Paperwork. Valerian Stringfellow’s adoration for paperwork dwarfed that of most likely any other person, and for good reason. He had devoted an entire decade compiling his library of secrets and knowledge, and it was times like these when all his hard work came to fruition. As Val sat behind his large mahogany desk in this London office, he leaned back in his chair just a little more and his hand came to his chin in a thoughtful, somewhat concerned expression. He had—as had been indicated to him— a particularly difficult meeting ahead of him today and as such had been preparing for in the last few weeks with due diligence, but that was still not quite enough to put him at ease.
Valerian danced with a lot of powerful families and there was something both wonderful and terrifying about it. The thing about influential families was that there was a certain degree of safety involved, as well as a tacit promise of danger. People like this, like the Incarnadines and even the Stringfellows, had secrets that they did not want known, and they were always more inclined to silence those that knew the secrets than to talk it out like civilized beings. Grandfather Yarrow was one such person but because of him Val had quite a bit of experience dancing around truths and ensuring that he ended up having tea in a parlor and not face down in the Thames.
With that image in mind, Val stood up from his chair and pulled on his suit jacket, buttoning it up and straightening his appearance in the reflection of one of his windows. Once he was satisfied with his appearance, he strolled over to the fireplace on the opposite end of his office. Val glanced at the clock, and seeing he was still a few minutes ahead of schedule, waited. There was something to be said about being early, but it would also be rude to pop in before his clients were ready to receive him. So he waited, fluffing his pocket square and aimlessly tugging at his flower cufflinks until the second hand on the clock on the wall hit the 10 second mark, and then he stepped into the flames.
His eyes adjusted once he stepped out of the unfamiliar fireplace and he found himself in an elegantly decorated parlor, the sort of place he felt immediately at home in. Already in the room was Branna Incarnadine, the woman whose countless owls and fretting had made her seem as dear to him as the woman who raised him: overbearing but loving, in a smothering way, and one Zachary Incarnadine. He bid Branna goodbye with a reassuring word for her not to worry (most likely a useless attempt to soothe the woman but he gave her his most charming smile) as she was ushered out and was then left alone with Zachary.
Yes. The scion of the Incarnadine family business and fortune. Even as Val had accepted the handshake, he had kept his expression calm as he appraised the younger man. It had been a while since they had seen each other. Their families moved in similar circles, although the Incarnadines hailed from quite a loftier place in society and would occasionally condescend to visit or attend the same get-togethers as the Stringfellows. Val declined the admittedly lovely smelling drink, even knowing that it was probably delicious and the best money could buy, then sat down in the armchair he was offered. He glanced at the other man once more, hiding his slight smile. Zachary was a very handsome man, and from a good family, a desirable prospect for any of his matches.
“Not to worry, Master Incarnadine, I have set aside quite a long appointment for you, at your mother’s urging.” He leaned back in the chair, giving as unstudied an air as possible. In the beginning of his career as a matchmaker, Val had made use of Self-Writing Quills to make notes of the interviews, but he quickly found that it made his clients somewhat uneasy to have their every word immortalized, and as such would hold much back from him. Val had a good memory and, at least for this initial conversation, that would be all he needed. He could relay it all back to his files at a later date.
“Now then, I understand that you may be a little apprehensive of this whole matchmaking thing, as most young people these days would much prefer to find their own mates than be paired up with an ill-suited stranger. But tradition is inescapable and, as I am sure you are well aware, there are certain responsibilities that come with being from a family who resides in the public eye.” Val leaned forward just slightly. “Which is why I exist. We do not live in the Dark Ages anymore. With access to hundreds of families, domestic and international, I will do my best to arrange a powerful, but most importantly a compatible, match for you if you are willing. Let me make it clear that while it is your mother who retains my services, it is you who I am most concerned with. My allegiances lie with those who trust me with their hearts, less so with their money,” he finished with a wink.
Val leaned back in the armchair. “Let’s get started, shall we? Is there someone that you are interested in at the moment?” He smiled once more, waving his hand. “Ah, apologies. That’s far too personal-- a question for another time maybe. What I mean to ask is if there was someone who had captured your attention, what would they be like? Could you describe tome the things you look for in a companion?” He purposefully didn’t specify gender, if any of the rumors were to be believed it was a wise choice. He did, though, have a nagging concern that perhaps the young master would not be as easy to crack as his other clients. It was clear to him that Zachary Incarnadine was not the average air-headed heir and arranging a match for him might be one of his great challenges.