A Contract of Mutual Necessity
"...Well, in any case, there is no shortage of bachelors."
Having heard her out that far, Cassian nodded. Then he pointed out the obvious.
"Then why come to me now, instead of simply finding yourself an obedient husband when the time comes?"
"My family, Your Highness."
Wilhelmina answered without a moment's hesitation.
"As I mentioned, I have brothers who are something of a disaster, but whom I love dearly. A few nephews as well. I have no desire to become the creature who ruins their prospects."
Indeed. As she had said, Brighton's high society was notorious for its conservatism. Wilhelmina herself, as she had already explained, would have no great difficulty going on with her life, and she did not particularly care if all of Winster gossiped about her. It would be a nuisance, admittedly. But the reputation of a house that harbored a woman infamous for her premarital indiscretions was bound to suffer a steep decline. The honor of the Priestley ducal house was no exception. If anything, a lineage of such distinguished antiquity would only invite the more vicious scorn.
"Very well."
Cassian nodded.
"I understand why you need this contract, Miss Priestley."
The voice that delivered those words was languid to a degree that was almost pleasant to the ear.
"Nothing erases a ruined reputation from the public mind quite so thoroughly as a shocking announcement of marriage. And who would dare gossip about a woman whose husband is a member of Brighton's royal family — the Slaughterer of the Blue Sea, no less? Not unless they fancied having their skulls split open."
Hmm. Judging by the way he spoke, he was fully aware of the heroic slander circulating about him throughout high society.
"There will still be obstacles to navigate, of course, but I don't imagine they'll pose much of a problem for you. You strike me as quite clever enough, Miss Priestley."
Cassian twisted his mouth into a smile. Then he tapped the ebony desk lightly with the tip of his index finger. Tap. Tap. The sound was almost cheerful, yet Wilhelmina instinctively recognized it as a form of prompting.
They said hunting pirates was his hobby, and in conversation Cassian Windstor, the Duke of Clifford, proved himself a master of saying everything without speaking a word. He possessed an innate gift for drawing out an opponent's agitation and stoking their impatience with nothing more than a glance, the shading of a smile, or the movement of a single finger. Had he been born a woman, he would surely have been the flower of high society. No — beyond even that. Wrapping the whole of Brighton in his skirts would not have been beyond him.
"But that is the way of the world, is it not?"
The man who, by the accident of his birth, had failed to become the flower of high society and become instead a slaughterer upon the seas offered this counsel with a brilliant, beautiful smile.
"A contract that benefits only one party does not exist, Miss Priestley. Within your reasoning, both the necessity of restoring your reputation and the means of doing so are clear and specific. Unfortunately, to me, this is nothing more than a charitable endeavor."
Did he really need to deliver a remark like that so tenderly, as if he were offering her gentle counsel? Well, at least it told her something about the man's character, Wilhelmina thought.
"And I am a sailor more accustomed to plunder than to charity."
How insufferable.
"I beg your pardon, Your Highness."
But if they were keeping score on insufferability, Miss Wilhelmina here was hardly a slouch by the standards of Winster's entire high society.
"Did I say that I had finished explaining?"
She possessed more than enough skill to tell a man not to interrupt her, and to do so at considerable length and with considerable grace.
"...You still aren't finished?"
It was a blatant attempt to embarrass her. Compared to the various insults this man had already attempted, it was so paltry it was almost pathetic. Wilhelmina could not help but burst out laughing.
"No. I'm not finished."
She answered as her laughter faded, straightening her posture. Then, meeting the man's eyes more directly than she had at any point thus far, she spoke.
"As Your Highness just said, the honor of my beloved family hangs entirely upon this damned contract. But if that were all, would I have gone to the trouble of seeking you out at this ungodly hour? Do I strike you as some slack, romantic creature who relies on the luck of other people's pity and forbearance?"
"......"
"Yes. I can state without reservation that I would rather die than watch my scandal become a burden upon my family. For that thoroughly selfish and personal reason, I absolutely require a marriage to Your Highness. And in my estimation—"
Without flinching from the silver-gray eyes that seemed to search straight through her, Wilhelmina willingly returned the most dazzling of crescent smiles.
Silence.
The only sounds filling the dim study were the faint crackle of a candle consuming its wick, and the taut tension stretching between the two of them. Cassian slowly unlaced the fingers he had rested upon the table and leaned back deep into his chair. The languid, arrogant smile that had lingered on his breathtakingly beautiful face was gone, washed clean away. In its place was a gaze as cold and keen as a predator's in the instant before it severs its prey's throat.
"Desperately in need of marriage, you say..."
His voice, dropped lower than it had been at any point thus far, seemed almost to crawl across the ebony desk.
"Miss Priestley, you have been at some pains to present yourself as a noble champion of remaining unwed, and yet you appear remarkably interested in other people's marital affairs."
"I am hardly alone. The entirety of Brighton's illustrious high society loses sleep every night gossiping about Your Highness's marital prospects."
Wilhelmina shrugged with easy composure.
"But what matters to Your Highness is, I imagine, something far more urgent and practical than the idle speculation of that notorious — pardon me, illustrious — high society."
A little over a month ago, the young king had died. His death plunged the whole of Brighton into profound dismay — not least because the queen had passed away only a few months before. It was nothing short of a national catastrophe. The result was that the throne of this vast kingdom now sat empty but for a young queen who had not yet come of age, left utterly alone.
Cassian, who had been listening to all of this with his arms folded, tossed out a correction.
"She is fifteen. Barely three years remain until she comes of age."
"Three years or one, a Regent is required. And His late Majesty named his youngest brother as regent in his final will."
That man was sitting right in front of her: the Duke of Clifford. The moment he received the news, he had returned to Winster. That had been the second day after the king's death, and by now both the state funeral and the period of mourning had been concluded. And yet he was still not the regent. Parliament had not granted its approval.
"Why has Parliament continued to stall the passage of the Regency Act even now?"
"Because of my second elder brother, I imagine. I am aware, Miss Priestley. More than sufficiently so."
"No."
Wilhelmina cut him off without mercy.
"Your Highness does not know nearly enough. His Highness Edward has been stirring up Westwinster even as recently as today, and it is truly a pity that Your Highness's knowledge stops precisely there. Had you truly known enough, you would have understood from the beginning why I came."
"And what, pray, has the Duke of Priestley been hearing?"
A quick mind was a welcome thing. Thinking as much, Wilhelmina smiled.
"A justification Your Highness cannot escape."
"One I cannot escape."
"Something along the lines of: one cannot entrust the de facto governance of a nation to an unmarried whelp who has not even established a household."
"Ha."
Cassian snorted. He could hardly help it. The logic arrayed against him was excessively conservative, thoroughly classical, and tedious in the extreme.
"And yet it is perfectly suited to beguiling the thick-skulled, hidebound creatures who populate Brighton's establishment."
Of course, no sane noble would dare apply the yardstick of incompleteness to a war hero who had spent his days smashing pirate skulls upon the open sea. But if the one applying that yardstick was Edward, first in the line of succession to the throne — well, that changed everything.