Wednesday, November 3, 1920
James’s Lounge
2 PM
“You Brits and your weather.” The words passed through the man’s lips without fanfare, dark eyes trained out the wide window. They took in the grounds of the castle, well-maintained and sprawling. The vibrant colours of the flora struck a hard contrast against the bleak and listless sky above. Two weeks he’d been back in the country, and it had rained nearly every day. On the ones it didn’t, the sky pouted as it did now.
Nothing ever made the man long for the golden light and salt-kissed breezes of Long Island’s Gold Coast than the trips he had to make into this dreary country for business.
Roger tipped the rim of his glass upward, indicating the elf could stop pouring and busy itself elsewhere. Pinot Noir. An easy wine for the afternoon. The man took a sip, returning his attention to the room as his company finally took his own seat across from him.
James Laurence.
Sometimes, he forgot how small the world could be for people like them. While never having entered any official business with the man, there had been cordial run-ins. A gala here and there, fundraisers and high-brow events, the odd, intimate garden party on the few occasions they shared mutuals who went beyond a standard business arrangement. Their empires resided on separate sides of the ‘pond’, as they called it, their families choosing different paths to their wealth and acclaim, yet fate shoved them into this well-decorated room all the same.
Fate, and a hoodlum of a boy who didn’t truly know his place.
Roger took another sip before setting his wine down. His hand remained resting on the top, his fingers drumming quietly against its side.
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” he said, offering the hollow pleasantry. “I’ll be grateful to have this matter resolved before I return to New York. It shouldn’t take long,” he assured. The matter, after all, was exceedingly simple. The man’s nephew was tarnishing his daughter’s reputation in the public eye, and he would have him stop.
Admittedly, when the boy had sneered that he would take it up with his uncle, the man hadn’t expected him to come from any sort of breeding. An attitude like that, it was a poor representation of what he knew the Laurences to be.
No matter, it only gave him a few extra steps in putting an end to it, that was all.
Benji Henry Laurence had another thing coming.
His new nephew was a wild one. It wasn’t fresh information, nor anything that James was only now just discovering. In fact he’d known Benji for over two years and in that time had gotten to know him quite well. The boy was charismatic, charming, adventurous, extroverted, loyal, and wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty for things he believed in.
He was also feral. For much of his childhood, as Benji had confided, the boy had been left to his own devices, raised by other wayward children in a strange ‘lost boys’ sort of community. When he’d first been introduced to the family, Benji had been struggling with a horrible drinking problem, one that rivaled some of the grown men he’d known in his life. It was an awful thing to watch a child go through, even worse to watch him come down from it. In his first summer with the Laurences, Benji had stolen from James’s liquor cabinet along with his ‘friend’ at the time, and proceeded to spend the entire summer getting wasted and fighting at the facility.
Since then, he and his nephew had had dozens of heart-to-hearts, getting to know one another, spending quality time and bonding over interests, all the while training Benji to be the heir that James was fearing he would be needing more than ever.
It had taken Amelia two years to fall pregnant, and when she finally had, all she’d delivered to him was a girl. James loved his daughter, more than life itself and treasured the little gift. But she wasn’t a son. And she wasn’t an heir. She was a girl that would be married off to someone else’s dynasty to provide them heirs.
Benji, while not ‘Laurence’ in blood, was as much theirs as any that had been born of them. And if he was going to take over their empire one day…he had to learn how to fucking behave.
The owl he’d received had confirmed his suspicions that his nephew in fact was not as reformed as he’d like his family to believe. James had caught wind of it over the summer when he’d seen how Benji had behaved around the little Elliot girl. Restrained around the family, but the moment he thought no one was watching, his hands were on her inappropriately.
James hadn’t chastised him. He’d been a teenage boy once too, and truth be told, while they knew Ruth was pureblood, she wasn’t hailing from any prestigious family that would require extra propriety. She was the adopted daughter of a single mother who traveled around and fiddled with creatures.
Until now, apparently.
“Can’t control the weather unfortunately, for all my gifts of persuasion,” James quipped easily, nodding Fidèle off when he’d delivered James’s box of cigarettes. The elf bowed, and with a snap of his fingers, vanished to elsewhere. He’d been to the U.S. a time or two when he was younger, accompanying his father to negotiate a few real estate deals for their extended family. New York and Chicago, respectively.
James knew Roger Burke, or of him anyway. They’d exchanged pleasantries and a few words here and there at various galas and government state events from time to time. Nothing that had required them to meet like this before.
But Benji was Benji.
“I’ll be grateful to have this matter resolved before I return to New York. It shouldn’t take long.”
He would apologize, straight out, but as a rule, James never apologized for his family members until he agreed there was something to apologize for. It seemed little Ruth belonged to this man, and it only peaked his interest slightly that until now, there had never been made mention of her father.
Especially this man, who had a decidedly different skin tone than Ruth, and James knew good and well his wife and children did as well.
Interesting.
“I think we’ll both be happy to resolve whatever my nephew has instigated,” James said with a slight smirk, plucking a cigarette from its wooden box and offering one to Roger. “How has he managed to offend this time?”
