The newspaper was a mess of crumpled gray and black in her hand, wrinkled from the constant fidgeting of her hands as she nervously stood at the edge of the park she'd been directed to, wishing she didn't have to do what she was about to do. Self preservation had her frightened... She'd be damned before going and begging help from the family of the baby she carried now within her womb, that of her dead husband... the one who was shot dead in the middle of the brothel.

Magnus Carrington III had been a monster, and it was no surprise after she had met some of his family. With the exception of one or two of the children, everyone was rotten to the core including mother and father. That family was all sorts of nope for her. She rested a hand on her budding belly and said, "I won't let you be one of them. No..." ANd with a sigh, she looked for the man with the upside-down paper.

The ad response was at once both disappointing and overwhelming. Some were robust letters about the life the writer would love to live on his coin, sans any of the things he were interested in. Others asserted impressive credentials for not being able to spell “credentials”. Another yet still went into great detail of what she would do to keep her husband happy every night.

He kept that one, but did not answer.

The one he was meeting was the only one who made claim to another language.

There was one man in the entire park dressed like a lawyer … but his newspaper was upright. He peered over it when he heard another’s approach.

The look he cast over her was calculating rather than lusty. Would she look good on his arm? She was rather tall - too tall, even. Zechariah dropped his attention back down to his paper.

She glanced around until she spotted the one who looked familiar. Her gaze caught his as he was looking at her and she tilted her head. She studied him for a long moment before turning and gliding the way a well bred lady would in his direction. When she neared him, Sonia slowed to a stop and lowered her gaze, feigning some ignorance even as she recognized him for who he was. She'd been in the Diamond Pony, which was turned into the hands of one of the girls left behind when the mas-- when Magnus had died.

"I do not suppose you would be the man who wrote this advertisement?" she asked, her Italian accent drawling almost lazily from her pretty lips. She was a gorgeous creature with a face that could cause fights. Problem was, she had nobody to protect her... and the small looking man on the bench did not look as though he could provide a good hook through a wet piece of paper... He was much smaller than her husband had been. However, there was no disdain in her eyes.

Little did he know: she had him at an advantage.

Chris had recommended the Diamond Pony, back in the day. Told him to loosen up, find a nice boy. Zechariah had thought it was another speakeasy … but when he arrived, there was no bar. No pool table, not even a room out of sight yet reeking its seductive pull of opium in lieu of drink. Instead, a bored young man had led him to a bedroom and pulled his pants down as soon as it closed.

The result was as dignified as one might expect: Zechariah ran for his life, stopping only at the door before Sofia to stuff his flaccid cock back into his trousers and lace up with his back facing her while uttering a litany of curses, apologies, and a rushed prayer out the door.

He remembered the borders on the door far better than he remembered anyone (beyond the pantser) there.

That the formerly blushing barrister-in-training had had the chutzpah to make it through his first court case had been a tasty piece of gossip among some of the courtesans – especially after the picture their regular client painted of his “friend”.

He watched her approach from the corner of his eye. She was unaccompanied, by chaperone or friend. The woman walked like gentile upper class, and yet her approach felt like the roaring of a train down tracks he had been tied to.

Then, she spoke: a beautiful, enunciated accent that seemed to hit every consonant like an archer who only shot arrows in triplets. In other words: not English. She, too, was a stranger in a strange land. While he could appreciate that, he was eager for any excuse to turn a future wife down.

“Advertisement?” he asked instead of answering, his own accents somewhat faded from both conscious effort and the amount of time he spent in England.

She raised a brow. He was clearly trying to play some sort of game with her. She sighed and held the piece of newspaper aloft, "This one... Where a man seeks a bride. A specific man. You. Mister Meijer." Sonia was not in the mood for such things. Without asking, she sat down next to him, though there was a sizable gap between them. With her sitting, the roundness of her belly showed, though it was clear she was not too far in.

She gave a sigh and then said, "You see, I know who you are, we've even crossed paths... We aren't acquainted of course, but I have made it a point to know who you are." She paused and then looked at the crumpled piece of paper. "My name is Sonia... Sonia Carrington. And my husband, may he rot in his grave and hell, owned the Diamond Pony..." She trailed off, giving him a chance to let that sink in.

