"My father's competitors?"
"Among others." He sips his coffee, expression controlled but tension evident in his shoulders. "Certain interests believed they had claim to the Everett connection. Our arrangement disrupted long-standing expectations."
"The Montgomerys?" I guess, connecting to Violet's imminent marriage.
A slight nod confirms my assessment. "Charles Montgomery Senior had expected multiple connections between our families. Your sister's marriage, while valuable, represented only partial fulfillment of anticipated arrangements."
Understanding blooms with chilling clarity—I had been intended for the Montgomery family as well, perhaps for Charles's younger brother James, cementing business alliances through multiple marriages. My departure five years ago haddisrupted these plans. Gage's arrangement with my father had derailed them permanently.
"And now they apply pressure to prevent our wedding," I conclude. "Hence the accelerated timeline, the increased security, the non-negotiable schedule."
"Precisely." His expression suggests mild approval of my analysis. "The Montgomery influence extends through multiple regulatory bodies, financial institutions, and political connections. Delay provides opportunity for interference."
"Will there be complications at Violet's wedding?" I ask, the concern genuine.
"Security has been enhanced appropriately," he replies, returning to his tablet. "Your interaction with the Montgomery family will be carefully managed to prevent unnecessary friction."
"I'll need to know which Montgomerys to avoid," I say. "Beyond Charles Senior, who considers themselves personally affected by our arrangement?"
He glances up, that brief expression of approval returning. "James Montgomery primarily. He had certain expectations regarding your eventual return to family obligations. His mother, Margaret, similarly invested in the potential connection. Charles Senior maintains professional distance despite personal disappointment."
James Montgomery—the younger brother I'd met perhaps twice at society functions, a Harvard business school graduate with his father's ambition and significantly less restraint, according to society gossip.
"I'll maintain appropriate distance," I promise, the cooperation genuine since conflict at Violet's wedding was one of the last things I would want.
He nods, apparently satisfied with my response. "The bracelet suits you," he observes, gesturing to my wrist whereI've indeed worn the sapphire piece, a decision to demonstrate acceptance.
"It's beautiful," I acknowledge, neither effusive nor rejecting. "Antique, I believe?"
"Mid-nineteenth century. French craftsmanship." He returns to his tablet, the brief personal exchange concluded with characteristic efficiency. "Your dress fittings begin at one. I have meetings until dinner."
The dismissal is familiar. I finish my tea, the morning sunlight streaming through conservatory glass.
The day proceeds with wedding preparation activities—fittings for the blue Valentino Gage, hair and makeup trials, reviews of jewelry options beyond the sapphire bracelet.
I cooperate.
By evening, preparations complete and Gage still occupied with business matters, I retreat to the garden for relative solitude. Spring has fully arrived, flowering trees creating canopies of white and pink blossoms, perennial beds emerging with careful planning evident in color progressions and textural contrasts.
I sit on a stone bench near the koi pond, watching fish navigate their beautiful prison—a metaphor too obvious to ignore. Like them, I swim within boundaries not of my choosing, observed and maintained as decorative property rather than autonomous being.
"Miss Everett."
The voice startles me from contemplation. Victor stands several paces away, his expression professionally neutral as always.
"Mr. Blackwood requests your presence in his study immediately."
I follow Victor through the garden and into the mansion, maintaining a composed exterior.
Gage isn't alone when I enter the study. A distinguished older man in an impeccable suit stands at the window, turning as I enter. Something in his features—the particular angle of jaw, the set of shoulders—triggers immediate recognition despite never having met him before.
Gage's father. Or rather, someone so closely related that the resemblance cannot be coincidental.
"Penelope," Gage says, his voice carrying unusual tension beneath its controlled surface. "Allow me to introduce my uncle, Richard Blackwood. He's arrived unexpectedly from London."
Richard Blackwood approaches with practiced charm, taking my hand with old-world courtesy. "My dear, forgive the intrusion. When I heard my nephew had finally decided to formalize a family connection, I couldn't resist seeing for myself the woman who accomplished what so many others attempted."
"Mr. Blackwood. What a surprise to meet Gage's family. He rarely mentions relatives."
