“I noticed you shy away from meat and even fish when we dine.” She buried one of her Mary Janes in the pebbles, digging her toes in, looking down in embarrassment.
“No.” I shook my head, my tone cold. “There are some things my parents don’t need to know.”
And then, because we had nothing more to say, and maybe because I was afraid Papa would throw me in the dumbwaiter if he saw me loitering behind, I said, “Well, cheers for the drink.”
I raised the flask in salute, squeezed Duchess’ belly with my riding boots, and joined the others.
“Oh, look, if it isn’t Posh Spice.” Benedict, Lou’s middle brother, poked a finger to loosen the strap of his helmet. “What was the holdback?”
“Lou gave us a good luck charm, Baby Spice.” I tipped the flask in his direction. Unlike Louisa, who was a bit eager but overall agreeable, her brothers—for lack of better description—were complete and utter twats. Super-sized bullies who liked to pinch the maids on the arse and make an unnecessary mess just to watch others tidy after them.
“Bloody hell,” Byron snorted. “She’s pathetic.”
“You mean considerate. Spending time with my father requires some level of intoxication,” I drawled sarcastically.
“It’s not about that. She’s obsessed with your sorry arse,” Benedict supplied.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I growled.
“Don’t be blind,” Byron barked at me.
“Eh. She’ll get over it. They all do.” I took another swig, grateful that my father and Byron Sr. were so engrossed in discussing parliament-related matters, they did not see fit to turn their heads and check on us.
“I hope she doesn’t,” Benedict sneered. “If she is destined to marry your shite for brains, she should at the very least enjoy it.”
“Did you say marry?” I lowered the flask. He might as well have said bury. “No offense to your sister, but if she is awaiting a proposal, she better get comfortable because one is not coming.”
Byron and Benedict exchanged looks, grinning conspiratorially. They had the same coloring as Louisa. Fair as the fresh-fallen snow. Only they looked like I drew them with my left hand.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know.” Byron cocked his head, a cruel smile spreading across his face. I never was fond of him. But I especially wasn’t fond of him at that moment.
“Know what?” I gritted out, loathing that I had to play along to find out what they were talking about.
“You and Lou are going to tie the knot. It’s all settled. There’s even a ring.”
I laughed metallically, kicking Duchess’ right side to make her bump into Benedict’s mare, throwing him off balance. What a load of rubbish. As I continued laughing, I noticed their smiles had vanished. They were no longer looking at me with playful mischief.
“You’re taking the piss.” My smile dropped. My throat felt like it was full of sand.
“No,” Byron said, flat out.
“Ask your father,” Benedict challenged. “It’s been decided in our family for years. You’re the eldest son of the Marquess of Fitzgrovia. Louisa is the daughter of the Duke of Salisbury. A lady. You will one day become a marquess yourself, and our parents want the royal blood to stay within the family. Keep the estates intact. Marrying a commoner would weaken the chain.”
The Whitehalls were one of the last families in peerage people still gave half a fuck about. My great, great, great grandmother, Wilhelmina Whitehall, was the daughter of a king.
“I don’t want to marry anyone,” I said through gritted teeth. Duchess began picking up speed, entering the woods.
“Well, ob-vi-ously,” Benedict made an unflattering d’uh face. “You’re fourteen. All you want is to play videogames and fondle your meat to Christie Brinkley posters. Nonetheless, you’re marrying our sister. Too much business between our fathers to let this opportunity go to waste.”
“And don’t forget the estates they’ll both get to keep,” Byron added helpfully, giving his mare a vicious kick to make her go faster. “I’ll say, good luck giving her children. She looks like Ridley Scott’s Alien.”
“Children …？” The only thing preventing me from vomiting up my guts was the fact I did not want to waste the perfectly good brandy currently sloshing in my stomach.
“Lou says she wants five when she grows up,” Byron cackled, enjoying himself. “I reckon she’s going to keep you busy in the sack, mate.”