As always, Sable is awoken the following morning by Olivia opening the heavy drapes in her room, allowing the sunlight to burst in.

She can’t help but groan and try to press her face into her pillow like a child. “Olivia, I’m going to rise soon, you don’t need to do that…”

Olivia merely tuts and walks over towards Sable’s bed, and she can sense that the older woman is itching to yank the blankets off of her, exposing her to the cold air. “Miss Whittaker,” she sighs. “I have served you since before you could walk. I know you aren’t getting out of bed any time soon without encouragement.” 

Sable groans and flips onto her back. “I understand, I understand,” she mumbles, forcing herself to shift out of bed, feet on the floor, stretch. 

As Olivia guides her into the bathroom for her morning bath and hair brushing, she suddenly begins to ask a question, but before she can, Sable finally sees her beloved maid in full, light view.

“Olivia!” Sable gasps. “Did you not sleep well last night, your eyes…” Olivia’s dark circles are even worse than usual today.

Olivia briefly brushes her fingers underneath her eyes before smiling merrily at Sable. “Oh, don’t worry about me, dear. Just the usual aches and pains as one grows older.”

Sable can’t help but suck in her lips. “It sounds as though you need a soothing bath far more than I,” she murmurs, but the maid only chuckles.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, Miss Whittaker,” she replies. “After all, you’ve quite the busy evening tonight.”

Ah, yes. Sable does have dinner plans with her parents, Silas, and Malcolm. She can’t help but wince as she soothes herself into the bathtub. She has never wanted dinner as little as she does now.

Either way, tonight will be not be a pleasant affair.

“How well do you know Mr. Leroux, Miss Whittaker?” Olivia asks as she brushes Sable’s hair after the bath.

Sable tries her best not to flinch. “Ah, well…” she begins awkwardly. “He’s a very pleasant man,” she says. “He…listens to me when I speak, and answers thoughtfully. I…”

Olivia sighs. “You don’t know him terribly well, do you, Miss Whittaker?”

Well, I did only meet him last night. Sable groans as Olivia brushes out a particularly tough knot in her hair. “I may have only known him for a few months,” she lies, “But I already know he is a far better man than Silas is.”

“But Mr. Montgomery comes from wealth, he is a proper gentleman!” Olivia protests, and Sable fends off a cruel laugh. Silas, a proper gentleman? How ridiculous! She wants to snort and mock Olivia for falling for his horrid mask, but she stops herself. Hadn’t she nearly been deceived by his mask herself? If he’d only thought to keep up appearances until after they were wed, she would’ve been utterly tricked. But no, he disdains her too much to even put in an effort. 

“As is Mr. Leroux,” Sable replies. “He inherited several hotels from his father, he has plenty of money himself.”

“I…I simply do not like him,” Olivia finally admits. “He…there is something wrong with him, Miss Whittaker, I know not what, but…”

Sable smiles and pats her maid’s hand. “I trust you, Olivia,” she tells her. “But I will not be swayed on this matter. I wish to break off my engagement with Silas, and wed Mr. Leroux instead.”

Olivia only exhales weakly before whispering, “I do pray for only the best for you, my dear.” 

Sable hides in the library for much of the day, whiling away the hours reading the heavy tomes inside. Too sun, the morning blue turns into the afternoon sky and then begins to shift into the evening sunset. Shortly before 4:00, Olivia walks into the library and leads Sable away to be changed into proper evening wear for dinner.

Tonight, her gown is a pleasant shade of green, and her hair is piled into a knot on her head. 

Olivia tightens the corset too tightly once more.

Yet it is not the corset that makes it hard for her to breathe as she walks down the stairs to the dining hall. Her stomach swims, and despite her having barely eaten a single bite the entire day, she feels she could vomit right here, right now. 

Neither Malcolm or Silas have arrived yet. Sable makes her way to her usual seat, balling her hands into fists beneath the table. 

Father and Mother arrive just as the doorbell rings, a clear sound even from the main hall.

Sable hears footsteps and she can taste bile in the back of her throat. God, her vision is even swimming a little. She’s never been quite so anxious over dinnertime conversation before.

“Good evening, Sable,” Malcolm says, and she can’t help but gasp and spin in her seat to see him standing right behind her. She’d been so caught up in her anxious thoughts she hadn’t been able to notice him walking up to her.

“Mr- Erm, Malcolm,” she replies, forcing a shaky smile onto her lips. 

His blue eyes flick up and down, taking in her outfit. “You look very lovely tonight, Sable,” he tells her, and she fights back a blush. She has never craved men’s attention, but compliments such as these are quite alien to her. She’ll need time to adjust to hearing them.

