June 1887: London

The engagement was announced within days, printed in all the best papers. London, and the country beyond, were made aware of the Lord of Arden's forthcoming marriage to Miss Clare King, and though there was an undercurrent of scandal as society noted the proposed date for the wedding, there were no recriminations against either party. Indeed, the announcement opened further doors for the Kings as invitations began to flood in.

In keeping with tradition, Constance's husband, Edmund Stanley, grudgingly came to town to stay with his wife and brother-in-law, to give a show of support to the match, despite his distaste for being called away from his other pursuits. Raised voices in the Stanley's apartments became commonplace, as they always did when Edmund was an unwilling participant in a gathering, but Constance never made mention of it outside the bedroom door, not willing to involve her brother in her own troubles. Still, she formed the habit of not coming down to breakfast, leaving Lawrence to weather Edmund alone.

On the morning the engagement was printed in the Times, Edmund laid down his paper to eye his brother-in-law with a mocking expression. "Really, Grey' Clare King was the best you could do?"

If there was one person Lawry detested, it was his brother-in-law. The man was difficult at the best of times, and annoying the rest of the time. He was one of those people who always thought he knew what was best for everyone around him, even when it was none of his business. Lawry wished his sister had never married the man, but he'd had little say in the matter and at the time, Stanley had seemed a good prospect. "I don't see how that's any business of yours," Lawry replied as he stirred some sugar and cream into his tea, refusing to justify his decision. He knew the man would disagree with anything he said anyway, so there wasn't much point.

"On the contrary, it is entirely my business if you're bringing riff-raff into your family name," Edmund pointed out, somehow managing to look down his nose at Lawry as he did so. "Four generations ago, they were nothing, Grey. Money does not give them prestige or class. You are demeaning yourself with this marriage and dragging us all down with you."

Lawry stopped stirring his tea, a sure sign that he'd heard every last nasty word his brother-in-law had said regarding his marriage and more importantly, his intended bride. "I beg your pardon, Edmund, but might I remind you that you are staying in my home, and as such, I expect you to at least try to be civil. I realize it's difficult for you to see past your own inflated ego, but times are changing. There will come a time when titles will be meaningless, and those who have earned their fortunes by good, honest, hard work will be the ones who are the most respected members of society."

"Don't be a fool, Lawrence," Edmund scoffed, shaking his head. "We are born to privilege, we will always be a better class of person than those born lower. I speak to you now as man to man, to remind you of your grave error in seeking out this match at all. Any one of a number of titled ladies would have taken you. Pretty she might be, but she is base-born. And so will your children be."

"You are the one who's a fool, Edmund. A short-sighted fool, just like those who once thought the world was flat," Lawry pointed out, though he knew it was hopeless to bother arguing with the man. "I will also have you know that my fiancee has more class, despite her birth, than you will ever have. It takes more than just being born with a title to be a decent human being. That is something you would do well to learn."

"Damn it, man, you're a laughing stock!" Edmund exploded, slamming his hand onto the table in a rare public display of the temper Lawry had heard aimed at his sister behind closed doors. "You're making us a laughing stock. I'll not have it, do you hear?"

One eyebrow ticked visibly upwards as Edmund exploded across the table. "And just what do you think you're going to do about it?" Lawry asked, lowering his voice as he leaned forward, brows furrowing in annoyance. He wasn't going to let the man browbeat him, knowing Edmund cared more for his own reputation than anything else. Lawry knew he was more worried about how the marriage reflected on him than on anyone else, including his own wife.

The truth was that Edmund couldn't do anything about it. If he gave his own brother-in-law the cut direct, it would reflect terribly on himself. If he was uncivil to Lawry's fiancee, it would reflect badly on him. If he did anything but give the union his full public support, his reputation would be tarred by popular opinion. "You will come to regret this choice in marrying beneath you, Lawrence Grey," he warned, rising to his feet. "As I did." He marched from the room, barely even glancing at his own wife where she stood in the doorway, shocked to hear him say such a thing to her brother's face.

