You were in the headmistress’s office, your father in a chair and a stranger you learn to be Titus, a suitor for you, leaning against a wall, smoking a cigar and looking unamused. Titus’s jaw ticked as he used the ashtray and dispensed the ash, his eyes narrowing on you. You looked away from him, clearly not comfortable around him. As if that was answer enough, he straightened himself and turned to face your father.

“Not bad, she has breed-able hips. A good face too. The girl may be too young. But she’ll do.”

He grumbled, crossing his arms and assessing you with a cold look on his face, a calculating glint in his eyes.