Impractical

"That's quite a bit of post, eh?"

"Hm?" Terrell looked up absently as he heard the voice of his best friend, Kirian, and saw that he had indeed taken up residence at the seat opposite—and was currently poking and prodding at Terrell's mail. Terrell made a face at the mess of envelopes; he hated going through the mail, even if practicality demanded that he tend to it. "Yes, bugger it. As if I've not got enough to do."

"Speaking of doing things," Kirian said, "are you attending the Quinton lecture this evening?"

"Attending?" Terrell repeated with a snort. He gave up any attempt at studying; Kirian was obviously in the mood to talk, and there was nothing for that save to let him run his course or wait until something else distracted him. "I'm assisting him with the thing, curse my luck. I've half a mind to be drunk while I do it, but that—"

"Would not be practical," Kirian finished for him.

"Precisely," Terrell nodded, refusing to be baited. He rolled his eyes as Kirian continued to poke and paw at his mail. "Oh, do leave off. None of that is for you."

"No," Kirian agreed, "but this certainly looks to be a serious matter for you."

Terrell stared in surprise at the envelope Kirian flourished. He knew it on the spot—the scarlet paper, the elegant swan crest pressed into black wax, the short, concise hand ... a formal missive from his father, and it looked thick. That could bode either good or ill.

Although in no real hurry to discover which, Terrell nevertheless reached out and plucked the envelope from Kirian's fingers, breaking the seal and pulling out a thick fold of what proved to be many sheaves of paper, some of them signed and notarized—legal documents, then. He set them aside in favor of first reading his father's accompanying letter.

Terrell,

I have arranged a marriage for you. It comes rather suddenly, I know, but I take fortune where I find it. I knew you would not be troubled. The informal announcements have been made; I have enclosed copies of them in addition to drafts of the contracts being drawn up.

Your betrothed is Edlin Crandall Courtright, the third son of the Honorable George Courtright. I expect you know the name. He is a good man—intelligent, hardworking, and greatly enthused over the marriage and the opportunities it presents. We met three months ago, during the course of business. He suits the estate and family well, and I believe you will get on together.

I am arranging a formal supper to announce things properly at the end of this month, both as your husband and the future Steward of Fivecoats Estate. We should, obviously, appreciate your attendance. The sooner you are here, the better, on the chance that some problem arises and the entire thing must be called off.

Do arrange to be home or inform me when you can be, so that I might rearrange things accordingly.

Sincerely,

Henri

Terrell blinked, then read through the letter again, his lips pursed thoughtfully. Yes, even he knew the name of Courtright, but he'd not realized that any of the five sons had not been snapped up. The family was notoriously wealthy, especially for merchants, which had earned them the nickname of "The Merchant Princes". His father must have been most impressed by this Edlin to arrange for the marriage only three months after meeting him.

Well, Terrell had been thinking that he would finally have to get around to arranging a suitable marriage this summer. The rate at which this prospect seemed to be proceeding, he and Edlin could be married and done right around his birthday, when his mother's estates came fully into his possession. Very likely what his father had intended, making the whole thing very efficient and practical.

The end of the month, hm? He could probably rearrange things easily enough. This time of year, and so far along in his studies, most of his time was his own to spend when and how he pleased. Yes, he could—

"Terrell!"

Terrell jerked, pulled roughly from his thoughts, and realized that Kirian had been calling his name. "Sorry, Kir. What were you saying?"

"I've been asking you what's in the letter."

Terrell handed it over by way of apology. "Father has found me a probable husband. I'm to go home at the end of the month to be formally betrothed. I would imagine if that goes well, the wedding will be this summer."

"Married!" Kirian cried in outrage. "What sort of revol—"

Terrell laughed in fond amusement, cutting him off. "Kir, it's quite all right. A bit earlier than I expected, but what does it matter? This works out much better, really."

"What does it matter?" Kirian repeated incredulously. "How can you just sit there and calmly accept your life being written out for you?"

"Kir, it is nothing of the sort." He spread his hands, displaying the pin on his jacket that marked him as a student of the college and the three others that indicated his high status and specialties. "I am a scholar; I have been one practically since I could read, if not sooner. My mother left me, the youngest, her personal estate when she died. I am not fit to run it. If left to my own devices, I will have it run into the ground before next year. My father and I do not want to see the estate suffer, and he has his hands full—he should not have to carry my responsibilities his whole life. We agreed long ago that it would be best if I married someone who could tend Fivecoats properly. I thought we would be discussing the matter of marriage this summer, but he has gone ahead and taken care of it a bit sooner. Works out rather nicely, I say."

