Zechariah managed to keep from groaning aloud. If even mostly nose-clean Uriel knew the breadth of Sonia’s scandals, well. His reputation was on its way to death throes.

“Mother will be furious,” Zechariah agreed, massaging his temples.

He did not have the heart to tell Uriel (romantic, deeply in love with his strumpet wife-Uriel) that this was the farthest he could be from happy. Nor was he keen on volunteering that he had squandered happiness on his own redheaded strumpet, whom he would not have even been able to marry.

The world was not fair, and he found himself hesitating to puncture his happiest brother’s fairy tale bubble.

“The Diamond Pony is … a complication, certainly. The world’s oldest trade will do what it does, but I do not want my name tangled up in that.”

His fingers drummed on the table. He could hear the vibrations through the wine bottle from it.

“She is lost without a man to hide behind,” Zechariah sighed, closing his eyes. “Talk me out of this, Uriel.”

"Why are you marrying her if you are asking me to talk you out of it? The answer should be simple. Don't," he said a little louder than intended, then he lowered his voice, "Yoivey, brother, you got yourself into a pickle. You don't want to marry her, no? What can you do to get out of it?" He had a sneaking suspicion that Zech was in some trouble beyond what he was saying, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Zechariah turned his head to avoid ‘eye contact’ with the not-quite opened wine bottle, opting to drum his fingers under the table to keep them otherwise occupied.

“Easy for you to say,” Zechariah scoffed.

She did not have blackmail on him. But, his pretense was based on other things.

“Have you seen the woman?” he opted for instead.

Zechariah had. More fatally: she had seen him.

"I get your point about her being a good trophy for your arm, Zecheriah, but do you love her?" Ah, yes, there it was. There was that romantic schlub of a brother. "You shouldn't marry her if you don't love her," he countered. "What do you want me to do for you?" How he wished for a corkscrew now. He got up and attempted to do the same thing with the wine that his brother had done: open it with the knife.

Bad idea.

It took him a moment to register the pain as he stabbed into his own flesh. Then he shook his hand with curse, dropped the bottle on the table and the knife clattered to the floor! The bottle rolled off the table and shattered at his feet, causing another curse.

How did he break it to Uriel? Did he ease his own burden of a life doomed to tying nooses around others legally because he would never have what even their parents to some extent had managed? Did he come out with it, in the height of Oscar Wilde’s fall from grace, that he too might bring down all who love him because of a need to be true somewhere?

Oh, God. Zechariah drew in a breath through his mouth, preparing himself. How much longer could he dance around this?

Oh- oh God. Oh, wrathful, merciful? God. Zechariah opened his mouth, braced when Uriel stabbed himself, and started to reach forward to take the knife from him.

CRASH.

Zechariah lifted his gaze to the ceiling. Merciful, wrathful God.

“Here, let me-” he drew out a white handkerchief and pressed it to Uriel’s hand.

Wow, he was going through a lot of handkerchiefs lately.

There was a baby's cry and a voice from the other room. "Uriel? What's goin on?" And the sound of something shifting to show the previously sleeping wife was getting up.

"Uhhh," Uriel put pressure on the wound but it was soon evident that one hanky was not enough. "Uhhhh..." It was a good thing he wasn't a doctor, for the big man was about to faint at the sight of his own blood. To be fair, there was... a l... lo... a l... a lot. Down he went into a heap.

“Uriel? Uh … Uriel?” Zechariah whispered, feeling a cold sweat at the back of his neck.

He knelt by his fallen brother, putting his hand to his forehead without knowing what on earth he was looking for.

“I- think your wife is coming?” he hissed, even more urgently.

The door swung open with Kitty leaning against the frame, Abraham in one arm as she tried to quiet the child. Her hair was a mess and she looked exhausted and pale, a fragile mess from how she had looked before the birth. She glared seeing Zech but then noticed her husband on the ground, her eyes wide. "Uriel!"

She moved to him, grabbing a stick she'd used to help walk over and sank to her knees cursing up a storm. "What in tarnation is going on?!" She stared at the blood and the knife and gave a dangerous look to Zech, wanting an explanation.

Uriel gave a groan just lay there.