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Fairess
Planetoid
- Joined
- Jan 26, 2015
References of the Past:
Sometimes Estelle wondered if she was, in fact, human. The presumption that she wasn't was absurd, but it also explained why she felt nothing when Baron Lineham lasciviously ran his sweaty hand up her thigh. She fluttered the ornate fan in her hand, the brittle-brightness of her smile painted perfectly on her lips. A giggle followed, so well-practiced that it almost didn't have the harsh edge of disapproval in it.
"My Lord, you cannot tempt yourself now or we'll be in complete disarray by the time we arrive." Estelle could already sense his declaration that a little fondling before then would hardly hurt. Once upon a time, such a notion would have made her nauseous. "Please, I'd like to make the best possible impression on your peers. They ought to know what an impressive man you truly are."
"Bright girl! I knew taking you was the right decision." The Baron slapped her thigh in what she presumed was meant to be a playful gesture. The consequent sound of her own flesh making contact with his was yet another thing she'd quite forgotten to be embarrassed about. She did, however, know the correct reaction, squeaking with scandalized shock.
"Indeed. I shall be the perfect partner and show the Court that you are a man to be properly cherished." Estelle sold this damning bit of dialogue with the same plastic smile — he was not the sort of man women would get jealous of merely because someone pretty was on his arm. He was too old and too crass to attract a decent wife, and his desperate need to have an heir made him no more appealing.
Well, she supposed there was still a crowd of women who might consider him, given their poor circumstances and ill luck in the marriage mart. At the end of the day, however, such ladies still had their families and enough cushioning to keep them away from ever having to consider a workhouse to get by. For a woman like Estelle, this was a golden opportunity, a chance at a comfortable life with an odious husband she could nonetheless control with her wiles. Few women of common rank ever got to go to the sorts of noble gatherings she was headed toward, to stand at the side of their nobleman lover as though they were equals in society.
Granted, that wasn't quite what this was. She wore a pale blue mask with silvery accents to hide her face, and the story they had agreed upon was that she was his distant cousin visiting from abroad. If she could conduct herself well, he'd said, he would consider legitimizing her title with a bribe to the right official. As long as he could secure a healthy heir for himself, it seemed, the price for a wife like her would be worth the cost.
So what was she doing, wasting a perfectly good chance at a comfortable life? Why had she spent the better part of what she'd saved away for a ridiculous dress and jewelry? To risk everything on a single shot, a few precious moments with a childhood fantasy… quite what had gotten into her head?
While it had been simple enough to keep her nerves in check on the way there, her return to the Duke's estate was a different matter entirely. One would think, what with the passage of so many years, that the familiar iron gates and manicured lawn would have little effect on her. But she noticed that the rose bushes ensconcing the pathway to the front door were exactly the same, a succulent peachy-pink that held the warm essence of summer in every petal. She couldn't help but recall plucking those very blossoms — without permission, of course — and her first experiments in herbal teas. With just a touch of sugar, those petals could be boiled into the most beautiful honey-colored tea.
Gold like his hair, pink like his lips… yes, that's exactly what I thought the first time I made it. Estelle let her hand drift downward, the silk of her long glove catching against the open mouth of a rose. If she wasn't careful, she knew the Duke's palatial estate would drown her with nostalgia. Indeed, she would have given almost anything to be a ghost, to abandon all her careful plans to linger, silent and insubstantial, in those precious places that held her fondest memories.
Unfortunately, Estelle was still very much among the living, and the baron was already impatiently tugging her along. His pace was not a forgiving one, and her dress didn't exactly allow for the lengthy steps it demanded.
Gently, she expressed her own impatience with a squeeze on his forearm. "My darling Baron Lineham, you move with such purpose! I assure you, the festivities aren't going anywhere without you."
He let out a breath of exasperation, glancing down at her with the most condescending sort of annoyance. "I would like to make it to the ballroom sometime before the party is over. Can you truly walk no faster, girl?"
"I wish to be seen as graceful, my lord, not heard as I tumble into the dirt." This time, she gave his arm a sharp tug, pulling him into line with her step. While he cursed under his breath, she cleared her head of any further fog brought on by memories, the angle of her chin proud and the gait of her walk poised as she was lead into the palace's grand ballroom.
When had she last seen the place in all its glory? It was familiar and foreign at once, this place with too many windowsills she'd once been tasked to dust. She could clearly recall the Reynuax sisters dancing on the polished wooden flooring for their lessons, innocently giggling or otherwise whining under another of Miss Maybell's lectures. Dance was a thing to be taken seriously, one of the first real conversations between man and woman as they joined hands for the first time, or so she'd said. No one knew how to suck the joy out of something as well as she did.
