I Propose We Marry
"No."
Wilhelmina shot the word back as if sprung from a coil. It was instinct, pure and unthinking—the temperament she had been born with. Francesca had always eclipsed her, but that had never dulled Wilhelmina's native impulse to push back.
"Your Highness has not yet heard the actual point of what I came to say."
And she was, equally, the sort who met a challenge with open arms.
"Of course you'd like to put it that way."
The man tossed his discarded spectacles onto the table, folded his hands over his knee, and smiled. It was a gentle thing, the corners of his eyes creasing with every appearance of kindness—but Wilhelmina was certain, even on first acquaintance, that one would be better off trusting a viper.
And this man, who was rather worse than a viper, went by the following name: His Highness Cassian, respected royal of this great nation—the honorable and vast Brighton Kingdom—and its heroic Vice Admiral of the Navy.
According to an exceedingly reliable source, he was a man of legendary repute who had consigned more than three thousand pirates to the sea, or to a cell, or—at any rate, consigned them somewhere.
Until now, that fact had had little enough to do with Wilhelmina. From this moment, it did. Using this man was, at present, the only solution left to her.
Correction: of the two remaining solutions, it was the one that would cause Benjamin less suffering. It was also the only way to keep Francesca from becoming a murderer.
Toward that sole necessary condition, Wilhelmina spoke.
"The proposal I have for you is simple, Your Highness."
Even as the thought crossed her mind that this might well be a madder course than murder itself.
A teacup shattered against the floor in the corner of the room. Wilhelmina did not so much as glance toward the sound. The only reaction that mattered was the one belonging to the man in front of her.
The preposterous offer appeared, indeed, to have robbed even the celebrated His Highness Cassian of speech.
He regarded her for a moment with an expression she could not quite parse. Only a moment, though. A smile began to unfurl at the edge of his mouth.
And yet—why was it that the smile did not look entirely innocent to her? No. How to put it.
Malicious?
"As I see it, Miss Priestley."
Sure enough, Cassian spoke in a tone silkier than any he had used thus far.
"You appear to be in need of the sort of sedative so popular among the ladies of society. If you haven't any on your person, shall I have some prepared?"
Remarkable. Wilhelmina was genuinely impressed. To ask whether she had gone mad so prettily, and at such length—she dared say it was a kind of innate talent.
Even so, she did not forget to shake her head as a lady ought.
"No."
She had a distinct feeling that if she failed to refuse properly, this was a man who would press a bottle of sedative into her hand and send her packing.
But he was hardly the only one not to be underestimated. While he had been tearing across the seas smashing pirates' skulls, she had spent years tearing through the notorious high society of Winster, capital of the Brighton Kingdom, smashing the hearts of suitors—until she had at last earned the title of spinster.
In Wilhelmina's estimation, the two achievements were equally legendary.
"One piece of advice, Your Highness."
Meaning to demonstrate that legendary quality in person, Wilhelmina smiled with perfect composure.
"Next time, you may simply ask if I've gone mad. There's no need to waste quite so much time on it."
In the dim glow of the lamps, Wilhelmina watched a gleam pass, for the first time, through Cassian's silver-gray eyes.
It was something like the curiosity of a scholar who had stumbled upon an unknown species—or, looked at another way, like a predator regarding as peculiar the prey that had walked in of its own accord.
But how—who would dare define Wilhelmina Priestley as prey?
If he was laboring under that misapprehension, it was only her duty to disabuse him of it.
"I have no hobby of wasting time, so I'll be frank from the start. As you can see, I am rather beautiful, and the fortune my late parents left me as my share is quite substantial."
She smiled radiantly, and added:
"For the record, I am being extremely modest."
"Modest?"
Cassian made no effort to conceal his blatant incredulity. Wilhelmina, however, was unashamed. She had not said anything untrue.
The four Priestley siblings were as famous for their striking looks as for their respective eccentricities. And as for fortune, still less needed to be said. Annuities, trusts, estates, townhouses, and jewels of considerable pedigree—the annual income from her assets rivaled the yearly budget of a typical earldom.
Her reputation had, against her will, taken a knock of late, but what of it? Wilhelmina had never felt the slightest need for the institution of marriage.
"The necessity of marriage as an institution."
"That a wealthy unmarried woman has no need of a husband is a universal truth anyone can acknowledge."
She meant every word. To Wilhelmina, marriage was, at best, handing over the management of her entire fortune to a husband—and at worst, dying old while paying off some wastrel husband's gambling debts.
How was that any different from madness?
When Wilhelmina made this argument, some of those who heard it would advise that even someone as capable as she still needed a protector.
On that point, she fully agreed. This was not, after all, a world one lived in alone. She needed at least a bare-minimum safeguard—something to keep some scoundrel from appearing when she was old and ill, seizing her entire fortune, and locking her in an asylum.
And Wilhelmina already had that safeguard.
Cassian, having heard her out, smiled as if to say he had expected nothing less.
"I've heard that the four Priestley siblings are extraordinarily close. Including the fact that this is not particularly good news for the decent, well-meaning ordinary people of society."
Like a proper lady of Winster's polite society, Wilhelmina elected to treat Cassian's addendum as something she hadn't heard.
"I'm glad you know. In any case, I have no further need of a protector."
Ah, that was right. Wilhelmina had no further need of a protector. For where in the world was she supposed to find a guardian to rival the Marchioness of Montrose—the sort of woman who would demand you pay for the crime of ruining her sister's reputation with your crushed skull? The Duke of Priestley was no different. He was famous for being weak only where his family was concerned, and it was already established wisdom in Winster politics that if you saw him fussing over them and took him lightly, you would surely come to grief.
And then there was Ethan, the only one of the four younger than herself. Being younger did not mean he was someone to let one's guard down around. He was the one who would be standing beside Francesca and her hunting rifle, handing her the powder and shot.
They really are something, aren't they.
Wilhelmina found herself wearing a proud smile despite herself, daring to think they were the most perfect family in the world. Her original plan for her life had been to remain in this perfect sanctuary until she died, still throwing tantrums well into old age.
Even if, in the one-in-a-million chance that heaven and earth were overturned and her conviction that she needed no husband happened to change, there was no need to worry. She could simply pick a suitably obedient man and take him as a husband then.
Cassian muttered it with a peculiar look on his face.
"An obedient husband."
"A universal virtue that every husband in Brighton ought to possess."
Wilhelmina replied without a shred of shame.
"Anyway, even if it came to that, there's no cause for concern. The world is full of third sons, fourth sons, fifth sons, sixth sons, perhaps even seventh sons who have neither fortune nor secure rank and thus no leisure to quibble over a woman's flaws—"
"Let's leave it at that."