There was a sudden tension across his shoulders as she shot his yet to be offered name. Was nowhere in England too far for his face to be recognized? Perhaps she was the daughter of some well-moneyed criminal, for she walked too grandly to be one of the common women that so often ended up behind bars.

He glanced when she sat, finally meeting her gaze again with cool resolve. She was no one, as far as he could tell. A beautiful woman, a woman who had been through finishing school, but most likely some merchant’s freshly minted woman who had a few bachelors in mind to make her own.

Sonia … Carrington? His brow furrowed in skepticism. There was no Carrington he knew by the name of that, and he used to grudgingly tolerate one of the brothers. Husband? His gaze immediately dropped to her hands, scouring them for rings as she spoke. Dead husband-- oh, oh God. This was Magnus’ widow?

Diamond Pony. There was only one instance he had ever been there While he figured she thought it just the usual parlays with women and disease … the ghost of Oscar Wilde’s trial hung heavy over him.

Zechariah Meijer might have been half a head shorter than her, but he was broad and he was bold. He closed the distance between them, thigh just shy of touching thigh, and cupped one of her hands between two of his. He leaned in, not close enough to kiss but certainly closer than strangers ought be.

Better to be thought a lecher than known a bugger, after all.

“Mrs. Carrington,” he murmured, not unkind but neither gently, either. “May his memory-” he began out of habit, but then desisted.

His memory was a curse, and Zechariah was not inclined to pretend otherwise. He changed tracks.

“You are no doubt a comfortable widow now – why complicate that with another husband?”

She was used to men closing in on her and did not flinch at his sudden nearness. She did, however, snap her head toward him when he said what he said about her life. "As if Mrs. Anne Carrington would suffer a whore in her house," she said bitterly. "I didn't marry Magnus by choice and I certainly am not welcome, even if I carry his possible heir. I am frightened of his family. Nobody but the family knows I was his wife, brief that it was. Besides, I can see the advantages of marrying you instead, and it has nothing to do with your money if that is your worry. It is a matter of safety. I need your help and I will do anything I must to get it."

Sonia lowered her eyes to her hands, "I despise what I am about to be forced to do if you don't accept my proposal for a marriage of convenience."

… A whore? The most educated woman who answered his advertisement was a whore? How would that look to the masses? Wait! And she was pregnant? Even as his eyes glanced down at her stomach, he hardly even had the time to be properly scandalized.

She spoke of marriage between them as though it were a done deal. He glanced away to gather himself, taking a long breath through his nose.

What had he gotten himself into?

“Sonia,” he said gravely, adrenaline throwing together a desperate plan.

She need not have anything on him to make his life difficult. Reporters had taught him that much.

“Before you decide on a husband –” he put his hand seriously upon her shoulder, “you need a lawyer. Your rights – your legal rights – as a widow are far greater than your rights as another man’s wife.”

She tilted her head and murmured, "You don't understand..." Though he wouldn't see her shaking, he'd probably feel it. "They are bad... All but a few... Magnus was the worst of them all. I am a murderer's widow and I had no choice but to work on my back... I don't want to work on my back anymore, I cannot. Not now. And what if they take my child from me? His father might be a monster but it isn't his fault."

Sonia sighed and looked away, her words coming out in uneven tones, "You must help me. Please... I... I would pretend to be your devoted wife for all the world to see. I'd do anything..." One could hear the fear and desperation in her voice. "I don't wish to tell your family just where you stick your cock." That part was said so low that only he could hear it.

Chris was in with the Carringtons. That did not make them bad people, per se … it did. It made them horrible people, even if he denied it to the grave. It just meant they were … complicated.

“You can keep your child,” he said, confidently, calmly, eager to help get her off his case. “You will more than have the means.”

At first, it was difficult to tell if he heard the last part. The fear that took over him was not prominent. It did not widen his eyes, nor cause a visible start. But for someone searching for her target to hit: his throat bobbed, and his skin gleamed perspiration. He leaned in, gloved hand smoothing her arm as he murmured back low.

“As your husband and owner of the Diamond Pony,” he forced himself to smile against her cheek, “I could pass you around at a premium. I could have you declared unfit and treat your child tenfold as you treat me.”

Zechariah felt nauseous even before the threats left his mouth. Chris’ spirit smiled over him. He tucked her blonde hair behind her ear, visible gestures as gentle as his words were cruel.

“Are you certain this is the precedent you wish to set, my dear?”