“Deceitful swine!”

            CRACK.

            Stinging pain, not wholly undeserved, spread across Cleo’s cheek.  He gritted his teeth and bore the assault, the flesh about his jaw swelling.  The delicate hand, which normally clutched a lace fan but had now turned to violence, belonged to Miss Augusta Langdon. 

            Her face flushed crimson to match her curled locks.  Barely contained rage altered her usually calm countenance, but she still looked a vision of society’s best.  A sea green gown, imported lace gloves, and a new bonnet were all the height of fashion and she wore them well.  She might not be the most handsome lady in their small hamlet, but many overlooked that shortcoming due to her large dowry of ten thousand pounds.

            That advantage held no appeal for Cleo.  The young lady’s wishes were plain for anyone to see, but he knew he must disappoint her.

            “I apologize, Miss Langdon.  If my attentions led you to believe I felt anything more than friendship, it was not my intent.”  A lie.  He spoke the words, a fine script crafted and perfected after multiple uses.

            She eyed him, her gaze cutting like a knife. 

            “I see.  Yes… I see quite clearly that it has been my error all along.  So silly of me, an unworldly and dimwitted woman, to imagine your intentions could be anything more,” she hissed.  But she was neither unworldly nor dimwitted.  Of all the young ladies Cleo had disappointed, Miss Langdon was by far the most intelligent.  There was a shrewdness behind those pale sapphires.  He might have made a mistake pursuing her.

            “No, the misstep was mine.  I would never aim to injure the heart of a lady as honorable and accomplished as yourself.  Please, may I see you back to your party?”  He offered, extending his arm but she shook her head.

            “No, thank you, kind sir.  I wish you every happiness,” she said through gritted teeth.  The lady turned sharply and was gone, retreating behind a vine-choked hedge where her maid was waiting and listening.

            Once alone with the garden décor and his own counsel, Cleo mulled over these recent events.  Miss Langdon’s eerie control left the young man unnerved.  He almost preferred the shouts of angst and waterfalls of tears.  Not that he enjoyed being the instigator of such strife.

            Cad, fiend, rake, libertine.  He had been labeled as such time and time again, and would, in all likelihood, be so-called again.  It bothered Cleo not.  That facade was a means to an end.  And one he required stayed intact.

            As second son to a baronet, Mr. Cleophes Cogburn enjoyed all the advantages and bore all the disadvantages without any true responsibility.  His elder brother, Silas, was set to inherit the estate and the title.  While the living Cleo could look forward to was but a fraction of his brother’s, it was still a sizeable enough sum to keep him in leisure and comfort for all his days.  And up to his ears in hopeful misses and matchmaking mamas.

            Cleo took in a deep breath, the warm breeze carrying the too sweet smell of roses.  Somewhere nearby a bed was dying.  A deep melancholy settled in his stomach.  Or was it the ill tasting sweets he consumed upon his arrival?

            Immersed in his own reflections, Cleo failed to hear the voice beckoning him from the other side of the lush hedge.  It was not until the friendly faces were nearly upon him that Cleo caught sight of his dear friends.

            “Cleo, it took long enough to find you,” Mr. Seraphim Ashe said with a disapproving shake of his head.  The blond locks that kissed the tops of his shoulders glittered gold in the late summer sun.  He wore a crisp white shirt and cravat beneath his tan coat.  The lightweight fabric was ideal for the current stretch of horrid heat.

            “Mr. Cleo!  There you are… Oh!  Not again,” Miss Charlotte Ashe chided, eying his face with playful reproach.  She shared her brother’s fine looks and slender frame.  A dress of lightly embroidered muslin flowed around her.  “If you’re not careful, every heart in town will be as injured as your cheek.”

            They were a most welcome sight.  Charlotte’s spirits were a fine parallel to the beautiful day, but her brother seemed quite the opposite.  An air of dejection hung around him like a stubborn fog.  A horrible thought rose to Cleo’s mind.

            “Your father… how is he?”

            “A little improved!  The surgeon gave us every reason to hope,” Charlotte relayed with strained optimism.  One glance at Seraphim told another story and held a plea.  Cleo swiftly redirected the conversation.

            “That’s promising news.  Are you both planning to attend tonight’s ball?”

            “The worthier question is ‘are you?’  After Miss Langdon’s seemingly dramatic dismissal, surely Lord Langdon will not permit you to set one foot on their grounds,” Seraphim countered, gratitude and a hint of mischief in his eyes.

