Omega’s Gambit by Flora Quincy
Viola
Some six months after Viola’s arrival in London.
Out of my bedroom window,I could see the frost on the streets. It was January, which always reminded me of my father’s death. Inexplicably, I wished for the evening when, with girlish romanticism, I had watched my parents, loving mates, sit on the sofa, their hands clasped while they listened to us recite our lessons before telling some mad story of seeing sea lions in the surf.
I sighed with longing for those happy days, with weariness for my current situation. But life moves on and I must face facts: Even after six months, nothing had improved at Weymouth Street. I learnt from the housekeeper that my aunt’s health was genuinely poor, but even at my uncle’s urging, she refused to see a doctor, preferring instead to bear her illness stoically. I’d begun to suspect that there was a battle of wills between her and her mate but could not find the cause except that they were unhappy, perhaps even disliking each other. It made for long, boring days and interminably long, silent evenings, with my uncle almost always out and my aunt bent over her embroidery. My sanity remained intact, thanks to correspondence with my sisters and mother, and my hours spent writing about the subjugation of omegas and the inequality of the dynamics. It was solitary work, and I missed the company of like-minded people. It was only when Iris returned to us for Christmas that I finally realised quite how lonely I’d become.
My boredom found some relief in my sister and her friends. One such friend was Arthur Jones, who had gone up to Oxford with my sister and had haunted our doorstep since the Christmas vacation. They returned for Hilary Term in a week’s time, but today we discussed the new bill being considered by Parliament.
“It will give unmated and unmarried omegas the rights to own property without an alpha co-signer. Not so free as betas, but an improvement, is it not, Miss Viola?” Mr Jones smiled. Of course, I knew this. I’d been following its progress as closely as an omega watched over a newborn.
“What is the bill’s chance?” I asked, pretending enough ignorance for him to feel superior to an omega. He was a handsome alpha even if he considered my interests in politics shallow rather than deadly serious—though I hoped I would never have to kill someone for my politics. In short, I liked him because there was no one else to like better.
“They lack the votes, but it will be close. Ten would do it. There are several on the fence waiting to see where certain peers will sit on the topic.”
“Which ones?” I pressed.
“The Duke Orley has not expressed an opinion, and he’s six seats under his patronage. Though, he is in Town, so we might expect him to sit silently in the House of Lords. There is a hope he will follow Bedford, but the duke spends his time in the country and rarely comes to town so we don’t know which way he will go.”
“Perhaps the Parson Duke will demonstrate that he isn’t quite so parsimonious with the votes he controls,” Iris laughed at her own joke. The duke, however, was serious business—six votes was nothing to sneer at.
“He would not be enough,” I frowned. “He has six seats under his patronage. We’d need to be certain of all Gale’s and persuade at least a few more of the governments’ less settled members… What shall we—”
“We? You keep your nose out of it. Exile would not suit you, Vi,” my sister frowned.
“You would take up and campaign for this bill? That is very admirable, Miss Viola.” Mr Jones spoke with a great deal of warmth. My omega, however, did not respond to his blatant overture—his scent made no secret of what he desired. Though handsome, we did not think him powerful enough.
“Thank you,” I managed and glanced at my sister, who grinned like a Cheshire cat. Did she think to play matchmaker? But my twin was neither so crafty nor much interested in my personal affairs. Which could only mean she enjoyed my embarrassment. Damn her. Dammit, again because I was suppressing myself in front of a strange alpha. That was when I noticed they were both dressed for riding. I’d added cabin fever to the long list of complaints I’d begun in my latest letter to my mother. “I suppose you want to be on your way…”
“Next time, Vi, get permission from our aunt and join us on our ride,” she said with a friendly flick to my nose. “I’m surprised you’ve not gone mad cooped up as you are.”
“Not until the weather is better,” I said with regret. “It seems we omegas must only ride on fine days, lest our hair becomes wet and our appearance ruined by the wind.”
“I expect you would look brilliant in any weather,” said Mr Jones as he took my hand and held it a little longer than was strictly necessary.
I murmured my hope that they had a pleasant if damp ride. Dammit. What was this place doing to me, that I must act like a girl just out of the schoolroom? That I bit my tongue around alphas I knew I could tie up in knots with my words! I could not pick the problem apart and it was no gorgon knot to take a sharp blade to. Dammit.
But now I had something to think on—The Duke of Orley and his votes. They called him the Parson because he was a vegetarian, teetotaller, and seemed allergic to gambling. That being said, he was a noted sportsman—or at least that is what Iris had let slip one afternoon after watching him box at Jackson’s some weeks before our conversation about the bill. Iris didn’t practice the Fancy but had gone along to watch a bout between the duke and the war hero Colonel Jack Fordom. The duke had won, but it had been a near thing. The crowd had declared the bout would be remembered one hundred years from now.
“He’s a bruiser and ugly,” she’d reported. “But there is something about him that commands the room, and it don’t have anything to do with his title, for he doesn’t throw that around. Wouldn’t have known it was him if our uncle hadn’t pointed him out.”