"But what if he is a cad? A scoundrel? A thief? You have not even met him!" Kirian looked ready to burst, he was so red-faced and worked up.

Terrell took a moment to flag a steward to bring them wine, before returning his full attention to his friend. "Kir," he soothed. "Please do not get so angry on my behalf. I promise you this has been as much my plan as my father's."

"But—but you don't love him, Terri," Kirian finally blurted.

Terrell laughed, more surprised than perhaps he should be, knowing Kirian as well as he did. "How do I always forget, my friend, what a charming romantic you are? Love is the stuff of stories. Nonsense. It's unrealistic and impractical."

"Impractical," Kirian bit scathingly. "You and that bloody word—everything must be practical."

"Yes," Terrell agreed tersely, a bit stung. He felt things should make sense and serve a purpose. Kirian knew that.

Kirian's enraged expression softened. "I'm sorry, Terri. I know how logical you are, and you know I admire it most of the time. It works well for you. I just ... it seems so cold to me. What if this man is not who or what your father thinks? What if he is an opportunistic bastard? You know nothing about him, and one little weekend at home will not tell you anything. You do not even know what he looks like, and yet you sit there smiling, telling me it's all very practical and reasonable."

"Well, such marriages are the convention," Terrell replied calmly. "I should think your aunt and uncle will be working away at one for you—"

"Over my dead body," Kirian snarled. "I will do as my parents did and marry for love. I can't be as ... calm as the rest of you. It's just not in me."

"No," Terrell said fondly, "I suppose it's not, Kir. Your parents were a law unto themselves. It's only natural that as their son you follow in their footsteps." Kirian nodded stiffly. "Be that as it may," Terrell continued, "for myself, I do not see love being especially good at running Fivecoats. I will choose to go with the man my father has chosen, unless he proves to be any of those things you listed. I do not anticipate it, however, for my father has a sharp eye."

Kirian threw his hands up in exasperation and gulped down the freshly poured wine. He tried to scowl as he set the glass down, but a reluctant smile was fighting its way onto his mouth. "Love and practicality are not mutually exclusive, you know."

Terrell smiled himself, and sipped his own wine more sedately. "I am not getting into a debate with you on the matter, Kir. I have plenty of other arguments to arrange first, if I am to pass this year."

Laughing, Kirian motioned for more wine to be poured, and as easy as that the argument was over—for now, anyway. Terrell knew Kirian would not let the matter rest so easily—not when he was the soppiest romantic Terrell had ever met.

Terrell pulled his book and note cards close again, determined to get to work, but a final glance at the post Kirian had disordered gave him unexpected pause. He had paid it so little mind before that he had noticed neither his father's letter nor the package that he now spied. That was decidedly curious, since he was not expecting any package and his father's letter had given no indication that he should expect one. ...

Curiosity getting the better of him, Terrell pushed his work away again and dug the box out of the mess of letters. It had come from home, which made it strange that his father had made no mention of it, and only caused his curiosity to grow. Using his table knife, he cut the twine, and then slowly unwrapped the brown paper. Inside were a small jewelry box and a neatly folded letter, sealed with ... Terrell frowned, certain he was not seeing what he thought, but a prolonged second glance confirmed it. Pressed into the blue sealing wax was a faerie. It was a fanciful seal and now he was perfectly baffled.

"Who is sending you presents? A secret admirer to challenge your practical fiancé?"

"Oh, shush," Terrell said lightly. "I've no idea who sent it. Suppose I am about to find out." Breaking the seal, he glanced over the neat, flowing handwriting, written in blue ink on cream paper.

Terrell,

I hope you take no offense at the presumption of informality. Given I have mostly arranged our wedding alongside your father, with you completely absent, I saw little point in formal address.

Your forgiveness I do beg for taking such liberties as to accept your father's offer of your hand without ever consulting or meeting you. I believe everything proceeded with a speed none of us anticipated. I suspect you are much like your father, from all I have been told, and so will grant me that forgiveness. Indeed, I suspect I need not even ask for it, but the asking is the point for me.

In that vein, I did want to send some token of our informal—and soon to be formal, I admit to hoping—arrangement. Take it as apology or trifling betrothal gift, whichever you prefer. Rather, whichever you find most practical, for I sense that is what will decide you.