            “My invitation has yet to be revoked, so attend I shall.  As a… show of friendship,” Cleo retorted.

            “One day someone will turn your head, Mr. Cleophes Cogburn, and we can only pray the poor soul will have you,” Charlotte warned.  Her tone was light, but Cleo could feel the truth of her words.

            “Highly unlikely.  But I appreciate your concern and superior wisdom as always, Miss Char.”

            “It’s a wonder no hotheaded brother or father has demanded satisfaction.  You could not shoot a pheasant if it sat upon your pretty, noble head,” Seraphim challenged again.

            “Sera, have a little faith in your dear friend.  I am not as fowl as the rumors paint,” Cleo joked.  Though Seraphim endeavored to keep his composure, the smallest smirk alighted on his lips.

            “No.  I must disown you both and find a new friend and brother.  Once you descend into puns, I am ashamed of the sight of you.  If you come to your senses, seek me out at the astronomer’s booth,” Charlotte announced, waving her hands and retreating back toward the afternoon’s festivities.  Watching her blossom-covered skirts disappear, Cleo and Seraphim fell into companionable silence.

            They had known each other all their lives.  Seraphim and Charlotte were the children of Lord Cogburn’s steward, but Cleo never took notice of the gap in their stations.  They had been inseparable as children and those bonds grew stronger with age.  He knew a reproach was coming well before it passed Seraphim’s lips.

            “My sister speaks the truth.  Be cautious.  I dare not presume to understand, but I know… this is not your true character.  Do not create so much damage it harms your future.”

            “My reputation is already beyond repair,” Cleo replied, haughty and indifferent.

            “I care not for reputations, you know this,” Seraphim interjected with a roll of his aquamarine eyes.  Approaching his friend, the young man prodded Cleo gently in the chest.  “This is what truly matters.”  A long pause.  Sera’s finger lingered on Cleo’s chest and time slowed.  Before Cleo could comprehend it, the fleeting moment had passed.

            “Now, I fear Char will not arrive at her desired destination.  We must find her before your sisters attempt to dress her up like their own living doll, once again.”  Seraphim revealed a rare, unrestrained smile.  It was a wonder Cleo had not beheld since old Mr. Ashe had fallen ill.

***

            Arriving from the crisp night into the Langdon estate was like stepping into another world.  Candlelight twinkled inside delicate orbs of pink glass and conjured up an atmosphere as mystical as it was comforting.  The aroma of many varieties of flowers danced on the air and every surface was dripping with glittering gems.  The Langdons had outdone themselves.

            In the wake of the Ashe siblings’ warning, Cleo had been fighting off a heavy sense of foreboding.  But upon arrival, the Lord and Lady greeted him amicably enough and there was only the smallest of twitches at the corner of Miss Langdon’s right eye.  Passing into the ballroom, Cleo took stock of the players already gracing the dance floor.

            Practically the entire hamlet had managed to land an invitation and now packed into the sizeable space.  Figures in their best silks and velvets pranced across the floor, their finery aimed at one goal: securing the most advantageous match.  And that game, for many, was well underway.

            Strolling by a group of familiar ladies, Cleo could feel their chilly reception.  Amongst them were three he had jilted before a ring even graced their slender fingers.  The Misses Winthrop, Pennet and Tilly peered at him with such renewed ire, he wondered if Miss Langdon’s story had already circulated.  News, especially of the most disappointing manner, spread like wildfire.

            I should endeavor to stay away from the spotlight, lest I truly bring ruin down upon myself like Sera and Char fear, he thought, determined to play the part of the aloof gentleman.

            Procuring a glass of lemonade, Cleo caught the eyes of several young men from farther out in the county.  New to the hamlet’s small taste of city living, they had looked up to Cleo and asked his advice on the fairer sex.  He opened his mouth for a friendly greeting but the gentlemen retreated without a word, the sidelong glances and disapproving brows telling all.

            Sera and Char had been correct, as usual.  He should not have attended.

            But departing so soon after his noticeable arrival would only deepen his societal grave.  Hesitating for but a moment, Cleo recalled Lord Langdon’s library was admired throughout the county.  Maybe he should pay it a visit.

            The deeper he ventured into the estate, the thinner the crowds became until he found himself with only his own company.  Knowing the layout of many of these great houses, it did not take long for Cleo to stumble upon the aforementioned library.

