Chapter 2
Evan Rosier was not in fact with any of his business partners. He was in the famous Rosier garden, hidden from the view of his guests. He felt constricted. Trapped in his own home. He wished to be anywhere but in the ancient grounds of Rosier Manor.
Evan didn’t know how long he was there, merely standing with one hand tucked in the pocket of his dress robes in the middle of the maze like garden that his mother tended to every morning.
The dress robes resembled more of a suit, if someone were to ask the young lord. But it fitted him so well. Tucked tight in all the right places, it was no wonder why so many ladies kept on stealing glances at him and why they looked so crestfallen every time someone reminded them that he was already off the prospect market.
His hair was styled nicely, gelled back with a few stray pieces. It gave him a troublemaker look but a refined troublemaker one at that.
He remembered days from his youth, not that he was old now, it was just that he missed being able to run around and truly get lost in the vast lands of the Rosiers.
He looked back on the days where he would spend his afternoons laying in the fields a few miles away. Or when he used to go on morning Abraxan rides. Now, it felt that he didn’t even have enough time to spend it alone.
He may not be the most cheerful child to be around with but he always thought that it was because all the other pureblood children back then were just too loud or too panicky or too touchy. He rather liked the company of his cousins in his father’s side of the family, mainly the women. They were tough and fun to duel with but they were also more reliable compared to his cousins from his mother’s side who always made it feel that there was something to compete about at every moment.
The Parkinsons liked their competitions. The Rosiers liked their solitude. The Blacks liked winning. It has always been like that, his mother used to say. Needless to say, Evan grew up knowing that whether you were a Parkinson or a Black or a Rosier, you were born to be a powerful witch or wizard because duelling was simply in their blood. They were always meant to be ruthless and cunning.
Evan kicked a stray pebble with a tired sigh.
The past few days went by with so many meetings. Business and marriage related. He wondered if every man felt the same as him when they finally figured out that their purpose in life was to continue the family legacy or if he was the only unlucky chap out there.
There was the constant question of whether he was finally ready to settle down, or in the crude way that his Uncle Abraham said to him - be tied to the bedpost. Evan scoffed at the thought of a question such as that coming from a promiscuous man.
A certified playboy, the man always bragged. If anything, he was nothing but a sleazy walrus that wanted to sniff out all the money that Evan’s father left for him.
Shaking away his thoughts, he decided to sit down on a stone bench. The Rosier gardens were admired by the elegance and masterpiece it presented. There were over a hundred varieties of flowers, both native and not.
Rosier women passed down the knowledge behind how the gardens were to be managed, with the help of house elves but the responsibility of tending to the enchantments wrapped around the wards were primarily the women of the house’s. It was simply tradition. Just as much tradition as how every Black was named after a star and how Yaxley names always means royalty. There was a new tradition with the Parkinsons too, and it was that they are to be named after flowers.
Evan couldn’t think of his soon-to-be bride tending to the gardens he spent most of his childhood in. She was frail looking, for one, not that he judged her for that. And she seemed to care too much about her head full of blonde curls. He also heard that she despised Herbology and anything related to gardening. She was more of a Transfiguration type of person, his informant told him.
Not exactly quick with her wand but she knew how to decorate plain teacups with intricate spellwork. She also seemed to have an affinity with blood wards, or so he heard from the grapevine. Burkes tended to specialize in things like that.
Bethany Burke didn’t hold so much importance within her family. She was the overlooked sister and she didn’t even have that advantageous of a dowry. Just three hundred galleons and a homey cottage somewhere in Wales. It was as if Brutus Burke didn’t want his daughter to marry well.
Aside from her good looks and generous spellwork, Evan didn’t know what more to expect from her. Narcissa said that she was tolerable enough as a peer. A tad bit of a pushover but at least she was polite. There always seemed to be something negative about the girl. Evan knew that Narcissa didn’t approve of Bethany that much but that must be because of all the Blacks, Narcissa was always the closest to him.
They shared the same deep bond as they always did as children. Mostly over their mutual fondness for gardening and their sneaky type of duelling that they would say as perfected over the time they spent practicing together.
He looked up at the stars instantly spotting the dragon constellation that Narcissa was so fond of. It was charmed to always be present in the protective dome around the Manor. It was like the Great Hall back at Hogwarts, Evan mused to himself.
He wouldn’t say that he missed the feeling of being a schoolboy. He had different responsibilities back then, like impressing certain lords-to-be and making connections with powerful pureblood families the way that his father taught him.
He thinks that he missed sleeping in the most but, life was life. C’est la vie. It’s life. Some things remain, some things change.
Evan startled when he heard the crunch of dried leaves underneath shoes. “Evan.” The soft spoken fiancee of his, Bethany Burke, called. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you.” She said with a shy smile.
