Dionisia sat in silent contemplation, considering every point he brought up. She couldn't bring herself to believe that every word out of his mouth was the truth, but she had no evidence to suggest otherwise. Calling the man who offered to marry her, a pregnant, unwed woman, a liar—or even insinuating it, which she was much likelier to do—would be wrong on so many levels, but his proposition was just too... too ideal. Too easy. Out of all the woman who had suffered the horrible consequences of birthing bastards, why should she be the one to escape?

It was clear, too, that he was not explaining why her, even in this mist of defending himself. She doubted he would give the same offer to any passing woman, and while being Zelda's friend and a frequent guest at the Fisk house might give her "bonus points" of sorts, it didn't explain his willingness to marry her specifically. Pressing further, though, risked him walking back on his offer, and it was truly an offer she couldn't afford—socially and financially—to refuse.

After moments of processing his words, Dionisia nodded quietly. If she could assure herself that he would not grow to resent her or the child who would take the Fisk name between now and the time they officially wed, she could be happy. Content. (Or at the very least, saved from eternal unhappiness.)

"You're a true gentleman, Mr. Fisk," she said, the faintest smile of relief appearing on her face for the first time in nearly a month and a half. "If you will have me as your wife, I will marry you."

She could be a good wife, she tried to assure herself, even after years of convincing herself of the exact opposite. She might be poor, and she may have no connections to offer, but she was born and raised into a fairly well-off family. She remembered some French, had the rules of etiquette and grace branded on her behind, and, she considered, had a pretty enough face not to be a total disappointment.

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The following 1 user Likes Dionisia Fisk's post:1 user Likes Dionisia Fisk's post
   Elladora Black

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She had said yes. She had agreed.

Ari blinked.

He wasn't certain that anything he had said had convinced her in the least - she had been quiet and pensive through it all - but it wasn't as though she was overwhelmed with alternative options, was it? Why should he be so surprised now?

A true gentleman, she said, completely oblivious to the fact that he was the furthest thing from it: an impostor, a fraud, a disgrace waiting to happen. But this - this could still be a good thing, on balance. Look; whatever the doubts she must have, the unanswered questions, there had been the ghost of a smile on her a face, a momentary dash of relief. Think of that, Ari, he told himself, pretend it's a good deed after all. He offered her a tentative smile in response.

"Okay," he echoed, belatedly startled but nodding at her to affirm this. "Right, then." He supposed - this made them engaged. Absurd. There would be no taking it back now - no need to, either, since he had been trying to work up the drive to marry for years - but it was all rather inexplicable, that he had come to the family's house for dinner and found himself engaged to be married not half an hour later. No one would quite believe it.

But they would have to, Ari soon realised. If it were to happen, if it were to do any good for either of them, he would have to sell it, not only to the public, but first to his family and his friends. (Merlin, which was worse? The Fisks were the Fisks, but his friends included Ben.) Well, he had better steel himself, because it was happening. And happening fast, because there was a window of expiry on acting on this. There would be an art to avoiding scandal on either side of the issue: a wedding out of nowhere - better a wedding than an elopement - or a baby born too soon. Perhaps he might pretend this had been planned longer than it had (people had been asking him whether he had his eye on some young lady for long enough that they might just believe he'd had some secret fondness close to his chest), but if worst came to worst, he supposed he would just have to claim overtly that the baby was his, that Miss Tweedy's state was all his fault.

But his mind - their minds - were made up. Ari had been lost enough in thought, silently wracking his brain for a more detailed plan to follow, that he'd almost forgotten Miss Tweedy was still sitting before him in the parlour. He probably ought to say something else. "I suppose this is nothing like what you'd envisioned for your future," he admitted ruefully, warm but apologetic (nor was this ever what he had imagined of his), "but I'm sure we can make the best of this." He got to his feet and reached out briefly to cover her hand with one of his own, an awkward gesture of confidence and comfort. Even that felt absurd... but there were plenty of things, Ari supposed, that he had better start getting used to. "It'll all be alright."

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They were engaged. They would soon be married—they would have to, lest her bump start showing earlier than expected, because then people would know. If Mr. Fisk was true to his words, he might still marry her after the scandal hit the tabloid, but everyone would think of her as nothing more than a poor woman who seduced a coworker, only to force him into an unhappy marriage.

And it would be an unhappy marriage, at least at first. There might be no hatred between Mr. Fisk and herself, but there might be resentment on his end down the line; when he found a woman he truly wished to marry, or when he held the child—the one who would look nothing like him, yet still carry his name—in his arms for the first time. If it was a boy, it would be his firstborn; it would inherit what he had, unless he proved so cruel to pass it on to a second-born—or, if they never shared the marriage bed, a nephew.

She would also have Zelda, which could be catastrophic if she became aggravated by the news. Zelda was a loyal, hardworking woman... but she could be bitter sometimes. If she took personal offense to not knowing of the match before it was announced to the family, Dionisia might gain a sister but lose a friend.

"I never really envisioned my future, if I'm honest," she said, made uneasy by how true it was. Tomorrow was never certain; every day was taken one-by-one. Healing itself was rarely dangerous for the mediwitich, but there was always the risk of dangerous substances or suspects nearby.

The touch of his hand made her shiver. It was doubtful that their marriage would be smooth; they hardly knew each other, nor did she feel any true affection towards him beyond the familial security that the Fisks had always offered her. "We'll have to make the best out of it," she said softly, rising to her feet. "I trust you."

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