            The room was not at all what the young man expected, its reputation obviously embellished.  Barely the size of his father’s library and not nearly as well-kept, the air was thick with the smell of old leather, worn pages, and dust.  With a sigh, Cleo entered.  If anything, the room needed a good cleaning.

            Perusing the titles, Cleo’s mind drifted, pondering the choices that had led him to this abysmal waste of a good ball.  Unsure why he had expected differently, he felt worry cut into his stomach.

            How long could he keep this up?  One day, Father would force him to choose a bride.  Or maybe he would just fling one upon him.  The moment the ring was tight on his finger and his life bound to another, he feared he would drift apart from those he held most dear.

            Seraphim and Charlotte spent most of their worry on him when they should save it all for themselves.  Their father would soon depart this world, leaving them with not a penny to their names or a place to call their own.  Not long after, they would be ejected from the only home they knew: Cogburn Manor.

            Cleo’s father had already stated he would allow the siblings to stay until Seraphim settled himself in some trade to support them.  But knowing the young man well, Cleo worried Sera would grasp at the first opportunity afforded him and be swindled into a life of hardship and struggle.

            “It does not need to be that way, son,” Cleo’s father had said.  The memory of his authoritative voice boomed in the uneasy quiet of the library.  “Your careless ways vex me, but I can see the true worry you hold for your friends.  If you will not take courting seriously, then use the gift of prosperity to aid the Ashes.  Marry Charlotte.”

            Cleo’s stomach twisted.  He had given his father no answer as there was none he could utter aloud that Lord Cogburn would accept.  Afterall, Cleo’s generous living could afford both his friends, and not a soul would look at the match with an unkind eye.

            But Cleo could not even entertain such a thought.

                        He could not become brother to the man he loved.

            The young gentleman’s breath caught in his throat.  It seemed an age since he admitted it to himself.  It was a truth he vowed to take to his grave.  Such things were not unheard of, but the only case Cleo could recall involved a loss of inheritance, a banishment from society, and a flight from the country.

            In his younger years, Cleo held onto hope of remaining a bachelor but his elder brother, Silas, put an end to those dreams.  He was a recluse and lacked civility, warmth, and any other social grace.  It would be a miracle if he ever married.  And Father wanted an heir not only to the Cogburn name, but with the Cogburn name.  The four strapping young boys of his elder sister did not count in their father’s eyes.

            A creak snapped Cleo out of his reverie.  Turning toward the noise, the breath caught in Cleo’s throat once again as he spotted Seraphim beside the library door.  The other man took mere seconds to spot his friend and approach.

            “So, this is where you are hiding.  I had a devil of a time finding you.  Library is not what first comes to mind when I think of you,” he said.  Cleo tried his best to suppress the shiver that ran down his spine and compose himself.  He dared not ponder what Seraphim thought of him.

            “You and your sister may have been clairvoyant when you warned against attending this evening.  I fear word of my latest blunder has spread.  I received quite the icy reception,” Cleo told him, grabbing a random book and flipping it open.  “Even my abundant charms could not thaw that iceberg downstairs.”

            “Perhaps if you did not bring the winter with you, there would not be nearly as much ice,” Sera retorted, attempting to match his friend’s playful manner, but there was an unmistakable sharpness beneath the surface.  A worrisome sharpness.

            “Are you well?”  Cleo ventured after a moment’s hesitation.  Sera’s bright eyes flashed with anger before he turned his gaze to the books.

            “Yes, yes, I am well.”  A lie. 

            “Is it your father?”  Cleo prodded further.

            “No… and yes.  It is a great many things.  Char holds onto hope, but I find it agonizing to have one’s hopes built up time and time again only to have those dreams torn away.  The cycles of despair and expectation are a torment.”

            Cleo began to nod his head but found himself halted.  There was something in Sera’s words that gave the young man a tickle of unease.  His instinct screamed that Sera no longer spoke about his father.

            A silence stretched between the dear friends, but it was not the companionable kind Cleo was accustomed to.  There was a curtness in Sera’s movements as he reached forward to examine a book.  Cleo hazarded a glance.  Even with ire simmering beneath the surface, his friend was the epitome of masculine beauty.  A strong but not unrefined face, eyes of a pale blue like the sky on a cloudy day, a shapely nose, and soft lips.