“How has he managed to offend this time?”
“This time?” Roger repeated, his brow quirking upward as he continued to appraise the man. His words betrayed very little surprise, for the man was not. Not after that introduction in the alleyway by Gigglewart. It only made sense that a boy who acted like that would be causing issues in other facets of the family’s life. Benji’s behaviour betrayed his true breeding, one that had no place in the world the Laurences wanted him living in.
If they couldn’t bring the boy to heel soon, he would bring them disgrace. That, of course, wasn’t his concern. What the Brits did with their families in their lavish castles and the reputation it earned them had little to do with the man who’d only come to ensure no repeats of what he’d been made to witness.
There was no telling what image the girl had already gained for herself with a mouth like hers and equally improper decorum, but the boy certainly couldn’t have been aiding it along.
Damage control began now.
“You don’t seem like any stranger to the boy’s wiles, so I’ll put it plainly for you. He attacked me in an alleyway. Shoved me into a wall and invited a fight.” He waved his hand dismissively, easing into the cushioned back of the couch upon which he sat. That wasn’t where he needed the attention to rest. “I could ignore the impudence; it wasn’t difficult to believe he was any other scoundrel from the streets and those seldom know better.” It wasn’t that Roger pitied the less fortunate. Nothing could be further from the truth. The man simply held them to a lower standard for their ignorance. As was often the case, they didn’t truly know how to behave in high society or how to conduct themselves around a man of his standing. Were he to spend his time bemoaning each slight, there would be no time left for anything else.
“But.” For there was a but. “I’ll not have him treating my daughter like a common whore in the streets of Hogsmeade for all to see and follow his example.”
The man’s dark eyes grew sharp, concentrated as he recounted the incident that still set his blood to boil each time he remembered it. “Ruth is not there for his entertainment, nibbling her ear, trying to exchange kisses–no regard for me, no regard for her reputation. He made it very clear he doesn’t believe I’m in a position to tell him what to do. He’s the very one who suggested I take it up with you, so here I am.”
Here they were. Two men with few connections joined together by the grievous actions of a 14-year-old.
Roger lifted his glass again and swivelled the contents gently.
“I gather a lot has happened in my absence.” Too much. It was a headache to mend in retrospect and would require a bit of legwork even with all the help he could hire, but there was no other choice laid out for him now. That required him to care a great deal more than he otherwise would for the rabid little coloured girl who happened to share his DNA and none of his decorum. The thought nearly had the corner of his lips curling in derision, but the man remained the picture of composure.
“I also gather she never meant much–not to any of you; a girl for the fun times left to run around with the boy and indulge his whims. That changes. Today. He’ll keep his hands off her. He’ll not have her out in the public eye, giggling like a girl off the street corner–or in private, ruining what might be salvaged of her.”
He took a sip, letting the words settle between the pair of them in the silence that followed them.
“I trust I don’t need to explain how problematic this has already been made.”
Unlike his nephew, James was a man of proper breeding and understood the implications well.
James listened quietly, his face neutral and revealing no thoughts one way or another on the matter as Roger regaled him with Benji’s continued proclivities. Picking fights with grown men wasn’t…new for the boy, although last time hadn’t entirely been his fault. This however, was completely preventable. Mostly by ensuring his nephew wouldn’t be allowed into Hogsmeade again without adult or elf supervision. Reactionary, yes, but an easy fix if the boy couldn’t be trusted alone.
“I could ignore the impudence; it wasn’t difficult to believe he was any other scoundrel from the streets and those seldom know better.”
If James Alastair Laurence was a man who bristled, he may have at this comment. He wasn’t however, and maintained his cool composure as he lit his cigarette and leaned back into his chair with a small inhale. Benji did know better, and he wasn’t a troublemaker that ran the streets anymore. His sister was doing his best to lead the boy down the paths they needed him to embrace and correct the behaviors that had been so ingrained in him.
It wasn’t Benji’s fault he thought and behaved the way he had for so long. But, now that he had been made aware that it was unacceptable, especially in their society, it was his fault, and there would be quick retribution. The last thing James needed was the boy picking fights with people - especially powerful people before he’d had the chance to build up a support and backing behind him. Cutthroat tactics and intimidation only worked if the power you claimed to wield behind them were real. And that required loyalty, admiration and belief from those who backed you.
Benji, at the tender age of fourteen, had none of those yet.
“Ruth is not there for his entertainment, nibbling her ear, trying to exchange kisses–no regard for me, no regard for her reputation. He made it very clear he doesn’t believe I’m in a position to tell him what to do. He’s the very one who suggested I take it up with you, so here I am.”
James thought carefully, wanting to navigate this with the ease and confidence he was known for, but men were not easily appeased when it came to their daughters. Regardless if Roger had been in Ruth’s life for fourteen minutes or fourteen years, James understood all-too-well the delicate intricacies that surrounded a wealthy pureblood girl’s propriety and innocence. It was unfortunately a problem they’d already had to begin navigating with his cousin Rosalie. The foolish girl had gone and fallen in puppy love and laid down with a halfblood boy, spoiling the innocence that would have fetched her a much more desirable match down the line than Leo was grappling with.