Focus, Estelle! No staring at the grandly tall walls with their golden accents, no gawking at the sparkling lamps and beautiful pastels of the floral arrangements — and most importantly at all, she wouldn't spare so much as a glance toward the hors d'oeuvres being passed about on serving trays. The only thing she allowed herself was a delicate glass of champagne, and even that bubbly-sweet touch of cherry and cream was too much of a delight to her senses. There was no doubt about it: royal family aside, no one else in the kingdom treated their guests better than the Reynauxes.
In a perfect world, the baron would have been more popular among his peers. He was taking great pains to introduce his vaguely related cousin, hinting at every opportunity that she loved him dearly and was ready to wed any day now, but every one of his cohorts were… well — not persons of interest to the Duke or anywhere close to his acquaintance. The wives on their husbands' arms squinted at her, gossipy peacocks eager for something to peck, and the men tried to pretend that she wasn't the foreign princess she appeared to be.
After all, her diction was a little too perfect, the tone of her voice mellow and warm as lavender-infused honey. She knew exactly how to embody the 'perfect' woman, that refined and tragic heroine who would die without the love of her beloved. It was there in the demure curve of her wrist, the elegant confidence with which she held herself, never flinching away from the gaze of others.
It didn't matter if their gaze quickly wandered down the form-fitting shape of her gown, particularly where the pale blue fabric became translucent from the knees down. While most of the women seemed to do their best to puff out their hips and sleeves, Estelle was quite the opposite, favoring a natural drape of silk and organdy that hugged the true shape of her waist and hips. A silvery lattice of leaves and blossoms had been sewn atop the fabric, the delicate lace curving over her arms in place of proper sleeves. Then there was the outer part of her dress, an even more translucent skirt that opened like the blossom of a calla lily around her legs.
Her real pride and joy, however, was the jewelry. All she'd ever worn was costume jewelry, flashy but cheap and clunky stuff. This, however, was the real thing, delicate silver laurel leaves forming a chain around her neck. They dripped with gorgeous sapphires, matching the jeweled hair pins that glittered like dew drops against the blond coil of her hair.
Add to all the finery the soft and elegant curve of her chin, the thin daintiness of her lips, and she could be nothing but the most noble of women among her peers. Her slender frame was on full display, and yet she acted as though this were the only proper and natural way to conduct oneself.
She was, unfortunately, also losing her patience. If she allowed the baron to keep her chained to the sidelines where the unimportant so often liked to gather, she would never find her way into the circle of the man she was risking so much for. Her heart squeezed nervously every time she thought of him, wondering if she'd even be able to recognize him. The image of young Robin was so clear in her mind's eye, but she knew it was impossible for him not to have changed. Physically, mentally, he would be as much a man as she was now a woman.
"Ah! Your cup is empty, my Lord. I shall remedy this at once." Estelle flashed a bright smile that would broker no arguments, gratified when the man was too deep into his bragging to care about her sudden absence. It was a simple enough thing to set the two empty glasses aside so she could wander the ballroom at last, searching for the gaggle of noblewomen that would no doubt be cornering the unmarried duke.
"Charlotte! For heaven's sake, straighten your back, girl!" An eerily familiar voice made Estelle freeze in her tracks. Yes, it had been a long time, but she'd know the sharp bite of that woman's voice anywhere.
Charlotte was more the stranger, flustered and frustrated in equal measure. "Mother, you are speaking too loudly. He already looked this way. A-And he hasn't moved an inch toward me…"
"He's only being polite to the other guests. Ugh, and there's Madam Solene, flaunting her daughters like prize piglets in front of him. Wholly unaccomplished women, both of them." The familiar head of ebony hair shook with disdain. "You must be more assertive to win the Duke's attention."
Estelle's ears suddenly felt numb. The Duke. Was he nearby already? If she just stepped a little closer… but she didn't want to risk getting any closer to the two women, one of which had strikingly similar blue eyes.
Robin has a book in his hands and is leaning back against a tree. In front of him, there is a small mountain of food laid out on low tables over a manicured lawn. His younger sisters are laughing and playing with a little puppy, who is yapping excitedly. Robin is torn between his desires to continue to sulk and to continue to read. He considers reading-in-a-sulk, but this is an altogether too subtle form of sulking. If others are not aware that one is sulking, is one truly sulking?
Robin tries to return to his book, but is distracted by an especially high-pitched scream from Little Lady Catherine. He gives up reading and decides to return to active sulking.
"Mistress Maybell? Why can't I go inside to read?"
"Because my lord your Father wanted to have a family picnic."
"But if Father isn't here, and Mother isn't here, it's hardly a family picnic."
"Your mother and father have gone for a walk around the lake."
"Why couldn't I go with them?"
"Because... sometimes mothers and fathers need some alone time."
"But they will be ages!"
