Good morning, lovelies! For those of you who have read the entry for Eras, I have expanded some sections, so while a lot might seem familiar, I have hopefully changed enough that you're able to gather new information. Thank you all for reading and for the reviews you're leaving. I read each one, and they all have made the blood sweat and tears I've already poured into this story so worth it!
Thank you so much to Mel, Pamela, and Jill!
IV
EDWARD
1 July 1897
London, England
I am still shaken from my rather sudden encounter with Miss Swan.
She dove into my life—quite literally—when I least would have expected her. I will admit, my knees grow weak when I think about the near accident that almost took my life. If it hadn't been for Miss Swan…
I've never met anyone quite like her. Certainly, there are beautiful women throughout London, many of whom have preened and pranced before me, vying for my attention. I've been surrounded by beauty my entire life.
But I've never met a woman who boldly meets my gaze, who cuts quick remarks putting Liam in his place. Miss Swan, though small in stature, is clearly formidable in spirit.
I am not certain if it is this strength of character, or a mere infatuation with my rescuer, that keeps my thoughts centered on her, but I cannot seem to turn my mind to anything else.
"You've got that look," Liam says, his voice cutting through my rumination.
I blink and look at him. "What look?"
Liam's smirk is obnoxious as he leans back in the carriage, his legs kicking out so far he is nearly knocking me in the shins.
"The look of a man head over heels in infatuation."
I bristle, though quietly, I suspect he speaks the truth. Liam presses on as if he doesn't need me for the conversation at all.
"She is quite incredible, I must admit," he says, shrugging one shoulder. "If an infatuation must happen, you've selected quite the formidable woman to moon over." His eyes cut to my face. "I know you like to play around, Edward, but don't give this girl false hope. You'd never be allowed to marry her, not while your mother and father are still breathing. Take her to the ball tomorrow, dance her into the night, then let her go, or you'll end up hurting both of you," he advises.
I swallow thickly. I know Liam speaks the truth, as much as it pains me to admit. "Can't you just picture her at tea with my mother?" I ask, letting out a low chuckle.
Liam snorts. "A spectacle I would be quite happy to observe," he muses. "Still, you know your mother would win out in the end."
"My mother allows you to keep lingering around," I point out ungraciously. Liam isn't of noble birth. He will never hold a title or any sort of prominence that would be acceptable to my family.
"Yes, darling," he says, leaning into the endearment. "However, you are not looking to make me the future Duchess of Devonshire." He pauses, his head tilting. "Unless I've greatly misinterpreted our friendship, in which case, I accept."
I bark out a laugh, and Liam grins, relaxing back into the carriage.
"You're an arse," I say, only daring to use such language with him.
"It's what makes me so charming," Liam agrees.
We are quiet the rest of the carriage ride back to Devonshire House, my thoughts occupying my time so thoroughly I am an ill sport at further conversation.
When we arrive back at the house, Rosalie is waiting for us. I let out a deep sigh as I see my sister, and Liam lets out a quiet chuckle.
"Lady Cullen," Liam says, climbing out of the carriage. "What an honor it is to be graced by your charming presence."
Rosalie hesitates, looking at Liam in surprise before her eyes land back on me, refueled by her annoyance.
"Father wants to see you in his study," she says, her voice tart.
I let out a breath, clap Liam on the shoulder, and head inside to find my father.
…
His Grace, Edward Cullen the II, the Duke of Devonshire, is indeed in his study. I knock once on the doors before his gruff voice ushers me in. The moment I cross the threshold, the scent of cigars and Pimm's gin burns my nose.
Father looks up at me as I enter, his face stoic and impossible to read. "Sit," he commands, motioning to a velvet chair near the fireplace. I cross the room, mentally preparing myself for whatever weighted conversation I am about to face.
Father gets up, moving to a tray one of the servants must have brought him. I can tell from the ingredients he is making his favorite drink—Pimm's Cup. He glances at me once but does not offer me a glass.
I don't dare ask for one.
Father is silent as he prepares his drink, and I feel the weight of his silence settling over my chest, suffocating me. I know what he called me in for, but I would be damned if I am the one who breaks first and speak of it.
Finally, Father turns to me, his dark brown eyes glaring cooly over his glass as he settles in the chair facing mine.
"You missed a very important meeting today," he says, his voice cold and furious.
I swallow thickly. "I did," I agree.
Father swirls his glass before bringing it up to his mouth and sipping the cocktail. It is out of fashion now, but Father always says taste never goes out of style. It is one of his many excuses for never changing throughout the years.
"What excuse do you have this time?" he presses, sipping his drink.
I take a breath, my hands curling softly at my sides. "No excuse, sir."
Father's gaze snaps over me. "No excuse," he muses, his tone cold. "So you simply forgot?"
I shake my head, knowing I am burying myself deeper with him but unable to stop myself now. "No, sir. I remembered." Father's eyes darken. "I was nearly killed today in town." I wouldn't have brought it up to him normally. His Grace is not prone toward the sentimental coddling of his children. "A young woman saved my life. I felt I owed it to her to drive her home after her heroics."
Father is silent, and I can't quite read his face. I don't know if it is surprise in his eyes, or fury.
"If you miss one more appointment," Father says, tilting his glass between his fingers, "I will strip you of everything. You'll be out on the street, without a penny to your honorless name. I don't care if a witch doctor has brought you back from the dead, and you are slow to reawakening. I expect you in your place. Am I clear?"
