One - The Arrangement

"My William," the pale, beautiful woman said as she spun around before the fireplace, "Shall we have a picnic today?"

Twenty-two year old William Bradley looked up at his wife of three years, a tiny smile playing on his lips as he answered. "Lovely idea, pet."

"I will have the cook pack us a basket," she stated, walking gracefully over to him and kissing him softly. "I love you."

"Mm," he replied contently. "I love you too, sweets." He watched as she floated etherially from the room, a happy little sigh escaping him.

He sat back in his chair, his hands brushing through his short, dark curls. It had been love at first sight between himself and Drusilla, and after a whirlwind courtship, they'd married. He found himself more in love with his wife with each passing moment, and at times couldn't bear to be apart from her for more than a few hours. His younger brother, Daniel, constantly teased him for being so smitten with the woman he'd married, but he brushed it off.

Drusilla returned to the study. "The stable is readying Miss Edith and Black Lightning for us," she said, strolling over to him and settling in his lap. She leaned her head back against his shoulder. "Our picnic shall be the best we've had."

Ten minutes later they were riding along the hard dirt path that led to their favorite picnic spot, a secluded grove at the edge of the woods. "I would like to have a party," Drusilla declared.

"And what would we be celebrating?" William asked.

"Why, summer of course!" she replied as if he should've known the answer to the question.

William shifted his grip on the wicker picnic basket. "Of course," he said, his ever-present smile in full effect. "When would you like to have the party?"

"I should think two weeks would be enough time to prepare, wouldn't you? I have a beautiful new gown that I'd like to wear, and you will look dashing as always," she said, smiling. She wiggled a bit in the side-saddle, trying to get more comfortable.

"As always," he repeated grinning. "I suppose you think I'd look dashing covered in mud and other less... appealing substances."

"Of course." She fluttered her eyelashes innocently. "Why, it is my duty as a good wife to always think you look dashing."

"Ah," he replied. They'd arrived at the entrance to the woods, and slowed their mounts. "Nearly there now," William said.

Miss Edith, Drusilla's chestnut mare, suddenly side-stepped and snorted. "Oh dear, something seems to be giving her a fright," Drusilla fretted as the horse pawed the ground. William checked out Black Lightning, who seemed perfectly calm, then looked at Miss Edith, who was now even more nervous than before.

"Try to calm her," William suggested.

Drusilla nodded. "It's alright," she cooed to her horse, petting her mane. "Shh now, it's alright - no, Miss Edith...!" she exclaimed as the mare bolted in the direction they'd come from. "William!" Drusilla shrieked, terrified. "Help me!" The chestnut mare disappeared around a corner, her passenger clinging to her for dear life.

Panicked, William dropped the basket and urged Black Lightning into a gallop, his eyes wide as he frantically searched for Drusilla. He raced back across the meadow, a cloud of dust billowing up behind him as his stallion's hooves beat against the dirt path. Just over the crest of a grassy knoll, he got a glimpse of white. He pulled up on the reins hard, and Black Lightning skidded to a halt. The frantic man leapt from atop his horse, breaking into a run and sprinting over to his fallen wife. He stopped abruptly a short distance away from her. His eyes were wide and filled with tears, his mouth agape as he stared at Drusilla.

She looked like she was sleeping.

He dropped to his knees, doubling over as a searing jolt of pain ripped up his spine. "No!" he screamed hoarsely as the tears that had been brimming overflowed. He dragged himself over to her.

Her skin had already taken on a bluish hue when he gathered her body close, sobbing raggedly. "Dru..." he pleaded, kissing her temple and forehead. "Don't leave me... please, don't leave me..." He stared blindly beyond her as he wept bitterly. Through his blurred vision, he noticed Miss Edith calmly grazing down the hill. He clutched his wife's still form to his chest, anguish overcoming him.

Seven Years Later

The dark-haired man strode purposely forward, having nearly leapt from the coach that had carried him back to his family's home. He unfastened the leather strap that held back his unruly brown locks, running a hand through them restlessly. His temper was severe as he stormed through the front door of the manor, slamming it behind him and racing up the stairs toward his chambers. He immediately loosened his cravat and waistcoat, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows and kicking off his expensive leather shoes. "Marriage," he grumbled, his stormy blue eyes gazing out the window, where raindrops began to spatter against the glass.

My nephew, William Bradley, shall receive the entirety of my estate upon the day of his second wedding... If he does not succeed in finding a wife within three months of my passing, the estate shall go to his younger brother, Daniel...