Scandal was no girl’s friend. As easily as boys and men could indulge and no one would blink an eye, a girl merely had to appear as improper or loose to get tongues wagging and alliances sat on the back-burner.
“I hope you’ll accept my apologies,” James said with a slight nod, as smoke billowed out his nostrils. “Benji does of course know better. Trust that I’ll handle it.”
“I also gather she never meant much–not to any of you; a girl for the fun times left to run around with the boy and indulge his whims. That changes. Today. He’ll keep his hands off her. He’ll not have her out in the public eye, giggling like a girl off the street corner–or in private, ruining what might be salvaged of her.”
James paused for a moment, his light brown eyes settling on the man in front of him. There were two ways he could take this. He could be honest, straight-forward and risk offending Burke. There really wasn’t any detriment to doing so. The two had no ties, no deals between them that could fall apart. No money invested with one another, or really even an important mutual. The risk was simply perception. Still, the states weren’t an avenue he’d explored intently and with all the new money up and coming out of New York and San Francisco, it was truly the land of opportunity.
“Indeed,” James said agreeably, ashing his cigarette into the tray and setting it down for a moment to lean forward a bit. “You and I were both teenage boys once, Burke,” James started, “Even as men we have our weaknesses, though we certainly know how to reel them in at our age.” James had been quite the womanizer in his twenties, flitting from girl to girl easily and enjoying all the exquisite beauty and warm holsters that life had to offer. Still, he’d never behaved the way Roger described his nephew.
“With that said, of course it's unacceptable for him to disrespect you and her. As I said, I’ll handle it and his disrespect won’t be a problem again.” The man had his word on that. He sighed a moment, choosing his next words carefully. “The problem will be keeping his hands off of her,” he admitted with a slight shake of his head, “I don’t know how much you’re aware of, but they’ve been seeing each other for quite some time. Over a year if I’m not mistaken. And if I know my nephew and your daughter…” He trailed off with a slight wave of his hand that indicated it might be too late to ‘preserve’ what Roger intended to.
He paused a moment, before a strange look twinkled behind his eyes. “What are your intentions with Ruth, if you don’t mind me asking?” he asked lightly, his words becoming more forward, “Have you got many offers lined up for her already?”
Roger nodded his acknowledgement of the apology and the notion that the boy might possibly know better. It wasn’t a point worth belabouring–neither was it when the more pressing issue was the one still to be addressed.
The assault? A careless moment of youth that held no permanent bearing on anything. The suit had already been cleaned, and he had no intention of entertaining further run-ins with the boy. When his affairs were in order and he departed England, the boy would be nothing more than a bitter aftertaste and only when his mind thought to tarry on such memories.
He was here about his daughter.
The man finally reached into the box of offered cigarettes, plucking one and holding it between his index and middle finger.
Roger listened with mild interest as James went on to speak of the sordid past they’d likely shared. It was fluff, padding for the conversation he’d prefer to be having. The man had thought Brits to be more direct but he supposed he would suffer the attempt at forging common ground and understanding. Soon, the man would get to the point and they could have a firm plan in place to ensure he didn’t have a repeat of that salacious afternoon in Hogsmeade.
Yes, they’d likely both had a great deal of fun in their youth. And then what?
Roger wasn’t naive. Such a conversation came with a caveat. At some point, this man would say ‘but’, then he would have to begin paying attention.
“With that said, of course it's unacceptable for him to disrespect you and her. As I said, I’ll handle it and his disrespect won’t be a problem again.”
“I appreciate you looking into the matter. No, handling the matter. I take you for a man of your word; have no reason not to.” In another manner of speaking, he trusted this would be the last time he made an appearance at Arundel Castle because of some boy whose metaphoric files he’d dug into and had come out unimpressed.
“The problem will be keeping his hands off of her.”
There it was, the ‘but’ of the hour. It had taken its time in arriving but had made its presence difficult to ignore. Roger leaned forward, both elbows resting on his thighs as he forced down the words he didn’t want to hear.
The man bristled nearly imperceptibly. “A problem?” He could assure him it wouldn’t be, not if he had to deal with it himself.
“I don’t know how much you’re aware of, but they’ve been seeing each other for quite some time. Over a year if I’m not mistaken. And if I know my nephew and your daughter…”
God, it was even worse than he’d thought. The muscles in the man’s jaws tightened, and he could feel the pressure building in his temples. If he knew his daughter…? Fucking brilliant. Roger was getting a clearer of picture of the measures he would have to take, and it was making it all a great deal more… labour-intensive than he’d anticipated.
The girl already had an unsavoury reputation, it seemed. There weren’t many ways to fix that. Roger inhaled deeply, trying to take it all in strides. The small circle that had brought them together was likely small enough for word to spread. It would be difficult to play into over in the U.K. if she’d already made herself undesirable. The U.S., for separate reasons, while a blank slate, would prove equally difficult.
That little girl…
“What are your intentions with Ruth, if you don’t mind me asking? Have you got many offers lined up for her already?”
