Chapter Text
For the longest time, Valerie had been preparing for this moment. As a young girl, she had played with her friends and cousins, enacting the day that would one day come for callers to ask for her favor and her hand. She used to dream about this, day in, day out, dreaming of what it might one day be like to settle down and marry the man of her dreams.
It was certainly a surprise to hear when her father finally revealed that a match had been made. She expected there to be a little more frivolity and whimsy, more excitement and anticipation during countless hours of ballroom dances and sideway glances. There was to be passion and subtle intentions, beautiful words laced with innocent innuendos in promise of a bright future—should she choose to take any of the offers.
Still, it did not matter. A match had been made, one that fit the standards of her parents to be sure—and that was not always an easy thing. The gentleman’s family had hosted a wonderfully expensive ball, luxurious and elegant in every way, shape and form. The music plucked at the heartstrings, the colors of the décor were ever so well complimented, and the people invited had come in their best fabrics and jewels.
It was meant to be a night of a renowned union between her family and her soon-to-be husband’s. After seeing his parents, the great Lord and Lady Linder, she was rather impressed by their clean, beautiful attire and dress, as well as their general etiquette and manners. She began to get truly excited when they boasted of their son, how truly looked after and happy she would be in his care.
Then, she could hear the guests chatter and whisper about the man in question having just arrived at the ball. She had heard he was a handsome fellow, with dark hair and captivating eyes. He was apparently tall in height and had a unique sense of dress—she hoped that was a good thing. She had heard good tales of the man from his parents, thinking she would turn to find a well put together, highly respectable gentleman walking towards her with just as much excitement.
But the man she saw instead was much different.
No. This man was a complete, fucking mess.
His hair was indeed dark, but not well kempt and tidy as she thought it would be. Instead, it flowed on either side of his face, just barely grazing his shoulders. His eyes were indeed captivating in a way that a deer would watch the eyes of a predator—they were far too cold for her liking. His beard was slightly scruffy, as though he had failed to trim it for the past week. He was tall, and he did have a unique sense of dress, in that he did not bother to keep the top of his shirt buttoned at all and wore no vest or anything to accompany it beneath his undone jacket. He walked with such arrogance that she had only ever seen on dishonorable men, his smirk warning her that his lips could only promise false hopes and pretenses.
Surely this was an older brother of the man she had heard of. Perhaps he had failed in his duties and so he was cast aside for a more successful heir to the family’s legacy.
Surely this was not the man she was meant to be spending the rest of her life with.
“At long last,” Lord Robert spoke. “My son, Lord John Linder.”
Well.
Fuck.
As he treaded the long path from the stairway to where they stood, Valerie could feel the world swallowing her up whole as her insides churned. He cast his eyes at nearly every woman that called to him, only making his smirk grow—which would not have been any different from most indecent men had he not actually stopped for one of them. A clearing of his father’s throat had him rolling his eyes and continuing his walk. When he finally arrived, he did not bother even looking at her. In fact, he looked bored. How could a man who was just about to be married to the woman he was intended to meet look that bored?
Valerie could barely hear the pleasantries exchanged between her parents and the man, she could only stare at him incredulously. This was the man she was destined—no, condemned—to marry. She could hear it now, the constant giggling and laughing of her peers when they hear the great noble she had been matched with was the human embodiment of a stumbling rat.
Then he looked at her.
She froze in her place, her eyes surely looking rather doe-eyed, though she was fuming. He dragged his cruel eyes slowly down her body, down to her toes and all the way back up. She felt as though she was being appraised like an object to be bought. The thought of it nearly made her entire body convulse. One look off to the side was enough to tell her that her parents did not see this as an obstacle. They simply smiled and continued with the niceties and manners necessary to keep the lord and lady appeased. One look right back at her from her father sent a chill down her spine.
This was going to be an intolerably long evening.
—
The dances that evening were not terrible. In fact, Valerie might have had a better time enjoying herself had she not been meant for someone already, in that same room. Still, she danced for propriety's sake, for tradition, hoping it would ease her mind and help her accept what was to come. Though, what with Valerie stealing many glances at him during her dances, she noticed that he had not spared a single one in her direction.
After all, how could he? His eyes seemed to be reserved for nearly every other woman in the room aside from her. Even to a man such as John, she presumed she was not that undesirable. Her body was not as slim and slender as those of her peers, but it only meant her curves were that much more accommodating with the dresses she chose to wear. Her eyes glistened brighter than any polished sapphire, and her hair cascaded over her shoulders in beautiful shades of gold under the crystalline wreath.
She had worked hard to ensure that she looked positively divine, and yet it did not seem to matter. Valerie had just finished her third dance, wanting to resign herself to the sidelines for a while when she heard a man clear his throat behind her. When she turned around, she had not expected to see her intended standing there, facing her. His attention was barely focused on her and that enraged her. She was far too busy wondering what he could possibly want with her, after having said nothing to her to begin with, to expect what actually happened.
The lord held out his hand. No question, no formality—an unspoken offer for one final dance awaiting her response.
She needed to get out of this arrangement.