May 15th, 1891 — Zabini Residence, London

They had survived the reception (ha!) without incident. Whether that was a testament to Mathilda's hosting skills or the general unwillingness of well-bred men and women to publicly scrounge for scraps of gossip was anyone's guess. Domitian did not imagine it had much, if anything, to do with the newlyweds themselves. While Mr. Prewett and Camilla had made a passable show of liking each other, at least for now, the reason they'd married so suddenly was hardly a secret. The best that could be hoped for under the circumstances was that Camilla would take a good long while to get pregnant, if she did at all. At least then, people might speculate that Mr. Prewett's conscious had gotten the better of him after he'd deflowered her and he'd decided to do the honorable thing of his own volition, rather than being forced to the altar at wandpoint because of a suspected pregnancy. If everyone was going to know his sister had offered herself up to a man before marriage, the best that they could hope for was that they'd suppose she'd only done it once, not that this was some torrid recurring affair that had only progressed to something more because she had backed herself into a corner. Time would tell, Domitian supposed.

The other thing time would tell about: Calliope's pregnancy. She probably ought to have given birth already, so it wouldn't be much longer now. So far, she had shown no indication that she intended to do them all the favor of dying during the process.

"I fear I've been somewhat remiss in my brotherly duties," Domitian announced to his sister with only the barest of preambles. If he had any particular feelings about this statement, they were not evident in his tone; he declared it as impassively as he might have remarked upon the weather. The servant who had been pouring tea finished and handed him his cup, and he waved a hand to dismiss her, leaving the two Zabinis alone in the sitting room.

---

Domitian ran his tongue slowly over the upper row of his teeth as he considered how to answer her question. He was loathe, as always, to say too much; he did not like to give the game away even to those he considered to be playing on the same side as he was. For ten years he had been careful never to so much as raise an eyebrow that could have been considered a challenge to his father's whims, because staying in Cosmo's good graces was part of his plan. The London home had been purchased with Zabini family money, and their annual expenses mostly came from the same allowance he had been afforded since reaching adulthood and taking a wife his father had selected for him. His wages were hoarded, a stockpile against disaster, against what he assumed was the inevitable: when his father would turn on him and cast him aside just as he had cast their mother aside. While he'd been working for ten years to ensure that his family (in any iteration, whether Matilda left him with the children or took the children with her or remained stolidly by his side) could weather it, he was by no means eager to cross that bridge yet, and he wasn't sure that he could trust Bellona not to repeat anything said to her this afternoon. He thought she understood the gravity of the situation, at least now that Camilla had eloped, but she was young; she might make an offhand comment with no thought for the consequences, and he had to protect himself in any event.

On the other hand, he wasn't sure how he could have this conversation while maintaining neutrality, and his interaction with Camilla in the aftermath of her bedding Mr. Prewett had driven home to him that this was a conversation he needed to have.

"Forgive me for being both blunt and a little crass," he began in a level tone. "The first time I asked Camilla what she wanted from her life was after she had already ceded most of her bargaining power to that oaf, and I do not intend to repeat my mistake."

---

"I'm pleased to hear it," Domitian returned easily. He had not seriously believed that she would be so stupid, knowing that Camilla's happy ending, as it were, was far from the only possible outcome in such a situation. Then again, prior to the Santa Antonina he had not seriously believed that Camilla would have been so stupid, either. His assumptions about his sisters were not to be trusted in making plans moving forward, it seemed, because they were both capable of surprising him.

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you that the way events have unfolded makes your situation more difficult," Dom continued. He wouldn't have said the words at all, any more than he would have wasted his breath telling her the sky was blue, except that they provided a good prelude to what he really wanted to say, which was: "While I am sure that you are up to the task, you may benefit from an ally."

---

"That depends," Domitian replied levelly. The steam from his tea spiraled up lazily from the cup in his hands. He shifted his gaze to meet Bellona's eyes as he continued. "On my initial question. What do you want?"

Hopefully she would sense his meaning and not respond with something obvious and shallow, such as to marry. He was far more interested in what she wanted after that, and intended to do what he could to see her secure it. He had failed Camilla in that regard, he suspected — she may have gotten what she'd professed to want, but he was still sure she didn't fully comprehend the consequences of her choice, and wouldn't until she lived them.

---

"You want a partner who appreciates your worth," Domitian summarized, with a sharp nod. It was good to hear her say it, though he had expected nothing less. Well, he had expected nothing less up until his washroom conversation with Camilla. Better to be a whore than to be nothing. It had alarmed him to hear Camilla speak so starkly of the value she assigned to herself, and how much it seemed to hinge on what others thought of her, and he had hoped to hear that Bellona wasn't so far gone that she shared her sister's opinions on the matter.

