Omega’s Gambit by Flora Quincy

Viola

One particularly mild day,a new neighbour of my aunt’s, the recently widowed Mrs Markham, arrived in such a havoc of omega pheromones that I nearly choked on the too sweet scent. Her beta daughter, Hero, trailed behind her. The girl was eighteen with blonde ringlets tied back with a blue ribbon and the largest blue eyes I’d ever seen. I’d never heard her talk above a whisper, but how could she, when her mother possessed such a dominating personality?

“Well, what is this?” my aunt asked, her wrinkled nose demonstrating her vexation at the other omega’s bad manners for flooding the drawing room with her scent. I crossed to the window and cracked it open to thin out the overwhelming mix of omega florals.

“You’ll never believe what I’ve become a part of!” the matron sighed dramatically full of news and busting to share it with us. But there was something tinny in her voice that made me uneasy. She’d not paid this morning call to innocently gossip. There was a method in her madness that I wanted no part of.

“Of course I won’t know whether to believe it or not until you tell me, my dear Mrs Markham!” my aunt put her embroidery hoop down in an exasperated manner, her good mood vanishing in the instant.

“La, my dear Mrs Florey, you might not even believe when I tell you. Come, for what I have to say… Oh, it is shocking. His Grace the Duke of Orley tasked me with finding him an omega bride.”

“But why?” I asked, surprised to hear that the reclusive duke would advertise his intentions so publicly. More shocking that she would share the information with us. Of course, he held the balance for the bill and strangely I wanted to hear more of him and his plans. Everything would help.

“The late Dowager Duchess was my godmother, for remember I used to be the very beautiful The Honourable Miss Constance Field! But the Duke! He sees it to be his duty to provide himself with an heir. Naturally, she must be an omega and of exceptionable beauty and breeding. And a woman to give him heirs,” her gaze turned to me. I did not like that look, as if she hoped to provoke me to utter some indiscreet remark.

“That surely is not so great a challenge. There are many such ladies and all happy to become a duchess.” My aunt had no interest in the to-ings and fro-ings of those outside of her immediate circle. In that, we had found a kinship. I had grown grateful for the discovery over the past half year, for she had no interest in dragging me to pay morning calls or introduce me to what eligible alphas resided in town when Parliament was in session. My mind might be bored, but I didn’t have to listen to aimless omega gossip or learn to flirt.

“Oh, that is not the half of it! He does not wish to mate his wife,” Mrs Markham threw another sly glance in my direction. She had some plot, and instinct told me to be alive to any schemes she might have. Why she might be interested in my opinion on the matter bewildered me. Something strange passed over her face and she tilted her head to the side as if she was a bird considering a worm. “Miss Viola, what are your thoughts?”

Why did she stare so? Did she seek to put me out of countenance, so that I might utter some indiscretion?I mimicked her tilted head. I was as much a bird of prey as she. “The duke may do as he will—what alpha doesn’t?—, but I pity his future wife. She shall be denied the protection of a mate bond. And what if either of them finds a mate? Will it lead to divorce or will he take a mate on the side? Will she be left ‘Duchess’ in name only? For a mate will always take precedence over a mere spouse. She’ll be a womb to him.”

I bit my lip. I’d revealed far more than I’d intended. Dammit! If I wanted the duke’s votes then I’d best stamp down on my desire to flay him alive. Not mate his wife? Oh, it made my blood boil.

“Would you like to know who he chose?” she leant forward as she asked the question. Her eyes cunning and assessing.

“What? Like a pair of new boots?” I scoffed.

“He compared it to buying a horse. The widowed Countess of Kellingham shall be his bride.”

“Oh? I do not know her.” A bald-faced lie. Though I hadn’t the pleasure of her acquaintance, she had been the subject of Beatrice’s scandalous paintings. I knew her story as well as I knew my alphabet. Words had not formed but the basics were there.

“No, you would not,” she said not unkindly. It was not my fault that I had yet to suffer the indignity of being presented at Court. “But know this, the Earl’s line ended with him. The properties returned to the crown, and the widow friendless because she was a wife and not a mate.”

Nothing I did not already know, but hearing it spoken out loud ignited my anger on the widow’s behalf.

“The Earl had no alpha relatives?” I asked—oh, how I hated pretending an ignorance to the world around me! How I longed to just speak my mind, be unashamed of my knowledge.