He’d barely heard the question. The man took a deeper swig of his wine as he straightened, needing a moment as it became clear he would once again have to pivot. Outwardly, his veneer remained, hardened and unflinching against this new reality being forced onto him.
Again.
“I’ve only just begun thinking about the sorts of matches I’d be interested in for Ruth.” A close truth. He’d never needed to consider the girl’s existence before, let alone a future that might be beneficial to him. Barely started, and it was already going to be a headache. With the other half of the puzzle long gone, a few cosmetic…adjustments were all he would require to make the girl more palatable in his circles. Even then, the risks that came with discovery were great.
Pass her off to the wrong man, and his house of cards would crumble.
“When we return to the states, I’ll see what prospects interest me.”
“I appreciate you looking into the matter. No, handling the matter. I take you for a man of your word; have no reason not to.”
James nodded easily, as though it were the easiest thing in the world. In a way, it was. He only ever said what he meant, and never made assurances he couldn’t meet. Benji would be an easy fix. The boy, for all his proclivities towards being stubborn and hard-headed, was eager to please. James didn’t see it as something to take advantage of, rather just an interesting facet in the boy’s personality.
He already belonged. He didn’t need to prove himself. He just needed to take life a little more seriously.
James watched quietly as the man took in his words, taking another drag from his cigarette. He imagined it wasn’t welcome news. How could it be? A spoilt girl lowered her prospects and her family’s ability to secure her future by a marginal amount. A girl’s worth in their world, was marked by a handful of things:
Name. Wealth. Lineage. Beauty. Purity. Decorum.
If any of those things were compromised, no matter how secure the rest were, it automatically lowered her value to other families. It was what their father had tried to prevent with Julia, and why she’d never been married off as a young woman. They’d spun it of course, made it seem like it was their father’s idea to keep her on the same level as her brothers. An educated, working woman who basked in her own power. Never needing a man.
The truth of it was far different. Their father had never been able to secure a match appropriate enough for her after she’d ruined herself with that mudblood. Even with the boy dead and gone, she’d never been able to shake the reputation, and it was why she’d worked so well as a honey-trap. Her eventual marriage was of her own choosing, and James shuddered to think of what a nightmare and mistake that had turned into.
Rosalie and Ruth were setting themselves up for the same thing. At least Ruth had the benefit of it being a Laurence boy, and not some nameless halfblood that couldn’t take a fucking hint.
James hated to think of what Leo would eventually turn to when he realized Rosalie was completely out of his control.
“I’ve only just begun thinking about the sorts of matches I’d be interested in for Ruth.”
A slight nod as he tilted his head back, letting the smoke linger in the air above them. “I imagine you have your work cut out for you.” He gave a little shrug, offering his own sentiments. “We have a similar issue with a cousin of mine. I imagine though, you have a little more work to do, her being illegitimate.” It was obvious wasn’t it?
James wasn’t meant to think it was a secret? In any case, no one else in their circles certainly would think it was, and it was better if Roger held no illusions about it. What others would whisper about and cast judgement upon, he could be aware of and use as a shield, or strength instead.
“I imagine you have your work cut out for you.”
It was becoming abundantly clear that Ruth Anaya Burke had been riding on luck her whole life. It was the providence of an unseen god that had kept her away from him for as long as she’d managed. The universe had smiled on the girl, choosing to grant her a modicum of peace before she was made to fulfil the familial obligations set out at her birth. The little girl with her unsightly curls and filthy mouth should’ve been on her hands and knees daily, thanking her omniscient benefactor for its grace.
None of his children caused him this much grief, not even with their status as squibs. None of them spoke to him like she dared to, none of them had men an ocean away, implying things that would bring his family shame.
Had he had her from birth, the girl would’ve known her place by now. Had they been alone that day in Hogsmeade, he’d have adequately …explained who he was and what she was intended to be. The path she walked had been sprinkled with holy salt–enough to keep the menace of what she deserved at bay, but that luck wouldn’t last much longer.
This needed to be the first and the very last time the girl had someone speaking to him like this, pompous behind the calm, venom-laced in gentle words fitting of an Englishman but dripping with threats.
Roger Burke lay at the mercy of no man and wouldn’t allow Ruth to change that. He would correct the situation. He would correct her. His name wouldn’t be allowed to fall into further ill repute over the burden he needed to turn into business. England may have been a lost cause, but she was faceless in the States, a blank canvas he could paint as he needed to. It began with a unified and determined front on the matter of who she was.
“We have a similar issue with a cousin of mine. I imagine, though, you have a little more work to do, her being illegitimate.”
Roger wasn’t the sort to take solace in shared suffering. The plague the Laurences faced neither aggravated nor alleviated the problems on his own plate. An issue with a cousin wasn’t the reputation of the heir to his dynasty crumbling before it could ever be built. Another man may have inquired further, sought advice on how they were handling it, and thought to take notes for himself.
Roger had his own ideas of how to…mend this small tear.
