“Lou,” I drawled, quirking a brow. “Your mum’s going to have a fit if she finds you snuck out.”
“Don’t care.” She rose on her toes, handing me something wrapped in one of her sensible cardigan sweaters. I tossed her jumper, delighted to find my father’s engraved flask inside, heavy with bourbon.
“I know you dislike foxhunting, so I brought you thomthing to … how does Daddy say it? Thake the edge off.”
The others moved along, entering the thick, mossy woods bracketing Whitehall Court Castle, either unaware or disinterested in my absence.
“You little nutter.” I took a swig from the flask, feeling the sharp burn of the liquid rolling down my throat. “How’d you get your hands on this?”
Lou beamed with pride, cupping her mouth to cover all the metal. “I snuck into your papa’s study. No one ever notices me, so I can get away with loads of stuff!” The despondence in her voice made me sad for her. Lou dreamed of going to Australia and becoming a wildlife rescuer, surrounded by kangaroos and koalas. I hoped for her sake that she would. Wild animals, no matter how aggressive, were still superior to humans.
“I notice you.”
“Do you really?” Her eyes grew bigger, browner.
“Cross my heart.” I scratched behind Duchess’ ear. Females, I’d come to realize, were ridiculously easy to please. “You’ll never get rid of me.”
“I don’t want to be rid of you!” she said hotly. “I’ll do anything for you.”
“Oh, anything, now?” I chuckled. Lou and I had the relationship of an older brother and younger sister. She did things to try and win my affection, and I, in return, assured her she was nice and caring.
She nodded eagerly. “I’ll always have your back.”
“Right then.” I was ready to move along.
“Do you think you’ll ever tell your parents you’re vegetarian?” she blurted out. How did she know this?
“I noticed you shy away from meat and even fish when we dine.” She buried one of her Mary Janes in the pebbles, digging her toes in, looking down in embarrassment.
“No.” I shook my head, my tone cold. “There are some things my parents don’t need to know.”
And then, because we had nothing more to say, and maybe because I was afraid Papa would throw me in the dumbwaiter if he saw me loitering behind, I said, “Well, cheers for the drink.”
I raised the flask in salute, squeezed Duchess’ belly with my riding boots, and joined the others.
“Oh, look, if it isn’t Posh Spice.” Benedict, Lou’s middle brother, poked a finger to loosen the strap of his helmet. “What was the holdback?”
“Lou gave us a good luck charm, Baby Spice.” I tipped the flask in his direction. Unlike Louisa, who was a bit eager but overall agreeable, her brothers—for lack of better description—were complete and utter twats. Super-sized bullies who liked to pinch the maids on the arse and make an unnecessary mess just to watch others tidy after them.
“Bloody hell,” Byron snorted. “She’s pathetic.”
“You mean considerate. Spending time with my father requires some level of intoxication,” I drawled sarcastically.
“It’s not about that. She’s obsessed with your sorry arse,” Benedict supplied.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I growled.
“Don’t be blind,” Byron barked at me.
“Eh. She’ll get over it. They all do.” I took another swig, grateful that my father and Byron Sr. were so engrossed in discussing parliament-related matters, they did not see fit to turn their heads and check on us.
“I hope she doesn’t,” Benedict sneered. “If she is destined to marry your shite for brains, she should at the very least enjoy it.”
“Did you say marry?” I lowered the flask. He might as well have said bury. “No offense to your sister, but if she is awaiting a proposal, she better get comfortable because one is not coming.”
Byron and Benedict exchanged looks, grinning conspiratorially. They had the same coloring as Louisa. Fair as the fresh-fallen snow. Only they looked like I drew them with my left hand.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know.” Byron cocked his head, a cruel smile spreading across his face. I never was fond of him. But I especially wasn’t fond of him at that moment.
“Know what?” I gritted out, loathing that I had to play along to find out what they were talking about.
“You and Lou are going to tie the knot. It’s all settled. There’s even a ring.”
I laughed metallically, kicking Duchess’ right side to make her bump into Benedict’s mare, throwing him off balance. What a load of rubbish. As I continued laughing, I noticed their smiles had vanished. They were no longer looking at me with playful mischief.
“You’re taking the piss.” My smile dropped. My throat felt like it was full of sand.
“No,” Byron said, flat out.
“Ask your father,” Benedict challenged. “It’s been decided in our family for years. You’re the eldest son of the Marquess of Fitzgrovia. Louisa is the daughter of the Duke of Salisbury. A lady. You will one day become a marquess yourself, and our parents want the royal blood to stay within the family. Keep the estates intact. Marrying a commoner would weaken the chain.”
The Whitehalls were one of the last families in peerage people still gave half a fuck about. My great, great, great grandmother, Wilhelmina Whitehall, was the daughter of a king.
“I don’t want to marry anyone,” I said through gritted teeth. Duchess began picking up speed, entering the woods.
“Well, ob-vi-ously,” Benedict made an unflattering d’uh face. “You’re fourteen. All you want is to play videogames and fondle your meat to Christie Brinkley posters. Nonetheless, you’re marrying our sister. Too much business between our fathers to let this opportunity go to waste.”
“And don’t forget the estates they’ll both get to keep,” Byron added helpfully, giving his mare a vicious kick to make her go faster. “I’ll say, good luck giving her children. She looks like Ridley Scott’s Alien.”
“Children …?” The only thing preventing me from vomiting up my guts was the fact I did not want to waste the perfectly good brandy currently sloshing in my stomach.
“Lou says she wants five when she grows up,” Byron cackled, enjoying himself. “I reckon she’s going to keep you busy in the sack, mate.”
“Not to mention exhausted,” Benedict leered.
“Over my dead body.”
My throat grew tight, my hands clammy. I felt like I was the butt of a terrible joke. Of course, I couldn’t talk to my father about it. I couldn’t stand up to him. Not when I knew I was always one wrong word away from the dumbwaiter.
All I could do was shoot helpless animals and be exactly who he wanted me to be.
His little well-oiled machine. Ready to kill, fuck, or marry as commanded.
Later that night, Byron, Benedict, and I sat in front of one of the dead foxes in the barn. The Pavlovian scent of death swathed around the room. My father and Byron Sr. had taken all their prized dead foxes to the taxidermist and left one for us to dispose.