The Glittering Court
Page 2
“Winter, of course,” said Lady Dorothy dismissively. “But surely summers in the city are dull. Especially with so much of the nobility at their own estates. When you marry Lionel, you’ll live in his Northshire estate—where I live—and want for nothing. And you may plan as many social gatherings as you like. Under my close supervision, of course. It’s such a lovely opportunity for you. I mean no offense—Countess, Lady Alice. You maintain yourselves so well that no one would guess your true situation. But I’m sure it’ll be a relief to be settled into better circumstances.”
“Better circumstances for me. A better title for him,” I murmured.
As we spoke, Lionel first scratched his forehead and then his inner arm. That second bout went on for some time, and I tried not to stare. What was going on? Why was he itching so much? And why was it happening all over his whole body? I couldn’t see any obvious rashes. Worse, the more I watched him, the more I suddenly wanted to scratch. I had to clasp my hands together to stop myself.
The excruciating conversation went on for several more minutes as our grandmothers made plans for the nuptials I’d only just learned about. Lionel continued to scratch. When we finally extracted ourselves, I waited all of thirty seconds before voicing my opinion to Grandmama.
“No,” I said.
“Hush.” She smiled at various guests we knew as we walked to the ballroom’s exit and told one of our host’s manservants to order our carriage around. I bit off my words until we were safely alone inside it.
“No,” I repeated, sinking back into the carriage’s plush seat. “Absolutely not.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.”
“I’m not! I’m being sane. I can’t believe you accepted that offer without consulting me.”
“Well, it was certainly difficult choosing between that and your many other offers.” She met my glare levelly. “Yes, dear, you’re not the only one around here who can be pert. You are, however, the only one who can save us from eventual ruin.”
“Now who’s being dramatic? Lady Branson would take you with her into her daughter’s household. You’d live very well there.”
“And what happens to you while I’m living very well?”
“I don’t know. I’ll find someone else.” I thought back to the flurry of guests I’d met at the party this evening. “What about that merchant who was there? Donald Crosby? I hear he’s amassed a pretty big fortune.”
“Ugh.” Grandmama rubbed her temples. “Please stop talking about the nouveau riche. You know how it gives me a headache.”
I scoffed. “What’s wrong with him? His business is booming. And he laughed at all my jokes—which is more than can be said for Lionel.”
“You know what’s wrong with Mister Crosby. He should never have been at that party. I don’t know what Lord Gilman was thinking.” She paused as a particularly large pothole in the cobblestone street caused our carriage to lurch. “How do you think your exalted ancestor Rupert would feel about you mingling his line with such common blood?”
I groaned. It seemed as though, lately, we couldn’t have a conversation without invoking Rupert’s name. “I think someone who followed his lord across the channel to carve out an empire would place a pretty big emphasis on keeping one’s self-respect. Not selling it out to a boring cousin and his tyrant grandmother. Did you count how many times she said ‘under my close supervision’ when we were talking about the future? I did. Five. Which is seven less times than Lionel scratched some body part.”
Grandmama’s expression grew weary. “Do you think you’re the first girl who’s had an arranged marriage? Do you think you’re the first girl to resent it? Stories and songs are full of tales of woeful maidens trapped in such circumstances who escape to a glorious future. But those are stories. The reality is that most girls in your situation . . . well, endure. There’s nothing else you can do. There’s nowhere else you can go. It’s the price we pay for this world we live in. For our rank.”
“My parents would have never made me endure,” I grumbled.
Her eyes hardened. “Your parents and their frivolous investments are the reason we’re in this situation. We’re out of money. Selling the Bentley estate has kept us living as we always have. But that’s going to change. And you won’t like it when it does.” When my obstinate glare continued, she added, “You’ll have people making choices for you your entire life. Get used to it.”