“Nothing the attorneys can’t handle.” Setting his glass down, Roger lit the tip of his cigarette. He took a slow drag, reminding himself that his family had survived far greater scandals. It required manoeuvring, careful planning, and some greasing of the social wheel upon which they all rotated, but it wasn’t unsalvageable.
Not yet.
Plumes of smoke descended from his nostrils, the rest escaping his parted lips. “The papers are already being drafted. Her mother, gentle woman that she was, has passed. There’s no need to have my heir continue to be raised abroad. It’s time she came home, and my wife has long since forgiven my…” he reached over, dabbing the cigarette against the ashtray, “indiscretion.” The story was already firmly imprinted in his mind. He only needed to remain firm with it.
“And you?” He took another, slow drag. “What will you do with the boy? Hackney, was it? I don’t know enough about your fine country to know whether they breed good stock over there.” He wasn’t the only one with an illegitimate heir, and he wouldn’t allow that to be swept under the rug when James had chosen to unearth this nest of ants.
“What sort of match were you hoping to secure?” And which nobleman was he intending to insult with such an offer of a boy who wasn’t blood?
“Nothing the attorneys can’t handle.”
Indeed, though James offered nothing in response. Attorneys or barristers as they called them, were certainly useful in these matters, for legality purposes. Leo had made quick work of settling James’s affairs when it came to Benji, ensuring the succession would be handled swiftly and smoothly in the case of the duke’s untimely passing. But paperwork and legal memos didn’t undercut the way society would still view Benji, or in Roger’s case, Ruth.
“The papers are already being drafted. Her mother, gentle woman that she was, has passed. There’s no need to have my heir continue to be raised abroad. It’s time she came home, and my wife has long since forgiven my…indiscretion.”
Well, it seemed the man had it all worked out then. Amusement filled James so thoroughly that he almost chuckled, instead bringing his glass to his lips for a long sip. Perhaps upperclass society was different in the states. Perhaps they were more willing to overlook what lay right in front of their eyes for the sake of polite conversation and maintaining good will between the families.
The aristocracy in the UK held no such qualms. They were a direct sort, called a spade a spade and never beat around the bush about what was acceptable and what wasn’t. Benji, for all the work it would take to have him properly accepted as the Laurence heir, already knew what he was up against, as did James and Julia. It would take finessing in a way James only reserved for the most important of negotiations, where the stakes weren’t a formal signature on parchment, but the preservation of dignity and status.
“Sounds like you have yourself a good woman,” he said, setting his glass back down on the table and relishing the burn that still lingered on his lips. There wasn’t many that would forgive such a thing. James knew good and well all of his indiscretions, on-going as many of them were, were trysts to keep quiet and out of Amelia’s face. He knew on some level, that surely she expected he wasn’t monogamous, though they’d never had the discussion. It wasn’t one that was needed. Men of his status and power naturally took what they wanted, when they wanted, and no one complained as long as they kept it quiet. Women like Amelia, looked the other way.
As long as a love-child wasn’t brought home and shoved in the wife’s face, then all was…usually well. Some women handled the natural order of things less gracefully than others.
“What will you do with the boy? Hackney, was it? I don’t know enough about your fine country to know whether they breed good stock over there.”
“They don’t.” It was accompanied with a slight shrug as James sighed and leaned back in his chair a bit, drumming his fingers along the leather arm. “He’s a pureblood, tested and confirmed. But he comes from a rough background. Parents were involved in some unsavory practices before his birth. Seems they were shunned from their families.” James didn’t usually provide so much private information that could be possibly used against his own, but Benji was no secret, especially amongst the upper echelon. They all knew, as well as the boy did, exactly who he was. It was better to embrace the boy’s past and leverage it where they could than shirk and hide from it like it was a dirty secret.
“His ancestry is impressive though. Haven’t told him, but he descends from Welsh nobility on his mother’s side - several generations back, but it’s enough to legitimize him in society.” Benji wasn’t any sort of heir when it came to his biological family, but he had enough good blood in him to make his claim on their duchy valid. It was also enough to leverage a good marriage for Kate when the time came and ensure she’d have a decent husband to provide for her. As long as she didn’t follow along in Rosie’s shoes, Kate would fetch herself something rather spectacular, if James could help it. Pretty girl that she was - they just needed to get her to talk.
Still, he wasn’t a Laurence in blood, and that did complicate things.
“What sort of match were you hoping to secure?”
The question of the hour had arrived. James made the appearance of mulling things over for a moment before beckoning to the man seated near him. “We’re both in an interesting predicament here,” he began. “In all honesty, Benji is likely one of the best you’ll get for Ruth,” he said, making no qualms about it. “He’ll be a duke one day, arguably the most powerful non-royal duke in the country. The Norfolks,” he indicated to himself, “rank the highest amongst the peerage. We handle the coronations, several ceremonial roles, and we have plenty of influence in the highest levels of the Ministry. Dare I say one of us will be Minister one day if it’s up to me.” It was an argument he’d have to make many times over in Benji’s young life. Legitimizing him not just in name, blood and legalities, but in the eyes of those who mattered as well.
