Tropes~ He fell first, he fell harder, arranged marriage, dislike to love.
Prologue ~ Chapter One
Synopsis~ Due to your grandfather's conniving, you are betrothed to the Duke of Less. Your family is ecstatic, His Grace's money is just what your family needs to save them from ruin. Too bad he's an utter fop.
Divider by @uzmacchiato
Author's Note~ The image used does not reflect Reader's appearance I just really like the aesthetics of old romance novels. Also taglist is open. This is reupload/rewrite of a fic on my old account which was lost due to my account being deleted. I hope you enjoy <3
“But what I don’t understand is how it came to be,” you say. You set your tea cup down and gaze steadily at your mother.
She doesn’t meet your gaze. She nervously stirs sugar into her tea, staring into it like it will reveal its secrets to her. Slowly, she raises her head. “You cannot blame your father. It was entirely your grandfather,” she pauses, collecting herself. “I had just had you and I was still in confinement when he came to your father - and you know what your father is! And what your grandfather was!”
You interrupted her. You knew well enough that if she got on the topic of your father’s father, she would not stop for at least a half hour. “But why? And how? Surely, the future Duke of Less could find a better match than the impoverished daughter of an earl.”
“Well, the accounts weren’t as bad in your grandfather's day - though he was the most horrendous miser and -”
You interrupt her again. “But surely, the Duke will not hold up to an agreement made twenty five years ago?” After all it was preposterous that a man at the peak of society would wed you. In fact it was preposterous that any man would care to wed you, save perhaps a man of the cloth, but you would rather be a poor relation the rest of your life than listen to a man sermonize on the moral failings of the people of today.
“He responded to your father’s letter quite politely, he informed us that he would be arriving. . .” Your mother trails off, tilting her head up. “Tomorrow.”
“Father wrote to him about the arrangement?” Horror brings heat to your cheeks. Oh, how humiliating! That a man on par with Brummel himself would receive such a grubby letter from your father! It was beyond imagination.
“Why yes,” your mother says, blinking at you.
“I am loathe to admit it, my dear, but we are in dire straits. Your father was desperate."
“Name it,” you say. You want to know the sum at least if you are to be inspected and sold.
She says it in a low whisper, as if it won’t be real unless she says it louder. You feel the colour draining from your face. You knew that things were bad, perhaps even desperate. But that sum. . .
Your father enters the solar, glancing around before sitting on the settee next to your mother. He glances from your face to your mother’s. “Told her, ehhh?”
“Wasn’t entirely my fault, hey,” he says in his choppy manner. “I did lose a lot in speculating and White’s, but it can’t be helped, ehh, gentleman’s honour. Jones’ tells me a pestilence took the harvest, tenants haven’t got food, desperate matter.” He stares up at the fresco ceiling before glancing at you. “Wouldn’t do it unless it was so, right Old Girl?” He glances at your mother before his gaze begins to wander again.
Jones. You had long suspected your father’s agent lied to your father about the books. A suspicion your father’s secretary Nanami shared. But your father called Nanami a damned dull man and never minded him, much less you, his oldest daughter. You knew your father was a bad landlord and his tenant farmers suffered under his reliance on Jones.
“Yes, Papa,”you say, giving a tight smile. You suspect the Duke of Shrine is just coming to humiliate your family. After all, even buried in a country estate, you have heard of his famous set downs.
The Duke of Shrine arrives at three o’clock the next day, which he tells your father is a miracle of biblical proportions, after all it is well known it simply isn’t the thing to rise before noon. Your father escorts him into the receiving room, where you sit patiently, hands folded into your lap. Your father mutters something about the door being left open then he scurries off. You hear a crash and a thumping noise that sounds suspiciously like your father falling down a flight of stairs.
You look up but you don't meet the Duke’s eyes. You only see his pale pink lips quirked up into a smile. Then you see what he is wearing. The pits of fashion, britches and coat so tight they must have been sewed onto him. Your eyes widen. The word escapes your mouth before you can stop it.
“Fop.”
He smiles, flashing white teeth. He looks like a crazed Roman god, white hair messily on his forehead, burning blue eyes, face chiseled as he is stone come to life. You take an instant dislike to him.
“Lady,” he says your name like he’s pronouncing a foreign word. “I am struck by the gods upon meeting you,” he says, sitting across from you. He takes out his quizzing glass and lifts it to his eye. Your gaff from earlier keeps you silent. You already insulted the man, no matter how odious you find him, he didn’t deserve to be insulted to his face.
He studies you for a moment, then he tucks his quizzing glass away.
“Was your grace’s trip pleasant?” You ask, attempting to break the awkward silence.
“No,” he answers simply.
“Your Grace,” you say, pinching the fabric of your shawl. “I understand that this is most inconvenient, especially having to drive your curricle all the way here. So I understand if you desire to break the arrangement between our grandfathers.” You sit back.
He tilts his head, his eyes sweeping over you. “I do not believe that will be necessary Lady (Y/n),” he says. He leans forward, his blue eyes dancing with mirth. “You see, I am quite happy with our arrangement.”
You drop all semblance of propriety. “But why, your Grace?”
“Would you believe me if I said Ero’s punctured my heart the moment I laid eyes on you? That I fell instantly and maddingly in love with you,” he laces his fingers together and grins.
“No,” you say. “Speak plainly.”
He sighs, a pout touching his lips. “I suppose you won’t believe, nevermind Cruel Enchantress, oh Lady of My Heart, Sweet Queen of Beauty -”
You cut him off, a thing you have become accustomed to doing. “I will not be mocked, if you have come here to -”
He cuts you off this time. “I will be a generous husband, your family will want for nothing.” His Grace leans back, crossing his legs. Is my family so obvious? He knew and you knew what would happen. You would marry him, though why he wanted to marry you was beyond you. You would give up yourself for your family.
You don’t look into his eyes, your pride won’t let you. For a bit you deserve to hold onto your pride before it begins. Before the jape starts in earnest.
