Chapter 1. The Grave News

Benedict Blackmoor was not in want of a wife. At least not until that fateful dinner two weeks after Christmas. It was a peaceful Sunday evening, and the entire family gathered around the mahogany table in the Magpie room. There, under the careful direction of Maria, the head of the house staff, danced the servants, carrying platters filled with flavorful meats, charred vegetables, roasted legumes, and gravy.

Lord Henry Blackmoor, the owner of the manor, sat at the head of the table. Despite being nearly eighty years old, he appeared a decade younger due to his perpetually good mood, excellent posture, and energetic demeanor.

On the opposite side of the table sat his daughter-in-law, Lilibeth. She was a tall and narrow woman with a fair complexion and ash-blonde hair.

Flanking Lord Blackmoor were his two grandsons: the older, Benedict, to one side and the younger, Percival, to the other. The brothers couldn't look any different: Benedict was tall and well-built, with dark curly hair, while Percy was small-framed, with an ever-rigid posture, straight black hair, and black eyes, which made a stark contrast to Benedict's blue ones.

To their friends and neighbors, the Blackmoor brothers were the epitome of ideal young men: obscenely rich, good-mannered, and impeccably dressed. They were also incredibly charming. Percival, though not as handsome as his brother, compensated for his lack of looks with his gallantry, while Benedict, on the other hand, was gifted with a striking appearance and charm, although he showed no real interest in the numerous young ladies who eagerly sought his attention.

The Blackmoors were welcomed at every social gathering in Shorewitch. However, behind the closed doors of the Blackmoor Manor, the relationship between the brothers was strained, to say the least. Once tightly knit, nowadays, they barely spoke to each other in public, and when they did speak, they disagreed on every tiny thing, always ending the conversation with an argument.

Their feud had started a year ago when their father, Christopher, died. As the older brother, Benedict took on all of his father's responsibilities around the estate and threw himself into work, whereas Percy incessantly criticized him for his absence. The fact that Percy himself did virtually nothing while Benedict single-handedly managed the estate annoyed Benedict to no end. Especially because Percy was always their father's favorite—the most obedient and agreeable, unlike stubborn Benedict.

That's how it all began. Their initial spat with mutual accusations soon turned into a perpetual fight about everything and nothing. Lilibeth tried to reconcile her sons many times but to no avail. After a while, both Benedict and Percy decided, for their mother's sake, to mostly ignore each other and pretend the other one didn't exist.

Since then, family dinners weren"t the same.

"William Thornby invited us to a masquerade," Lilibeth said with feigned excitement. "In three weeks. We"re all going."

"A masquerade?" Benedict said, arching an eyebrow. "Didn't he have a ball last week?"

"Yes, dear," Lilibeth smiled. "But can one really have too many balls?"

Benedict smirked. "He"s so desperate for female company but is destined to die alone."

"There"s no shame in seeking companionship," his mother chided gently. "He might not be handsome, or charming for that matter, but he"s rich and genuinely good-hearted. I"m sure he will find a suitable bride in due time."

"I don"t think being good-hearted is precisely what women desire," Benedict scoffed. "Thornby is one of the least attractive men I"ve ever met. And his wealth isn"t that impressive. It certainly doesn"t make up for his lack of looks or character. Women fall in love with the fantasy they craft out of a man, and no one has enough imagination to turn that little goblin into anything passable. He will never marry."

A fork clinked against a plate.

"Says the expert," Percy muttered under his breath.

Benedict felt a sudden jolt in his stomach and glanced at his brother. Percy didn't look at him, but his jaw was clenched, his jowls swollen, and his hand was gripping the water glass a little too tight.

"Something to add to the matter, Perce?" Benedict said calmly, twisting his lips.

"I just find it amusing," Percy continued, "given how little you care about marriage yourself."

"And you think you know all about me?"

"I do." Percy finally looked at him, and his eyes seemed even darker in the candlelight. "Benny cares only about Benny and nobody else. Especially not those poor young ladies, who are never good enough for him."

"Boys," Lilibeth said with a warning, but neither Benedict nor Percy heard her.

"Just because I don"t throw myself at the first girl who glances my way doesn"t mean I don't ever plan to marry," Benedict said coldly. It was a lie, and both he and his brother knew it.

"First girl?" Percy sneered. "Do tell me who was the first, Benny. Was it Carol Jenkins? Felicia Blane? Katherine Staunton? Philippa Lemmington?"

"I would suggest that you take less interest in my love life, Perce, and pay attention to your own instead," Benedict shot back. "The fact that our cousin Beatrice is pining over you is hardly to your credit. She"s nearly thirty. You"re probably her only chance not to end up a sad lonely spinster."