“None, and no natural children either. I understand the duke will marry Lady Clare, breed her in her next heat then leave her to raise the children. What a life for her to live! Don’t you think, Miss Hartwell? An omega such as her? Truly blessed to go from Miss to Countess to Duchess so easily!”

Every instinct in me, every principle I held near to my heart, revolted at the thought of this poor omega subjected to the indignity of becoming a mere womb to a powerful alpha who had no care for her well-being or her future should he die, leaving her without the protection of either a mate bond or the guarantee of an alpha child. What would happen if she gave this duke omegas or betas? Would he mate-bond another woman, in hopes of finding heirs? It turned my stomach. I pressed my lips together in a valiant effort to keep my feelings in check. Was Mrs Markham taunting me? Daring me to say something indiscreet, more indiscreet than I had been earlier. No, I would not do it. “You will excuse me. I have a headache.”

I crossed to the door but had not left before hearing my aunt, her omega sweet voice carrying easily to my ears. “I thought the Countess was refusing to entertain another marriage or to spend time with any alphas?”

I snorted. Her tune would change once she discovered herself the object of a duke’s interest. Perhaps that was uncharitable, but omegas could no more resist the pull of a virile alpha as a virile alpha could resist us. Our natures worked against us with every breath we took. My jaw ached with how tight I clenched it. I needed Orley’s support for the bill. I loathed the thought of interacting with an alpha who would not see past his own needs for an heir.

* * *

Omegas—oh, very well, to be specific, as my Papa would wish, that great omega poetess Shakespearia (for Charles Hartwell subscribed to the belief that such a way with words could only come from an omega)—say that “the apparel oft proclaims the alpha.” Those words, from her play Hamlet, are said with uncomfortable honesty by the beta Polonius to his alpha son, who is about to return to the French Court. For while the speech is full of ridiculous maxims that set one and another off, at the heart of the plea there is some truth that cannot be denied. While betas must keep themselves muted in the world, alphas have quite the opposite pull. They are a dynamic that must wear their strength and position in society openly. They must posture and parade around to maintain their standing. Were I to be asked in a more serious moment I should say I pity them for that. Peacocking to prove yourself seems like an exhausting way to spend one’s time, and as I looked down on the clothes Iris had left me, I considered how lonely the lives of alphas might be. I knew she wore men’s fashions to assert herself as a female alpha. She struggled more than our mother because she was slight, small compared to other female alphas. Dominance was the game they sought to play. It sparked a feeling of sympathy for this unknown duke I was determined to influence. In offering marriage to the countess he only did what he thought necessary, what his dynamic and position in society demanded of him. No different from an omega’s assumed desire to raise children and nurture those around them. I brushed the feelings aside. What point to project any of those concerns onto someone I’d never met? One who seemed to lack any natural passions or desires.

Once again steeled by unwavering purpose, I removed the simple gown I wore and thanked my dear Mama for having no interest or time for fashion. I could not think of a single garment I wore—including the front lacing stays—that I could not dress myself in. My trick would be better protected without the need for a maidservant to lace me in or help fit into the fashionable gowns the way my aunt required. Much less dress me in the masculine fashions. My women’s weeds might be out of date, but what did that matter? I could not see the need to create such a vision when my work was that much more important. Best keep it simple.

I stood in my room, skin covered with goose pimples, and looked at myself in the long mirror. They were a popular necessity in the rooms of every fashionable omega and revealed every imperfection I suffered—at least according to the current standards of beauty. My hair was nearly black, and I stood almost tall in my stockinged feet. The height of a beta woman, certainly, and not the petite diminutive omegas that the portraitists of the day sought for their models. But such was the lot of omegas and alphas born to the unusual pairing of omega men to alpha women. I could better get away with my ruse as a smaller alpha—especially when it was known who my parents were. Still, Iris’s clothes were a smidge too big for me, and I had laboured over altering them to better fit my smaller frame. I could not thank the fashions of the day for they were no help in concealing my hips, which flared in the way every woman would wish. I hoped that it would not be remarked on for my height and build were of greater import. The final touches were to hide my scent by using all the products alphas preferred. I had even purchased a box of perfumed snuff, which I could pretend to take and would help in my goal to disguise my own scent. Most importantly, I must refrain from too strenuous exercise and bathe in lemon water. For this first attempt at pretending to be an alpha, I decided to forgo wearing Iris’s unwashed shirts that would do the most to mask my scent. As her twin, I could not even notice the smell the way another alpha or omega could. To my nose, they smelt unpleasantly unwashed, but a necessary evil. Pulling my hair back into a club tied with velvet ribbon, I descended to the drawing room where my uncle waited for me along with his beta valet and butler who had both been brought in to my charade—though the reason they were given for it in no way touched on my true motives.

