Blair walked into her room that evening and sat down on the bed to think.

They arrived home from the church offices, license in hand. Nancy came back some time later with news she had secured her friend’s husband for a ceremony in Chelmsford tomorrow.

The first train to leave for Chelmsford left at 8:16, a commuter line. It would be about a 40-mile trip, and should take an hour or so. The parson would be expecting them at 10:00.

That gave them time to get married, catch the commuter back to Ethinium and make their way to the board meeting tomorrow night.

Everything lined up. But in the whirlwind of making plans to save the remainder of her rightful inheritance, the controlling shares of Brooke & Company, she had not had time to stop and think about marriage with Ripley.

Families typically arranged marriages, especially among the nobility. Even the lower nobility like knights. It was just expected that a family would find a suitable partner for their son or daughter and set everything up. Hopefully male heirs would result from procreation, and the next generation ushered in.

Her father understood his daughter’s independent streak better than most. He had hinted, when she was younger, about friends from his club who had eligible sons. Even a second or third or seventh son would be quite suitable for her to marry, since they would not have to worry about what a groom could bring to the table in terms of money. They would become instant landed gentry thanks to the union.

But he never wished to yoke his daughter to someone that would make her miserable, and an arranged marriage would surely have done that.

Sir Winston may have been aloof and distant, absorbed with his work more than anything, but he did love his daughter and he had wanted her to be happy.

When she joined the Royal Venture Society and went through enhancement, he backed off suggesting a marriage partner altogether.

For one thing, the life of Venture Society member was not really suitable for someone’s wife. Wives were expected to run the mansion, hire the servants and direct them in day-to-day work, handle the estate’s finances, plan soirees, manage charities and so forth. And of course, have children.

They certainly were not expected to gallivant around Europe, delving into steam vaults to battle the forces of Darhaven.

And so, Sir Winston wisely backed off. He figured when Blair grew older she would begin looking for a husband in earnest. And most of his peers had multiple children her age, at least four or five, some many more. There would be plenty of prospects, even if she waited.

But no one had expected him to die so suddenly, leaving his business shares in the lurch.

Blair reflected on Rip’s proposal. It indeed involved trust. He would assume ownership of the family estate as well as controlling shares in Brooke & Company. Everything would belong to him.

She would have to give up ownership of the manor and its land, since married women could not own property. The only way a woman could own property was through inheritance or widowhood.

She could forgo the marriage, taking the estate and letting the board matriculate the shares as they saw fit. But the estate did not generate nearly so much income as the company. Blair knew that her father shifted a significant portion of his personal finances into Brooke Manor and Ravenwick.

He may have been newly landed gentry, but he had firm ideas that the gentry should take care of their people.

In short, forgoing the marriage was not an option. Rip offered an elegant solution. Ultimately, it boiled down to his question: “Do you trust me?”

She did. Even though he seemed strange in many ways, using a variety of odd words and looking at the world differently, underneath all that she knew he was a good man. He never once tried to take advantage of her, and he had been living under her roof, or at least under her guest cottage’s roof, for a while now.

He also did not stray, seeming to stay true to her despite multiple temptations. The impossibly attractive Veraz sisters proved the point.

He had shared they had given him a boon, via a kiss. This infuriated her, for a while. But upon reflection, she thought back to what she knew about vampires and their boons. Typically, they gave boons to their lovers. And Rip was neither sister’s lover.

So in a way, his boon had been granted with the least carnal activity possible, if she understood correctly. In that regard, the Veraz sisters acknowledged her claims on Rip, such as they were. They were being honorable, too.

For his part, he had shown little additional interest. He appreciated the skills he gained from the sisters, but he seemed to understand the cost to acquiring greater power through vampires, and he controlled himself.

That said a lot for his character, she thought.

So the problem, she decided, was not with him.

It’s with me.

She left the bed and headed to her walk-in closet. Pressing a hidden switch, the wall of shoes in their cubbyholes pivoted to reveal a selection of wigs and revealing dresses.

She sighed.

This is what he doesn’t know about, she thought. No one does.

If they married . . . when they married . . . he would find out about the skills she often used. Would he approve? Would he want to be married to someone who could live a double life? Who could appear to be someone else for a while, even a prostitute?

Spies could be very deceptive.

These were questions troubling her now. If he knew about her skills before he proposed a marital alliance, would he have still made the offer? Would he be resentful that she hid her abilities and the true nature of the Spy class from him when he found out about them after tomorrow?

So many life changes at once, she thought.

The loss of her father, the worries about the business, assuming the mantle of familial responsibility for Ravenwick and Brooke Manor. And, a sailor’s wedding.

She sighed and began donning a disguise, choosing one of the many wigs.

It’s going to be a long night.

She needed to be back in the house before Nancy woke up to prepare breakfast.