“Well, here I am.” The young lord whispered, raising up his ever-refilling glass of red wine. If there was something Evan Rosier was proud about, it was that he never seemed to get drunk no matter how much alcohol he consumes. His mother always reprimanded him about it, telling him that alcohol poisoning will drive him to an early grave but he can’t seem to care.
If anything, it was the only thing that gave him comfort. Especially now.
Good Merlin, why is it that he feels that he’s relinquishing the little freedom that he has? To some stranger, no less. A girl that he only had small talk with.
Bethany sighed. It was obvious that she wasn’t that pleased with the arrangement just as he was but she couldn’t afford her father’s wrath, especially not after he outright murdered her older sister, Bronwen, who decided that it was perfectly fine to brag about her muggleborn sweetheart.
She knew how much this engagement meant to her family, with their business failing. It was high time that they used the advantage of having a blood debt with one of the strongest families in pureblood politics and economy.
It was no secret that the Rosier family had strings attached to almost all the businesses in Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley, as well as a few foreign investments.
“Your Aunt Druella was asking about you.” Bethany simply said.
“And what did she ask for?”
“How you are.” Bethany shrugged in a manner that her mother would have scolded her of. “And if you needed company. I think she wanted me to look for you. Mention that you might get lonely.”
Evan made a low noise from the back of his throat, loosening his tie with his free hand. “She pointed you here?”
“Yes.” Bethany answered, looking away. This gave Evan time to politely look over his betrothed.
Bethany was a petite young lady. Her shoulder looked stiff in her plum gown, specially designed to stand out against the crowd who were likely to follow the dress code of silver, black, and red.
Of course, it wasn’t the Gryffindor red, for Morgana’s sake. Rather a rich looking shade that could be found in the Rosier family’s coat of arms.
Her hair was the color of sunlight and it complimented her pale skin very well. She was a desirable woman, even if her hips were a bit narrower than what his Aunt Druella would have preferred. But then again, it wasn’t Aunt Druella that Bethany was set to marry.
Did Aunt Druella’s opinion even matter that much? Whose opinion mattered most? His mother’s? Definitely not his father’s as the man was dead the last time Evan checked. Six feet under too. In a mausoleum made just for him.
He would know, he was the one who arranged the ceremony and designed the mausoleum. Architecture was always an interest that Evan had. Or was it an interest that he developed during his school boy days? He wasn’t entirely sure anymore.
Was Bethany interested in architecture? She could help his mother figure out the furniture that needed to be changed once she moved in with them. He wouldn’t dream of moving away from the ancestral home built on the almost sacred grounds that his family owned for many decades. Centuries maybe. Perhaps a few renovations but nothing too big.
His mother was always too fond of her work when she first came after her good marriage.
“My mother’s been waiting to announce the engagement publicly the moment that you agreed.” Bethany said. It was very obvious that she was only talking to avoid the awkward silence that seemed to follow whenever she stood near the tall man. She tugged on the dress that she wore unconsciously.
Evan hummed in disinterest before taking a sip of his wine. A moment passed by before he spoke. “And what of you?”
“What of me?” Bethany repeated. “Well. I’m just as ecstatic.”
Evan stole a quick glance at her before looking away just as swiftly. Now he thinks that she was rather boring for a pureblood girl.
They tended to have a bit of a character within them, they weren’t always dull. Well, at least the pureblood girls that were willing to be dragged into a broom closet or abandoned classroom for a quick snog. They had a lot of personality. A lot.
The girl that he was supposed to marry? Not much.
To say that Bethany was unhappy with her betrothed was an understatement. She was in fact too unhappy with him and was merely putting up with his cold behaviour for his money.
She wanted to be straightforward and just tell him but she had more to lose compared to him.
She knew that he knew of her family’s intentions which might explain his behavior but it wasn’t as if he didn’t need anything from her too. She knew why he had to choose her. He didn’t exactly have that much of an option at that. And what with the aforementioned blood debt that her father would over enthusiastically hold against the younger lord.
If it weren’t for the blood debt he would have free reign to choose a foreign bride if it was the amount of keeping the blood in the family problems that bothered him. Before it would have been a shame to find a foreign bride but everyone seemed to be related to one another at this point.
And no one wanted to marry into the Dumbledore enthusiastic families. Every good pureblood daughter knew that.
Bethany fiddled with the ring that was on her finger. A stunning piece worth enough galleons to make the other unmarried witches green in envy. Druella Black and Walburga Black simply tutted when they saw the ring.
It held a lone diamond surrounded by smaller rubies. The band was a lovely silver one. It felt too big on her finger and too heavy for her heart.
Her fiance was a handsome man. He was intelligent and he had the right mind when it came to business. She should be happy with him. Any well-bred woman would be.
She noticed the stares of women since the beginning of the party, ever since they came down the grand staircase with Bethany’s hand tucked in Evan’s elbow. She tried to smile as much as she could, to make it seem that she was as elated as her mother.
She noticed many things then; one was that the women weren’t looking at her fiance because of how well tailored his robes were but because of how interested they were in his person.