"Shut up!" Percy pushed his chair back and stood up in one swift motion, his usually pale face crimson red.

"Percival." This time the loud yet calm word came from Grandfather Henry, and the room fell instantly silent.

Benedict remained in his chair with an amused smile playing on his lips, but his insides turned cold. He knew he went a little too far with that comment, but he hated it when Percy caused scenes in front of the servants. They talked, and not just within the household, but with servants from other estates. He didn't want anyone to know about the true nature of their relationship, and even more so, he loathed the idea of becoming the next piece of gossip in Shorewitch's high society.

Percy, looking embarrassed at his own outburst, sat back down.

"Clearly, he has no intention to marry," he said to no one in particular. "And I have to suffer because of that."

Benedict raised his eyebrows. "Suffer? That's a bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"You know perfectly well that if you don't marry, neither can I." Percy's voice trembled with anger.

Benedict frowned. "Are you really upset because of that?"

"I am. I want to marry Beatrice," Percy said defiantly.

"Are you serious?" Benedict said. He had never been fond of Beatrice Glasscock. She had a bad temper, was snobbish and judgmental, and, apart from being their third cousin, was basically a female version of Percy. Which, come to think of it, sounds like a perfect match for Percy.

"Yes! According to the Blackmoor tradition, I can never marry, thanks to you."

"I think you're being overly dramatic," Benedict smirked, pretending to be interested in his potato salad.

"Yes, dear, that's a bit dramatic," Lilibeth said with a taut smile. "All of us are happy that you found love, including Benedict. But rules dictate that you wait until he marries, there's just no way around it. I promise it won"t be long, and then you and Beatrice can have your day."

"How can you promise?" Percy argued, visibly upset. "Considering that he never even dances with the same girl twice, that will never happen!"

"Wait," Benedict turned to his mother. "Are you serious? If I don't marry, then he doesn't either?"

"Of course, dear," said Lilibeth, her expression as pleasant as though they were discussing the dinner menu. "It's a valued family tradition. The older brother must marry first."

Percy looked him in the eyes, and Benedict felt a twinge of guilt. However, it instantly went away as soon as the next words escaped Percy's mouth.

"I wonder if he even fancies women."

Benedict's heart jolted in his chest, his neck burning.

"Hold your tongue, Perce," he warned, his voice icy. He tried to sound nonchalant as he said, "Mother, that's an outdated practice. I'm sure if the younger brother is stupid enough to want to marry first, he must be allowed to do that."

"I'm afraid not, my dear," Lilibeth said in a tone that brooked no argument. "It will bring a decade of bad luck to the family. And we've had our share of misfortune already."

"I'm sure it will be worse if Percival holds it against me every single day for the next ten years."

"Don't be silly, dear. I'm sure you will be married soon if you just put your mind to it. There are plenty of beautiful girls who dream of marrying the heir of Blackmoor."

"I'm not sure that I have time for that now," Benedict said, nearly cringing at his own asinine excuse. "There are too many things to do around the estate."

"See!" Percy snapped, his tone almost triumphant. "I told you he's not even considering marriage! I've never seen a more arrogant and egotistical person in my life. Waiting for Benny to fancy anyone is like trying to squeeze water from a stone." A swift kick from Benedict under the table silenced him.

"It's not the best strategy to annoy me, Perce, considering yours and cousin Beatrice's fates are in my hands."

"Oh, shut up already!" Percy spat. "Don't pretend that you care about me. You care only about you and no one else."

"Enough, both of you," Lilibeth intervened with a sigh. "You"re distressing the servants. Let"s proceed with dinner."

"I think I"ve lost my appetite," Percy muttered.

"Shall we have tea instead?" Maria suggested. She had been standing in the room this whole time, unmoving like a statue.

"I"m dying," Grandfather Henry said abruptly, and the room plunged into shocked silence.

"What?" Lilibeth uttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

"My heart issues turned out to be serious," Grandfather Henry continued. "Doctor Harrod believes I have a couple of months at most."

A chilling sensation settled in Benedict"s gut. They had all been under the impression that Grandfather Henry's heart disease wasn't serious. Especially after Dr. Harrod had given such an optimistic outlook just two months ago.

"There must be a mistake." Percy frowned. "When did you speak with Doctor Harrod?"

"Yesterday morning."

"There must be something that can be done."

Grandfather Henry shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Percival."

Benedict, who was about to drink his wine, put the glass down; his mood and appetite were gone. Percy visibly sagged in his chair. Their grandfather was the backbone of the family. Without him, Benedict knew, it would completely crumble.

