Convenience of Marriage

Beneath the soft glow of the late afternoon sun, the Sinclair Estate unfurled exactly as the 18th Centaury architect envisioned it to minus a few signs of neglect. The mansion stood at the heart of a forest of tall trees older than some countries, its stone façade kissed by ivy and time, with tall arched windows gazing out like silent sentinels over the grounds. Slate-shingled rooftops rose in elegant peaks, crowned by proud chimneys. 

A long, tree-lined drive gave way to a symphony of sculpted hedges and marble fountains that the Duchess so proudly looked after. The gardens stretched wide in perfect symmetry, every curve and corridor of greenery shaped by a hand obsessed with order. Towering evergreens stood like noble guards beside winding gravel paths, while rose-laced archways invited one to wander deeper into the estate's hidden corners. Two fountains marked the center of this verdant dream, one grand and tiered, its waters dancing in the sunlight, the other more modest but no less regal, encircled by beds of lavender and trimmed boxwood.

"Your Grace, Miss Whitmore has arrived."

A woman sat on the plush couch of the drawing room, bringing a teacup to her lips richly pigmented by a bright red lipstick. Her once auburn hair had deepened into a rich, burnished shade, like mahogany kissed with sunset. Threads of silver may weave through the red, catching the light, not diminishing the color but enhancing it, like moonlight on old embers. It was twisted into a low knot to suit the high collar of her sleeveless beige dress. 

"Let her enter." Duchess Sinclair said once again bringing the teacup up to her lips. 

The maid nodded and immediately went out to fetch the guest. Emerging from the portières being flung to the sides was a devastatingly beautiful woman. She wore a long blue dress made from presumably satin fabric embroidered with a white flower pattern. The scandalous sight of her bare shoulders and spaghetti straps of the dress were hidden by a simple white hand knitted cardigan which contrasted with her pitch-black hair cascading over her shoulder coming to her waist in waves. 

Cecelia's soft pink lips curved into a smile as she placed her right foot three steps back, bending both knees gently, allowing the back leg to dip slightly at a perfect 45 degree angle while keeping the front leg relatively straight.

"Your Grace," Cecelia said softly, lowering her head in respect, the pale blue of her gown pooling lightly at her feet. "Thank you for receiving me. I am most grateful for the honor of your time."

The usually dismissive duchess was captivated by her, "Come and sit, child."

With Cecelia right next to her, Duchess Sinclair took a closer look at her complexion and it was indeed exceptionally pale as expected of someone who had just recovered from a decade long illness. 

"Before I forget, a small token of my appreciation." Cecelia said, taking out a small red box from her bag. She set it on the coffee table and opened it to reveal a watch expensive enough to comfortably feed a middle class family for a decade. 

Duchess Sinclair's eyes widened in greed as she picked up the watch and slid it onto her wrist to find it fit perfectly.

To understand how the once powerful Sinclairs had fallen to their current state, you would not have to turn the pages of the history book to no more than 3 generations ago. The former Duke was in plain words a philanderer who spent money like it grew on trees. He gambled, bet, and wasted all of the Sinclair's most profitable businesses leading to their current financial ruin. 

Merchants, indeed, are full of surprises. Such lavish generosity on a mere first visit... I daresay, I must see to it that she is secured within the family

"Heavens! It is a flawless fit. My dear child, you do possess an uncanny gift for delighting me."

The next hour and a half passed by with the two conversing about everything from the season's favorite runway designs to how to bake foreign delicacies. 

"Ah, the sun is going down. I should head back before curfew lest I get another lecture." 

Duchess Sinclair walked right up to the door to send her off. 

A car pulled up and Cecelia entered after what felt like a million goodbyes to Duchess Sinclair. Inside she cracked her back and joints to feel alive after sitting down maintaining good posture for so long. 

Right after the car drove further outside the estate, a man walked out from behind Duchess Sinclair. He had the same hair and eyes as her but the look in his eyes was far more dangerous than the mere greed in the duchess's eyes. It was unmistakable even behind his square gold rimmed glasses. A gaze that clung like barbed wire. It was hungry, frantic, and just opened a little too wide, as if the idea of losing you wasn't sad, but an unthinkable scenario. 

"Is she not the most exquisite creature you have ever beheld? And wealthy, too."

"She's… interesting."

He spoke with a faint lilt, as though testing the word on his tongue. Still, his eyes remained on the door as if he could still see her through it.

The Duchess smiled, folding her hands in front of her. "And clever. Did you hear how neatly she dodged my question about the London estate? The child knows how to maneuver a conversation. She is will prove to be very useful to us in this family."

He didn't respond. Only tilted his head slightly, as though listening for the sound of her carriage as it turned the corner at the end of the drive.

Finally, he spoke again. His tone was smooth, almost amused.

"She didn't look back."

"Hmm?" the Duchess replied, adjusting the fall of her lace cuff.

"When she stepped into the car. She didn't glance at the house. Not once."

 He looked at his mother now, a slow smile curling at the edge of his mouth.

 "Most girls do. The timid ones. Or the ambitious ones. But not her. She didn't hesitate. It is as if she is certain of her position here. The Duke's bride."

The Duchess gave a soft hum, unfazed. "All the better. That means she would not try to run and perhaps is satisfied with this match."

But her son's gaze had grown distant again.

"Oh, dear mother. Have some faith in your son," he murmured. "I'm the best candidate vying for her hand in marriage, even her father knows this. I believe if she is as smart as she seems, she would be more than satisfied."

Then, a quiet laugh light, pleasant escaped his lips. 

"I would love to conquer this woman. To have her beg...ahh that would be true heaven."

The Duchess glanced at him, her expression unreadable.

"Son. Remember our goal. Do not let your desires win over rationality."

He turned his head slightly, meeting her eyes with an expression so calm it was almost cherubic.

"As you say."

Then he stepped away from the door, walking back into the heart of the manor like he hadn't just made a promise only he understood was false.