            Cleo pulled his eager eyes away.  Sera stood so close, but more than ever, it felt as if a vast chasm separated them, wider than any river and deeper than any valley.  His heart drummed in his chest.  Why was he behaving this way?  The two friends had spent the entirety of their childhoods in even closer proximity.  Why now?

            “It must be unbearable.”  Cleo was barely aware that his friend had spoken.

            “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

            “Indeed, I said ‘it must be unbearable’.  The way you string those young ladies along.  Building up their hopes and then dashing them against the cruel rocks of disappointment and confusion,” Sera said without shifting his gaze from the bookshelf.  Unprepared for the speech, Cleo had no response.  When he did not speak, Sera continued.

            “It is cruel.  And then for those rejected misses to watch as you dance over to the next, never knowing if this courtship will be the last or just another one of your games.”  Cleo watched his friend in bewilderment.  The indignation and sorrow in the young man’s voice was unmistakable.

            “Seraphim?”  Cleo asked in a hushed tone.  Abandoning the pretense of looking at the books, Sera spun to face his friend.  His eyes burned with emotion but Cleo was so beside himself, he could not tell which.  He had never seen Seraphim like this, even when he first received news of his father’s ailment.

            “Why do you do it?”

            “I…”  Cleo hesitated.

            “Why… do… you… do… it?”  Seraphim exaggerated the words, his tone filled with uncharacteristic venom.  No worthy excuse came to Cleo’s mind, only the truth.  But he could not utter it to the very man it concerned.  His further silence only fanned Sera’s anger.

            “Fine.  Do not tell me, your dearest friend.  It matters not.”

            Why was he so full of rage?

            Seraphim turned to leave.  Cleo’s heart leapt into his throat.  He needed to give his friend some answer.  Any answer.

            “I do it to postpone the inevitable…  I do not wish to marry.”

            Sera stopped and turned, briefly immobile with confusion before the fury sparked again in his aquamarine eyes.

            “You are the second son of a baronet; you need not marry if you do not wish it!”

            “Silas may never marry.  Father… demands a Cogburn heir.  He thrust me upon the marriage market early and the only way to keep him appeased, at least for a time, was to give the illusion of securing his wishes.”  The words tumbled out and Sera stared, absorbing them in tense silence.

            “Why do you wish not to marry?”

            The question hung like an executioner’s noose.  One wrong word and Cleo could very well hang himself.  He could not bring himself to say it… or anything at all.  He gazed at the other man, who stood so near yet felt so painfully distant.  His feelings for Sera bubbled up in his chest, desperate to be released.  Heat rose on his cheeks and all the moisture fled his mouth.

            Sera’s eyes widened ever so minutely, a twinkle of understanding alighting behind the sky-blue irises.

            Damn, he knows.  The words echoed loudly in Cleo’s mind, repeating like the sound of cannon fire.  His heart and stomach sank.  If he were lucky, they might flee his body entirely and allow him to perish on this very spot before another word was spoken.  But he was not lucky.  At least, not in that way.

            Sera leapt forward.  His body collided with his friend as Sera pressed his lips firmly on Cleo’s.  The force of Sera’s affections reignited the pain in Cleo’s jaw from Miss Langdon’s slap, but that did not matter.  Nothing mattered, but the sensation of Sera’s lips on his own.  Cleo gave himself over to it, clutching the man’s face and dragging him deeper into the kiss.  Sera’s earthy smell filled his nostrils, leather and fresh cut herbs.

            Sera matched his zealous energy, wrapping his arms around him and steering Cleo backward until a bookshelf pressed against his spine.  A thrill passed through Cleo like none he had ever experienced.  None he could have even imagined.  Was this truly happening?

            A small noise originating near the door pulled them both from their unleashed passion.  Cleo hastily craned his neck and searched the doorway for the source but saw nothing.  Sera untangled himself from his friend and took a tiny step away.  His pale complexion had been transformed to more closely resemble a ripe tomato.  Cleo imagined he must appear much the same.  The two men stared at one another, both their breaths coming in sharp gasps.  Cleo wondered if he had drawn breath that entire time.

            “We should not do this here,” Sera broke the prolonged silence and his words made Cleo’s stomach flutter again.  Not a dismissal or retraction, but a, hopefully, brief postponement.  Cleo could only nod.  Another unrestricted smile and Sera moved to depart.  Hurrying back, he stole the sweetest, smallest kiss from Cleo before disappearing from his sight.

