In the quiet corners of Londons bustling streets, where ambition and tradition often collided, two old friends sat in a dimly lit gentlemans club, nursing their whiskeys. Archibald Whitmore, a shrewd property developer, leaned forward, his voice low.
“Listen, Reginald, you know that lavender-hued residential complex Ive been dreaming of? The one with the private gardens and underground parking?”
Reginald Pembroke, a man of influence in the city council, smirked. “Aye, Archibald, Ive heard you wax lyrical about it often enough. Youve the means and the know-how. Itd be the talk of the town, no doubt. But securing that land thats another matter. Fancy slipping my boy, Percival, a flat there as a sweetener?”
Archibalds laughter was dry. “And risk you being accused of taking bribes? Percival can buy his own flator a whole blasted manor, for that matter. What you need is a wife for that lad of yours.”
“Here we go again,” Reginald sighed. “My daughter, Eleanor, has a suitor already. And lets be frankyour Percivals a wastrel. Dropped out of Oxford, didnt he? No, my girl deserves better. You think Id drag her to the altar by her hair?”
“You might have to. That plots in high demand”
The two had climbed the ranks together, their alliance mutually beneficial. Archibalds firm had transformed entire boroughs, refurbished historic districts, while Reginald smoothed the waysecuring contracts, winning tenders, greasing the right palms. This new project, Archibalds crowning jewel, promised wealth enough for generations. A gated community with shops and services at residents doorstepsa goldmine. But such ventures required trust, and trust, in their world, was best sealed with marriage.
Their wives were cordial, but their children? Eleanor Whitmore, sharp as a tack, was finishing her degree in landscape architecture, eager to launch her own firm. Percival Pembroke, however, was another mattera perpetual disappointment, more interested in carousing than ambition. Reginald, ever the absent father, had indulged him with money, hoping to buy his way out of guilt. Perhaps a match with Eleanor would steady the boy.
Later that evening, Reginald found Percival in high spirits.
“Father! The lads and I are off to Brighton tomorrowsome music festival. Everyones going.”
“Everyone? You mean the idle sons of wealthy men? Eleanors starting her own business, and youre gallivanting about like a layabout.”
“Give me the funds, and Ill start something too,” Percival retorted.
“A pub? Youd run it into the ground in a fortnight. Court Eleanor. Shes clever, comely. Marry her, and you might make something of yourself.”
“Shes got a beau. And shes dull as dishwaterno joy in her at all.”
“Then steal her away. Take her to dinners, theatresshow her a bit of glamour. Moneys no object. You need me to spell it out?”
Meanwhile, Archibald broached the subject with Eleanor.
“What are your plans, my dear? Beyond the business?”
“You promised me the capital for the firm. Ill repay you once its thriving.”
“Its not the money. What of your personal life? Marriage?”
“Trying to be rid of me?” she teased. “Ive told MotherIm seeing Alexander. But marriage can wait. Business first.”
Archibald sighed. “Eleanor, the world youre entering favours settled menthose past their youthful follies. And marriages theyre strategic. Not with just anyone.”
“Not this again. Percival? Hell never settle. Lets drop it.”
But Eleanor had overheard her parents whispering on the terrace of their country house.
“Why push Eleanor into this?” her mother had hissed. “Do you want a wastrel for a son-in-law?”
“And would you rather see her in poverty?” Archibald countered.
“Poverty? Weve a manor in the Cotswolds!”
“And what if we lose it all? The firms on the brink. Reginald knows itthats why hes pressing.”
Her mother fell silent. “We started in a bedsit, remember? Laughing about two fridges in the kitchen”
A twig snapped beneath Eleanors foot, cutting the conversation short.
Alexander, her sweetheart, was furious when she confided in him.
“So youll save your fathers business with your happiness? Marry that peacock? Youll regret it.”
“You dont understand. The firms his life. That lavender complexits his dream. He wants to plant lilacs in the courtyards”
“And youd trade your future for flowers? My parents live in a council flat, and theyre happier than your lot.”
Percival, meanwhile, became a constant presencedinners, concerts, presents. Eleanor entertained his attentions, testing the waters. Perhaps he wasnt entirely hopeless. He dressed well, knew his music, treated her kindly.
Then came the proposal.
She returned home that evening, resolve steeled. “Percival asked for my hand.”
A heavy silence followed.
“And your answer?” her father asked.
“Im inclined to accept.”
“Do you love him?”
“I dont know. But they say love grows where its planted.”
Archibald rose, staring out the window. Without turning, he said, “Alexander came to see me yesterday. Told me why youd agree to this. Said trading ones daughter was beneath contempt. That hed never shake my hand again.”
Eleanor froze. Her mother covered her face.
“And now?”
Archibald turned at last, exhaling as if unburdened. “Now? Nothing. I told Reginald the deals off. Therell be other projects. As for you, my girlhold fast to Alexander. Hes a man of principle.”