"They might not be. It might be a short walk"
"They are always ages! You could let me go back inside, where I could finish my book, and them come straight back out. If Mother and Father are allowed to have some alone time, so should I. You could just let me... they will never know."
"I said no, young lordship, and I meant it."
"Why are you in charge of me? I am going to be Duke someday."
Robin puffs himself up, makes himself look as big and powerful as he can. He feels a stab of anticipatory pain. Everyone tells him he will be Duke someday, but that would mean that Father would be gone, and that is a prospect so awful he could barely think about it.
A note of irritation creeps into Maybell's voice.
"Because your Father, who is Duke now, says that I am. At least until you are older. Then you can... throw me in the dungeon or whatever you want to do. We have this conversation every single time you don't get your way, Robin."
Her anticipation of his planned - empty - threat takes the wind out of the young lord's sails. He sighs a deep, theatrical sigh.
He notices that Maybell has seen something, and his gaze follows hers. One of the servant girls has crept over to the picnic to pocket a piece of fruit. Robin doesn't mind, but apparently Maybell does. Maybell bellows at the poor girl, threatening all kinds. Perhaps it's Robin's sense of fairness or justice... perhaps it's because he's read too many fairytales where bad things happen to people who mistreat servants... or fair folk who they take for servants. And... of course, Robin doesn't believe in Fairies, but the servant girl is blonde and pretty, and if anyone might be a fairy or an elf or a pixie, it might be her. He also wonders if Maybell was nasty to the girl because she was angry with him. That didn't seem fair either.
Robin watches the girl retreat to a safe distance.
"Why can't the girl have some food, Mistress Maybell? She looks hungry."
"Because this is the Ducal picnic. The servants have what's left, but not until the family have finished. And then amongst the servants, there is an order of precedence."
"But we are finished" objects Robin.
"That's not the point" answers Maybell.
"Would you chase birds away? If they tried to take some of the food?"
"I... no... maybe."
"I think people are more important than birds. When I am Duke, everyone will have enough to eat, and there will be no hunger in the realm."
"If you just feed everyone" countered Maybell, "People wouldn't do any work. And then where would we be? There would be no food"
Robin looked sceptical.
"If you had food... and water... and a house... and all those things. Would you give up your job and just go and live in your house and eat your food?"
"No, Robin. I like working for the Duke. It's an honour to run their household and look after you and your sisters."
"I should think it would be very boring, not having anything to do. I remember when Master Pointon" he waves in the direction of his tutor, dozing nearby, waking at the sound of his name "...got sick that time. I didn't want you to be sick, Master Pointon, but I thought I would like not having lessons. And I did... until I got bored."
The old man smiles fondly.
"I remember you pestering me for reading recommendations when I could barely speak!"
"No" opines Robin, "I think everyone needs something to do. I don't think you work for food, Mistress Maybell, I think you work because you like being in charge and because you like bossing people around!"
Maybell wants to retort and defend herself, but Pointon's laughter makes that impossible.
"One day you will be in charge and you will be bossing people around" reminds Pointon.
"I should practice, then" answers Robin. "I can't just go from not being in charge to being in charge without any practice of bossing people around, now can I?"
"Well, what do you propose we do, little lord?" asks Maybell, still put out. She blames Pointon's influence. Filling the boy's head with ideas.
"I can't boss you around Mistress Maybell" Robin answers, ignoring her patronising tone, "And I can't boss you around, Master Pointon. And... some of those guards are a bit scary, and when I tried to boss one around once, he just laughed at me and called me Dukeling... like 'duckling'. I was going to send him to the dungeon, but then I thought he might have a family and friends and that that would make them sad. Plus also, we need guards to guard the dungeon, and they can't do that if they're already in the dungeon."
"You are not allowed to boss around your sisters either, Robin" reminded Maybell. "Just because you are the oldest."
"But they're not allowed to boss me around either, just 'cos they're girls and there's two of them" Robin answered.
"Oh... " he says, "I know who I could boss around!"
Robin has an idea. He stands up, ready to try to outwit the grown-ups.
"You! Girl!" he calls, in the direction of the servant girl. "Bring me a big plate of food. Bring me whatever you think looks best. Bring lots."
Maybelle shoots Pointon a look. Should they allow this? He smiles back. He wants to see where this is going. The boy is not entirely wrong about learning to command. He wants to see what he does next.
The girl does as she's told, and brings a laden plate.
Robin pulls himself up to his full height.
"This is my food" he says, self-importantly. "This is food from the Ducal family picnic. It is not yours, servant girl. It is mine."
He takes the plate from her. He feels Maybell's approval, but he doesn't want it.
"My sisters can get their own, or have it brought. If they so choose. But this is mine. Does anyone disagree?"
No-one was minded to do so.
"Therefore, if it is mine, it is mine to do with as I wish. And I wish to share it with this girl. I order you to sit next to me and share my food, servant girl. You look hungry."
