Raven Dawson was a tall man, slim, but not scrawny, with the quiet confidence of someone born into wealth. He walked with a cane and dressed in fine clothes: elegant, expensive, but never ostentatious. Beside him was Gabriel Crow, broader in build and more rugged in appearance. He stood at an average height, though next to Raven’s long frame, he often looked shorter. Gabriel dressed like a man who did well for himself, not rich, but certainly above the common fold.

They stepped into their favorite local brewery, Robin’s Perch, and headed straight to their usual table. Two cups of tea were brought over without a word. Gabriel’s came with a slice of apple cake, Raven’s with a slice of blueberry pie. It was always like this, they were so regular, so predictable, that the kitchen timed their orders to be ready five minutes after they walked through the door.

But this time, something was different.

Their food wasn’t brought out by the usual server. Instead, it arrived in the hands of someone new, a woman. Young, graceful, and strikingly beautiful. She placed their plates down with quiet poise, and for the first time that day, both men paused.

Raven was the first to speak, as was often his way. “Good morning, madam. I am Raven Dawson, and this is my esteemed friend, Mr. Gabriel Crow. I daresay you are not our customary attendant. I make no complaint, of course, but if I might be so forward, would you do me the honour of bestowing your name upon us?”

Gabriel spoke next, a touch of admiration in his voice. “Pardon my friend, madam, but you must be one of the fair daughters of Mr. Robin Fullmore. If I were to hazard a guess by your beauty, I would say you are Lady Katheryn.”

She gave a polite nod, and that alone emboldened Gabriel enough to offer her a confident smile. But before he could say another word, Raven gently cut in.

“Indeed, my diminutive companion is correct,” Raven said smoothly. “And if I may add, your reputation does you little justice. I daresay you are the most beautiful woman in all of London.”

Katheryn responded as decorum demanded, her expression composed, untouched by flattery. Her voice, when she spoke, matched her appearance, graceful and poised.

“Thank you, gentlemen. I do hope you enjoy your meals.”

With that, she turned and walked away. Both men, despite themselves, found their eyes following her. Then, as if realizing the foolishness in tandem, they glanced at each other and laughed.

This time, it was Gabriel who spoke first, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “You’re out of your league, my friend. Best to stick to your usual evening diversions.”

Raven let out a soft chuckle. “Out of my league? And you suppose you fare any better?” He leaned in slightly, his voice laced with mischief. “Care to make a wager?”

Gabriel paused, his teacup halfway to his mouth, then set it down with a sigh of amusement. “You’ve a terrible habit for gambling, Raven, but you have my ear.”

Raven took a bite of his pie, nodded thoughtfully, and spoke with the air of a man setting terms at a card table.

“We shall compete for Miss Fullmore and twenty pounds. A gentleman’s wager, nothing crude, nothing underhanded. We remain civil, refrain from tarnishing each other’s name, speak of the matter to anyone outside of ourselves, and, regardless of outcome, return here the next day for our tea and pastries.”

Gabriel, having just taken a generous bite of apple cake, chewed with purpose. When he finished, he dabbed at his mouth and replied, “I accept, on one condition, neither of us may pursue or entertain another woman until the wager concludes.”

Raven smirked. “Now that will be a challenge,” he admitted, “but for twenty pounds and the favour of that lady? Worth it. You have a deal.”

The two men shook hands across the table, sealing the terms with the casual gravity of seasoned gamblers. Then, as if no bet had ever been made, they resumed their conversation and sipped their tea as the day carried on like any other.

About ten minutes passed, and in walked Garfield Hawk, a well-dressed man in his early forties with a taste for the theatrical. He wore a top hat, frock coat, pinstriped trousers, and polished leather shoes that clicked too proudly with every step. A golden pocket watch gleamed in his hand, and a monocle, utterly unneeded, rested on his face like a badge of superiority.

He moved through the café like it belonged to him, shoulders back, chin high, gaze sweeping the room with the silent critique of a man constantly unimpressed.

When he reached Katheryn Fullmore, his grin appeared too quickly and without a hint of warmth.