“And…Ruth is likely one of the best we’ll get for him. With your ties to business in the states, it’ll open new avenues for him and her to work together. A transatlantic merger, if you will.” He grinned lightly, “It helps that they like one another. Will certainly make producing heirs easier.” The center of a woman’s purpose in their world, after all.
He sat up a little straighter. “It’ll legitimize both of them, with very little effort on our parts. Otherwise, I’ll likely be looking towards a distant cousin or maybe one of the Swedish families. The Nordstroms have a girl his age - they’re friends even. Would solidify my own power within the ministry.”
It was really neither here nor there for James, what Roger decided to do with Ruth. She was a sweet girl, and he knew Benji would be gutted should the man rightfully take his daughter back home with him. But the boy would survive and move on, and it would be better for all involved anyway, if there wasn’t a real chance of arranging the two.
“Sounds like you have yourself a good woman.”
“An angel.” With teeth. After his private investigator had confirmed Ruth’s existence and preparations had sufficiently gone underway, the man had been forced to share the news with Francine. She took it about as well as any woman in her station would’ve, on the chin with the necessary grace and submission that made it clear she understood this wasn’t her choice and would never be. She’d taken the affair in stride as well, knowing a man of his proclivities was unlikely to be away from her for, sometimes, months with nothing but himself for company.
The trouble had come with whom the man had chosen for his stand-in. The few photos the man had managed to take of the girl had given no illusions of her mixed nature. It served no one to wait until his daughter arrived at the manor to offer up that inconvenient detail.
His wife had all but lost her mind and nearly forgotten her place. In the heat of the moment, recoiling from her own shame, the woman had nearly struck him. While a severe look cast at her extended hand had been enough to sober the woman…quickly, there had been, and still remained a degree of tension at the estate.
He didn’t blame her, of course. Roger wasn’t any happier about having his children passed up for some coloured girl halfway across the world. At their estate? Sitting at their table? Introduced to his business partners–especially after the poor showing in Hogsmeade? But he was a practical man, one who’d never wasted an opportunity. The future of his family depended on his ability to initiate an heir, and neither Lucy nor Roger was capable of resonating with the magic within the covenant chamber–they couldn’t activate the mechanism to let themselves inside. Francine had already given him two unfortunate children; why try for a third when another already existed?
It would require work, but not, he supposed, nearly as much as attempting a third child, raising them to find they were also magicless. All the while, Ruth would continue to grow out of his sight and control and would become much harder to initiate.
After James’s confirmation of what he’d already known–the working class of Hackney having nothing to offer men like them–Roger hadn’t expected the man to continue. He held no real interest in Benji outside of making the point of his equally problematic route to ascension. Whatever else came, he thought inconsequential, but he did listen. At some point, he’d even begun to pay attention.
Welsh nobility. That did raise his stock enough to not be a complete slap in the face to any man who could trace his own noble lineage back far enough for it to mean something. Bred out by a daughter somewhere up the line, if he had to guess, falling off the main branch through a less than lucrative marriage or a house with a legacy that couldn’t survive.
Useful, in a pinch. Marginally–only ever so minutely–less egregious for him to have had his hands on his daughter, tarnishing her further than her birth already had.
Roger watched the man beckon him closer, offering yet another olive branch as he no doubt prepared to levy further insult to this grievous injury he was already being made to grin and bear. Rather than take up the offer, the man set his wine glass down and moved back to the window, waving a hand in indication he was listening and that the man could go on. A predicament. Yes. He knew. What else did the man have to offer?
“In all honesty, Benji is likely one of the best you’ll get for Ruth.”
Leaning against the window’s frame with one hand loosely hanging into his pocket, Roger took a long drag of his cigarette. He took James’s words in stride, letting the offense diffuse with the smoke that poured from his lips. Laurence wasn’t wrong, loath as he was to have the poor quality of his children thrown back at him. It wasn’t the reminder he needed, but he respected the man for not dancing around the matter with banal statements that would only lengthen the conversation and aggravate him further.
It was a dirty matter–filthy, not meant for casual conversation in a garden party, and yet, it must be discussed. James had opened the door. There was no sense in not seeing where it would lead. The man, for all the careful orchestration of his words, was offering up his nephew on a bronze platter. Roger had been through enough negotiations, had conducted enough business on behalf of his family to know a proposition when he heard one. With the cards he held at the table as abysmal as they were and the man laying out exactly what his side could offer, Roger’s mind began to turn.
He was no longer the offended father with blood in his eyes at the folly of children, but a man in the middle of an important, transatlantic–as James had pointed out–merger. He slipped into the skin he knew so intimately, his shoulders squaring and his interest piqued.
“And…Ruth is likely one of the best we’ll get for him.”
Even footing was always a good place to begin in any negotiation when the upper hand could not be obtained. Both men had blights on their families that needed to be taken care of, and it seemed the other man was already willing to ignore many of the girl’s shortcomings without the work he knew he still needed to do back home.
He ashed his cigarette out the window, contemplation darkening his already dark eyes. Unlike him, James did already have other avenues he could pursue, but it wouldn’t do to appear to have lost his footing. His pride would never allow it–a fair deal wouldn’t either.