I entered, as my uncle had instructed, without the usual knock gently bred omegas were trained to give whenever they entered a room. Pushing the door open and allowing it to bounce on its hinges, I strode in.

“Good, you are dressed for riding,” was the first thing my uncle said. He stood by the fire also dressed for riding, one booted foot resting on the grate. “Your aunt feels unwell, so you’ll be with me tonight. Wear your sister’s puce satin. I will introduce you to some friends of mine. They were also friends of your parents and will keep your secret. And think it a good joke if you are discovered.”

“Sir, that is too much of a risk!” I exclaimed. What I planned was dangerous. A fact I was increasingly aware of now that I stood dressed like this in front of an alpha and two betas.

“We must test you amongst unfamiliar alphas. How many have you met?”

I clenched my teeth, accepting that he was correct.

“Let me see. Turn for me, young mistress.” Drews, my uncle’s valet, pursed his lips together.

My cheeks heated but I did as he asked. “I feel… I mean I’ve worn men’s clothing but not for many months.”

“You’ve done well. Though if you must go into society, permit me to have the tying of your cravat?”

The tension broke and I found myself smiling. I had no notion of whether this would work or not. But for the first time I knew, amongst these men, my dynamic didn’t matter. The greatest complaint to be had was merely the tying of my cravat. “I would be honoured, Drews.”

From the drawing room, I found myself on horseback riding my favourite grey filly through the streets of London and learning the mode of greeting the dynamics as an alpha. We did not stop to speak but moved on with a nod. My task was to observe the niceties of alpha behaviour and by the time we returned to the narrow, not quite fashionable house on Weymouth Street, I was exhausted from the experience. As we dismounted, Mrs Markham came out of her house across the street.

Following my uncle’s lead, I smiled and doffed my hat. “Mrs Markham. Good day to you.”

“Iris Hartwell! And I thought you had returned to Oxford. Have they sent you down? Your Mama and sisters will be most displeased if you do not complete your degree.”

“Fear not, no Hartwell would ever be sent down from Oxford,” I jested. “Some business recalled me to town unexpectedly.”

“Well, I am glad to hear that you plan on honouring your parents. Is Miss Viola at home? I had hoped to ask her to sit for a portrait,” her smile sly and eyes seeing more than I would wish.

I flushed realising that she meant me! Though why she would want to paint me was a mystery.

“I did not know you painted,” I looked to my uncle uncertain how to proceed.

“Oh, an amateur to be sure. Nothing like your eldest sister.”

“Viola will be pleased to sit for you, I am sure,” he told her. “I do, however, believe that she is out with my mate. I am sure Iris can pass the message along.”

The omega’s eyes turned to mine. I bowed, hoping that she did not catch sight of my unusual eyes, for if there was one thing that could destroy all my plans, it would be those violet orbs which betrayed me more readily than the clothes I wore or the dynamic I pretended to be.

* * *

“You will need to keep your wits about you,” my uncle said as we took a carriage to St James’ a few hours later. I didn’t need to be told that. I was about to walk into one of the exclusive Alpha only clubs. Iris was not yet a member, but my Mama was, and she had plans to put her forward when she’d finished at Oxford. My uncle, however, saw nothing wrong with bringing me along earlier in the evening before things became wild.

“If I tell you, leave,” he muttered as we passed through the doors.

Though projecting a young alpha’s easy confidence, I had never been more terrified. What good would wits do me if my nature betrayed me? I had chosen the shirt that had the strongest smell and had anointed myself with oils intended to mimic an alpha’s musk. But I had not expected my own physiological response. I felt almost faint with the pheromones that lay stagnant in the rooms we passed through until we reached the relative privacy of a small library where my uncle had invited some friends for cards.

“What’s here? Do you bring a stripling with you? What for?” asked an alpha with a florid complexion and poorly powered hair. His name was Marshall and a member of Parliament aligned with the liberal, Whig opposition, as my uncle was.

“The girl had some business in town… A trip to the tailor. Can’t have her look like a provincial,” my uncle gave a disapproving but amused shake of his head. The more I saw of him, the less he was the man I’d grown up knowing. Was this relaxed and bantering man the same one who sneered at his wife and mate?

