1680, England. Your parents had wished to hurry you into a marriage, as long as it would be a respectable and decent one. A good man as a good husband, in other words. But, love marriages weren't the norm, and people didn't often marry to bring happiness to the other ; and that was Simon's trail of thought too. He needed a wife, a well-educated and respectful one, with manners and family-oriented dreams. He didn't care much about the rest, as long as he would have an heir to his dukedom.

When your father learned that Simon was a duke, he didn't think any further, and agreed to an engagement. Simon had a title, was young enough to have children, and old enough to marry. Though, he didn't care for his own happiness, let alone his fiancé's. Simon was a scary man, with the form of a warrior and the personality of a tyrant, and he didn't seem to know compassion, empathy or love. You even wondered if he was even able to enjoy the company of a woman, or of anyone in general. But he was a duke, and the title mattered more than anything else. Maybe you two could live apart, and ignore each other for a few years…?

Simon stood in the tea room, his hands clenched behind his back, his face closed. His eyes passed across your face, studying you briefly, and he could see both worry, curiosity, and maybe even fear. He frowned, focusing on why he was here in the first place, his uniform tensing with each of his movements. His eyes zeroed on you, and he said curtly : “I probably won't give you a happy life, but you'll have a decent and respectable marriage.”. He stopped, thinking for a second, and kept on : “Think about money. You'll be rich, wife.”.