It disgusted her. Many of the women present were married and there were even a few wandering eyes of pureblood men who stared at her would-be groom’s bum. Have they no shame?
She knew that people saw her as someone delicate, weak. Like a porcelain doll. But for once in her life, Bethany wanted to stand up for herself. She wanted everyone to know who she was. The future Lady Rosier. Evan Justus Rosier’s wife.
But it seems that fate had other plans.
Bethany cautiously looked over her fiance’s form from where he sat staring at the stars. She wanted to reach out to him but she was afraid to be pushed away. He was a gentleman, wasn’t he?
She wanted to ask him how he felt about the situation. Did he feel as trapped as her? Was he having second thoughts?
A cold realisation dawned upon her causing her to still.
What if he were like all those men inside? Cheating, lying husbands? Would he do that too? Would he go behind her back?
Bethany knew that it was to be a marriage of convenience but she couldn’t stomach the thought of the man that she would spend the rest of her miserable life with going behind her back and warming another woman’s bed.
‘You need him for his money.’ Bethany was quick to remind herself. ‘His money and nothing more. You will provide him a healthy male heir and you will be free to live your life the way you’ve always wanted to. With no one to tell you around and call you daft.’
But then again. Was Evan that cruel of a husband to simply leave her alone? Or will he try to make this marriage work? She would want that, Bethany thinks. A nice marriage and a faithful husband and lovely children.
Bethany’s inner thoughts were disrupted by a feminine cough. In a flurry she turned around to see one of the women that had been eyeing Evan like a piece of marinated meat the whole night.
She was tall. Very tall. It seemed that her legs had no end. Her hair was in a messy up do with a few dark brown strands falling stylishly around her face and long neck. She was wearing a very expensive looking silvery white gown that had a feathery touch on it accompanied by three strings of pearl necklaces.
She looked seductive in ways that Bethany looked meek. She was very womanly. Bethany couldn’t help but swallow hard.
“A pleasant evening to you.” Bethany greeted as politely as she could.
“Well met, darling. Well met.” The woman said. “A very, very pleasant evening to you as well.” She took out a long black smoking device. Bethany didn’t know what to call it as she never really paid attention to such. “It’s such a nice, nice evening.”
Does she repeat everything that she would say? Or was she simply teasing her?
“Bethany Burke.” She lowered her head in a courteous nod.
“The blushing bride. Or to be? Ah to be or not to be? Blushing, of course.” She laughed to herself as if she had just told the funniest joke in the world. Was she already drunk? “I know you, darling. I know you very, very well.”
“Oh.” Bethany glanced at Evan who still had his back turned towards them. “And who are you?” She said before biting her lip as she scanned the strange woman.
To say that she was confused by the woman’s odd behaviour was an understatement. Bethany was only two years younger than Evan and she was sure that she never met the other woman back in Hogwarts. Not in Slytherin, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff.
Was she a foreigner? A squib?
“Titania.” The taller woman introduced, flashing Bethany a smile that was too fake. “Titania Willoughby-Presley.” She turned to glance at Evan with a sly look.
Bethany suddenly felt a tad territorial.
Noticing the drastic change of mood, Titania shook her hand dismissively with a laugh. “You have nothing to worry about, Darling. Evan here is all yours, I just came to deliver him a message. Now, if you please?”
Bethany crossed her arms over her chest in defiance. “Whatever you want to say to him, you say to me.” She tried to ignore the shuffle that Evan produced as he stood up and walked near them.
“Titania.” The man said, running a hand through his dark hair. “What brings you here?”
“I’ve a message for you but it seems that your little missus here wants to hear about it too.”
Evan gave the both of them an analytical glance before furrowing his eyebrows. “Bethany?” He asked.
“If we’re supposed to get married I don’t want to hear about you cheating.” Bethany said.
“Titania is a friend.” Evan answered with a sigh. “And you know very well that this is nothing but a marriage of convenience. What I want to do and whom I want to spend my time with is none of your concern.”
“But it is my concern. We’re getting bloody married for Morgana’s sake.”
“There’s no fidelity clause in the agreement.” Evan countered. “And it’s all business. Can you bloody leave, woman?”
“You don’t care about me, do you? About what I might be feeling? This is as frustrating to me as to you!” Bethany said, stomping her foot indignantly. Her face, an ugly shade of red.
“I don’t.” Evan simply said. “Not now. Not yet. And if you keep on bothering me like a harpy then I won’t ever.” He took a sip from his glass. “Now will you leave?”
Bethany moved to slap him but her hand was caught by Titania in a firm grip.
“Now, Darling. There’s no need for any of that barbarity.” Titania grinned, flashing her pearly white teeth.
Bethany shook her hand away. “This conversation is not over, Rosier.” She said with one last glare before flouncing off.
“Where were we?” Titania chuckled, turning to face Evan who was staring at Bethany’s retreating figure.