Chapter Text
Gabriel couldn't believe what he had just heard. He didn't know whether to laugh at the absolute absurdity or just get up and leave.
"Mamie, you must be joking," he said, an uncertain smile on his lips.
She glared at him. Adrastée D'Ivernois never joked.
"This is no laughing matter, Gabriel. You're my eldest grandson and our family's ties must be carefully strengthened.”
“But...”
“Your mother got away with marrying that good-for-nothing father of yours – something she paid dearly for, might I add – and so it falls unto you to right her wrongdoings.”
“But...”
“Really, you have only her to blame. Thanks to her scandalous marriage we were shunned, and then after her divorce we became a laughingstock! A marriage to a penniless painter, of all things! This is not the time for bohemian fantasies. The 19th century is long past.”
“But...”
“So now, it's time for you to do your duty, and marry a girl from an influential, ancient and most importantly aristocratic family, as it should have always been.”
“Mamie.”
“What?”
“I'm gay.”
Gabriel's grandmother scoffed. “Like that has been a problem before, ever.”
He hung his head and hid his face in his hands.
She continued, undeterred. “You're young, Gabriel, and this could well be just a phase. Besides, and I'm going to be completely honest here, I'm not asking you to love this girl, I'm asking you to marry her. You wouldn't be the first man to fulfill his duty and... cultivate... other hobbies on the side. Bluntly put, this marriage will be a matter of prestige and economical alliance, as you certainly realize.”
Gabriel lifted his head, only to shake it and laugh. “So the 19th century is long past for mom, but for me it's still the 14th?”
Adrastée's eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you going to fight me on this, Gabriel?”
Gabriel smiled, amused, if only a little appalled. “I wouldn't dream of it.”
“This is outrageous!” Michèle screamed, hands in her hair and eyes comically wide.
Gabriel grimaced. “There is really no reason to yell like that.”
“No reason? No reason!” his sister said, enunciating every letter of the word as if Gabriel hadn't understood it the first time. “That old hag wants you to fly to England and marry a girl you can't possibly be interested in, and you say there's no reason to yell? I want to yell in her ear until tomorrow!”
“That's really thoughtful of you, but in the meantime could you please not yell into my ear? My eardrums are crying for mercy.”
Michèle pursed her lips and crossed her arms, but she stopped. She fixed her brother with a frown. Here she was, worrying and screaming on his behalf, and he was lounging on the sofa reading, as usual, like he didn't have a single care in the world – which, by all accounts, he totally should have!
“Aren't you bothered by this at all?”
Gabriel sighed. “It's no use refusing to go. I will meet this girl – it would be too impolite not to go at this point – but that's it. It's not like mamie can hold my hand and make me sign the marriage contract.”
“But isn't it... I don't know... dangerous to indulge her like this? What if she thinks you will really go through it?” Michèle said, pacing the living room in distress. “Worse, what if that family – what's its name, Byrn? What if the Byrn family thinks that you are actually interested in their daughter for real?”
Gabriel grinned. “'Actually interested for real'? Why thank you, sis, for driving the point home that I could never like a girl, ever.”
Michèle grabbed a cushion from the sofa and jumped him, smothering his smug laughing face. “You know what I mean!”
They mock-wrestled then, until Gabriel was sure Michèle was smiling and happy again. They lay side by side on the floor, breathless from too much laughter.
“I'll stay there for as long as was arranged by mamie,” he said, “and I'll make it clear that I'm not interested. I'll just be polite about it.”
“So that's the plan?”
“Yes, that's the plan.”
“It's a shitty plan.”
Gabriel laughed. “Well, what else do you sugges---”
“Let me come with you!”
He looked at her, surprised, then grinned. “Why? Looking for a suitable husband?”
Michèle scoffed. “Please. Everybody knows I'm no marriage material. I'm an uncultured, rebellious bitch with the bad habit of throwing plates in a rage.”
He got closer then, rolling on his side and putting his hands on her shoulders. He kissed her forehead and said, “You're all of that and so much more.”
She smiled at that, softly. “I will make sure any snobbish English arsehole who dares to disrespect, annoy or inconvenience you gets hit by a plate square in the face.”
Gabriel laughed. “Now that is a plan.”
As was to be expected, the Byrn estate was ancient and magnificent, with blue-gray rooftops and an intricate facade, with columns, turrets, and merlons decorating its summit. True to its name – Bryn Du, “black hill” – its walls were made of some kind of unusual black stone, giving it a distinctly menacing aura. The effect was mitigated by the well-tended garden in front, bright with flowers. Tall trees enclosed it on three sides, and the woods, spreading dark green and black, climbed up the hills behind.