“Miss Fullmore,” he said, voice dipped in sugar and ego, “I was almost convinced you were avoiding me. I came hoping to speak with your father, but I must say, seeing you instead is hardly a disappointment.”

Katheryn turned, a glint of disappointment flickering in her otherwise composed expression. “Mr. Hawk,” she said coolly. “Avoiding you? Heaven forbid. I simply walk quickly and too quietly.”

He didn’t catch the sting, or pretended not to.

“My father's in the back,” she continued, tone still polite but a little sharper, “and terribly busy, possibly for the next several hours. He’s had quite the week. So many snakes in the grass, circling about, trying to purchase his kin’s future inheritance.”

This had been a jab at him. He had, after all, spent the past month attempting to convince Robin Fullmore to sell the café, to turn it into a bustling pub. That, along with his repeated thoroughly unsuccessful efforts to charm Katheryn into accepting his hand in marriage. 

However, just then, Katheryn had the unlucky experience of Mr. Fullmore himself, walking out from the back. Robin Fullmore was a man in his mid fifties. He was a decently wealthy man himself, he didn't have as much as Mr. Hawk, or nearly as much as Raven Dawson, but certainly could take care of himself and his family. 

Mr. Fullmore was slightly shorter than the average man, his hair gray and he wore very thin glasses. A widower, he had three daughters, Lady Katheryn being the second eldest. He was a man of principle and honor and respected those alike. 

Mr. Hawk exchanged an almost disdainful glance with Katheryn before turning his gaze upon Mr. Fullmore. He spoke with the familiarity of an old acquaintance. “Robin, good to see you, old chum. How goes the busy trade?”

Mr. Fullmore did not break stride as he replied, “How unceremonious of you. I should prefer you address me as Mr. Fullmore. And my business is no concern of yours, nor am I selling it.”

By now, Mr. Hawk had fallen into step beside him as they moved toward the café’s door. “My apologies, Mr. Fullmore,” Mr. Hawk said. “You ought not be so hasty as to dismiss my offer before you’ve heard it.”

Mr. Fullmore reached for the door handle without so much as a glance at him. “Your offer does not interest me. For it isn't about the sum.”

At this, Mr. Hawk placed his hand flat against the door, barring it from opening.

“I quite understand, Mr. Fullmore,” he said, his voice softening into something almost persuasive. “But I am prepared to offer more than coins. What I propose is not merely a purse of money, but the amalgamation of the Hawk and Fullmore legacies, through marriage.”

Mr. Fullmore fixed him with a look so pointed and cold it spoke louder than words. After a short pause, Mr. Hawk withdrew his hand from the door, allowing Mr. Fullmore to exit without another word.

For the second time that day, Mr. Hawk crossed the room from the door to where Miss Katheryn stood. “He shall come round soon enough, Miss Katheryn,” he said, striving to catch her eye, though without success. “I hear you are to attend the masquerade ball?”

Miss Katheryn, manifestly disinterested in the subject, replied, “My eldest sister is hosting the occasion. Would it not be customary to attend?”

Mr. Hawk inclined his head. “Indeed,” he began, intending to continue, but at that moment Raven and Gabriel’s usual server entered the café. Miss Katheryn seized the opportunity to withdraw. “Good day, Mr. Hawk,” she murmured, and departed.

Meanwhile, Raven and Gabriel finished their meal and lingered at the table for a moment. Raven was the first to rise. “I must be going now. Tell me, are you attending the masquerade ball hosted by the lovely Freeda Hamilton and her husband?”

Gabriel shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. "I’ve no spare mask,” he joked as he stood as well.

Raven took up his cane as they made their way toward the door, unwilling to let the matter rest. “Nonsense. It shall be quite enjoyable, and I’ve more masks than I could ever use. Besides, you really ought to get out more, old chum.”

Gabriel gave a resigned sigh, holding the door open for him. “I suppose one gathering can do no harm. I’ll make an attempt to appear.” That brought a smile to Raven’s face as he stepped out of the café. “Good man. It shall be a ball.” he quipped, and the two went on their ways.