I’d no interest in boxing or the duke until I knew that he had votes for the taking. My mind tripped along as I began a new letter to Mama. Within a fortnight, I had her reply.
My darling Viola,
I am pleased to hear from you and that you are no longer in a murderous rage at the modiste for making your dress too much in the modern style. It is not her fault you have long legs and that current fashions make you look taller. If you chose to wear men’s clothes, I would not stop you. Beatrice does.
I rolled my eyes. I liked wearing dresses. They were often the only things that made people remember I was an omega. Compared to most omegas I was a giant, matching the height of a tall beta woman. It was not fair. Everyone had expected both Iris and me to be alphas, especially when I did not have my first heat until I was sixteen. Instead, I’d presented as an omega, and felt awkward in a body that did not match my dynamic’s ideal.
As for Orley, there isn’t much to tell. I never knew his parents. We were already in Edinburgh. However, his grandmother was a fixture in society her whole life. She raised him. Dearest, I would not, however, approach him about votes. Viola, consider your own feelings if he refused to see you. Consider that going too far…
I crumpled up the letter and tossed it over my shoulder. She meant well. I looked to where it had landed on the floor, then rose and smoothed the page.
Consider that going too far, rushing your fences, will do nothing but frustrate you. Instead, perhaps find other alphas who are more out in society and easier to approach. Gloves off, Orley will not speak to a young, unknown omega about politics, nor would he like being bullied into doing what you want. Some tact, my dear, is what I recommend. Then…
I heaved a sigh and stuffed the letter into my desk drawer knowing I would only get frustrated as she urged me towards a different path. I’d honour my Mama’s advice by not burning her letter as I desired.
While I tried to cool my temper, I absently traced my finger over the cover of the book of poetry I had found amongst my aunt’s few books, and a plan began to form, designed to convince His Grace of Orley to support the bill. The greatest hurdle: getting close to him. If I wished to approach him, I needed to hide my dynamic. Perhaps I’d take on Iris’ identity, borrow her alpha scent by wearing her clothes. She would be in Oxford, and I in London. The duke did not know us, did not go out into society, so the disguise would be perfect. And I, as Viola, was not out. If he chose to go to a ball, I would not be there. Yes, it could be done.
Now to convince Iris.
The clock had just struck one in the morning when my twin returned to the house on Weymouth Street. Being rather the worse for drink made her susceptible to my plans. For when she was foxed, she loved to urge me along on my madder schemes—and this certainly was the maddest.
“Iris, when do you intend to return to Oxford?” I asked tugging off her form fitting coat.
“Oh, by Tuesday surely,” she weaved a bit on her feet.
“Do not travel on Tuesday,” I reminded her of our old nurse Samantha’s distrust of Tuesdays, saying her granddaughter Trudie preached that the world would end on a Tuesday. We Hartwells took this apocalyptic warning to heart. Always reminding each other to put off decisions and actions rather than risk Tuesday’s curse. After all, our father had died on a Tuesday.
“Then I’ll return on Wednesday. What does this have to do with anything?”
“Let me borrow those clothes which no longer fit or which you plan on discarding as they are no longer in fashion? I’m bored to death here and won’t be presented until the Spring. Then I will be invited to balls. I was thinking that dressed in the scent of an alpha I could at least slip into a few lectures at the academy. Perhaps even the gallery to watch Parliament? Watch the debate?”
“Do you promise that is all you intend to do, Vi?” she asked as she struggled out of her shirt, which had caught on her hair.
“Of course not. But isn’t it better that you know as little as possible? You know Mama would rather I do it dressed as an alpha instead of getting caught as an omega. I drink Queen Anne’s Tea every morning to suppress my scent. Remember the scandal when Beatrice was caught submitting her paintings to the Summer Exhibition? She attempted that only wearing men’s clothes without the protection of an alpha’s scent. And that is how they caught her… Her heat… But never mind that for mine isn’t until June.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call it a scandal. You know that she and Hippolyta do it purposefully. Just to create the—Fine. The scandal.”
“I do not intend to create a scandal. The opposite in fact.”
She grabbed my chin and turned my face to the light of the single candle in the room.
“Vi, you are my twin. I shall back you in any plan you might have, but you are an omega nearly twenty. That changes things. Your choosing to dress in a man’s clothes is one thing. But doing so and stealing an alpha’s scent? That is dangerous. Possibly illegal, if you are caught in the wrong place. Until we can change the laws of the land, you are still at risk without a spouse or mate bond. I want everything for you. Not just for you and our sisters to have all the same rights as an alpha, but also to find a good and loving mate as our parents had. There could be nothing more beautiful than that. Mates working towards the same goal. Doing this? You might jeopardise that beyond saving.”
“I hate it,” I whispered and wiped an errant tear away. Anger drew forth tears more often than sorrow. “How can the world be so unfair?”
“Don’t tell me you regret being an omega?” she asked softly. Our father’s death had hurt us all, but there were times when I thought Iris missed him the most.