            Cleo stood for a time, bewildered and undone.  Had he stumbled into some wondrous dream?  He had successfully suppressed his feelings for so long.  To have them not only revealed but also reciprocated in under a quarter hour was beyond his comprehension.

            It took many long minutes for Cleo to regain his composure and find the bravery to show his face again at the ball.  He feared his emotions would shine through, revealing the truth for all to behold.  But, as he stepped up to the library’s threshold, a figure appeared.

            “Miss Langdon,” Cleo said with a start.  She leaned forward, placing her gloved hand on the opposite side of the doorframe and blocking his path.

            “Can… can I help you?”  He offered.  Again, she pushed forward.  He retreated back.

            “Yes, you may.”  Her words slithered to him like a snake.  It made his hair stand up on end.  All his joy transformed into dread.  The two were alone in the library now, unobserved and unchaperoned.

            “I understand now, why you do what you do.  I witnessed everything.”  Her words cut like daggers straight to his lungs.  He couldn’t breathe.  He felt all color and heat drain from his face.

            “What… what do you want?”  Cleo barely recognized the sound of his own voice.  It more closely resembled his father’s tone: deep and threatening.  The lady took another step toward Cleo.  He felt as if he were a cornered mouse, waiting for the cat to pounce.

            “Just what you promised me.”  Though far from surprising, her demand turned Cleo’s world upside-down.  He needed an escape.

            “You know I will never love you.”  A flimsy plea.  So little of marriage revolved around love.

            “I do not require your love.  I do require your eventual title.  For myself or for our future child,” she replied, cold and callous.

            Our future child.  Miss Langdon’s words were like bullets blasted directly into Cleo’s heart.  He felt ill, but she did not give him an opportunity to recover.

            “Your brother will never sire an heir.  I want Langdon blood to run through the veins of a baronet.”

            Cleo stood unmoving.  What could he do?  She knew his most intimate secret.  Would he really marry her to keep it hidden?  What of him and Seraphim?  Would she use her ill-gotten knowledge to keep them apart?  Or worse, ruin Seraphim and Charlotte?  His spirit grew dark and heavy under the weight of his new reality.

            “So… if you do not wish for your rather scandalous truth to become the talk of our dear little hamlet, propose to me before the night is out,” Miss Langdon threatened.  She held every card and she knew it well.  Without requiring an answer, the shrewd young woman promenaded away, all assurance and triumph.

            The room that had been so full of hope and love and warmth now felt like a tomb.  Cleo barely breathed.  He felt keenly the weight of all his mistakes crushing in on him from every direction.  He had been the architect of his own misfortune.  And he would break Sera’s heart in the process.

***

            Rejoining the lively ballroom, every aspect of the frivolity felt dimmed to Cleo.  The rose-tinted light had lost its luster, the aroma now felt sickly, and the light, jovial music sounded off-key and melancholy.  Unlike earlier, he felt it a blessing that none wished to engage with him.  Cleo feared he had lost the ability to speak.

            His heart dropped even farther as Char pranced over, the very vision of youthful exuberance in her gown of sunflower yellow.  She began to speak but halted instantly, her eyes taking in his diminished appearance.

            “Whatever is the matter?”

            “Nothing,” he lied.  There was nothing to be done.  His gaze drifted to his doom personified.  Miss Langdon chattered merrily with several young ladies he was not acquainted with.  They giggled as if she were not the harbinger of despair, death itself in a flowery bonnet. 

            “Cleo, what happened?”  Char whispered urgently.  Her sudden closeness and tone surprised him, but what alarmed him most was her informality.  In spite of their long years of acquaintance, Char insisted on referring to him as “Mr. Cleo”.

            “I… I cannot…” he stammered, his eyes once again pulled to the distant figure of Miss Augusta Langdon.  Char’s concerned blue eyes followed his gaze.  They were several shades deeper than her brother’s, like a calm ocean.  Her brows furrowed and eyes darted back and forth.  The realization of what was happening beneath her golden locks came to Cleo too late.

            “No… you do not…” he began but she did not let him finish.  Her eyes shone with purpose so strong and serious, Cleo almost wondered who stood before him.  With a curt nod and a swift kiss to his cheek, she was gone.