Our home was located in a different—but equally fashionable—district of the city from the party. Upon our arrival, servants swarmed to attend us. They helped us out of the carriage, took our wraps and shawls. I had my own flock of maidservants who accompanied me to my suite to remove my formal attire for me. I watched as they smoothed the red velvet overdress, with its trumpet sleeves and gold embroidery. They hung it up with countless other decadent frocks, and I found myself staring at the bureau after they’d left. So much of our family’s fading wealth spent on clothes that were supposed to help me achieve the opportunity to change my life for the better.
My life was certainly about to change, but for the better? That I was skeptical of.
And so, I treated it as though it wasn’t real. It was how I’d dealt with my parents’ deaths as well. I’d refused to believe they were gone, even when faced with the tangible proof of their graves. It wasn’t possible that someone you loved so much, someone who filled up so much of your heart, could no longer exist in the world. I tried convincing myself that they would walk through my door one day. And when I couldn’t make myself believe that, I simply didn’t think about it all.
That was how I dealt with Lionel. I put him out of my mind and went on with my life as though nothing at that party had ever happened.
When a letter came from Lady Dorothy one day, I finally had to acknowledge his existence again. She wanted to confirm a date for the wedding, which was to be expected. What wasn’t expected was her directive to cut our household staff in half and get rid of the majority of our possessions. You won’t need them when you get to Northshire, she wrote. The staff and items you need will be provided, under my close supervision.
“Oh, sweet Uros,” I said when I’d finished reading.
“Don’t take the god’s name in vain,” Grandmama snapped. Despite her sharp words, I could see the strain on her. Living under someone else’s thumb wasn’t going to be easy for her either. “Oh. And Lionel sent you a present.”
The “present” was a container of a proprietary barley cereal blend he ate each morning, with a note saying it would give me a taste of what was to come. I wanted to believe he’d intended the pun, but I sincerely doubted it.
Grandmama began fretting about how to split up the household as I walked out of the room. And I kept walking. I walked out of the town house, out through the front courtyard. I walked right out through the gate that sheltered our property from the main thoroughfare, earning a puzzled look from the servant who was manning it.
“My lady? Is there something I can help you with?”
I waved him back when he started to rise. “No,” I said. He glanced around, uncertain what to do. He’d never seen me leave our property alone. No one ever had. It wasn’t done.
“Better circumstances for me. A better title for him,” I murmured.
As we spoke, Lionel first scratched his forehead and then his inner arm. That second bout went on for some time, and I tried not to stare. What was going on? Why was he itching so much? And why was it happening all over his whole body? I couldn’t see any obvious rashes. Worse, the more I watched him, the more I suddenly wanted to scratch. I had to clasp my hands together to stop myself.
The excruciating conversation went on for several more minutes as our grandmothers made plans for the nuptials I’d only just learned about. Lionel continued to scratch. When we finally extracted ourselves, I waited all of thirty seconds before voicing my opinion to Grandmama.
“No,” I said.
“Hush.” She smiled at various guests we knew as we walked to the ballroom’s exit and told one of our host’s manservants to order our carriage around. I bit off my words until we were safely alone inside it.
“No,” I repeated, sinking back into the carriage’s plush seat. “Absolutely not.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.”
“I’m not! I’m being sane. I can’t believe you accepted that offer without consulting me.”
“Well, it was certainly difficult choosing between that and your many other offers.” She met my glare levelly. “Yes, dear, you’re not the only one around here who can be pert. You are, however, the only one who can save us from eventual ruin.”
“Now who’s being dramatic? Lady Branson would take you with her into her daughter’s household. You’d live very well there.”
“And what happens to you while I’m living very well?”
“I don’t know. I’ll find someone else.” I thought back to the flurry of guests I’d met at the party this evening. “What about that merchant who was there? Donald Crosby? I hear he’s amassed a pretty big fortune.”
“Ugh.” Grandmama rubbed her temples. “Please stop talking about the nouveau riche. You know how it gives me a headache.”
