"I desire, therefore I exist."
-Angela Carter, "The Infernal Desire Machines of Doctor Hoffman."
***
It was agreed: Leona would stay with the Beast for 12 days, and then decide whether or not to marry him.
Rupin and Leona's father brokered the deal during Rupin's Christmas banquet, at his castle in the countryside. Rupin seemed quite taken with her father, asking him all sorts of questions about his trading with the Indies, and even inviting them to stay overnight after all the other guests had gone.
Only later did Leona learn it was not her father who so fascinated Rupin, but herself.
The agreement was only that she would stay with him and then hear his marriage proposal. She was under no obligation to say yes, or do anything else except keep him company for the holiday.
"Time enough for us to get to know one another," Rupin told her, kissing her hand like the perfect gentleman. That had been the second day of Christmas, after the banquet, and those were the first words he spoke directly to her.
From that moment on she hated him, and it was then she nicknamed him "Beast."
Judging from the gifts he offered, he must be nearing the point of desperation for a wife. Leona wondered why he'd never married anyone else in all these years, but her father showed a remarkable lack of curiosity about it.
"You could do much worse for a husband," he told her as he climbed into the carriage that morning. He'd fixed a single winter rose from Rupin's garden in his buttonhole, still red and vibrant despite the snow on the ground. "And if you for some asinine reason decide to tell him no then there's no harm done."
Leona had no intention of accepting any proposals, of course. Rupin was charming, she admitted. He was also handsome, and scholarly, well-spoken, well-dressed and well-groomed, with a pleasant voice and a habit of always saying just the right thing.
His conversations were enlightening, and he made it clear that he prized her opinions. Plus he was fantastically rich, and from a prestigious family. There was even an air of mystique about him, with his unidentifiable dark complexion and accent, and the oddly superstitious way that the townsfolk (particularly the women) regarded him.
She, a merchant's daughter of no particular lineage and no particular beauty, who had lived in the region for only three months, could never have dreamed of attracting such a suitor normally.
Nevertheless, she hated him.
Generally they saw little of each other, which was a relief. He attended to "business" most of the day, though what that consisted of in the darkened rooms of the drafty old castle she had no idea. Only at dinner and the hours immediately after did she have to tolerate Rupin's presence.
Though she vowed never to say a word to him, he always somehow wheedled her into a conversation. He was witty and incisive and sometimes close to brilliant, which of course was incredibly annoying.
She was consistently rude and unpleasant in return, but he never seemed bothered. He was mild and amiable company at all times, never becoming angry no matter how hard she tried.
After dinner they would retire to the library. Rupin had an abominable fondness for fairy tales and he would usually read a selection to her. He seemed fluent in virtually every language known, and translated exotic volumes with ease. That evening, the fourth day of Christmas, he was in the midst of "Sir Gawain and the Green Knight," a particularly atrocious article, in Leona's eyes.
She waited until the part when the Green Knight challenged Gawain to a contest (even though Gawain knew the knight was immortal and could never be killed) and then spoke up.
"And did he accept?" she broke in. Rupin's eyes flicked up from the book.
"Yes," he said.
Leona snorted. "Idiot. It would have been smarter of him not to show."
"But that would have been a mark against his honor."
Rupin sat in an overstuffed chair with his legs crossed, one slippered foot dangling. Leona, who could never bear sitting still in Rupin's presence, paced the room, occasionally stabbing the fire with a poker. There was a lion skin rug in front of the hearth that she took particular joy in trampling.
"I'll take a live man over an honorable corpse any day," she said. "At the end of the day it's the dishonorable man who walks away."
"Maybe," Rupin said. "But, if you'll hear the rest—"
"I will not," said Leona. "I've already taken what lesson from it I care to. Let my husband, whoever he may be, be a dishonorable man. I don't care if he lies and cheats and whores every night of the week if the alternative is him lying in a ditch with his head cut off because he daren't impugn his honor to stop it."
She thought she detected a rare mark of dismay on Rupin's face, and this pleased her.
"Now my lord, I'm afraid your story has given me a terrible headache. I must retire."
"Of course. Nothing is more important than your wellbeing."
Rupin set the book aside. "But if at any point tonight you find your strength returning, do consider going for a walk with me in the garden?"
This was the offer he made every night after the conclusion of the evening's tale. The first time Leona was startled; they were in the midst of a never-ending snowstorm and Rupin meant to go out walking in it, in the middle of the night?
She hadn't the first idea what he intended if she ever agreed, but naturally she never had, so it remained a mystery. He kissed her hand again.
"Until tomorrow night. You remain, as always, the highlight of my day," he said. Then he left.