I look forward to finally meeting and hope we do get on well, for I confess I already am quite fond of Fivecoats. You have a most beautiful home.

Your servant,

Edlin

"Well?" Kirian demanded impatiently.

Terrell surrendered the letter and turned to the long and narrow jewelry box—deep scarlet velvet with the star and moon crest of the finest jeweler in the country. He flipped the box open and stared in surprise. Inside were a set of cuff links, a cravat pin, and a ring, all made of gold and set with glittering amethysts of superb quality. It was a simple, elegant, and handsome set. Apology or betrothal as he chose, indeed. "This was most kind of him."

Kirian snorted. "Seems too bloody charming and pompous if you ask me," he said, looking up from the letter. He sneered as he saw the jewels. "Definitely too charming. I don't trust it."

Terrell rolled his eyes. "Now you're just being petulant. They're quite handsome, and charm is a practical trait for a businessman to possess. If he is charming, then I anticipate Fivecoats will only benefit from being under his hand."

Kirian looked at him in disgust. "You are quite hopeless."

"I am practical."

"Same thing."

Terrell shook his head, refusing to be the first to laugh. Instead, he pulled the ring from its satin bed, noticing only then that his name had been inscribed on the inside—an elegant touch. Smiling, he removed the simple garnet ring he normally wore and replaced it with the new one, all the more pleased when it proved to be a perfect fit. Bold, charming, possessing good taste, and attentive to detail.

He was already duly impressed with his intended.

"I do not believe it!" Kirian suddenly cried, looking torn between outrage and amusement. "You are already falling for his charm! Mr. Practical, simpering over a pretty bauble."

"Do not be ridiculous," Terrell replied, rolling his eyes and putting the jewelry case away. "Of course I am impressed; that does not mean I am falling for anything. The gift conveys many qualities, all of them pleasing to have in a spouse. Could you please stop haranguing me about this? It is quite a normal arrangement, I promise you, amongst conventional persons."

Kirian sneered. "I thank the gods every day I am not conventional."

Terrell smiled. "You most certainly are not, it's true, and it lends you a charm all your own."

"Indeed," Kirian said, making a face. "Indeed. Shall we dine?"

"Why not?" He gave up entirely on getting any work done. He would have time later that night, anyway, and it was clear Kirian was upset about more than his marriage. "Aunt and Uncle troubling you again, Kir? What are they saying now?"

"That if they receive one more note concerning my behavior as it pertains to losing my temper, they shall pull their funding straight away and I can forgo any hopes of schooling."

Terrell smiled. "Whenever are you going to tell them that you have not needed their money for a very long time? Indeed, I think you make more in a month than your uncle does in a year."

Kirian flushed and drank the remainder of his wine, motioning for the steward to bring more. "It is none of their affair and I never meant to make such money. It was a lark, not ... " He flapped a hand absently. "I have no desire to be rich."

"Yet rich you are," Terrell countered. "You really are quite impractical, hiding the fact that you are one of the wealthiest men in this room."

"By accident," Kirian hissed, flushing all the darker. "I have no desire for people to befriend me simply because they like the size of my bank account, when they would have nothing to do with me otherwise."

Terrell nodded and let the matter drop, not wanting to start another argument. "So obviously your aunt and uncle do not have you upset. What is the source of your ire, then?"

Kirian shrugged and scowled at his freshly poured wine. "The trouble that got the letter sent off in the first place. Grayson will have my balls if I get into one more scrape."

"Scrape, indeed," Terrell said, snorting in amusement. Only Kirian would describe his fifteenth duel that term alone as 'one more scrape'. " Deep, dark secrets and duels every morning; the most impractical man I know."

"My secret is not deep and dark," Kirian protested. "It's only that no one needs to know. Look at how bothersome you are, knowing. People would be insufferable enough about my being wealthy, let alone knowing why I am wealthy. And I don't duel every day, only every couple of weeks."

"Sometimes twice." Terrell laughed as Kirian's scowl darkened. "I think what you need is a nice, level-headed spouse of your own to give you better things to do with your time."

Kirian picked up his fork and jabbed it in Terrell's direction, before stabbing it into the chicken just brought to them. "If I ever desire to marry myself off in a practical fashion," he retorted, "I shall of course consult you immediately."

Terrell shook his head and drank a bit of wine. "Many happy marriages begin as arranged," he said, then motioned discreetly at a group of men gathered around the fire. "The black-haired chap there, Rawlings. You know him."