As the chauffeur held the door open, Gabriel got out of the car and took it all in. He idly wondered if the manor's name took after the family's name, or if it was the other way around.
Michèle bounced behind him. “Talk about welcoming,” she said. “Let's hope the Byrns have a more charming personality than their manor.”
Gabriel shot her an amused look. “Do you think you could refrain from insulting our hosts in front of their employees, who will probably report everything we say?”
Michèle smirked. “I could, but I won't.”
He shook his head at her, but he was smiling too. “Let's stick to the plan, all right?”
“You mean, the shitty plan?”
“Yes, the shitty plan,” he said, as he walked towards the entrance of the manor. He could see two attendants opening the central doors and a few others hauling their luggage inside, but no one else – until a figure emerged from a rose bush in full bloom, on his left. It was an elderly woman, dressed in gardening overalls, green and muddy, a pair of shears in her gloved hand. She stood up and walked to them, strides long and confident. She took off her gloves and stuffed them in a pocket before offering her hand. “Mr. Neuchâtel de Gorgier, I assume?”
He took her hand – the skin was rough – and kissed it. “That would be me,” Gabriel said, assessing her quickly. The calluses on her hand and her clothes were those of a gardener, but her composure betrayed an assurance that spoke of something more. “You must be Madame Ashworth,” he said.
She smirked at him, and he knew then that he had just passed his first test. The part of him that liked to be liked was pleased. The sensible part reminded him that he was here to wreck his mamie and this woman's plans.
“Indeed I am. I'm happy to be the first one to meet you,” she said, and then she hold her hand out to Michèle, shook it gracefully. She handed the shears to an attendant and led the way to the manor's entrance. “It's kind of you to indulge my son-in-law's arrangement. You probably think this matchmaking scheme is quite medieval, and of course I agree with you.” She raised an eyebrow at him, prompting a response. Gabriel just smiled and listened. The part of him that liked to be liked reared its head and listened with great interest – how nice it would be if this cool old lady who liked to roughen her hands in the garden was on his side. Someone had to have their feet on the ground in this family. Someone always did, even in ancient, snobbish and aristocratic houses - or so Gabriel hoped, anyway.
“However, your grandmother seemed exceedingly eager to merge our families' properties. Doing so through marriage is unusual these days,” she continued, watching him, looking for a reaction.
Michèle snorted. Gabriel prayed she was sensible enough not to say anything – especially how mamie was obsessed with “restoring their family's name”, as she always moaned, while growling a few insults towards their father for good measure. In her eyes, her house's reputation had been in jeopardy for too long, and more than estate or shares or companies, what was needed was a restoration of blood (although a fat share parcel would make the choice of partner that much more smoother).
And so, here he was. Ready to politely wreck everybody's plans.
“I think talking about marriage is a little premature, Madame Ashworth,” he said. “I'm just here to meet with your granddaughter, make her acquaintance. I'm sure neither of us is in any hurry.”
The woman looked at him with a funny expression Gabriel couldn't decipher before it was gone. “I think this is as good as any moment to mention that I have two granddaughters, and both are waiting to meet you.”
Gabriel tried hard not to gape (the fact that Michèle didn't try at all to hide her snort didn't help). Was mamie really that desperate?
Or was the Byrn family the desperate one?
Mrs Ashworth left them to change out of her gardening overalls. The butler ushered them through the corridors to a bright, spacious room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the back garden. The panes were open, letting a warm breeze flutter the white curtains. It was quite the change from the rest of the house they had seen, which favoured dark woods and austere furniture. A man, sharply dressed in a three-piece steel gray suit, got up from an armchair to greet them. He introduced himself as Dean Byrn, head of the household. He looked in his early fifties, and he radiated the assured self-importance that comes with nobility and old money. Gabriel shook his hand and thanked him for the invitations. The man's grip was deathlike-strong. Gabriel disliked him instantly.
Mr Byrn then gestured to the two young women sitting on the sofa behind him and introduced them too. Jessica, the eldest daughter of the family, had sharp features and a proudly held chin. Her lovely face was crowned in thick, glossy curls of an ashen blond colour. She had the same haughty assurance of her father, who spoke of her with obvious pride. Her younger sister, Deborah, greeted the two siblings more warmly, but she seemed ill at ease. She kept fidgeting with the end of her braid, twirling it around a finger, and she avoided looking at Gabriel as much as possible. She kept close to her younger brother, Arran – who had a gentle smile, high cheekbones, light brown hair that curled at the nape and fine collarbones that peeked through his slightly open shirt, not that Gabriel was noticing – and she kept glancing between her sister and her father.