“Well, child. You are Hartwell’s get?” the lone female alpha smiled. She was dressed in the height of feminine fashion with her pale blonde powdered to perfection. Tall and willowy, I saw the same traits in this woman as my own Mama. The easy, almost lazy power that infused every one of her words and actions. Would Iris be like that? Would I look at my twin and feel this unpleasant instinct to defer to her?

“Viscountess Gale, cub,” my uncle prompted me, and I bowed as was required.

“That is what they tell me,” I kept my tone light, comfortable. “I admit I’m finding town…”

“Overwhelming. And the club too, no doubt,” she laughed. The others joined in. But they did not laugh at me. It was sympathetic, which I had never expected. “Yes, so many grown alphas in one place can bring out the rougher side of us. Best go home before the pack becomes too wild. You won’t want to provoke one of them.”

“Them?” I cocked my head to the side and felt a bantering ease infuse my being.

“The ones who hunt down those wet behind the ears. Greenhorns who are easy pickings. Besides, once it gets out who your parents are—“

“I’m not ashamed of my parents,” I snapped. The words were out and an uneasy silence hung in the air. I was caught, I realised. No young dynamic would dare challenge—and so openly—mature alphas and powerful members of the aristocracy to boot. They would come for me and discover what I had so recklessly dared to do. “I—“

Another alpha, much older and in a chair close to the door began clapping. “Well said, pup. I thought you might be a weakling given your size but seems you have teeth and ain’t afraid to bark. You are among friends here, fear not. Your parents are well respected in our circle, no need to feel shame.”

“I challenge anyone who throws… It won’t matter who, I will challenge them,” I found myself—once again!—talking over an alpha. I didn’t know what to think and feared for a minute that my heat was upon me called forth by overwhelming alpha pheromones. Heats were one of the few times omegas became aggressive with alphas. If my heat came here, my uncle would not be able to protect me. With so many alphas about there would be a riot. I would be raped by whichever alpha had conquered the others. There would be no other outcome. I might die in the chaos.

I took a deep breath, I needed to leave.

The others must have noticed something. Pray let it not be my omega’s scent!

“And how,” growled a new alpha who stood in the door. “How would you propose to do that, little alpha?”

He was handsome with sharp grey eyes and a full mouth. Though now it twisted unpleasantly. No denying it. I felt a small part of me, the omega that I hated in moments like this, weaken towards this darkly brooding alpha. I looked to my uncle hoping for some guidance but his face was still watching the new alpha who was easily the tallest in the room.

“The duello,” I managed to get out, more intimidated by this alpha than the others. He was dangerous. Controlling. Dark. Powerful. “I am accounted good with a sword.”

“It wouldn’t be your choice,” the interloper pointed out. The other alphas stayed quiet. At first, I thought it was out of fear of this alpha dressed in a suit of rich grey velvet and a short sword at his side.

“Pistols then. It matters not.”

The viscountess snickered. “You are put into a difficult spot by young Hartwell. Do you, do any of us, challenge such confidence from such a diminutive firecracker?”

“Faith! To think to have that spark when I was her age,” the old alpha laughed. “Paxton, you are well taught. Prick the cub and it bites. Girl, come. This here is Lord Paxton and no enemy.”

“I’ve heard of you,” I admitted like a fumbling schoolgirl reprimanded for getting a lesson wrong. “Luciano told me you were a student of his. That it would be a success to have a hand as sure as yours.”

“Pretty words. But I hardly believe that you have danced with the master,” Lord Paxton smirked, his eyes narrowing. He was an alpha of shining, cold silver—I could not imagine anyone meeting him and not coming out the worse.

“He retired to… He retired to Hertfordshire and was our neighbour. I have danced with him. As have all my sisters,” I refused to back down especially given my audience.

“Of course! Hartwell!” He threw up his hands as if coming to some profound realisation. “How could I forget that Beatrice Hartwell is your sister?”

That seemed hard to believe for despite the differences in our colouring and stature we looked like sisters. Had he therefore sought me out, sought to antagonise me because of Beatrice?

“Speak with that tone about my sister again, and I shall take offence.”

He stood head and shoulders above me, but, in the heat of the moment, that was nothing. My family, my omega sisters we had all worked hard to be more than the weak dynamic we were seen as. “Beatrice on her worst day would be able to take you with swords or pistols.”

Lord Paxton’s eyes widened. Beatrice was the most omega of my sisters. Feminine in both form and face. Put a rapier in her hand? She could and would go up against the strongest alpha. With pistols, she was even more deadly, for that required less strength or stamina.