“And you look quite dashing this evening, Malcolm,” she says back with a genuine smile now, and she watches as he flushes right before her eyes. For a moment, she’s happy for her tan skin; Malcolm is so fair skinned, the red is painfully noticeable on his cheeks.

He begins to take the seat next to her, but then Father coughs. “Mr. Leroux,” he begins. “Sit across from Sable,” he tells him, his deep voice as commanding as a general’s. To Malcolm’s credit, he does not look intimidated nor shaken. He only offers a curt bow and replies with, “If that is what you wish.”

The clock chimes five times, signaling the time they had agreed on. But Silas is nowhere to be seen.

Mother’s eyes flicker towards the clock. “He’ll be here soon, he’s so punctual, as you know.”

Sable nods, but her grip on her dress only tightens. Is it the curse? she wonders. Has it been cast? With a shock, she realizes she never gave Malcolm exact wording for what she wished, she only mentioned his money. 

She glances up at Malcolm. He isn’t looking at her, he’s gazing in the direction of the main hall, a faint smirk on his lips.

She gulps seeing his expression. 

The clock keeps ticking. They all sit in stony silence. Malcolm takes a sip of wine from his glass. 

Soon, it is 5:30, and Silas Montgomery has yet to arrive.

The wine has never looked so appealing as it does now, but Sable knows better than to drink on an empty stomach. 

Finally, at a quarter to 6:00, the doorbell rings once more, and Phillipe, the butler, goes to answer the door.

Immediately a commotion begins. “Move!” she hears Silas’ voice holler, strained with rage.

Heavy footfalls make their way to the dining hall, and Silas arrives.

Sable gasps seeing him.

He’s never looked quite so disheveled before.

His light brown hair is a tangled mess. His clothes are muddy and torn. His skin is ashen, and he smells faintly of smoke, but not the kind that cigarettes and cigars emit. There’s another smell, a headier one Sable can’t quite identify. 

He glares at Sable. “What are you looking at?!” he spits at her, and then he turns his anger towards Malcolm. “You!” he yells. “What the hell have you done?!”

Malcolm calmly takes another sip of wine. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you are talking about.”

Silas’ face is as red as a tomato. He’s never looked so enraged before. “I know you’re responsible,” he seethes. “There’s no other explanation.”

Father rises from his seat. “Mr. Montgomery,” he says. “Calm down and explain yourself. What has happened to you?”

Silas groans, runs his hands through his hair as he slumps in the seat beside Sable. “Everything all at once,” he groans. “One of the factories’ new-fangled electricity circuit boards shorted out, it’s been dead since last night. We’ve lost an entire day’s worth of work.”

Father sighs. “That is truly bad luck.” 

“That’s barely all!” Silas yells. “While I was out…I lost much of my savings.”

Father audibly gasps and Mother slaps her hands over her mouth. “How the bloody hell did you do that?” Father demands, and Sable can sense the anger coiled in his words. Father is not one to shout or raise his voice, but she can tell that this news is a tipping point.

Silas gulps, and Sable realizes exactly where he was before arriving here, and what the scent is. “You were gambling,” she says bluntly, and as he whirls on her, she raises her eyebrows. In an opium den, are her unspoken words. 

Silas pales at the accusation. “How-why-why would you say such a thing, Sable?” he cries. “I am a respectable businessman, I would never gamble, I just made a few bad investments-”

“Do not lie to me in my own home, Mr. Montgomery,” Father snaps. “I’ve known of your gambling habit for quite some time, your father and grandfather had their vices as well.”

Mother gasps. “Arthur!” she cries. “Why would you ever wish for our Sable to wed an addict?!” she demands, and Father sighs.

“Dear,” he begins. “I was under the belief that Mr. Montgomery was not committing the sins of his father. I too enjoy an occasional gamble. I did not see the problem.” His eyes flick up and down, taking in Silas. “However…” he trails off. “You positively reek of opium, my boy,” he says, and Silas’ eyes widen, the whites large.

“I-I-” he sputters. “That’s ridiculous!” he yells. “I have never set foot in an opium den in my entire life! And how on earth do you even know the smell?!” He smirks at Father, as if he’s won.

Father only sighs and takes a gulp of wine. “I know because my own father was an addict,” he says. “That’s how he and your grandfather became friends.”

