The Case of the Season

Chapter Nine

That very clear and coherent fact helped him regain himself for a moment and he managed to catch Simon in the chest, making him stagger back.

The most pressing concern for him, honestly, was her request for freedom. While marrying benefited him only slightly, it benefited her greatly, and he wasn't sure he could ignore her plea, especially after everything he'd gone through with his own family recently.

He may not have understood the ton in the way she did, but he knew enough to understand that she had few prospects. She had mentioned that her family estate needed serious repairs, and that her aunt was providing a dowry out of the goodness of her heart. It was also plain from the way she behaved that she was older, which made her less desirable.

Additionally, she had a lovely brain between her ears, which many men would not appreciate at all. In fact, for most, it would actively work against her.

One of the reservations he had was the possibility that she might truly fall in love at some point in the future. Then she would be shackled to him, unable to have a conventional relationship with a man she truly desired.

The other far more frustrating reservation was his confusion about his own feelings. He felt strange around her, for lack of a better word, and increased proximity, even for a short time, might exacerbate that problem.

But he didn't know if he could really abandon her and her perfectly reasonable plan simply because she made him feel odd sometimes. That hardly seemed right, considering what she had to bear in this world.

Simon caught him in the face hard. He stumbled and wiped his mouth, grimacing when his hand came back bloody.

"You all right, Sherlock?" Simon wondered.

"Fine," Sherlock said shortly, abruptly bending and exiting the ring. "Thank you!" he called back over his shoulder as he found his clothes.

"For what?" Simon yelled. "And where are you going?"

"For knocking some sense into me," Sherlock answered as he wiped himself off with a towel before getting dressed. "I have an impromptu appointment I must attend. You were kind to invite me," he remembered to add, thinking that Miss Ballard would chastise him for his bad manners if she were here. "We should do it again sometime when I am less busy."

"Certainly!" Simon agreed, then began to spar with his friend instead.

Sherlock shrugged back into his jacket and headed out to the street. Simon's strike had provided a moment of clarity that he couldn't ignore.

There was no argument he could make against Miss Ballard's proposed arrangement. She expected nothing from him but fairness. She deserved it, he could provide it, and she had been nothing but gracious with him since they'd met.

But there was one more thing he had to do before he could return to her and tell her his answer. As much as he didn't want to, he had to go and speak to his brother.

Not much later, Sherlock entered the Diogenes Club. It was rare to find Mycroft anywhere else, unless he was working, especially since he'd washed his hands of their sister Enola and given all of that responsibility to Sherlock, just as the detective had requested.

Indeed, Mycroft was there, sitting in his favorite chair, reading the newspaper and drinking a sherry with a sneer on his face. He looked more like a weasel than a man, and a very displeased one at that.

Sherlock blew out a breath. Very technically, he didn't need his brother's permission to marry, but he knew it would be much worse for him if Mycroft were to read about it, rather than be told personally.

So he wasted no time. He sat beside his brother quickly, waving away the man approaching to ask if he wanted a drink, and announced, "Hello, Mycroft. I've come to tell you that I shall be proposing to a lady shortly, and will be married soon after, provided that she says yes."

Mycroft folded the top half of his newspaper down and stared at his brother critically. "You think a woman will say yes to your proposal?" he questioned flatly.

"I am fairly confident, yes," he lied, mindful that Miss Ballard had sworn him to secrecy.

"Does she know you? It will be incredibly difficult to convince a woman to marry you if she actually knows you," Mycroft observed deprecatingly.

"No more difficult than it would be to convince a woman to marry you, brother," Sherlock retorted.

Mycroft huffed and raised his paper. "Well, who is she, then? We've had enough drama in this family. I'd like to avoid more."

"Her name is Robin Ballard."

Before he could continue, Mycroft interrupted him. "Countess Robin Ballard?"

Sherlock was stunned for a moment. He hadn't known Miss Ballard was a countess. She had never introduced herself as such. It was a meaningless title, really, but the ton seemed to be particularly addicted to meaningless titles. The fact that she hadn't used hers further increased her charm, at least to him.

"I did not know she was a countess," Sherlock admitted.

Mycroft laughed. "Of course you didn't. You never notice important things like that. She's a countess because there was some sort of scandal with her mother shortly after she was born."

"I don't know anything about that," Sherlock confessed.

"It's not ideal, but it's in the past and has apparently been legally resolved. You'll want to check with her father to make sure before you're wed. We will not be known as men who abandon our families, so you will have to deal with whatever comes with her."

"I'll make the proper inquiries," Sherlock promised.

Miss Ballard would tell him the truth, surely. That would satisfy him. It wouldn't satisfy Mycroft, but he didn't have to know.

Mycroft flipped his newspaper down again. "I've heard she's intolerably poor, though."

"Her aunt, Violet Bridgerton, is providing her dowry," Sherlock corrected him. "And she has an estate, Norland Park, that will be hers upon her father's death. It needs some repairs, but she assures me it can be restored."

"Not the most impressive inheritance, but it will do, I suppose," Mycroft decided blithely. "The Bridgertons are an excellent family, to be sure. Too bad you couldn't marry one who actually had the name."

"You're being awfully picky, Mycroft. I thought you would be happier," Sherlock pointed out.

Mycroft sighed. "Fine, fine. I approve. If she actually says yes, inform me and I will get you a marriage license you can use at any time. Knowing you and your work, you'll change the date of your wedding five times before it actually happens."

"That's very kind of you, Mycroft. Thank you." Sherlock stood. "I'll leave you to your business."

"Very well," Mycroft dismissed him absentmindedly, already paying more attention to whatever story he was reading.

Sherlock intended to go straight to the Bridgerton house and inform Miss Ballard of his decision. He wanted to give her peace of mind, and this would surely be a start.