So it seemed that William, who had sworn off all serious relationships with women the day of his precious Drusilla's burial, would once again have to find himself a bride. He pitied the woman that married him, for theirs would be a loveless marriage. He couldn't allow himself to fall again.

It was this search for a bride that led him to the home of Sir Henry Winterton, whose daughters were renowned for their beauty and dispositions. He'd written the man in the hopes of securing the hand of a comely girl who would not disgust him overly much when he bedded her, and had received an invitation to visit the Wintertons' London home so that he could select the daughter he wished to wed.

He stood before the stone house, brushing snowflakes off the top of his head before knocking firmly. He introduced himself to the butler. "Lord William Bradley," he pronounced.

The butler stepped aside to let him into the house. William shrugged out of his black woolen greatcoat, handing it to the butler, who disappeared into a coatroom off to the side of the entryway for a moment. He returned. "Sir Winterton will see you now," he said, leading the way down a long corridor. At the end of the hall was a library whose doors stood open. William entered, noting a roaring fire in the fireplace before coming face-to-face with the man who would provide him with his second wife.

"Lord William," Henry said by way of greeting. "May I offer you an aperatif?" The older, dirty-blonde man stepped toward a carafe filled about halfway with the amber liquid.

William raised a hand slightly. "No thank you," he declined. "I'd like to speak to you about marriage to one of your daughters. I... trust that's the reason you invited me here."

Sir Henry nodded. "Won't you sit down?" he offered, gesturing to a fine leather chair. William lowered his body carefully to the chair, and Henry settled into a matching chair across from his young guest. "I've arranged for a supper for the seven of us this evening, where you can meet my daughters and begin to make your selection."

"Seven, Sir?" William asked.

"My wife will be joining us as well. In the meantime, we've prepared a room for you, and Harrington will show you if you'd like to retire for awhile." The older man smiled good-naturedly.

"The trip was quite long," William admitted. "I think perhaps it would hurt nobody if I were to rest for awhile."

"Harrington," Sir Henry called. "Please escort Lord Bradley to his room," he stated.

Harrington nodded. "Yes sir," he said. "If you'll follow me," he said to William.

~*~*~*~*~

A brown-haired girl raced down the corridor, stumbling to a halt in front of one door. It was open a bit, so she poked her head in. "Elizabeth," she said excitedly, entering the room. "Elizabeth, I just saw the most handsome man on Earth."

"You said that yesterday when you saw Sir David," Elizabeth replied, her eyes never leaving the novel she held open in her lap.

"But this time it's really true!" the brunette gushed, flopping back onto the bed. "He's absolutely beautiful. He's got dark brown curls, and the most intriguing blue eyes I've ever seen, and he looked at me."

"And where is this beautiful man, Diana?" Elizabeth asked, sliding a bookmark between the pages of her novel and setting it down. She brushed a blonde lock of hair out of her face. "I suppose he's in our house right now."

"Yes, he is!" Diana squealed. "Oh, I do hope he's Lord Bradley, who Father told us about."

"Nonsense," Elizabeth said. "Father said Lord Bradley is a widower. No widower looks like the man you just described. From the way you tell it, he could be one of the Olympian Gods."

"I wonder if he'll choose me...?" Diana mused dreamily. "He's so very handsome, and he must be charming, and intelligent, and artistic, and - "

"Diana," Elizabeth interjected, "you're only fifteen years old. Not nearly marrying age."

"What do you know? You're twenty-four. Old enough to have been married for years, and yet here you sit, unmarried and unwilling to court any of your suitors," Diana retorted.

"I've told you, I wish to marry for love. Not for how much of an impression he makes on my family. I'll wed, when I've found him."

Diana stood, placing her hands on her hips. She raised her voice slightly. "This him that you speak of might not exist, Elizabeth. You'd do better to marry one of the men who want you now, before you become old and waspish. It's true that you're the most beautiful of the four of us, but you're also the most discriminating."

Elizabeth scowled at her sister. "That's not true," she grumbled.

"Yes, it is," Diana replied. She assumed a haughty pose. "Too thin," she said disdainfully, staring at an invisible man. "Too old. Too simpleminded... would you like me to continue?"

"That's quite alright," Elizabeth said. "Now I'd like to return to my reading, so if you'd please leave..."

Diana sighed. "You'll never be happy," she lamented as she left.

~*~*~*~*~

"May I present my daughters," Sir Henry said as the four girls filed one by one into the room. "Diana," he said as the brown-haired girl entered the room, curtsying when she stood before William. Her knees buckled when he smiled at her again. "Florence," he called, and a dark, exotic girl who smirked at him before flouncing toward one of the chairs at the dining table. "Winifred." A pale girl with striking red hair entered the room, smiling giddily at the handsome stranger. But it was the fourth daughter, who strode into the room with a slight scowl marring her face, that drew his attention away from the others. "Elizabeth," Sir Henry said.