I swallow. It isn't the first time he's threatened to disown me, but it is, however, the first time I believe him. There is something different about this threat, a conviction I've never heard before in his voice.
"Yes, sir," I say quietly.
Father nods. "The queen will be in attendance tomorrow," he continues, his scowl growing deeper. I know what my father thinks of women, especially women in power. It is no secret in our family that he does not fully support the queen. "As will your betrothed."
I frown. "My betrothed?" I ask, more than a little confused.
Father nods, reaching for a cigar. "It's all been arranged. You are to wed Grand Duchess Tatiana Alexandrovna, second daughter of Czar Alexander of Russia."
I wonder if my father remembers that a new czar was crowned just over a year ago in the wake of Alexander's death. I would not be surprised to discover Czar Nikolai is unworthy of my father's mention, simply on the fact that he is young, and by reputation, hopeful.
My chest tightens, my stomach curling as I try to process his words. "Since when?" I ask, once I've found my voice.
"Since I've said so," Father responds, his voice frigid. "You will do as I say and marry the grand duchess. The czar's eldest has just married the queen's favorite granddaughter. Aligning our family with her kin will levy our position," Father explains. "Your betrothed will be here tomorrow night, and I expect you to entertain her."
I stare at my father, trying to unravel the complex political web of his thoughts. It's useless. My father only cares about power and how our family can gain more of it.
"I don't speak Russian," I point out, my voice tight with my barely suppressed emotions.
"Fortunately for you, the grand duchess is properly cultured and is fluent in English," Father hisses.
I snap my mouth shut, my teeth grinding together. I want to leave, want to run out of his office and out of this forsaken house and keep running, never to look back.
Instead, I stay put, my fingernails biting into my palms as I curl my fists tighter and tighter.
"Is there anything else?" I ask, immediately regretting my tone when Father glares at me.
"No," he says, sipping his drink. "Leave me."
I stand, dipping a shallow bow in his direction before I race out of his office.
The moment I am free, I let out a long breath, swearing to myself.
A betrothed I know nothing about, a political alliance I don't care to have, and a possible future in a country I wish to have no part of.
Briefly, my mind flashes to Miss Swan, who has so effortlessly charmed and delighted me with just one tilt of her head.
My chest tightens at the memory.
Could I still ask Miss Swan to come when I have a betrothed arriving on my doorstep? Is it selfish of me to wish to see her, if only for one last time?
I run a hand through my hair as I pace back to my rooms, confused and frustrated.
Unsurprisingly, I find Liam lounging by my desk, his feet propped up as he reads an old Latin text.
He glances up at me as I storm in. "Ah, things went well, I see," he muses.
I let out a grunt, throwing myself onto a thickly padded lounge. "I've been betrothed," I tell him, my eyes fixed on the ceiling.
I can feel Liam's surprise, even without glancing his way.
"I should think congratulations are in order," he says, gently shutting the book. I glance at him as he leans back and shakes his head. "But then again, I know you too well for that."
I swing my legs around, restlessly sitting up. "What do I do?"
He shrugs. "How badly do you want your father's title?"
It is a fair question, one that I have thought about frequently enough myself. I let out a long breath and shake my head, torn.
"Who is your blushing bride-to-be?" he asks, tilting his chin my way.
"A Russian princess," I answer, unable to help my scowl. I see his eyebrows rise in surprise. "Father wants me to marry into the family so that we can levy our position with the queen."
He nods, considering this. "He has a point," he says slowly. I shoot him a look and Liam holds his hands up as if in surrender. "I'm not saying it's a good point," he says placatingly. "But I'll give it to His Grace—he understands the political game well."
I let out a breath and stand, pacing.
"What is it that is holding you back?" Liam asks. "Is this simply about wanting to defy your father?"
I shake my head. "No," I say immediately. "No, I understand that he and I have a complicated relationship," I admit. "But I no longer try to defy him like I used to." I see Liam smirk, and I know he is remembering as well as I the years of gambling and reckless drinking I indulged in as youthful defiance. My father was always there to pull me out of one scrape or another when I inevitably stumbled. We may not get along, but he's been sure to protect me, so long as I remain his legacy in both name and title.
"Is this about a certain young heroine?" Liam asks, leaning back in the chair again.
My eyes cut toward him before I can stop myself, and I see him grin.
"It's not," I protest weakly. "I don't even know Miss Swan."
Liam snorts. "Because knowing someone has so much of an impact when you are thinking with your cock."
I shoot him a look for his vulgar language but don't correct him. "What do I do?" I ask instead, turning to him. Liam and I have been best friends since our very first day at school together. Though Liam comes from a merchant family, he got into our school with the sponsorship of a distant cousin. It was clear on his first day that he wasn't born into high society—he was too bold, too crass, and didn't have the manners or training. But Liam possesses a sly wit, an unerring charm, and a silver tongue that has talked us out of more than a few tight scrapes.
We've been like brothers, thick as thieves, and not even the constant demand and pull of my family's position has been able to separate us.
I never figured out how he talked himself into room and board in our house. My mother is notoriously cold to anyone she deems beneath her, and it was nothing short of a miracle when Liam managed to charm her in less than twenty minutes.
He's been living with us since we left Eton almost five years ago.
Liam knows me better than anyone else, and as I gaze at him across my room, weighing my future in his hands, I know that I would trust his judgment, no matter what.
Liam considers me a long moment before nodding. He climbs to his feet, putting the Latin book on my desk. "I think," he says slowly, striding toward me and clapping a hand on my shoulder, "that you have a ball gown to order."