"Can't shoot to save his life," Kirian commented.

"Which is probably all to the good, given he was shooting at you," Terrell replied. "Anyway, he was married three years ago to a woman his parents chose. They are quite happy and he adores the son his wife recently bore. The fellow next to him, Greene, married to a man chosen by family. They get on splendidly. The rest of them are engaged or will be soon."

Kirian made a face. "I would love to know the details that go unsaid and how many of them keep extra bits of fluff on the side." He shrugged irritably, but his eyes strayed back to the little group. "What about the blond fellow? The reddish-blond, I mean."

Terrell glanced back the group and picked out the man he meant. "Lord Evelyn Thiering? Well, he's the fourth son of the Duke of Pennington; I would imagine he was betrothed shortly after birth." He frowned in thought. "Though as to that, there was some rumor of scandal some years back. Hm ... " He slid Kirian a thoughtful, teasing look. "Why? Having impractical thoughts, Kir? Going to whisk the Duke's son off to your seaside cottage, after defending his honor in a dashing duel?"

"Oh, stuff it," Kirian said, rolling his eyes. "No—I just—he writes me letters. Well, not me me, but you know—" He flapped hand. "Deep, dark secret me. Only I didn't know who he was until a couple of days ago and I tried to introduce myself—just as me, not you know—but he's so starchy and cold, even worse than you ... oh, to hell with it."

Though he was curious and dying to tease, Terrell knew when to leave well enough alone. It was completely impractical how flustered Kirian got by his fame and more impractical still that he kept his identity secret when revealing it would make his life so much easier in so many ways. That was Kirian, though.

Instead of teasing, Terrell moved the conversation to more mundane matters—school, professors, the pending holidays—until Kirian at last seemed less a storm and more like his usual windy self. By that point, the club dining room was practically deserted. "Shall we to our rooms, then?" Terrell suggested, beginning to pack up all of the books and papers that had been neatly set aside before dinner.

"I hope I have not kept you too long from you studies," Kirian apologized.

"Nothing I cannot make up easily tonight," Terrell assured with a smile. They bundled into their coats and stepped out into the foggy night, heading back up the steep road to the school at the top of the hill. In the dark and moonlight with fog curling all about, it was easy to see how the school had gained its foreboding reputation. "I keep my nights free for a reason."

"Practical to a fault," Kirian sighed with reluctant fondness. "I await the day, my friend, when someone teaches you to be impractical."

Terrell snorted. "That will be the day someone teaches you to hold your temper."

"Will never happen," Kirian replied loftily.

"Agreed," Terrell laughed, opening the gate. He bowed playfully for Kirian to precede him through it, back onto school grounds and across the field to the apartments they called home.

Their apartments were a simple enough affair—a small sitting room with their bedrooms off to either side, and a little kitchen and dining area off the back. He could easily afford better and Kirian could afford even better than that, but they were both content with what they had. It was practical, even if Kirian would have a fit if Terrell said it aloud.

Saying their good nights, they split off to their separate rooms. Terrell set his bag down by his desk, and then got a fire going in the little fireplace. Once the room had begun to warm up, he stripped out of all but his breeches, stockings, and shirt. Setting the rest of his clothes neatly aside for washing later, he fetched his bag again and began to remove all that he needed to work on that night.

He paused as his fingers closed over something decidedly not a book or piece of paper. Extracting the velvet box, he flipped it open and regarded the contents thoughtfully. He glanced at the amethyst ring on his finger, admiring the quality of gold and jewel, recalling his name inscribed on the inside. It made him wonder about the actual betrothal and wedding rings, and if they had already been picked out. Not that it mattered, since it would make sense if everything had already been attended, but he did wonder. If his intended had sent him gifts, it would only be proper to send a gift in return. But what? Edlin had the advantage over him, to be sure. Edlin knew plenty about him, while Terrell knew practically nothing about Edlin.

Frowning thoughtfully, he got up and paced the room, seeking inspiration. When he turned up nothing, he abandoned his bedroom in favor of the sitting room. Oh, he was terrible at thinking up gift; and for someone he'd neither met nor even seen, that did not help one bit.

