The Society of the Eleventh Hour

Business Proposals

"You look uncomfortable, Lucia." Richard Beaufort remarks, with little emotion behind the statement. "Why don't you take a seat?"

He smiles with too many teeth. I smile back with none at all and sit down at the Beaufort's table. There's a cup of tea in front of me, but I know better than to touch it... especially with the kind of drugs this family has access to. I hold the cup in my hand to appear polite, like I'm considering the prospect.

"I haven't seen you in town for a long time. What have you been up to, these days?" I ask, carefully.

"My father is dying. I spend most days taking care of him, while William manages the estate and maintains our reputation in the fencing leagues. I have to admit, I miss the work. I was always better at it than him." Richard smirks.

I grimace. William's father died long ago, leaving his brother to become the official "owner" of the Beaufort estate. It's a messy enough business to examine the power struggle between the two younger Beauforts already, and I hate to think of how it will become when Richard's father is gone, leaving no barriers between them.

It's part of why their family had been so eager to marry one of the brothers off to me, as I'd take one of them off the estate and into my own, solving the fight for succession. I'm the only woman within this territory that would be able to solve the issue in this manner, as any other woman would merely join the Beaufort estate... regardless of if she outranked them in status.

It's what happened to my mother. She'd been a Duke's daughter, in a highly renowned territory close to the capital— that is, before she fell in love with my father. She used to tell this story with a smile, until my father died and she realized that there is not much that sentimentality will buy you, in the end.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Richard." I pretend to take a sip of tea. "It must be hard on your mother. Has she been staying here as well?"

He looks back at me for a long time, eyes coldly taking every detail in, one precise measurement of motive. I wonder if this is how other people feel, interacting with me.

"You're not very subtle, you know. I invited a lady detective into the house– I expect to be interrogated. You don't need to play games with me, or try to fool me. It's more offensive than if you didn't try to cover things up at all." He frowns, closing his eyes for just a moment as if expressing exhaustion. It comes off to me as feigned, but only partially.

I incline my head, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry. I just—" I have to think quickly, to drag something out of him that he's not prepared to obscure from me. "I'd like to have a list of places you've been recently, other than the home. And, um, I'd like you to write them down for me, so I don't forget."

I produce a writing implement and my notebook from my pocket. It's a bit more crammed in there, now that I've had to remove one of my pockets to properly hide my saber in the folds of my petticoats.

He's evidently suspicious as he quickly writes down the list for me. Still, I'm certain that I've thrown him— he's likely focused on what I've asked him, when that's of very little importance at all... as he's guaranteed to be lying. What I really want is a sample of his handwriting to compare to the letter the killer pinned to my bedpost.

"Is that all, your grace?"

I nod, pleased with myself.

"Yes. Thank you, Richard. Will I be seeing you during this year's Season? My mother is hard at work planning the events, and I think it'd be a shame to miss all of them." I pocket the notebook, hastily.

I'm referring to the King's Season, of course, which is swiftly approaching. It refers not to the actual King but the deity representing leadership, and is the only time in which it is considered "proper" to pursue and accept proposals as noblemen and women. In other words, it's a time for parties.