Clara's father and stepmother, well, let's just say I'm fond of one and not of the other and we'll leave it at that." He picked up a piece removed from the game and studied it in the light. "I cannot wed my eldest daughter off before she even reaches womanhood… it's not right."
"None inquire about the twins?"
"They've been long-inquired about, I hate to say." The Marquis put the piece back down and shifted in his seat. "But most have just been thinking I was waiting for Clara to age into barrenness to make a decision on whether Lena will inherit the marquisate. I can't do that to her—pass her over for a baby for a reason as silly as gender. If she gets passed over for a sibling, it's because she wants to be passed over. Astra and Tara still sit between Sterling and the marquisate, so it's not like he's guaranteed it with Lena out of the way…"
"…and I hope, truly, that it never comes to that, because family is too precious a thing to have 'out of the way'," the Earl said. He moved a chess piece and removed another from the game. "I remember visiting Gallifrey right after Lena was born and we barely had the chance to say four words to one another because you were poring over the law books."
"That's because it only hit me the day after she was born that Lena could be contested as an heir," the Marquis sighed. "Once I was certain the kingdom would recognize her as my legitimate successor, I had to also make sure there was no Kasterborsian provision that could allow the cadet branch to take over. My cousins are wolves, Psi. They're bad news; a woman nearly inherited before, but that was because her uncles and cousin had no aspirations for the seat."
"Your great-grandfather's cousin, Lady Dorothea, if I remember my history lessons well enough," the Earl said. He watched the Marquis nod in affirmation and continued. "Didn't the marquisate go from her and her father being killed in a skirmish and through two of her uncles before the younger passed his title on to live in self-imposed exile within a matter of a few years?"
"Yes, but the ninth marquis blaming himself for the deaths of his brothers and niece in the Great Dalek War and not accepting the title of Doctor is nowhere near the eleventh marquis's twin stealing his betrothed from the altar. Brothers don't do that to brothers."
"…and that is why I'm glad your twins are not your firstborn; that's an ill omen for parents in our line of work." He paused and lifted his eyebrows, signaling to the Marquis that they were not alone. Lena, Astra, and Tara had just slipped into the room and silently padded over to the men.
"We're going to bed," Lena announced, holding back a yawn. Her sisters were so sleepy they could only nod in affirmation. "Thank you for being a nice host, Lord Simon." She curtsied, which sent her into a wobble.
"Call me Psi, please," the Earl chuckled, patting Lena on the head. "We're neighbors; Saibhra and I want to be friendly. I mean, it's not always your papa I'm going to be sending support troops."
"Is it okay, Papa?" Lena asked. The Marquis sat back up in his chair and bent to kiss his daughters on the forehead.
"Of course it is. I've known Psi since he was a baby and since then I've come to trust him," he explained. "If there is one thing you can do, it is trust a Braxos, even if neither you nor him know what's happening."
"Okay, Papa. Goodnight." With that, Lena took her sisters by the hand and they shuffled out of the lounge. The adults waited until the door shut to continue their conversation.
"Saibhra and I don't plan on betrothing our children—we can lie and say it's a neighborly agreement, if it'll stave the offers," the Earl said. The Marquis shook his head.
"You haven't had children yet, and what if you only have girls? No."
"Saibhra has nephews…"
"No. It would look incredibly suspicious, and it wouldn't be fair to the children. I find no issue with her or her family, but we both know how much of a stir it caused when you married an actress."
"Fringe benefit," the Earl grinned. "It was a mutually-agreeable match that made people squirm—how could I resist?"
"You don't even touch one another for appearance's sake." The Earl smirked at that, taking a sip of his drink. "Whatever setup you have baffles me… not that I can judge."
"Lord Accidentally Fell In Love With His Heiress-Wife? Stars no."
Eyebrows lowered and lips a thin line of a frown, the Marquis moved a piece on the board and knocked over the Earl's king. "Checkmate."
A/N: This story is very "I will neither confirm nor deny" certain things, but I can assure you that anything that got a drop earlier will be revisited in some fashion later on.