He paused at window, frowning at the scenery beyond, lost in thought. Speaking of neither met nor seen, he hoped his intended was not disappointed when they did at last meet. Looks were a very practical matter for a businessman, after all. Terrell's nutty-brown hair was straight and unremarkable, kept to a practical length, while his eyes were a pale blue that hinted at lavender, a color that ran in his father's line. He really needed to get around to buying new spectacles, for his were beginning to look more than a little ragged. He was handsome enough, he supposed, but nothing compared to Kirian, who did not seem to realize that his beauty drew as much trouble as his temper. His wavy gold hair, soft brown eyes, and lithe build served to make him beautiful, rather than merely handsome. Impractical, beauty such as that; it always drew more trouble than it was worth. Kirian certainly proved that, if unwittingly.

What of Terrell's intended? He knew Edlin's family of course, if only by name and reputation. He had the unexplained impression that they were dark-featured, but he did not know for certain, which made it difficult to select jewels or other such things which might suit. He did not know Edlin's likes or dislikes at all.

Terrell turned from the mirror at the sound of a door clicking open, to see Kirian stepping from his bedroom. He was in a like state of casual disarray, dangling a glass of whiskey from his fingers with his normally bound hair loose and disheveled. He paused when he saw Terrell, confusion on his face. "I thought you'd be buried in your essays by now, Ter. Something wrong?"

Terrell shrugged. "Not really. I was only trying to think of a suitable gift in return for the jewelry, but am turning up blank."

"Ah," Kirian said, and then smirked. "You cannot think of anything practical and fitting because he's a bleedin' stranger."

"I simply have not thought of it yet," Terrell replied stiffly.

Kirian grinned and set his drink down with a clink on the low table in front of the sofa, before vanishing back into his room. He reappeared a few minutes later, arms full of his writing and drawing implements, making Terrell stare at him in surprise. "Kir, whatever are you about?"

"I've one here," Kirian said absently. "Nearly finished; it's perfect for this sort of thing. He can hang it up in his office or whatever and brag about it loads. It will cover all the nonsense you go on about—shows you have influence, good connections, plenty of private income, so on and so forth. That's what you'd call practical, right?"

"Yes ... " Terrell said slowly. "But, Kirian, you don't have to—you do not even like him or that I'm getting married at all."

Kirian did not immediately reply, worrying his lower lip with his teeth as he focused on his drawing. Finally he paused long enough to flap a hand. "Neither here nor there, Ter." Kirian looked up briefly to smile, the hesitant, shy smile that Terrell wished more people saw. Kirian deserved to have more people see him smile that way. "I won't call him out until he does something to deserve it, and it won't help anything to cause you more problems. If you want a good, and gods above practical gift, then this will do." He picked up his whiskey and tossed back the contents, then returned to his work.

Bemused, never quite certain what to say or do when Kirian got this way, Terrell sat down in one of the armchairs opposite the sofa Kirian and his supplies had overtaken, and waited quietly.

It was an hour or so later when Kirian finally finished. "There," he said with satisfaction. He turned his large sketchbook around to present—

"That's Fivecoats," Terrell exclaimed, shocked. "You only visited it the one time!"

Kirian tapped his temple. "Excellent memory, you know that. It was going to be your birthday present, but this works just as well. Unless he turns out to be a bloody bastard, in which case I'll take it back before I put a ball in him."

Terrell nodded, unable to tear his eyes from the image long enough to thank Kirian properly. He always managed to forget how talented Kirian was, until he saw his work all over again. The most fascinating thing was that it was not even art for which Kirian was unwittingly famous—the artwork was secondary to his poetry. One of those very poems ... no, a new one, was written in elegant penmanship over the sky above the landscape view of Fivecoats Estate, which had been sketched with nothing but a handful of different colored inks.

"It's beautiful," Terrell finally said. "Perfect, as always."

"Perfectly practical," Kirian agreed teasingly, and set it on the table before beginning to clean up his supplies. "We'll get it framed and sent off tomorrow, and if it does not please your man, then you know to break off the engagement immediately."

Terrell laughed, but nodded. "Thank you, Kir."

Kirian shrugged the words off as he stood up, only saying, "I think at this rate, we both will have to forego either sleep or breakfast to get all our work done for tomorrow."

"Speaking of work, isn't your second volume due to the publisher soon?" Terrell asked.

"Next month," Kirian replied without looking at him as he walked to his room—but his neck and ears were red, and Terrell would have snickered except that was not at all the practical thing to do in light of his gift. "Good night, Ter."

"Good night," Terrell replied, before entering his room and leaving the drawing on the table so that no harm would come to it.

Back in his room, he finally settled all of his books and papers and bent to his work, forcing all distractions to the back of his mind until the he was done.