All the tension seems to leave Silas’ body at once. He nearly drops to his knees from the seat. “Please, Mr. Whittaker,” he gasps. “After today’s losses…I was desperate to earn them back, that’s why I was there, I swear to you…”

“And how much profit did you earn? And how much did you lose?”

Silas says nothing. He can barely even look at Father now. But then he flushes with anger once more, and points at Malcolm. “You,” he seethes. “I know you’re behind my factory short circuiting, I can take you to court over this.”

Malcolm shakes his head. “Mr. Montgomery,” he says. “My home and all my hotels operate on steam and oil. My cook is deathly afraid of electricity, and out of respect for him, I have yet to use it.” He tilts his head to the side. “I know nothing of it. So how could I possibly have sabotaged you?”

Checkmate.

Sable can practically see Silas break into pieces. 

After Silas is escorted out by the butler they eat dinner. Once the dessert arrives (a lovely vanilla cream cake) Malcolm is invited to Mr. Whittaker’s study to speak in private as Sable and her mother dine. For the first time in quite a while, Malcolm finds himself nervously fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Mr. Whittaker is quite an intimidating man, a few inches taller than him, dark haired and bearded, and certainly stronger than he.

It’s ridiculous. A demon anxious over a human. 

The door to the study closes with a loud bang, and Malcolm winces at the sound. Mr. Whittaker sits behind his grand oak desk, dark amber eyes appraising him. 

“You truly had nothing to do with Mr. Montgomery’s factory, correct?” he asks him. 

Malcolm blinks. “I did not,” he replies, a half-truth at the very best. Of course, the factory could have been a coincidence…if it hadn’t been for his rotten luck at the opium den. Those two occurrences are proof that his curse is in effect.

But Mr. Whittaker doesn’t need to know about any of that. 

“Good,” he replies. “The last thing we need is for Sable to be treated like some expensive piece of jewelry to be fought over and possessed.”

Against his will, Malcolm can feel the palms of his hands feel clammy inside his gloves. Sable, a piece of jewelry? The idea…the idea doesn’t bode well with him, yet he can’t deny it has some degree of appeal.

Her father is silent for a long time, looking over Malcolm once more. 

Then he finally speaks. “What are your intentions with my daughter?” he asks.

Malcolm swallows. “I wish to marry her, sir,” he says, but the man shakes his head. 

“I detest liars,” he snaps. “My child has many wondrous qualities, however, keeping a secret is not one of them. She has a tendency to act first, and think later. If she had met you, I would’ve known about it.” He leans back in his chair. “So why on earth do you wish to wed a woman you’ve known for less than 24 hours?”

Her father is sharp, as to be expected for a businessman. Malcolm’s shoulders relax. He had thought of this scenario, amongst thousands of others.

“It is true I met her last night,” he confesses. “And I will not be so bold as to claim I love her. I do not know her well enough. But last night was a good night. We talked for hours, and I tell you, the conversation was one of the best I have ever had.

“I do not have parents,” he continues. “I have no siblings, either. When I die, all my properties will be for naught. Unless I marry, then I’ll have a wife to pass them on to.” Mr. Whittaker’s jaw tightens. “I have not had many friends before,” Malcolm explains. “But Sable and I felt an instant connection. Neither of us have much of a desire to marry, but we decided that a marriage of convenience built on friendship would suffice.”

“And what if she falls for someone later?” Mr. Whittaker asks. 

“Then we’ll divorce.”

“Society looks down on women who divorce.”

“And Sable doesn’t particularly care about what society thinks.”

For the first time, Mr. Whittaker chuckles. “That is very true,” he says. “And god willing I’m still alive, I’ll welcome her back with open arms if your marriage is meant to fail.”

“I hope that doesn’t happen,” Malcolm replies with a nervous laugh of his own.

“Neither do I,” Mr. Whittaker answers, and the two men look at each for a moment. 

“Do I have your permission to marry your daughter?” Malcolm asks, and Mr. Whittaker strokes his beard.

“Not quite yet,” he answers. “If you two can be engaged for six months without breaking it off, you’ll have my permission.”

Malcolm nods. “That’s quite reasonable,” he says. “But may Sable move into my home for those six months?”

Mr. Whittaker raises an eyebrow. “And why would she do that?”

“Well, she’ll need training on how to run a household, and how to help manage my hotels. It takes quite a bit of time to learn all of that, at least it did for me.”

Her father ponders for a moment. And then he nods his head. “Alright then,” he says. “I agree to these terms. But do ask Sable. Once you have her permission, the deal is sealed.”

Malcolm smiles as he shakes his hand. “It’s a deal,” he says.

It’s a deal.