The conversation began with idle remarks on the estate, the woods, the charity balls they had attended and so on, until Mrs Ashworth joined them. The coffee table was then laden with tea and tea cakes and slices of fruits, and Mr Byrn moved on to the family's businesses, taking care to stress what roles Deborah and Jessica had in them – although it was clear that Jessica was the one more directly involved; of the younger sister he had little more to say than “She works in the family's charity organization”. Instead, the eldest sister and heir to the fortune had studied in the United States, had worked for two prestigious law firms, was involved in the management of the Byrn fortune and on top of that, she was also working on her PhD. Gabriel was certainly impressed, but he couldn't help but to notice the chasm in both age and interests between them. He never had any intention to even consider marrying one of the Byrn girls, yet he wondered what kind of marriage theirs would have been.
He tried his best to politely steer the conversation on more interesting – and less laden with implications – topics such as books and the latest pieces of opera and theater shown in London, and he was relieved to have Mrs Ashworth join in. Deborah was particularly interested in the literary subjects, and she seemed to enjoy their talk, although she looked uneasy still. Michèle had taken a liking to her, and she kept her engaged as much as she could. She knew well how a conversation about books with Gabriel would have ended (that is to say, with gushing), and although that would have been nice, they couldn't risk him getting too enthusiastic and give the wrong impression. Even more important, they couldn't risk the Gabriel Effect – the known natural disaster that was him smiling at any female, and the female swooning instantly. It was her duty as a sister to protect Gabriel from his own powers (and protect Deborah too – she could be as nice as they come but that wouldn't change the fact that her brother was gay).
For his own part, Gabriel was glad he didn't come alone. Mamie had strongly suggested to remain at Bryn Du for at least two weeks. If it wasn't for Michèle he'd be exhausted already, and it had only been an hour or so. Mr Byrn was incredibly snobbish, Jessica was just as bad and on top of that, arrogant. Both had an irritating holier-than-thou attitude. He wondered if it was for his own specific benefit – as he was from a family which had fallen out of favour in society's eyes – or if they were like that with everyone.
This is going to be an exhausting stay, he thought.
A loud bang was heard outside the room. Everyone stilled and looked at the double doors – which flew open with another loud bang when the knobs hit the wall. A boy stood in the entrance, hair dark and smile darker. He wore a crumpled high school uniform and the white shirt was splattered with blood; blood ran down the side of his face from a cut on his temple.
“Nathan!” Arran exclaimed, getting up and running to him. “What happened to you?”
The boy's smile got broader as he said, with obvious delight, “I got expelled!”
Mr Byrn visibly fought for control as he stood up and called, “Rose!”
A young woman in a black suit and tie appeared beside Nathan and Arran. Her hair was tied in a tight braid, rolled on top of her head, and she wore an earpiece. Gabriel was instantly sure she had a gun or two hidden on her. Mr Byrn said, trembling in rage, “Take him to his room and take care he doesn't leave it until I say so.”
Nathan didn't acknowledge him nor the command at all; he seemed to enjoy Arran fussing over him and his cuts. Gabriel glanced at the other members of the family, wondering who this hurricane of a boy was. He had destroyed the boring atmosphere of before in a most spectacular fashion. Mrs Ashworth seemed both amused and fondly exasperated. Jessica looked like she wanted to either throw something or strangle him. Deborah started to get up, but Mr Byrn put a hand on her shoulder and kept her down, saying, “We're not done here.”
Deborah glared at him. “I think we've given enough of a pitiful show for today, dad,” she said, and with that she jerked her shoulder away. She got up and walked to Arran and Nathan. The bodyguard, Rose, was holding the door open for them. Mr Byrn was seething as he called, “Nathan.”
The boy turned. Arran had an arm around his shoulders, and he looked worried when he turned to his father. “What?” Nathan said, eyes smouldering with challenge and contempt.
“You owe our guests an apology for disrupting their conversation.”
If he wasn't keen on reading the atmosphere, Gabriel would have laughed at how ridiculous that sounded. Disrupting the conversation? But he was fascinated by the events unfolding, so he stayed perfectly still and waited without giving any thought away. Who was this boy not invited to meet the family's guests, this dark fury doted on by two of the siblings but spited by the eldest?
Nathan turned to Gabriel and Michèle, studying them with stormy eyes. Gabriel found himself suddenly craving to know what he was seeing, what he thought of them. The boy smirked and spread his arms wide as he bowed, saying in a voice dripping with sarcasm, “I apologize for interrupting your assessment of my sisters' value for marriage. Keep Jessica if you want, no one cares, but touch Deborah and I'll break your nose too.”
As Jessica and Mr Byrn yelled at him, he was hauled out by both the bodyguard and his siblings. Gabriel turned to Michèle, who looked in awe just as much as him. They grinned at each other.
This is going to be a fantastic stay.