Dare he refuse? Roger knew well he was in no position to. The boy had already spoiled his daughter, something the Laurences seemed no strangers to. They knew too much of her already, and yet, she was one of the best for him as well.
“I must say what an…interesting turn this gloomy afternoon has taken,” he said, refusing to commit too quickly.
Another drag. Another pause.
“They’ve already gone and tangled themselves,” he conceded easily. Pretense was pointless. “And you Brits are in vogue. Not the worst match either of us could do.” Certainly not. “My family holds old land, have for centuries. Older money. Our contracts are inked in blood and silence. We trade in commodities the world doesn’t like to speak of in polite circles—sugar, cotton, information, routes, magic,” he listed, used to the speech by this point. “Recently, our investments have taken us into equally lucrative routes of oil and lesser investments,” shares, “in the rails. We don’t have anything as fancy as a crown to offer your nephew,” the man continued with a wry smile and a puff of his cigarette, “but you’ll find he wouldn’t need one in the States with everything else we’ve procured.”
“I must say what an…interesting turn this gloomy afternoon has taken,”
Indeed it had, but it was the way James preferred his afternoons to go. The man enjoyed the delicate dance of political plays, finding out what made men tick, and how to best utilize those ticks to his advantage. There were always tells, however small, if one just looked closely enough.
Now, with enough careful and light nudging, the conversation was heading in the direction he had hoped for. He didn’t expect that Roger would jump at the opportunity, not right away. The man likely would want to take some time to consider everything, see if he had any better prospects, and then give his answer.
It was the smartest avenue. Intelligent men never settled for the first offer, always waiting for the best and highest. Still, James knew what he was holding and -
“My family holds old land, have for centuries. Older money. Our contracts are inked in blood and silence. We trade in commodities the world doesn’t like to speak of in polite circles—sugar, cotton, information, routes, magic.”
Not a bad portfolio at all, if James had to admit it. In fact, it was more than impressive. He’d known - from the brief research he’d done prior to this meeting - the Burkes were considered ‘old money’, a godsend considering how vulgar new money could be. “And yet all the polite circles are happy to partake of these commodities,” he said with amusement, “They shut their eyes to the unsavory parts of it. All the better for men like us.” It certainly made it easier to execute trades and black market deals without all the eyes on them.
“Recently, our investments have taken us into equally lucrative routes of oil and lesser investments in the rails.”
James nodded. “I’d be interested to talk more about oil, when you have the time.” It was an area he hadn’t ventured into yet, despite some of the relationships he’d made in Northern Africa over the past two years. “And in return I have a connection to certain bootleg markets in Africa.” Jewels, namely. Diamonds and rubies.
The British foamed at the mouth for them. He was certain the Americans did as well.
But there’d be no ‘crown’ or titles for Benji. “I think you’ll find, Burke, that the world cares less and less for titles like mine, as it evolves.” It wasn’t the Middle Ages anymore, or even the renaissance. Time toppled all civilizations, all empires. It was only a matter of time before the title became completely irrelevant, and all that was left was the power they’d accumulated for themselves.
“And while Benji will make a fine duke one day, I think our family’s legacy will only be upheld by the relationships he can cultivate over time.”
“And yet all the polite circles are happy to partake of these commodities.”
“A man of understanding,” the only sort Roger did business beyond a few social calls and the odd investment. There were two types of men with whom he interacted: the ones who were grateful to be ignorant of the story that earned him his wealth and the ones who helped him plan his next conquest. The former had their uses with their pretty events and polished functions. They were the sort for breezy afternoons and dazzling dinners, a little fidgety when conversations deviated from kosher topics of mergers and dividend payouts, but decent, dull people.
The latter were the men who understood what it took–what it truly took–to build and maintain an empire. They never troubled themselves with silly trifles of how things would be done, wisely choosing instead to aid in logistics and leave no doubts about their own worth in his operations. To the point, everything on the table, those were the deals he preferred.
“Haven’t met a man,” rich or poor, “who wasn’t happy to have some of our sugar stocked in his kitchen. With the recent war, I’d say that sentiment has…” he waved the cigarette back and forth as if giving the matter some thought, “tripled. Easily.” At least, according to the numbers. It had become a well-sought-after commodity, scarce in most circles, considered pricey for more than a luxury spend occasionally among many.
While his family hadn’t been hurting before, the windfall had set them up nicely in their endeavours at northern expansion.
There were some families that had fallen to the war, some who hadn’t been able to outpace the demands. The war taxes alone had sunk some of the up-and-coming. Losing labour hadn’t helped. In that sense, the Burkes had also suffered. A few estates now sat empty along the coast, waiting for the next hurry-come-up to darken their streets and insist their presence upon them in the way only those without good breeding but a sudden influx of cash could.
Such was the unforgiving nature of business, and Roger had never been a sentimental man to begin with.
“I’d be interested to talk more about oil, when you have the time.”
Would he?
“And in return I have a connection to certain bootleg markets in Africa.”
