Author’s Note: This is a little something I’ve been toying around with since I received an anonymous request to write a story about an arranged marriage. I am quite in love with Ernest Sinclaire and the headstrong D&D MC and thought this couple had the perfect dynamic to write this tale. I’ve broken the story into a few parts so far, but I’m excited to see where it goes. Thank you for reading!
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“Lady Grandmother, while I do appreciate your consideration of my marriage prospects, I am obliged to politely decline your proposal. I simply cannot marry Mr. Sinclaire of Ledford Park.” Ella scowled at the thought of being required to look upon that dreadfully cold man day in and day out, no longer able to hide her true feelings from her grandmother. “Perhaps I will meet a suitable gentleman this season in Lon-“
“Don’t you see!?! There isn’t time for that!” Her grandmother, the dowager countess of Edgewater, interrupted … an unseemly habit that a true lady avoided if at all possible. Ella’s eyes widened in astonishment as she processed her elder’s outburst, pressing her lips tightly together as she waited for her to continue.
Her grandmother’s face softened with a look of concern and she patted a spot on the settee beside her for Ella to sit. Ella remained silent as she dipped down, now looking eye to eye at her grandmother who raised one soft, wrinkled hand to swipe a stray lock of Ella’s dark hair from her brow. “My dear Ella, I had wished for you to find a suitable match, one that would also make you happy, but now with your father’s illness …” her eyes dropped with sadness and she paused for a moment. “Now that is a luxury we do not have if you want to remain heir to Edgewater. You must be married, with your father’s blessing, as is stated in his will. Or else the title will fall to the nearest male relative …”
“Mr. Marlcaster.” Ella’s stated out loud, the realization suddenly dawning on her. “But he is not even of my father’s blood!” She spat out with disgust, her brows furrowed in frustration.
“It matters not, my dear …” the current dowager countess began, her tone laced with an apology. “Without a male to claim the estate with you, without a husband … Mr. Marlcaster is the next closest male in line. And I fear your lady stepmother will take whatever measures necessary to secure her son’s chances …”
Ella’s heart sank, for as the words left her grandmother’s lips she at once knew they were true. Countess Henrietta had despised young Ella since she had married the Earl of Edgewater eleven years prior, however the Earl had always made sure that Ella was well-cared for and educated despite Henrietta’s shallow attempts to estrange the young girl. But now that her father was ill … who would look after her once her father was gone?
She fought back the tears welling in her eyes, a salty mixture of anger and sadness that threatened to spill over as she pondered the situation. She was determined to keep her rightful place at Edgewater, but to what lengths was she willing to go? On the one hand, she had yet to have a pleasant interaction with her proposed husband-to-be, and she had heard rumors from her lady’s maids that he had a reputation for making late-night visits to the houses of ill-repute in the parts of London that Ella had only heard whispers of. On the contrary, she was not about to let her father’s legacy fall into the greedy hands of a spineless mama’s boy just due to the fact that she had no husband yet. No … that was not a probability that she could ignore. Ella sniffled and cleared her throat as she straightened upon the settee, resigning herself to the only reasonable decision.
“Very well, Lady Grandmother … I shall marry Mr. Ernest Sinclaire.” She stated in a monotone voice, all the remorse in her heart pushed aside for practicality. She raised her gaze to lock eyes with her grandmother, a surge of determination dancing behind her irises. “But not until I have had the opportunity to speak with him first.”
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Ella smoothed the panels of her skirts nervously as she heard the clock in the corridor chime, signaling the time of 11:00. And, just as she had anticipated, as the clock struck it’s eleventh chord she heard the faint knocking at the front entrance, followed by the clip-clop clip-clop of the butler’s shoes on the travertine tiles as he approached the door. At least my future husband has the knack of being prompt, Ella mulled internally, trying to make light of her predicament. She patted her hair and tucked a loose curl behind her ear in a last-minute endeavor to make herself look presentable. Why, she knew not … it was not as though she were trying to impress Ernest Sinclaire.
The light tap at the door followed by Sinclaire’s swift entrance unfolded so quickly, Ella found herself staring dumbfounded as Mr. Sinclaire gave her a polite yet formal bow. As she came to her senses she remembered her manners, giving a slight nod of greeting. “Mr. Sinclaire.” She mumbled softly, allowing her eyes to gaze upon him in investigation during this rare opportunity of close proximity.
One could not deny that Ernest Sinclaire was a handsome man, a tall and athletic frame adorned by broad shoulders that seemed to carry the weight of the world upon their stiff stance. His face was angular with chiseled features, his pouty lips full and pleasant-looking despite their perpetual frown. However it was his eyes that made Ella forget herself for a moment as she studied him up close. Peeking out from under his tumble of sandy curls, they were deep and clear and bluish-grey, the color of the sea before a storm. No, she could not deny he was a handsome man to look upon, hidden behind his scowling persona.
“Miss Mills.” He greeted her plainly, still standing near the doorway in a formal manner. “I can only assume that you have called for this visit to discuss the marriage proposal as arranged by your lady grandmother. Is this the case?”
Ella was taken aback momentarily at the bluntness of his statement, her brows raised as she listened to him outline their situation. “Why yes, you are correct, sir. Here …” she motioned to the chair situated beside her, “will you join me for tea as we discuss the arrangement?” She leaned forward to grasp the china tea pot, lifting it in question to pour him a cup.
“No, no … I shall not stay Miss Mills, I have other obligations to attend to this morn.” His expression remained stoic, his voice emotionless. “Pray tell me, what concerns did you wish to discuss?”
“I … I suppose I simply want to know why, Mr. Sinclaire.” She explained matter-of-factly, setting the teapot down to stare at him straight on. “Why would you agree to marry a woman you scarcely know? What advantage would this arrangement bring upon you?”
Mr. Sinclaire’s serious expression never faltered as he contemplated her question. “Neither one of us can claim that this marriage is not one of convenience. I am aware of your situation and I understand this to be a necessary arrangement to ensure your position at Edgewater. And I assure you, there are certain advantages I shall also enjoy if we should see this proposal to fruition. So you see, this plan is mutually beneficial for both of us while it shall last.”
Ella shook her head in surprise at his last statement. “While it shall last? What in heavens are you referencing, Mr. Sinclaire?”
“As with everything in church and state, there are always special allowances … but for now, rest assured that I shall help you ensure your right to Edgewater.” Mr. Sinclaire paused, shifting back on his heels as if he were ready to dash out the door. “So shall we plan to meet at the chapel on Saturday? I think a small, simple ceremony shall suffice for the cause, do you not?”
Ella remained silent a moment longer, staring down at the delicate teapot, cups and saucers on the table in front of her. Part of her wanted to pick up the china pieces and hurl them against the wall, screaming like a petulant child how unfair all this was. Yet the stronger part of her held her ground, reassuring her that this was the best option she could have hoped for given the timing. And so she resigned herself to quell the raging girl inside of her as she looked up to Mr. Sinclaire and met his gaze.
“Yes, Mr. Sinclaire … I shall see you Saturday.”
To be continued …