He paused before he spoke again, making a small performance of setting his tea cup down and adding a minuscule amount of sugar to the cup. He stirred until it was dissolved before he looked back over at her. What he intended to say next was dangerous, if she ever repeated the words to their father, and he hoped he'd judged correctly that she wouldn't. "The surest path to acquiring that," he said quietly — he trusted his servants' discretion, but this was too much to allow anyone to overhear. "— does not involve any pureblooded suitors."

---

Domitian had hardly expected his words to be met with raucous enthusiasm, so he was not surprised by her reaction. He settled back in his chair, abandoning his tea on the table for the moment. He rested the tips of his fingers lightly against his lips as he watched his sister, waiting for his words to fully sink in. He would not insult her intelligence by laying out all of the evidence to support his assertion, unless she insisted on pretending ignorance. No matter what story they presented to the rest of the world, however, Bellona could not have thought that Fitzroy Prewett had chosen to elope with Camilla. She had already said (vehemently) that she was not Camilla and she had no intention of treading the same path, which meant tricking or forcing a pureblood man to marry her was out of the question. And if she wanted someone who truly respected her, perhaps even loved her, she wouldn't find the like on the membership roster of Black's. Pureblood men had prejudice as their earliest and closest bedfellow, and he ought to know. He'd been the same way, until ten years ago. He knew the way pureblood men saw the world, because he'd been taught to see it the same way.

Bellona may have been young, but she was not silly; she could certainly see the sense in his words. Whether she would be willing to act on them, however, remained to be seen... particularly since their father had ingrained into them all for so long that the only way to secure his love, affection, or respect was to continue existing in this pureblood world they didn't really belong to. Choosing intentionally to diverge from the path their father had laid out for her would take courage, certainly, but it might be her only path to happiness. Otherwise, she was in for several more seasons of stress at least. The best that could be hoped for was that she would find herself backed into a corner, as Camilla had been, acting out of desperation to win what she thought she wanted. Not even that was assured, however — as Calliope's growing belly daily reminded them, their position in their father's esteem was not guaranteed for the future.

"There is a certain give and take," he eventually allowed. "There are things you might stand to lose, if you chose that path." Their father's esteem, for one, to whatever extent she actually had it presently. Admittance to a certain brand of society events, perhaps, though she might have already seen herself excluded from such events due to her own blood status. "Which is why I began with the question I did. It comes back to that — to what you want. Whether you believe securing a husband who cherishes you, who truly respects you, is worth the risk of losing more — superficial things."

---

Domitian's mouth twitched slightly in the direction of a frown, but only for a half second. He looked down at his hand, eyes tracing out the edges of his cuticles as he ran the edge of his thumbnail over the nails of the other fingers, turning her words over in his mind. Again, he had not expected her to be overjoyed by the suggestion, but the snake metaphor was unexpected and not exactly a glowingly positive sign of how she was receiving this. She did have a point, though. Domitian didn't think it was worth disregarding the notion of love and mutual respect, having lived so long in fear of evoking his wife's ire and losing his children as a result. On the other hand, he knew that if Matilda did divorce him, his life would not be over. Bellona, if she found herself in a similar situation, would not be quite as able to land on her feet as he was. Particularly not if she had alienated herself from half of society before her husband cast her aside.

Then again, their mother's position as a ensconced socialite and beloved hostess had hardly saved her when the time had come. Maybe it was all a fool's bargain, in the end.

"It's hardly a matter that need be settled today," he pointed out, his tone far lighter than it had been at any earlier point in the conversation. "I don't have a likely gentleman hiding behind the curtains. I only hope," he continued, quieting his tone again, "That if you are seeking a husband who will consider your merits independent of your own blood status, you will extend the same courtesy to him."

---

Domitian raised an eyebrow and let out a slight huff of a breath, which passed for laughter among those who knew him well despite the fact that his corner of his mouth barely moved. She was joking, clearly, but it wasn't something he considered beyond the realm of possibilities. He would much rather have exercised his duties as an older brother by bringing pleasant and eligible bachelors around to meet Bellona than by issuing threats to a semi-dressed Fitzroy Prewett aboard the Santa Antonina.

"I expect our father will be otherwise occupied most of this Season," he began. His tone had changed: slightly louder, with a feigned sense of warmth. These were words intended to be overheard if anyone was lurking by the doorway, though he wasn't sure whether or not that was likely. Just in case, though, it was always good to put on a bit of a show to prevent suspicions from forming. "If you ever find yourself in need of a chaperone I hope you won't hesitate to call on me. As your ally," he added. These last three words were loaded, and he hoped she would catch the meaning. If she wanted to do some things her father or the rest of their family wouldn't approve of — if she wanted to get to know some halfblooded suitors — he could support her through it.

What they would tell their father, if she actually ended up receiving a proposal from one, remained to be seen — but that was a bridge they could cross when they came to it.

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