"I can"t believe it," Lilibeth muttered, her face flushed and her expression anxious. "We must speak with Dr. Harrod again..."

"Please, settle down, Lilibeth," Grandfather Henry said, interrupting his daughter-in-law's flurry of concerned advice. "I"ve lived a long and happy life. The only thing I want is to see my family united and closer than ever before." His gaze found Percy. "And happy. Promise me."

Paler than ever, Percy nodded. "Of course, grandfather."

Grandfather Henry's piercing grey eyes shifted to Benedict. "I"m serious, Benedict. Percy is right, you know. You need to find love. Otherwise, you risk spending the best years of your life alone and unhappy."

"I will find someone, grandfather," Benedict assured him. "I promise."

"Good," Grandfather Henry suddenly smiled, his frown gone. "For a bit of motivation, I"ve decided on an ultimatum. Once you find love, I"ll amend my will. Until then, it shall state that the Blackmoor estate will pass on to Percival."

There was silence in the room once again.

Lilibeth finally broke the quiet, her voice tinged with astonishment. "What exactly are you suggesting, father? That Percival shall inherit the estate over Benedict? That Benedict would be disinherited?"

"That"s rather harsh, my dear," Grandfather Henry said light-heartedly. "Benedict just promised me he will soon find a companion. So, there"s absolutely no cause for concern. Is that right, Benedict?"

Percy looked so smug Benedict wanted to kick him again, but the bastard tucked his legs away. Instead, Benedict smiled at his grandfather.

"Absolutely."

***

After dinner, when Benedict was on the way to his room, he noticed Percy trailing close behind. Continuing up the grand stairs to the third floor and proceeding down the corridor, he was about to enter his room when he heard Percy say, "So, what are you planning to do?"

Benedict turned to face him. "About?"

"Finding love," Percy said with a hint of mockery in his tone.

Benedict frowned.

"That"s your immediate concern after what we just heard? Our grandfather is dying."

"There"s nothing I can do about that," Percy replied defensively. "But him giving you an ultimatum? Quite the unexpected move."

"I'm glad you're entertained," Benedict said irritably.

Percy shrugged. "For once, you face the consequences of your inaction. Now you"re in a real predicament."

"Shut up." Benedict sighed. "If Grandfather Henry wants to see me in love, I"ll make it happen."

Percy raised his eyebrows.

"Because love can just be summoned on a whim?"

Benedict shot him a pointed look. "Remember, grandfather also wishes for us to get along. Now that"s a true challenge."

***

Benedict had only been in the cabaret for an hour, but he had already downed three glasses of whiskey, a glass of gin and poured out his soul to his old friend Charlie Bellinger, sharing news of his grandfather's ailment, the apathy that had engulfed their family, and the ultimatum that was given to Benedict.

He was devastated by the news and longed to fulfill his grandfather"s final wish, yet the thought of marriage was unbearable to him. Observing the married couples in Shorewitch"s high society, he could not overlook the widespread unhappiness that seemed to be the norm.

The cabaret was crowded and reeked of cigarettes, perfume, and alcohol, and the guests, looking peculiar in their rather revealing attires, had faces painted with makeup, both men and women alike. His mother would almost certainly need smelling salts if she knew he had visited a place like this.

The brightly lit stage at the other end of the room, encircled by small tables, was bathed in a flashing red light. A beautiful woman in a corseted bodysuit was on the stage, dancing with a fire torch, her movements reminiscent of a wound-up ballerina. Benedict watched her, only half-listening to Bellinger's advice on love and the merits of marrying for convenience.

It would be catastrophic, Benedict thought, to trap himself in a joyless marriage and endure a lifetime with someone he neither liked nor respected. Good for Bellinger, not being overly picky. It hadn"t taken him long to settle on Miss Clover, a rich girl with a plain face and lack of personality but with a very affluent family and a substantial dowry.

Although Benedict was great at concealing it, he hated the very concept of courtship: the flirting wrapped in empty conversations; the awkward dances with strangers appraising him as a potential candidate for marriage; the gossip exchanged over champagne glasses. And for what? To marry solely for the purpose of producing heirs? That wasn"t for him.

As the eldest son, Benedict had always envisioned himself managing the estate. It was a lot of work, but he liked it and was good at it. The scarce free hours that he had, he dedicated to reading, yet there were still too many unread books in his personal library. He couldn't fit another person into his life.

He found himself pondering: would it really be so terrible to find love? He couldn't picture himself in a relationship, but the notion of Percy taking over the estate was even harder to imagine. Percy wasn't good at managing his own daily affairs, much less the complex responsibilities of an estate like Blackmoor.

