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moonshine-nightlight · 2 years

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Nothing’s Wrong with Dale - Part Ten

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing’s Wrong with Dale Chapter 10

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight] [Part Nine] Part Ten [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two] [Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four] [Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

A strange sort of silence fills the library after the pair leaves and you take a moment to regain your footing. There’s nothing you can do while they’re gone, you remind yourself ruthlessly. Whatever happens is out of your hands.

Dale has done an adequate job of containing himself these last few days and perhaps it would even be good for him, to expend some physical energy and to re-familiarize himself with those on the hunt. He has all of human Dale’s memories and has shown no difficulty accessing them. That should reassure Grandfather.

It has to.

You turn to the table, aggressively shoving those thoughts to the back of your mind, where they will no doubt lurk until it's time for sleep, and attempt to focus on other things. Before the interruption, you and Dale had gotten through the majority of the martial plans, and plotted the rough course of your post-wedding tour. You should finalize the letters to the councils, informing them of your attendance at the next meetings and so on. Grandmother’s clerk’s apprentice should be available shortly, perhaps she could aid you in addressing and sending these.

With Grandfather and Dale away, along with a few other members of the household, that left fewer here to do the work, although there will be a bit less of it. Perhaps you can talk over some of these with Grandmother, get her opinion on some of your plans and her impressions of the officials she dealt with the most.

You start organizing the papers closest to you as you make a mental list of what to do in the next few days. The hunt truly signified the start of the wedding celebrations. The tournament will take a few days in its own right, then you’ll likely relocate to Connton for the city galas, until finally retiring back to the estate for the final balls and the wedding itself.

A cough startles you from your thoughts and you look up to see Steward Bilmont head moving back down to look at his own paperwork. You frown, wondering why he made what had seemed like a deliberate sound to get your attention when he isn’t even looking at you, when he says, “Lord Archibald seemed surprised by Lord Dale’s attitude regarding the hunt.”

You stiffen slightly. “Yes, I suppose Lord Dale’s head was rather more firmly stuck in his thoughts and paperwork than Grandfather expected.”

“Still,” Bilmont replies mildly, “I expected more excitement from Lord Dale myself. Even some of all this,” he gestures at the table and the papers that cover it, “was rather unforeseen, at least to me.”

You know he means Dale’s interest in Northridge minutiae. “Lord Dale has long been anticipating his inheritance,” you say, only a bit woodenly, trying to stick to the facts. You stand up from your chair to better aggregate the various papers together, to occupy your hands so they don’t shake as they seem inclined to. “It is not such a surprise that he is trying to grasp the reins as early and as completely as he can.”

“No,” Bilmont’s tone is thoughtful and conciliatory. “It is not.”

You calm at that to some extent and try your best to act as though you are focused on the reports, not this idle conversation the steward has started. Why? To what end? What does he know or suspect? You should just hurry and leave before he can ask or make any further observations. Without an outside party to confront, to confirm or deny those observations, he might let it drop, or at least move on to other tasks.

“He did seem to warm up to the idea at the end,” Bilmont says, closing the ledger he was writing in and glancing up at you. Looking back down, he continues, “Although given what happened a week ago, I hope that’s not a mistake.” Your eyes widen against your will as you scramble for something to say. “Given his health.”

“Yes, his health,” you reply, grasping at the pieces of straw he’s offered you. You think he’s testing you somehow, you wonder what he knows, but all you can do is play along. You didn’t think Bilmont was the sort to prod in such a way, but he’s certainly got a reason to—his livelihood is tied inextricably with Northridge, which is tied to Dale. “With the fever gone and his strength returned to him, I don’t think there would be any cause for concern over the hunt. He does use the cane occasionally, but that is primarily for balance, which I hope does not affect his riding ability.”

Truthfully, that thought had never occurred to you until you said it and now you are worried about that too.

“Yes, I suppose Lord Dale,” Bilmont begins, eyes still on his letter, “certainly, by all appearances, seems to have…recovered… from his illness.”

“Yes, quite.” You dislike the way he says both ‘recovered’ and ‘illness’ and even ‘by all appearances’.

Does he know about the demon?

There are also those who are human but suffer side-effects from encounters with the Depths or momentary possession. Perhaps Bilmont suspects what happened, but not the full extent of it. Dale certainly didn’t hide any of his research into demonic activities very well, particularly from any of the servants. Mayhap Bilmont wants to ensure Dale’s recovery or see what you know of it, under the impression something like that has happened?

You find you’ve gathered all your papers into your leather folder and wrapped the cord around so tight it’s threatening to snap. You mechanically unwind and re-tie it. “He seems to be suffering no dramatic physical side-effects from what happened. I think he shall make a full recovery.”

You turn your focus onto the books and ledgers, stacking them up by how you think they were originally, but mind only half on the task. Your shoulders are practically up by your ears waiting for…

“You know,” Bilmont says, his chair scraps against the floor as he pushes it back away from the table. “It was I who found him in his…” he chooses his words carefully, “stricken state. In his study.”