            A new wave of panic gripped Cleo’s entire being.  His vision narrowed, all he could see were her sunny curls bobbing through the crowded ballroom, heading directly toward Miss Langdon.  He needed to do something, perhaps follow and stop her?  He did not know.  But she was swift and had pulled the young woman aside before Cleo could take a single step.  He watched helplessly as the two young ladies disappeared into a shadowy alcove.

            The tense moments that followed were the worst agony Cleo had ever known.  He did not even have a glimmer of an idea of what Char planned to do.  But his longtime friend had seemed so determined, Cleo dared to allow himself to hope.  It made the waiting much worse.  Waiting when all is lost and there could be no chance of change is difficult.  Waiting when the outcome could yet be altered was torture.

            At long last, Miss Charlotte Ashe reappeared, skirting the dancing crowd and taking a wide turn about the room back to him.  Her face was unreadable, but her eyes glistened with victory.

            “Come with me,” she whispered, took his hand and guided him away.

***

            In a sitting room illuminated by gentle moonlight, Sera lounged in solitude.  Hearing their approaching footsteps echo off the marble floor, he jumped up.  Confused for only a moment, he caught sight of Cleo’s face and mirrored his worried expression.

            “Cleo, what…?”  Sera whispered but his sister held up her hand, spinning on Cleo.

            “That was far too close, Mr. Cleo.  I warned you about Miss Augusta, but you and my brother never heed me,” she scolded.

            “I… well… wait!  What happened?”  Cleo stammered, his spark of hope blossoming into a small flame.  The young woman placed her hands on her hips and sighed.

            “Nothing of note… only rescuing you from an unhappy marriage!”

            “Marriage?”  Sera uttered before reigning in his shock.  Char cast him a knowing look.

            “I may not fully comprehend her plot, but I have an inkling.  If she hoped to use secrets against you, I simply borrowed from her own tactics.  There has been some unsavory talk of the young lady in question and the traveling astronomer.  Though I was not the source of the rumor, I was witness to… an incident.  I simply reminded her of such,” she explained, savoring every moment of her beautiful cunning.  Cleo stood mouth agape, unable to form words.  He felt as if he were seeing her for the first time.

            “Charlotte… I… I cannot properly express my gratitude.  Anything you need.  Anything you want.  Anything at all and it’s yours,” Cleo found his voice again, shaky from his razor-thin escape.

            Sera was speechless and instead pulled his sister into a strong hug.  He was visibly shaken but wore another of those unfiltered grins.  Char gently patted her brother’s shoulder before he sprung from her arms toward Cleo.  The embrace between them was so intense and so desperate, Cleo nearly lost the ability to breathe for the fifth or sixth time this evening.  When they separated, Char watched them with eagle eyes and a small smile.

            “You’re quite welcome, Mr. Cleo,” she said.  “Now, my request may sound odd considering the circumstances, but please hear me out.  I wish for you to marry me.”

            “WHAT?!”  Sera and Cleo cried in harmony.  Char smirked and shook her head.

            “Do not fret, my silly brother and troublesome friend.  I know of your feelings for each other.”

            “What are you-”

            “I do not know what-”

            “You two!”  Char shook her head.  “I took note of your affection long before this evening.  I feared neither of you would ever have the courage to act upon it!!  But that is why I wish for you to marry me, Cleo.  Then you and Sera can be together, hidden in plain sight, as it were.”

            “But… what of you?  You deserve love as-”

            “I have no desire for love.  I have much loftier ambitions.  Celestial, in fact.  And that requires a great deal of money neither my brother or I possess.  Unless you’d prefer to admire each other from afar, I feel the arrangement would suit us all quite well.  But I can only speak for myself.”

            Cleo hesitated.  It was odd hearing the very idea his father had offered, used in a different light, for a different end.  But the thought sparked new reservations.

            “What of my father?!  He demands a Cogburn heir.”

            “He need not know what does or does not occur in our marital bed.  He will need to find contentment with your nephews.”

            Not wholly convinced, Cleo’s heart hammered in his chest nonetheless.  He turned to behold the man he loved and adored.  Could they really be together like this, under the guise of a fictitious union?

            Marriage for many was a transaction.  Why should he not receive actual love through it indirectly?

            A smirk pulled at Mr. Seraphim Ashe’s mouth.  A mouth Mr. Cleophes Cogburn desperately longed to kiss again.  In that moment, he knew his answer.