Plus, Percy annoyed the hell out of him. He seized every opportunity to jab at Benedict with his ridiculous jokes, insinuating that he was a eunuch doomed to live a lonely life in a monastery. Beating Percy was a matter of principle now.

But how could Benedict possibly find a match in three months when he hadn"t managed to do that in the last three years?

To be fair, he didn't even try. But when he ran through the options in his mind, he felt anxiety stirring in his chest. Although they were quite pleasant as acquaintances, the mere thought of waking up beside Felicia, Carol, Philippa, or Katherine made his stomach churn.

The audience roared with applause as the performer made her way from the stage to the bar and asked for a whiskey. Benedict looked at her absent-mindedly, and for a split second, she caught his gaze.

"If you don't want to marry, why not just court any girl?" Charlie Bellinger said loudly over the dying applause. "Pretend to be in love with her, make your grandfather happy, get the estate, and, when he dies, break off the engagement." His voice was almost bored as if they were discussing the weather.

It's not like this option didn't occur to him. Benedict wouldn't even mind cheating if that meant shutting Percy up. But something didn't feel right about it.

"I don't want to lie or mislead anyone," he said, downing the rest of his drink. "Besides, you know how these things spiral out of control. The rumors, the gossip. If I break the engagement after a few months, I will be a villain for the rest of my life."

"Who cares?" Charlie shrugged. "You'll inherit the estate."

"I'm not that kind of guy," Benedict said, although he wasn't so sure about it anymore. "What if she falls in love with me? I don't want to break anyone's heart."

"That's it, Benedict. That's your problem," Charlie snorted. "You think too much of yourself."

"I don't."

"Then pick a girl. It's as simple as that. I'm going to the loo." He wandered off, leaving Benedict alone at the bar.

"You could let the girl in on a secret," said a voice to his left.

Benedict turned around. It was the performer, who was now waiting for her drink. She had long and wavy blond hair spilling over her shoulders, piercing dark eyes, and plump red lips marked with a black beauty spot.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Vivienne LaFleur," said the woman, offering him a glove-clad hand.

Benedict accepted it and lightly touched it with his lips. "Benedict Blackmoor," he replied.

"I could pretend to be that girl for you," said Vivienne. "Charming. Witty. Beautiful. Who will disappear as soon as you want her to. And I promise I won't fall in love with you."

Benedict blinked. Was he seeing things? He was a little dizzy, but he didn't think he was that drunk.

"What's in it for you?" he asked.

"I need money," said Vivienne.

"How much?" Benedict asked.

"A lot."

"You must be in trouble."

"And you must need a miracle."

For a moment, they just looked at each other. There was something different about this woman, although Benedict couldn't quite tell what. She was beautiful, that's for sure.

"No offense, but I'm afraid my family wouldn't be too happy with me courting a cabaret performer," he said.

"I'm not just a performer," Vivienne said nonchalantly. "I'm also a good actor. I could pretend to be anyone you like." She smiled.

"I'm sorry," Benedict smiled back.

"You know this is a drag queen, right?" Charlie Bellinger said, approaching them.

Benedict turned to look at him.

"A what?" he asked, perplexed.

"A man performing as a woman," Charlie said, shooting Vivienne a smirk and giving Benedict a smack on the shoulder. "You're drunk, pal. It's time to go home."

Benedict felt a twinge of unease in his chest.

He looked back at the performer. "You lied to me?"

"I didn't," she said. "I told you I was an actor."

"You misled me into thinking you were a woman."

"I didn't. You didn't ask, and I didn't tell."

"I get it," Benedict said icily. "You wanted to take the money and leave, knowing full well that I would be looking for a woman."

"Your imagination is out of control," Vivienne chuckled with a venomous yet somehow charming smile. "I was only offering you help, and now you feel stupid for flirting with me."

"Don't flatter yourself," Benedict said.

"Hey, Ben, calm down," Charlie interrupted. "She…I mean, he is that good. I wouldn't be able to tell either if I didn't know already."

"Let's get out of here."

"Good luck inheriting that estate." Vivienne winked at Benedict, her voice oozing venom.

Benedict held her gaze for a moment before following Bellinger to the exit.

***

Benedict spent the night at three different bars with Bellinger and then crashed at his place in the city. He came home in the morning, just before breakfast, still a little drunk from the night out. His valet, John, met him in the hallway with an anxious expression on his face.

"What is it, John?" Benedict asked, allowing the servant to take his coat.

"Your mother is waiting for you in the Swan parlor, your lordship."

"At this hour?" Benedict raised an eyebrow. "Why in God's name?"