“Never! It is an honour to carry on our father’s legacy! I just wish I could do more.”
“You were born in the wrong time, sister. Very well, take my clothes. I’ll send you more and leave what things I can to let you hide your scent. But let our uncle know. I’ve a fear you plan on entering one of the clubs? Have a friend in the clubs and you might be saved. But, Vi, don’t tell me more. I’d rather not know. I’m still an alpha. The impulse to protect you is deep and strong. So it will be with a mate. Be warned. You will not be able to manipulate another alpha so easily.”
“Iris!” I threw my arms around her. “Thank you. I promise you will be proud. You won’t have to worry!”
She rolled her eyes, she knew better than to take me at my word.
* * *
I waited until the evening after Iris had returned to Oxford to approach our uncle. It was a rare occasion to find him in his study, for he avoided omegas like we were the plague. I entered on his command and was struck by how different he looked here than when I saw him with my aunt. In command and relaxed. While my aunt presented a picture of omega beauty, my uncle’s height wasn’t balanced with any of the usual bulk you found on most alphas. When they stood next to each other, he appeared lacking. But sitting in his sanctuary, he looked like a king on his throne. His hair was thinning, and brushed back in an attempt to give it more coverage, but his clothes were well cared for. He might not have the fortune to support his wife in the style she had been born into but he clearly went to one of the better tailors in town.
“Viola, I should warn you that I’ve already spoken with Iris,” he began before I’d the chance to speak.
“Yes, sir.”
“Sit please.”
I sat in one of the stiff-backed chairs in front of his desk. As he leant forward I couldn’t help crushing my skirts in my hands. I so rarely felt like an omega in all our physical limitations but I did now. I knew he could arrange it that I could not leave this house. I believed he would not, but alphas had that power. That legal power.
“Straighten your back. If you plan on pulling off this mad scheme of yours, then you’d better stop cowering like an omega when an alpha projects any anger.”
“I hate it,” I hissed. My anger all towards myself. In stiff increments, I sat up and met his eyes head on.
“I cannot imagine what it feels like,” he leant back into his chair, all aggression vanished. In its place, there was a teasing, but not unkind, smile fluttering about his lips. “But I suspect that if you have even a quarter of your father’s spark and intelligence, you’ll set His Grace on the back foot.”
“You’ll help me? How’d you know about the duke?”
“Yes, but only if you follow my instructions,” he said. “And your mother wrote that you’d asked about the duke’s politics. The connection was easy to make.”
“Oh,” I slumped back. Then straightened once again into the correct posture my father had taught me from the moment I could balance a book on my head. This would be how I must be from now on. No cowering before an alpha. No folding in on myself and making myself smaller, less of a target.
“I think we will work on your posture. You are now too stiff. No young alpha would have a problem slouching and lounging about. Sure, you must act quick and respectful with the older alphas, but don’t worry about the formalities all the time. We are alphas after all.”
“I won’t succeed, will I?” I slouched in defeat.
“You will. With my help,” he chuckled. “And so long as you never remove your clothes in front of anyone… You’ll not be able to fake a mate stain.”
He was right. Other than a bark, which I could (perhaps) fake, alphas possessed a unique to each alpha port-coloured mark, called a mate stain, on their body that appeared when they presented. Of course, male alpha’s developed their knot, and females of the dynamic a tie, but there’d be no reason I’d ever be in a position for some to see if I had a tie or not.
“Why are you helping me?” I wondered aloud. My plans were dangerous, they could jeopardise his career.
“Why boredom, my dear. I suffer from boredom. I suspect you do as well. Now, first. I shan’t be introducing you at the clubs. He don’t visit them so you have little chance of meeting him there. Rather, you will apply to be the duke’s new secretary—I hear he requires one. He’ll take you on if I put you forward.”
“I—“
“More to the point, I desire to help you catch his heart. He will be a difficult man to influence, even more so because he is an alpha without much interest in politics. However, he is ripe for the picking, as his politics are without any real direction. Confronting him where he is most at ease will help your suit. Once you’ve captured his heart, you’ll make a good political wife and mate. We could use one like you if we’re to gather support for our proposed reforms. To have the Duke and Duchess of Orley would be a great coup for the opposition.”
“I don’t want to win his heart!” I gasped, horrified that he would think I had romance in mind. Then again, as an alpha, perhaps he could not imagine my ambition to be more than the base sexual congress between an alpha and omega. “I have never laid eyes on him and had not considered meeting him until I learnt he was in town and had the votes we needed to pass the Omega Property Rights Act.”
“Just politics then?” his eyes sparkled as if he didn’t believe me.
I gaped at him in shock. “Of course! What else? He has the votes we need. If I can just get close, within his orbit, then I can do it. I can convince him. I am not a broodmare for breeding the next generation of alphas.”
“No, my dear, omegas aren’t broodmares. But remember that doesn’t change the fact. You are an omega, and he is an alpha. Spend too much time around Orley… Things might change.”
I shook my head. My uncle underestimated my ability to ignore alphas and their supposedly natural power over omegas.