"She is truly a rare beauty," William marveled. He bent, lifting Elizabeth's hand to his lips and brushed a kiss over her knuckles.

Elizabeth's scowl faded away as warmth shot up her arm from the contact of his mouth to her skin. Her eyes widened slightly, but then she quickly tugged her hand from his grasp.

"A pleasure to meet you, Elizabeth," the dark-haired stranger murmured. He turned to Sir Henry. "This one would look good on my arm. How old is she?"

"I will be twenty-four this summer," she said, the scowl having reappeared. "And I thank you for your interest, but I do not wish to wed. When I do marry, I will do so for love."

"Love?" Sir Henry scoffed. "What a ridiculous notion. Why, your mother and I didn't marry for love, yet we still have four beautiful daughters and a great fortune. Love matters not."

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. He'd never fought her in her quest to find true love before. "Although I suppose the final decision is not mine, but yours dear father, I'd hoped I would at least be allowed to suggest a choice to you."

"No decisions have been made, Elizabeth. Please sit down so we can enjoy our meal."

And it was true that no decisions had been made, but after the meal had ended and Elizabeth had excused herself, stalking from the room stiffly, Sir Henry turned to Lord William, a scheming twinkle in his eye. "You wish to marry my daughter Elizabeth?" he asked.

William nodded. He'd been unable to tear his gaze from her throughout the entire meal, drinking in her features like a man half-starved. He'd watched her walk from the room, barely hearing his host's question. He shook his head slightly. "Yes," he replied.

"Then it shall be so."

~*~*~*~*~

The average observer was struck speechless by the opulent Bradley Manor, whose grounds stretched as far as the eye could see. But as the row of carriages which carried Elizabeth and her generous dowry rumbled through the wrought-iron gates and up the cobblestone drive, all she could see was a prison. She wrapped her arms about herself, the frigid winter weather doing nothing to warm her countenance.

The coach rocked slightly as it bumped over the road, causing her to tip back and forth slightly. Her normally warm hazel eyes were cold and blank as she took in what was to be her new home.

"You might as well cheer up," William said from his seat beside her, where he'd watched his depressed bride throughout the duration of their trip. "I've given you two days to prepare yourself for the wedding. I trust you don't wish to have a large ceremony."

Elizabeth turned her cold eyes on him. "What I wish," she spat, "is to be as far from you as possible. I wanted nothing of this marriage."

"That isn't an option, I'm afraid," he replied. The carriage glided to a stop and he stood. "Allow me to help you out," he offered.

The blonde brushed past him, taking the proffered hand of the coachman and stepping quickly from the carriage. "Thank you," she said brusquely, striding up to the front door of the manor. The door was immediately opened by a stout, elderly woman in grey.

"Oh dear, you look chilled to the bone. Come in, come in and have a nice, hot, cup of tea." The woman took Elizabeth's shawl from her and led her down a corridor, pushing through a swinging door into a large, warm kitchen.

William burst through the door a moment later, his cheeks reddened from the cold. "Evening, Margaret," he greeted, slumping onto a bench at the rough-hewn table in the middle of the kitchen.

"Lord William, how was the trip?" Margaret asked as she busied herself over the stove, heating the water for Elizabeth's tea and stirring the contents of a small metal pot.

"Long," he sighed. "But I hope," he said, his eyes moving smoothly over Elizabeth's form, "that it will have been a profitable one."

The old woman clucked her tongue. "You'll know soon enough," she said, busily stirring away at the contents of the pot.

Soon the water was boiling and the unknown fluid in the pot was bubbling away. Margaret prepared the tea, then poured the the liquid from the pot into a teacup. She handed the bone china containers to Elizabeth and William, who took them gratefully in their cold hands.

"How is it today, milord?" the elderly woman asked eagerly.

William sipped at his hot chocolate, which had been made with the same recipe that he'd first grown to love as a young boy. "Excellent as always, Margaret. You truly have a gift."

"And your tea?" Margaret asked Elizabeth.

"It's very good," the blonde woman said quietly, staring into the brown-gold liquid. "Thank you." The engaged couple sat silently, draining their cups slowly.

A few minutes passed and Elizabeth set her empty teacup down in the saucer. "My goodness, it's dark outside. I believe I shall retire."

"Should I show you to your room?" Margaret asked, walking over to the weary-looking blonde as she stood.

"Yes, thank you," Elizabeth said, leaving the room and her husband-to-be behind.

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