Lawry simmered where he sat, curling his hands into fists to keep from throwing his cup of tea against the wall, or worse yet, throwing his fist into Edmund's perfectly-chiseled jaw. He'd heard enough insults for one day, not so much those that insulted himself, but Clare and Connie. "If he regrets his marriage so much, perhaps you should divorce him," he said, upon seeing his sister. He wished she had not heard what had transpired between the two men, but it was better she heard it from her husband's lips than her brother's.

Connie's expression was pained as she moved to sit at the table with him, pouring herself a cup of tea. "You know the law as well as I do, Lawry," she said softly. "No judge in the land would grant me a divorce, unless Edmund were the one to file for it. And that, he will never do. His reputation will not allow it, even when he believes me barren."

Lawry arched a brow again, noting how she'd phrased that statement - when, not if - as if she was expecting him to think that or even hoping for it. "You should not have married him, dear heart," he said, looking sad for her. What was done was done; the best they could hope for now was that the man would lose interest in her and leave her for a mistress.

She offered her brother a sad smile, laying her hand over his. "I was a dutiful daughter," she said simply. She had not wanted to marry at all, but their father had included her in a wager he had lost with Edmund Stanley's father. She had not been given away with a dowry; she had been a prize at the gambling table. In all honesty, it was a wonder Lawry's first marriage had not been arranged early in the same manner. "And I am a good wife, for all that he has no children by me to show for it. If he wants an heir, let him legitimize one of his bastards, I care not."

Lawry frowned at the reminder of the circumstances surrounding his sister's marriage. He'd been lucky his first marriage hadn't been a similar disaster, but then Adelaide hadn't lived very long after they'd been married. "He'll be off again as soon as things are settled here," he reminded his sister. And that couldn't happen too soon for either of them.

"I am sure he will," Connie agreed in a quiet tone. "He will attend the wedding because he must, but I doubt he will be much in evidence apart from that day." Her smile warmed, then. "Speaking of the wedding ..." She took a sip of her tea, her expression already brighter. "Mrs. King informs me that she will be taking both her daughters to Paris at the close of the Season to acquire Clare's trousseau. I'm sure you wouldn't notice if she came to you wearing nothing but a sack, but these things are very delicate for ladies, you know."

"He has said his piece," she predicted thoughtfully. "I doubt he will say more than two words together to either of us from here on in, except in company. At least when there are other eyes and ears to see and hear him, he is pleasant enough. And he will not insult your Clare, Lawry. He has too fine an opinion of his own nose to dare you into breaking it for him."

"He's lucky I haven't broken it already," Lawry murmured. He had tried for years to keep the peace with his brother-in-law, but he had just about reached the end of his rope, especially after the words that had just taken place between them.

Connie sighed softly. She had tried so hard to keep her brother and her husband from coming to this point, but Edmund was a law unto himself and rarely listened to a word she said. He had agreed with her that Lawry needed a wife, but that was the sole extent of his agreement. He certainly didn't approve of the chosen bride, but she could only hope that now he had spoken, he would keep his views to himself. "Try not to let him trouble you, Lawry," she suggested. "You have far sweeter things to occupy your time and thoughts."

He might have asked if her troublesome husband would have preferred he marry someone as penniless as he was, but he thought it better if he kept that thought to himself. He wasn't marrying Clare for her money, though that was how they'd met. Despite that, he found himself frowning at the unfairness of it all. "It is only that I worry for you, dear heart. I do not like the thought of you married to that ....man," he said, using the word lightly, his voice dripping with obvious loathing.

"Perhaps one of his whores will give him dropsy," she shrugged mildly. "Then he can die innocently enough, and we can try very hard to be sad about it for his funeral." She rose to move to the buffet laid out, helping herself to bacon and eggs before returning to the table. "Will you be inviting Ollie to Arden for your last weeks of bachelorhood?" she asked, and the question might almost have been innocent, but for the understanding her brother had of her feelings where his friend was concerned.