It had been a while since his family had held any personal interests in Africa. The centuries had seen a gradual erosion of older alliances and partnerships. Choosing to focus their energies on the new world, they had unfortunately let many fall to the wayside. It hadn’t been detrimental to their bottom line, but opportunities were precious things, never to be wasted.
Laurence, never mind how the meeting had started, was proving more lucrative than a flashy title he could wave around at parties.
Good.
“I think you’ll find, Burke, that the world cares less and less for titles like mine, as it evolves. And while Benji will make a fine duke one day, I think our family’s legacy will only be upheld by the relationships he can cultivate over time.”
“Well put,” he agreed, appreciating the clarity the man held on his family’s position. There was a time when men bowed to the kings and queens. The new world had shifted the dynamic. It was slow, and the titles still largely held sway, but the world kept turning. “Those who fail to adapt are doomed to be erased.”
It was neither a jab nor an insult, merely a matter of fact. Rather than the comfort of the delusion, James was proving himself to be a practical man. It could only bode well for the prospects of his family. They wouldn’t be a dead end two or three generations down the line.
“I’ll be back in December to collect Ruth. If you have some time when I return, you’re more than welcome to my home in Mayfair, and we can discuss these ventures more thoroughly.” Roger vanished his cigarette. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. Let me think the matter over in the coming months. When I return in December, I’ll have an answer, and we’ll see how best our families can move forward, one way or another. After all, the children are no longer the only reason for a social call.” He walked over to James, in one smooth motion, pulling a card from his jacket’s pocket and extending it. “Have a write-up sent over on those bootleg opportunities, and I’ll send you something on where you can begin regarding the oil. If we decide this merger would be mutually beneficial,” meaning the children, “we can begin more serious talks about investments. I already have an idea of where we can begin.”
If Benji Laurence really was the best his daughter could do, it no longer seemed so dreadful an insult.
It was funny, what the elite turned their nose up at and what they still gladly partook in. James was no stranger to hypocrisy, though he managed to keep his relatively hidden. Subtlety, discretion, and an even-temper was key to indulging in the things one also condemned.
The man knew well what his peers would accept from a man like him, and what they wouldn’t.
Sugar was mild, on the list of things he knew men like him and Roger gladly assisted others in indulging in.
Over the centuries the Laurences had pivoted through various ventures. Their earliest (noble) ancestors had traded their bodies for status. The men as soldiers on the battlefield for rightful kings and conquerors; the women as mistresses and queen’s maids. It transitioned overtime to positions of trust, trading intel and knowledge for land and grants.
As the Middle Ages passed into the renaissance and later into the gilded ages, the Laurences found their niche in diplomacy, real estate, and government. Underhanded deals lay primarily in jewels, tea, alcohol, opium and lace. While not all illegal, the tax rates were incredibly high, and their smuggling enterprises were fairly lucrative.
There of course was always a daughter or a niece that could be married off to secure the deals further.
“Those who fail to adapt are doomed to be erased.”
Truer words had never been spoken, and James had no interest in erasure. If he had anything to say about it, his name, his family would endure for another Millenia, surpassing all who rivaled him today. Too many of his peers were stuck in archaic ways of thinking. While there was merit and value in pureblooded politics and morality, the need to adhere to the old breed way of doing things only resulted in lines dying off.
It didn’t mean the Laurences would be mingling with halfbloods and muggleborns. It meant that they’d find new avenues to utilize them, while maintaining what made them who they were.
“I’ll be back in December to collect Ruth. If you have some time when I return, you’re more than welcome to my home in Mayfair, and we can discuss these ventures more thoroughly.”
“Kind of you. Happy to take you up on the offer, and I’ll bring my wife. I’m sure she’ll enjoy meeting yours.” Women always were glad to sit around a chatter about the inane things that colored their world. While intelligent, he couldn’t understand why the most insignificant things could be so riveting to them.
“I’ve taken up enough of your time. Let me think the matter over in the coming months. When I return in December, I’ll have an answer, and we’ll see how best our families can move forward, one way or another. After all, the children are no longer the only reason for a social call.”
“I’ll walk you out, of course,” James said, as he rose from his chair, extinguishing his cigarette and pocketing the card Roger had handed him. It was another thing to be admired. The man knew when a conversation was over and didn’t drag it out over small talk. “If it does sound like something you’re interested in,” he said, meaning the children, “we’ll discuss logistics. Dowries. The sort. Plenty of time for this sort of thing.”
He wasn’t in a rush, nor was he neither her nor there over the whole thing. It’d be a good match, a lucrative one first and foremost, but he had plenty of time to secure something for Benji.
There was less time for Rosalie, but that was Leo’s concern.
“Have a write-up sent over on those bootleg opportunities, and I’ll send you something on where you can begin regarding the oil. If we decide this merger would be mutually beneficial, we can begin more serious talks about investments. I already have an idea of where we can begin.”
“I’ll send my elf in the next week or so,” James said easily. “A compiled list of you will. I have a few acquaintances who are in the market for new investors if you find it to your liking.” He nodded the man politely to the door, walking with ease, “The next time you meet Benji, I assure you he’ll address you properly.”
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