I scoffed. “What’s wrong with him? His business is booming. And he laughed at all my jokes—which is more than can be said for Lionel.”
“You know what’s wrong with Mister Crosby. He should never have been at that party. I don’t know what Lord Gilman was thinking.” She paused as a particularly large pothole in the cobblestone street caused our carriage to lurch. “How do you think your exalted ancestor Rupert would feel about you mingling his line with such common blood?”
I groaned. It seemed as though, lately, we couldn’t have a conversation without invoking Rupert’s name. “I think someone who followed his lord across the channel to carve out an empire would place a pretty big emphasis on keeping one’s self-respect. Not selling it out to a boring cousin and his tyrant grandmother. Did you count how many times she said ‘under my close supervision’ when we were talking about the future? I did. Five. Which is seven less times than Lionel scratched some body part.”
Grandmama’s expression grew weary. “Do you think you’re the first girl who’s had an arranged marriage? Do you think you’re the first girl to resent it? Stories and songs are full of tales of woeful maidens trapped in such circumstances who escape to a glorious future. But those are stories. The reality is that most girls in your situation . . . well, endure. There’s nothing else you can do. There’s nowhere else you can go. It’s the price we pay for this world we live in. For our rank.”
“My parents would have never made me endure,” I grumbled.
Her eyes hardened. “Your parents and their frivolous investments are the reason we’re in this situation. We’re out of money. Selling the Bentley estate has kept us living as we always have. But that’s going to change. And you won’t like it when it does.” When my obstinate glare continued, she added, “You’ll have people making choices for you your entire life. Get used to it.”
Our home was located in a different—but equally fashionable—district of the city from the party. Upon our arrival, servants swarmed to attend us. They helped us out of the carriage, took our wraps and shawls. I had my own flock of maidservants who accompanied me to my suite to remove my formal attire for me. I watched as they smoothed the red velvet overdress, with its trumpet sleeves and gold embroidery. They hung it up with countless other decadent frocks, and I found myself staring at the bureau after they’d left. So much of our family’s fading wealth spent on clothes that were supposed to help me achieve the opportunity to change my life for the better.
My life was certainly about to change, but for the better? That I was skeptical of.
And so, I treated it as though it wasn’t real. It was how I’d dealt with my parents’ deaths as well. I’d refused to believe they were gone, even when faced with the tangible proof of their graves. It wasn’t possible that someone you loved so much, someone who filled up so much of your heart, could no longer exist in the world. I tried convincing myself that they would walk through my door one day. And when I couldn’t make myself believe that, I simply didn’t think about it all.
That was how I dealt with Lionel. I put him out of my mind and went on with my life as though nothing at that party had ever happened.
When a letter came from Lady Dorothy one day, I finally had to acknowledge his existence again. She wanted to confirm a date for the wedding, which was to be expected. What wasn’t expected was her directive to cut our household staff in half and get rid of the majority of our possessions. You won’t need them when you get to Northshire, she wrote. The staff and items you need will be provided, under my close supervision.
“Oh, sweet Uros,” I said when I’d finished reading.
“Don’t take the god’s name in vain,” Grandmama snapped. Despite her sharp words, I could see the strain on her. Living under someone else’s thumb wasn’t going to be easy for her either. “Oh. And Lionel sent you a present.”
The “present” was a container of a proprietary barley cereal blend he ate each morning, with a note saying it would give me a taste of what was to come. I wanted to believe he’d intended the pun, but I sincerely doubted it.
Grandmama began fretting about how to split up the household as I walked out of the room. And I kept walking. I walked out of the town house, out through the front courtyard. I walked right out through the gate that sheltered our property from the main thoroughfare, earning a puzzled look from the servant who was manning it.
“My lady? Is there something I can help you with?”
I waved him back when he started to rise. “No,” I said. He glanced around, uncertain what to do. He’d never seen me leave our property alone. No one ever had. It wasn’t done.