"I don't know, sir," John said apologetically. "But she's with a guest."

"With whom?"

"Lady Hawthorne, sir. The matchmaker."

The matchmaker.

Benedict felt a wave of irritation wash over him. He suspected his mother wouldn't let him deal with his grandfather's ultimatum on his own. What he didn't expect was that she would ambush him with Hawthorne the Matchmaker, a woman known for pairing young people all over Shorewitch and weaving webs of intricate intrigues, all for a handsome fee.

Benedict didn't want to see Hawthorne, but he was well aware that if his mother set her mind to something, there was no avoiding it. With a sigh, he retired to his chambers to freshen up before heading towards the Swan parlor. Given more time, he would have shaved the overnight stubble, but he was anxious to get this matchmaking business over with.

His mother and her guest were sitting at the coffee table by the window. It overlooked the driveway, so they most likely noticed his return.

"Here he is!" said Lilibeth, seemingly relieved. "You remember Lady Hawthorne, dear?"

"Of course." Benedict bowed. "Good morning, Lady Hawthorne."

"Good morning, Mr. Blackmoor." She nodded, eyeing him from head to toe. Judging by her expression, she was already speculating in her mind what he had been up to last night.

"We have wonderful news, dear," said his mother. "A couple of days ago, I told Lady Hawthorne about our situation, and she was happy to find you a bride upon my request. But don't you worry, she found a perfect candidate—"

"A bride?" Benedict repeated. He suspected they might try to pair him up with someone but didn"t expect to be presented with abride. An icy chill crawled down his spine.

"It's Emily Ashcroft," said Lady Hawthorne, looking quite pleased with herself. "The only daughter of Lionel Ashcroft. I dare say they are as wealthy as you are, Mr. Blackmoor."

Benedict tried to conceal his irritation. His insides felt cold, yet his head felt as though it was on fire.

"Thank you for your kind help, Lady Hawthorne," he said in a reserved tone. "But there's no need for your service. I am perfectly capable of finding a bride on my own."

"Of course you are," his mother cooed. "But there's just not enough time, my dear. Especially considering your very particulartaste. Do you think it wise to risk it all? You know I love Percival, but he's not the right person to manage the estate."

"Mrs. Blackmoor told me all about your character, Mr. Blackmoor," Lady Hawthorne interjected. "And I drew some conclusions myself from the few encounters we've had. I strongly agree that most of the ladies you've encountered are not suitable for you at all. And I can assure you, from my professional judgment and firsthand observations, Miss Emily Ashcroft shall be very much to your liking. Not only in regards to her status and wealth but also to her appearance." She gave him a meaningful wink, although Benedict had no idea what she was implying.

"We have decided that it would be best to hold a ball at Blackmoor so you two could get acquainted," his mother said, already blushing with excitement.

"There is no need," Benedict said firmly.

"Of course, there is, dear." His mother's polite expression froze like a mask on her face. "Let's not dismiss Lady Hawthorn's candidate before you at least meet her."

"My apologies if I wasn't clear before, mother. I won't be needing Lady Hawthorne's assistance because the matter is already settled."

"Whatever do you mean, dear?" Lilibeth asked, visibly taken aback.

"I"ve already found a woman to my liking. So consider the matter resolved." The words escaped his lips before he had a chance to fully contemplate them.

His mother and Lady Hawthorne exchanged surprised glances. Lady Hawthorne even leaned forward in her chair.

"Who is it?" Lilibeth gasped, both thrilled and astonished by the news. "Is it Felicia Blane after all?" she asked hopefully.

"No," replied Benedict.

"Please, do tell us her name," said Lady Hawthorne, and Benedict thought he picked up a hint of irritation in her voice.

"Her name is Vivienne LaFleur," he said without a second thought. "But you don't know her. She's not from around here."

"A foreigner?" Lilibeth gasped. "How did you meet?"

"She's from France. I met her through Charlie Bellinger."

"And when can we meet her?"

"I…" Benedict hesitated. "I haven't yet disclosed my feelings to her, so she remains completely unaware."

"It's not a problem at all!" his mother declared. "Let's host a ball! We simply must invite her to Blackmoor!"

"I don't think…"

"Indeed, you must," echoed Lady Hawthorne. "I would love to meet the woman that has captured Mr. Blackmoor's attention."

Benedict felt his heart beating loudly in his chest. "Fine," he said. "I will ask her, although I can't promise anything. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must retire. I'll leave you two to your planning." And with that, he left the parlor.

Benedict wasn"t sure what he just got himself into, but one thing was clear: he needed to go back to the cabaret and talk to Vivienne LaFleur.