“Stand down, stripling. Paxton meant no harm. Isn’t that so?” Viscountess Gale invested her words with enough bark to remind us all who the top dog in this room was.

“I meant no offence,” he gritted out. “Your sister… The lady is singular.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.” This time it was my uncle. I looked over my shoulder at the alphas who now stood at my back.

“Fine, I’ll back down. An old pack growling over an omega—“

I lunged.

But a firm hand on my collar prevented me from tackling the alpha who seemed to have a death wish when it came to my sister.

“Paxton, go now before I release the pup on you. You’d deserve—“

“Pass on my compliments to your sister. She is a fine woman.”

I locked eyes with Paxton and something almost like regret flashed across his face. With a bitter smile, he bowed and walked off.

“That was reckless,” the florid alpha holding my collar shook me as if I was a child. “But by damn, it did my old bones good to see one of his crowd back down. Well done, young Hartwell. Though keep that temper close and pray Paxton does not hold a grudge. He ain’t one to be trifled with.”

“He spoke of Beatrice!” I protested.

“You’re like to hear worse. You’ve three pretty omega sisters. Alphas will be sniffing after them. By all means, protect them but do not challenge every alpha who chooses to test you,” Gale said. No doubt a warning.

“DAMN!” I shouted, my frustration overcoming me.

A firm hand landed on my shoulder.

“Go home, Iris,” my uncle urged me. I nodded, knowing I needed to get away from the persistent scent of alpha. Perhaps my mother was correct. Alpha scents at their strongest sparked aggression in omegas, no matter how close to a heat. I had learnt one thing in my short foray into a temple of alpha dominance: there was fire and anger, there was defiance in even the supposedly gentlest of dynamics.

I was lucky not to run into Lord Paxton as I walked through the rooms that had begun to fill. Making the street I turned the wrong way, hoping that by taking the longer route I could better cool my head. My confrontation at the club had shaken me. More than once I had been on the brink of exposing myself. The danger was immediate, and if I didn’t control myself I would, I knew in my bones, risk losing my life.

* * *

The incident at the club resulted in a blistering lecture from my uncle the following morning. He claimed he would never take me to one of the London clubs again because he could not trust my temper. My temper! To imagine an alpha telling an omega they were too fierce. I did not know what to think and instead of arguing—for I knew I never wanted to go to an alpha club ever again—I turned my mind to learning how to be the most believable alpha. Everything from alpha-alpha friendships, to how to dance like an alpha, and any number of other details I might be expected to know. Most embarrassing was the need to learn how to react to an omega. How to puff out my chest and swagger. How to press up against a pitiable omega when one wanted their attention. It was both intriguing and alarming how little respect alphas seemed to have for omegas. How the propriety drilled into omegas from the moment they presented was so carelessly discarded by alphas, particularly male alphas whose arousal was considered not only acceptable but even a compliment! My uncle assured me that while these might be an alpha’s instincts, civility and social mores were considered the hallmark of the best alphas. To even suggest that an alpha would lose control around an omega was madness, tantamount to the worst insult to that alpha’s honour. Duels had been started for less. When I asked if my run-in with Lord Paxton qualified, I saw once again the amused man behind the dissatisfied facade. “Of course! Should anyone question your ability to defend an omega, remember that encounter. By the by, be glad to know that Paxton has not made a story of it. You are safe.”

Which led to one thing that stood greatly in my favour. I had been trained in both fencing and shooting so if I found myself in the wrong—or more terrifying needing to call someone out in all seriousness!—at least I had some way to protect myself. But even with this assurance, and my uncle’s promise to save me should the need arise, my stomach was full of butterflies. What if I was found out? What if the duke did not accept me as his secretary? What if he threw me out when I began to pressure him to change his politics?

More quickly than I would have liked, I found myself walking towards the Duke of Orley’s London residence. With the help of Drews, I was dressed exactly as a young alpha who had aspirations for working as a secretary was meant to dress. In a pocket I held my letter of reference; in my heart, I told myself that what I was doing was right. I was ensuring omegas could own property and manage their own interests. If I saved an omega from a marriage that could only bring her misery, so much the better. My cause was just. My path? Yes, that was unsure. Every time I thought about how I would beat the odds.

I remembered playing chess. My next step was a gambit. A chance, a risk that had me sacrificing a pawn—my omega name and nature—in the hopes of winning the game.

So my first step into Orley House was full of false confidence.