Her remark about dropsy did very little to lighten her brother's mood, as Lawry thought it far more likely that Edmund might contract some far more serious illness from one of his whores than that - one Lawry didn't want passed along to his sister. "Will it be a problem if I do?" he answered her question with another question. Oh, yes, he knew very well of her feelings for his friend, as well as vice versa.

"Of course not," she assured him quickly. "I should ....I would like to know in advance, if that is your plan." She sagged a little where she sat. "You know how it is, Lawry. I can't let myself relax around him. It's bad enough that you want Edmund gone in such ways, but I can't let Ollie think it's a possibility."

"I will have to write and ask if he can arrange for a visit," Lawry admitted with a frown. Though neither wanted to mention it, they both knew that Edmund was a good part of the reason Ollie no longer lived in London.

"I am sure he will come for you, Lawry," she told her brother with warm confidence. "How could he possibly resist the chance to see you stand up and marry a girl you actually liked before you were engaged?"

"It depends more on whether or not he'll be out to sea," Lawry reasoned, giving up on his eggs and taking a sip of his tea. Ollie had used that excuse for years to explain away why he hadn't yet taken a wife, insisting his heart belonged to the sea, when both Lawry and Connie knew that was only half true.

"True," she conceded, "but it has been two years since you visited together, Lawry. Surely he has some time owed that he might use for this purpose, even if it were only a few days before the wedding. Truly, dear heart, it would be a shame not to have your closest friend stand up with you."

"I will write him and ask. I promise," he told her, knowing seeing Ollie again meant as much to her as it did to him - perhaps more. It was too bad their father had forced her to marry Edmund, or Ollie might have become his brother. He wasn't sure what else he dared say about their old friend, without chancing Edmund overhearing.

She seemed to understand the reticence, glancing toward the door briefly before changing the subject. "I did hear something about you putting that engagement gift of yours to good use," she said then. "I hope a small portion of it is going toward the manor, Lawry. The estate needs it, I know, but you really cannot bring a bride home to some of the rooms in that beautiful old house."

"What do you suggest?" he asked, relieved that she'd changed the subject. He'd been considering what to do with the money Clare's father had given him, but the first order of business, in Lawry's mind, was to pay off his father's debts. On the other hand, his sister had a point, and he wanted to make the house a warm and welcoming place for his new bride.

"Once the creditors and debtors are paid off, there will still be a handsome amount to use," she said thoughtfully, chewing as she considered the challenge. "A little incentive for your staff to stay on, perhaps - raise their wages, and pay new staff the old rate for the first year of their employment. As to the state of the house ....the roof leaks, the attics are a fright, and the last time it stormed, there was a full inch of water in the ladies' parlor. It needs a thorough going over, Lawry, but I would suggest making the family wing habitable once again before anything else."

"Yes, of course," he agreed, though that was not quite what he'd meant by his question. "But what I wanted to know is what you think Clare would like, as far as furnishings and the like are concerned," he explained. Not to mention the bedroom. Or perhaps he should ask Clare herself, though he didn't really want her to see the parts of the house that needed work.

Connie bit her lip, trying not to smile too widely at his clarification. "Keep it simple," she suggested. "Comfortable, but light. As mistress of the house, she will make changes in her own way and her own time. It would not do for her to enter there and feel that someone else's taste overrides her own."

"Yes, but ..." he exhaled a sigh. What did he know of furnishings and decorations" It was a woman's place to decide such things. He wanted Clare to be comfortable, at least until she was ready to make her own changes, but he wasn't too sure where to start.

"Oh, Lawry ..." Connie did laugh then, touching his hand with her fingertips. "Do you really think I would trust you to pick out furnishings alone" I've seen that monstrosity you call a bed, remember. You'd lose Clare the moment she lay down in it, and then where would you be?"

Lawry bristled a little, not so much insulted by her comment as confused. "What is wrong with my bed?" he asked, finding it comfortable enough, though the decorations might be a bit too boring for a lady.

His sister giggled at the look on his face, shaking her head in amusement. "I think the last time it had a new mattress was in 1476," she informed him teasingly. "I won't throw it out, Lawry. I'll just make it ....less ugly."