“Oh,” you reply, flinching at the sound of your own high-pitched exhale at that information. You suppose it had been rather naive to think Dale had managed to get somewhere less conspicuous before needing further attention that night. You have no doubt Bilmont is referring to the hidden room in Dale’s study.

Shit.

Perhaps he’s not trying to get information from you. Perhaps he’s trying to figure out what you know. It’s still possible he only found Dale in the main part of his study and that after everything, Dale had managed to clean up after himself in the hidden room without anyone knowing. But it’s a tough sell, even to yourself. You have to try though, you can’t be the one to give it away.

“That must have been quite a scene,” you say tentatively. As far as you know, none in Northridge besides Dale himself are particularly familiar with demon summoning given Grandmother’s distaste, but the steward isn’t an idiot. If he truly found Dale, unconscious or the like, in the hidden room, with all the demon summoning paraphernalia then he has to know.

“Yes,” you see him swallow, eyes unfocused as if remembering. “Quite. Made a mess.” You’re certain he saw the hidden room now, given the drawn look in his eyes. “I’d thought Lord Dale had passed at first. No pulse, you see.”

“Oh,” is all you can think to say. Under your panic, your mind is racing with distant questions like: does that mean Dale died before the demon took over his body? Did the demon not know how to pump blood through a human body at first? Is that something he could forget even now? Could he do it wrong? You are suddenly very aware of the rush of your own blood through your veins.

You wish you weren’t.

“The physician was very distressed when called and pronounced him deceased four separate times in those first few hours until the Lady told him to stop,” Bilmont continues, staring down the table at you. “Once he seemed stable enough, though in the grips of his fever, she left him to Lord Archibald and Doctor. Until the doctor was sent away, of course.”

“Yes, I recall,” you say faintly.

“Although he seems to like your brand of medicine just fine,” Bilmont’s next words hold the hint of accusation in his voice.

You manage to contain your flinch, discharging the nervous energy by fiddling and fidgeting with your clothing. “It’s nothing,” you say, daring to look back at him. “That’s likely why he tolerates them. Little homemade teas and tonics from when I was sick as a girl.”

“They still seem to have made an impression on him.” You feel like he means to say that you left an impression but that doesn’t make any sense. When you only gaze back at him blankly, he clarifies more leadingly, “The entire ordeal seems to have left quite an impression on him.” Bilmont’s voice is skeptical and wary, “On his countenance at least.”

“Yes,” you give a jerky nod and venture, “I suppose an experience like that might give one cause to re-examine their choices and what is truly important to them.”

“It might,” Bilmont allows. Then his expression hardens. “Lord Dale was never much given for introspection.”

“No,” you agree. “He wasn’t.”

“He seems more inclined these days,” Bilmont says, gaze narrowing. “Almost a changed man, one might say. A different man.”

“Yes, he does,” you murmur, feeling almost numb. Bilmont knows. He knows what happened and what Dale is. It's all over then. Or is it? After all, he’s merely telling you this, talking with you in private. He broached this topic so why? Does he know that you know? Can you persuade him? Persuade him to work with you rather than against you. “A better man.”

“Oh, is he now?” Bilmont’s cool demeanor falters and a hint of a manic edge enters his voice. You wonder if his attitude so far has been more of a front than you realized as he unravels to some extent in front of your eyes. “You think this—this novel Dale is indeed improved. That he is to be trusted?”

You tilt your head to the side. Bilmont is a realist as you are. “Was he to be trusted before?”

Bilmont falters, his fingers tightening around the ledger in his hands. “I knew what-who he was then. We managed.”

“Yes,” you nod. “We would have had to manage with him, around him. I think now… Now I think he is someone I can work with.” When Bilmont just stares at you, you gesture to the table, still covered in papers. “How do you think this would have gone previously?”

Bilmont scowls, which mirrors your sentiments exactly. You say your piece anyway, “If he took the time to contemplate any of this, he would have cherry picked the councils that interested him to take charge of personally and left the rest to us. He would have installed those he wished, regardless of their suitability or the offense to Grandfather.”

“He would have,” Bilmont concedes. “But I knew that he would. Because I knew him. I knew what to expect. I don’t know that anymore. Anything could happen. He seems relatively fickle, one new idea to the next and they seem like fine ideas, but what if the next one isn’t? What if he grows bored of this?” He gestures at both the table and at the large map of Northridge. He takes a step closer to you, his eyes a bit wild.

“He is an entirely different, different person,” Bilmont hisses. He seems to have left fear behind and is incredulous, leaning towards anger. “Who we know nothing about—not of their goals or plans or—proclivities. And you think we should—what? Just go alo—”

“Yes,” you interrupt, your heartbeat loud in your head as he voices everything you’ve already thought a dozen times over. “Like a different person. One without the flaws and vices of before. One who, thus far, has only shown himself to be polite and intelligent and who wants to invest in this life, in Northridge—not waste it on frivolity and pettiness.

