Staring at the portrait of a formidable woman with a heavy chin and deep-set eyes on the wall behind his host's head, Aaden Cadel hoped the girl didn't take after this long-lost relative and was instead as pretty as the lout at the inn had claimed. He would marry her regardless for her dowry, but a bonny face would make it so much more pleasant to bed her.

Their empty plates had been pushed toward the center of the table and each man held a drink in his hand. Enora's father had lit a pipe, but it rested forgotten by his elbow on a wooden holder, the scent of its burning ashes perfuming the air. 

Aaden's eyes roamed lazily over the room, taking in the large bouquets of roses and the floral divan under a picture window. It was a bright, feminine room that reminded him of his deceased mother's parlor in his own home.

"My daughter will not make this easy," Edward Stewart said from beside him, drawing his attention back. He ran a finger over the rim of the glass filled with caramel-colored wine before raising it to his lips. "Marvellous." Edward gave Aaden an appreciative look. "From your winery, I assume?"

Aaden nodded. He had brought one of his finest bottles as a goodwill gesture for the man, who he assumed would soon be his father-in-law. 

Edward sighed. "You are the last in a long line of potential suitors."

"With all due respect, Sir," Aaden cut in. "I have not traveled four days to be a 'potential suitor.' I came on a promise from you of being a bridegroom."

"Yes, of course," he replied.

Sensing an uneasiness in the man, Aaden spoke quickly. "You don't seem happy. Please don't tell me I traveled here for nothing."

"No, no. Of course, you haven't." He sighed again. "I have a bit of a guilty conscience over this. Nothing to concern you. A promise to my wife, that I can no longer keep."

When he failed to elaborate, Aaden changed the subject. "Why won't she make this easy?"

Edward shrugged. "She got it into her head that she would reach the age of self-governance unmarried and thereby rule herself. A foolish idea, I should have stemmed from the start. It will only make it more difficult for her now."

Aaden's brows rose in surprise. "She doesn't wish to marry me?"

"No, not at all... I thought..." the older man paused, looking confused. "I explained this clearly in my letters. Did you not read them?" he asked eyeing Aaden with a furrowed brow.

Aaden felt heat rising to his face. Yes, and no. Yes, he had read some of them, but the man had written twenty-page letters—several of them, in a long spidery script. How the devil was he supposed to have found the time to sit deciphering all of them with a crumbling estate to run? He had read the first two pages and the last three of each, assuming that he would get the gist of what was being asked for.

And he'd been right. The man had a daughter he wanted married off. He wanted a man with extensive landholdings who would offer her protection and security and, in exchange, he would grant the man access to half her inheritance. 

From what he understood, by reading between the lines, the girl was not beautiful enough to attract a wealthy man, but just pretty enough to be the wife of a poor man such as himself; a poor man with a mortgaged estate on one of the largest plots of arable land in the Sixth Kingdom.

She, and her money, would do.

"Well, she will get used to her lot in life, as we all must," Aaden said, brushing aside the older man's concerns. "Besides, a man should always be firm with a woman. Had my father been less of a gentleman and more of a tyrant with my mother, she would not have gambled my birthright away and left me in the predicament I find myself in now."

The opening of the door distracted him from his words. He glanced over at the entrance of one of those spinster servants that haunted every estate—a lowly relative no doubt hired as a companion to the girl. He barely noticed the dark figure in the brown dress moving toward them before looking back at the drink in his hand wondering when his future bride would be called for.

***

As Enora stood outside the closed door, she paused to remove all emotion from her face, making her mouth and eyes still. Larsie had added to the effect of pale sickliness the tight black bun gave her, by powdering her cheeks, nose, and forehead white. She entered quietly, her head down, and moved slowly across the room toward her father, her brown dress rustling around her.

Her father glanced up from his glass and began to laugh, a low rumble coming from his chest. "Enora, you will be the death of me," he said at last. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I don't understand, Father," she said in the soft, dead tone of one suffering a great melancholy. "I have come to meet my suitor."

The word 'father', had the man snapping his head toward her. She caught the look of shock before he managed his emotions, his mouth closing.

In that moment, she took in his dark brown hair, and cat-like green eyes, a rarity in the Seventh Kingdom, though she had heard brightly colored eyes were more common elsewhere throughout the land. Her brows knitted together, as her gaze tracked over his broad shoulders, muscular arms, and long legs, stretched rudely out toward her father and crossed at the ankle.

Was the man a laborer of some sort? 

Surely, her father had not stooped to look in the lower classes for a husband for her? 

No, it could not be, she decided. She frowned, her forehead bunching. She did not like the look of his square jaw, which struck her as decidedly stubborn. Nor did she like his posture which hinted at a strict military background despite the casual slouch to his back. And was that mud on the knee of his dusty breeches? 

Enora lifted her chin, staring at him with an ice-cold look as his eyes did a slow crawl over her body. 

She flushed with heat as he came finally to meet her gaze. The hint of a smile on his handsome face told her that despite everything she had done to herself, he liked what he saw. As he continued to stare at her, a tiny flicker of excitement pulsed low in her belly, surprising her.

She stiffened when his grin broadened as if he sensed it and understood what it meant. 

Definitely a man used to female company. 

Not her problem, she decided.

She would have this low-birthed, bulky, slovenly, ill-mannered, roguish lout on his way before the hour was up. 

Author's Note:

Let me know if you are enjoying the story. 

It seems as though Aaden is pleased with his luck so far. Enora, not so much. 

The next chapter will be up soon and you can see whether that continues.