Page 50 of Of Socialites and Prizefights

Roz sighed. “Look, I appreciate the invite, but garden parties aren’t really my scene, you know?”

“No one's going to question it if you turn up with Aaliyah,” Deepa said, frowning down the receiver. “I wouldn't ask if I thought anyone was going to be wretched about your clothes or your work. I won’t let that happen.”

“There’s no need for you to defend me if I just don't go,” Roz pointed out.

“But I want you there.”

There was a pause, long enough that Deepa nearly checked to see if the call had been disconnected.

“Then I'll come,” Roz said finally.

“It will be good,” Deepa promised, and hoped she wasn’t lying.

As the party was hosted on his own estate, Appleton couldn't exactly put it off or arrive fashionably late. He collected Deepa from The Songbird as he’d done before, and the drive from the city to the countryside wasn't so much nervous as it was resigned.

“You’d think we were driving to a funeral,” Deepa said from the passenger side, foregoing delicacy for the sake of her curiosity. “I have to ask, do you always resent being made to have a social life, or is it only so bad because you’re having to put on this act with me?”

“It’s nothing to do with you,” he replied, casting her a glance that wasn’t exactly fond, but it wasn’t cold, either. “I approached you with this, after all.”

“It’s the necessity of putting on an act at all, then,” she guessed, and he inclined his head in agreement.

“I would much prefer to be left alone. If I choose not to make time with women, if I show myself to be disinterested in marriage, I don't see why that should be anyone else's business.”

“The curse of being born into a highly-visible family,” she said lightly.

“I don't make a habit of complaining about my lot in life,” Appleton said curtly. “I recognise the immense privilege under which I've been brought up. But I have no interest in politics, nor in any great business ventures, nor anything else that should put me in the public eye. All I want to do is train my horses, and compete. If my parents wish to bemoan my lack of a fiancée, wife, or children, that’s well within their rights. But for anyone else to be whispering about it or speculating behind my back—” He shook his head. “If I could disappear entirely, I would.”

“It’s not impossible to disappear,” Deepa mused, “though it would certainly be to a drastically different quality of life.”

“Rather less possible if I want to take my horses with me,” he said dryly.

“So, instead, you came up with a plan to make yourself even more visible.”

“Unfortunately, yes. This stunt with you should buy me some time, though how much, I won’t presume to guess.”

“Have you given any thought to actually getting married?” Deepa asked in a voice of perfectly innocent curiosity.

He cast her a sidelong glance from behind the wheel. “In the most literal sense, yes. Enough to determine that I’m disinterested in the prospect.”

“As am I.” She drummed her nails against the car door, a steady beat that didn’t betray her nerves. She needed to handle the conversation delicately, so as not to frighten him off. “In a traditional marriage, that is.”

He didn’t reply, but he was clearly awaiting her next line.

“I have a couple of friends who are in a similar position to us, I think. Disinterested in marriage, I mean. In order to avoid the same family pressure and rumour mill that's currently hounding you, they decided to get married despite their disinterest, and it’s turned out to be a surprisingly happy union.”

“Miss Patel,” he began, closing off like a brick wall as he returned his gaze to the road ahead. “I hired you with the specific understanding that the parameters of this arrangement were clear to you.”

“They’re perfectly clear,” she soothed. “I'm not suggesting that you marry me or any woman and find yourself in unexpected marital bliss. I think we understand each other better than that. Your disinterest would be clear from across the ocean. It can be read clearly from the stars. But, after a few weeks, if you find yourself enjoying the benefits of our current arrangement, there is a way to make it permanent without any sacrifice on your part.”

“You want us to marry,” he said slowly.

She shrugged one elegant shoulder. “I’m merely putting it forth as a possibility. A mutually beneficial solution to our respective problems.”

“You would get access to my money, my standing, and my estate, and I would get…a wife.” His scepticism was resounding.

“A beautiful wife,” she corrected, “who would excel in every social situation that chafes you, and understand you on a level that other women — the ones who genuinely want to make themselves your wife — do not. Because I do understand you, Lyndon. I think we share certain similarities that make us uniquely suited.”

Absolute silence reigned in the car. Deepa was exceedingly annoyed at herself for having inspired such discomfort in two separate people in a single day.

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