“I have far less reservations of him, than I did of…before,” you’re content to talk around this as he is. “Different reservations, with more assessment to come. But fewer. Can you tell me true that you do not? That you prefer the unaltered to the one we have before us now?”

There is a long silence as Bilmont stares at you, long enough for you to want to try to calm your breathing, to want to check your hair after behaving in such an agitated manner, to want to look away. But you don’t.

He looks away first.

“No.” Belmont shakes his head slowly as he looks back up at you. “I can’t say that.”

“I’m not—I’m not saying this isn’t an, an absurd situation to find ourselves in.” You try to gather your thoughts, to put them in some semblance of an order because while you hadn’t expected to have to articulate them, perhaps if you can, you can convince Bilmont to your side of things. “That he hasn’t, hasn’t changed. But think on the alternatives and tell me which you think is better, which you think has the least potential for harm.”

Another long pause before Bilmont admits, “This is a very delicate situation.”.

“Yes,” you agree immediately, because it is.

“There aren’t many other avenues to explore,” he taps his pen against his ledger, “you are not wrong. For Northridge at least.” His eyes narrow at you, suspicion on his face. “However you are not bound to it, not yet.”

“Aren’t I?” you ask blithely.

“No,” his voice is blunt and unamused. “You aren’t.”

“Perhaps not, but…” you try to find the right words. “I think you overestimate the number of other choices I have—separate from Northridge and after—if anything. If anything deteriorated here.”

“I suppose,” he says, but you can see skepticism in his eyes as well as some judgment, some pity–some condescension.

It’s that more than anything that makes you straighten. Defensive and raw with the conversation as it is, you will not have this. “You think you have a clearer picture of my situation than I do? You think I have not thought as long and hard about this as possible?” You’re speaking too fast, too offended to keep your tone even. “That I am not still thinking and evaluating. I am still ready to step back, if it is necessary. But I am aware of what it would be to no longer be connected with Northbridge and what it would have been like to be Lady Northridge before—even more aware than you.”

He seems to concede to your point, or at least he is unreadable to you once more. “I did not mean to imply you had not.”

Your posture eases to a degree at his words. “I mean to say that you are not telling me something I do not already know and that I have not already made my decision regarding. Unless something occurs which dissuades me, I will marry Lord Dale as he is now, more happily than I would have who he was before and with more hope to the future, for myself and Northridge.”

“You truly believe that,” Bilmont says and you know it isn’t a question. He sighs, rubbing his forehead, before saying, “I cannot speak against it, although it feels foolish, because I do believe I agree.” Your eyes widen at his admission even as he cautions, “I reserve the right to change my mind, but for now…” He nods. “Yes, I will accept who he presents himself as.

“His grandparents must never find out,” Belmont cautions. “Neither would recover well from the shock, if indeed they did at all, and you’re right, the resulting inheritance debacle would be most disastrous.”

“I’m worried about this hunt,” you confess, if its fears you’re sharing. “Grandfather is definitely noticing he is different, just as Grandmother has not, for she has always wished to believe the best of Dale.”

Bilmont snorted, seemingly more comfortable now that you are speaking frankly. “Yes, her largest blindspot, truth be told. Losing Remington and even Qiana, who had not been in her life long, was devastating to her. For a woman renowned for clear sight, he is a black spot–as to some degree is her vendetta against the tool which was used to take her son from her. We all wondered, what with Lord Dale barely trying to conceal his new hobby from her, which of the two would supersede the other. Given she’s never even made a passing remark about his predilections, I suppose we now know which. Hopefully, that will work to his advantage now.”

“I shall endeavor to do my best to help keep his condition to myself and away from their notice,” you say, a pledge almost, and he nods, seemingly having expected it. “Now that he’s feeling better physically, he seems to have better control over himself, general hunger aside.”

“Yes, he just needs a bit more practice with some of the things he says,” Bilmont says and you are inclined to agree. “Someone will take note eventually.”

“Yes, I try to help brush over them, but,” you give a small shrug, “I’m not the best at smoothing over conversation.”

“Nonsense,” he waves a hand at you and smiles kindly. “You do just fine, my Lady.”

“Thank you, Steward Bilmont,” you reply, warmed by his words. It gives you the courage to say, “I believe we can do this though. Do you?”

He takes his time to think it over, briskly tapping some papers to the table to straighten them out as he does so. Then he gives a sharp nod. “Yes, I think we can.”

You leave the library shortly after, feeling more than a little wrung out from your conversation with Bilmont, but also all the time spent talking over Northridge with Dale. There’s so much coming up ahead—it's as daunting as it is exciting.

Still, there is one clear fact to you, that you are coming away with: you have an ally.

[Part Eleven]

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