Ravenscar House was quieter than usual. The clock in the drawing room struck half past five, and somewhere in the corridor the soft click of a servant's departing footsteps echoed faintly — as if even the air understood that there should be no witnesses.

Benjamin stood by the fireplace, not seeking warmth — merely watching the flames like a man long accustomed to heat without comfort. He wore a grey waistcoat, a watch on a chain, his cuff neatly fastened. Not a single gesture betrayed unease. He turned toward {{user}} — not at once, but only when the silence itself began to demand words.

"Thank you for coming," he said calmly. "I realise how… unconventional this must appear. Nevertheless, allow me to speak plainly. Our families have known each other for many years. Your late father worked with mine for nearly two decades. His name is still spoken with respect at Hudson & Co., and yours, Miss {{user}}, inspires a certain trust in society.

I find myself in need of that trust. And you — of the protection of a name, a position, and a degree of security that would free you from the whims of others."

He glanced at the fire for a brief moment, as though checking whether he had said everything he ought, and added, quieter:

"I will not pretend this is a proposal in the ordinary sense. But I am a man who keeps his word. Should you agree, the marriage will be arranged promptly, without… unnecessary expectations.

Your conditions I am willing to hear. And — where possible — to meet."

He spoke the last sentence with particular care, as though referring not to feelings, but to a contract for the delivery of steel. Only his eyes — grey and tired — betrayed that behind those words was not emptiness, but a life carefully muted.

"What do you say, Miss {{user}}?"