The Viscount's Husband

One

Tigris adjusts and then readjusts his white cravat, careful that the knot looks as perfect as if a valet had done it up. As much as he appreciates his cousin's help dressing, thinking of the implications grates on his nerves. They were Snows; he was a Viscount, for Christ's sake! They should have maids, valets, and a cook—people to do these things for them!

Instead of boundless wealth, his birthright as the ninth Viscount Snow, Coriolanus Snow inherited gambling debts and a title that meant little without the funds to keep up the family estate, the London home, and the lavish lifestyle his Grandmother still clung to.

Tigris straightens the collar of his tailcoat, smiling up at him, "You look handsome." It was the finest of his few well-fitting tailcoats. A stunning blue color that brought out the intensity of his eyes. Tigris had fashioned it satisfactorily, giving away nothing of their... financial struggles, as she had kept much of the lavish embellishments and expertly sewn stitching.

Another fact that grated on Coriolanus's nerves: his cousin, Lady Tigris Snow, had been forced to learn to fashion clothing for the family instead of paying visits to the modiste herself. Tigris had assured him plenty that she adored sewing, to create dresses for herself and the Grandma'am, waistcoats, tailcoats, and more for him... but really! A Lady- a Snow, more importantly- shouldn't be doing such... common work, in Coriolanus's mind.

"Only because of your-- talents," it made his stomach turn to compliment the styling she'd done to one of his father's old coats, even if she was saving them once again from embarrassment.

Tigris's laugh is soft and breathy, "Oh, baby cousin. It's you who makes the coat beautiful, not the other way around."

Coriolanus flushes slightly. He knew he was considered-- attractive to many of the Ton and commonfolk, but it still made him blush pink whenever someone used the word beautiful to describe his looks.

Tigris smiles at him, "Sorry, sorry. Handsome. Your handsomeness."

She knows him so well.

Coriolanus clears his throat and changing the subject, "Are you coming tonight?"

Tigris shakes her head, not meeting his eye. "I—I'm afraid I don't feel my best tonight."

"Headache?" Coriolanus asks, noting the lie for what it was. He knew his cousin was avoiding the events this London season because of a certain gentleman—one who most indubitably felt exactly the same about his beautiful cousin as she did him. Tigris, though, was under the impression that this gentleman would turn her away if he found out about Snow's fortune or lack thereof, and had been avoiding a public meeting to keep her feelings at bay. Too many times Coriolanus had caught his cousin shedding silent tears when she thought herself alone in the kitchen. He couldn't bear to see her tears.

"Besides," he's sure it must be a Snow trait to change the subject once one was uneasy, "Your attendance is far more important than mine."

Coriolanus purses his lips at that comment. Ah, yes, the true reason he must attend these blasted soirees.

Marriage.

The Viscount turns away from his cousin, pacing across the room in a manner that gives away his anxiety about the subject. This choice wasn't just for a content life; it was hardly about that. It was for money, a fortune. An alliance that would restore his family name and keep the Grandma'am and his cousin comfortable. Maybe somewhere in the middle, he could secure a particular marriage proposal for his dear cousin.

"Don't worry, Coryo," his cousin's voice is full of affection and understanding, "You are so handsome and splendid. Certainly, many of the ladies and gentlemen are already pining after you. You practically have the pick of the Ton."

"But, it's not about picking-" Coriolanus says in a frustrated tone, "It's about restoring our home, our wealth--"

Tigris stops him before he can begin his typical rant, "And those things are important to you, I am well aware, but you shouldn't marry only for wealth, Coryo. Focus on finding a life partner that can make you... happy as well." Tigris smiles at him as if it's that easy.

Coriolanus holds his tongue, wondering how on Earth his cousin had become so romantic in their shared environment. They ate what little they could afford, struggled to keep their fires lit, and wore clothing she fashioned from old garments left by their deceased respective parents—worn out, out-of-fashion, struggling, and poor! In Coriolanus's opinion, there was nothing to be romantic about in life—certainly not a prospective marriage.

He eventually nods, refusing to be the one to tamper out that flame of romanticism in her, even if it was foolish, in his humble opinion.

"Oh, Coryo," Tigris chuckles, "I know you don't believe in such things, but you never know. Perhaps you'll meet someone who catches your fancy tonight, and you'll understand..." She drifts off, certainly thinking of her gentleman friend.

He can feel her sadness as much as he can see it in her eyes.

"Perhaps," he humors her, "So, I ought to look my best," he says with a close-lipped smile.

Tigris smiles back, but it doesn't reach her eyes, "And you will." His cousin returns to fussing with his shirt collar once again, "I'll make sure you look extraordinary in case-- a dashing gentleman or stunning lady catches your eye."

Coriolanus smiles at her, genuine this time, "You always do."

"I always do," Tigris nods, a matching smile on her lips.