"You can't just-" objects Maybell
Pointon laughs. "A little bit of sophism, but overall...well played."
Robin turns to Maybell, suddenly assertive.
"I want all the servants who wait upon us to be well-fed, and I want them to be looked after. Machiavelli says that it is better for the Prince to be feared than loved, but above all, he must not become hated. Machiavelli means the whole population, but I think it goes double for the Prince's own household."
"Robin, the girl is greedy and disobedient, not hungry."
"Respectfully, Mistress Maybell, I disagree. Greedy and disobedient would not make me risk your anger."
"Whatever shall I say to the Duke your father when he returns and finds you sharing a plate with a servant girl?"
This is not the trump card she thinks it is.
"Whatever you think fit to say. I think Mother has a soft heart and will think it sweet. I think Father will be amused. I don't think anyone wants our servants to have cause to hate us."
Robin moves away from the others, back into the treeline, and sits down with his back against the trunk of a large oak. He gestures to the girl to sit.
"I've already eaten" he announces, feeling suddenly a little shy. "You probably saw. So I'm not actually hungry. So you can eat what you like. What's your name? I can't keep calling you "servant girl", that would be rude. My real name is Robert, but everyone calls me Robin."
Robin tries to return to his book, but is distracted by an especially high-pitched scream from Little Lady Catherine. He gives up reading and decides to return to active sulking.
"Mistress Maybell? Why can't I go inside to read?"
"Because my lord your Father wanted to have a family picnic."
"But if Father isn't here, and Mother isn't here, it's hardly a family picnic."
"Your mother and father have gone for a walk around the lake."
"Why couldn't I go with them?"
"Because... sometimes mothers and fathers need some alone time."
"But they will be ages!"
"They might not be. It might be a short walk"
"They are always ages! You could let me go back inside, where I could finish my book, and them come straight back out. If Mother and Father are allowed to have some alone time, so should I. You could just let me... they will never know."
"I said no, young lordship, and I meant it."
"Why are you in charge of me? I am going to be Duke someday."
Robin puffs himself up, makes himself look as big and powerful as he can. He feels a stab of anticipatory pain. Everyone tells him he will be Duke someday, but that would mean that Father would be gone, and that is a prospect so awful he could barely think about it.
A note of irritation creeps into Maybell's voice.
"Because your Father, who is Duke now, says that I am. At least until you are older. Then you can... throw me in the dungeon or whatever you want to do. We have this conversation every single time you don't get your way, Robin."
Her anticipation of his planned - empty - threat takes the wind out of the young lord's sails. He sighs a deep, theatrical sigh.
He notices that Maybell has seen something, and his gaze follows hers. One of the servant girls has crept over to the picnic to pocket a piece of fruit. Robin doesn't mind, but apparently Maybell does. Maybell bellows at the poor girl, threatening all kinds. Perhaps it's Robin's sense of fairness or justice... perhaps it's because he's read too many fairytales where bad things happen to people who mistreat servants... or fair folk who they take for servants. And... of course, Robin doesn't believe in Fairies, but the servant girl is blonde and pretty, and if anyone might be a fairy or an elf or a pixie, it might be her. He also wonders if Maybell was nasty to the girl because she was angry with him. That didn't seem fair either.
Robin watches the girl retreat to a safe distance.
"Why can't the girl have some food, Mistress Maybell? She looks hungry."
"Because this is the Ducal picnic. The servants have what's left, but not until the family have finished. And then amongst the servants, there is an order of precedence."
"But we are finished" objects Robin.
"That's not the point" answers Maybell.
"Would you chase birds away? If they tried to take some of the food?"
"I... no... maybe."
"I think people are more important than birds. When I am Duke, everyone will have enough to eat, and there will be no hunger in the realm."
"If you just feed everyone" countered Maybell, "People wouldn't do any work. And then where would we be? There would be no food"
Robin looked sceptical.
"If you had food... and water... and a house... and all those things. Would you give up your job and just go and live in your house and eat your food?"
"No, Robin. I like working for the Duke. It's an honour to run their household and look after you and your sisters."
"I should think it would be very boring, not having anything to do. I remember when Master Pointon" he waves in the direction of his tutor, dozing nearby, waking at the sound of his name "...got sick that time. I didn't want you to be sick, Master Pointon, but I thought I would like not having lessons. And I did... until I got bored."
The old man smiles fondly.
"I remember you pestering me for reading recommendations when I could barely speak!"
"No" opines Robin, "I think everyone needs something to do. I don't think you work for food, Mistress Maybell, I think you work because you like being in charge and because you like bossing people around!"
Maybell wants to retort and defend herself, but Pointon's laughter makes that impossible.
"One day you will be in charge and you will be bossing people around" reminds Pointon.
"I should practice, then" answers Robin. "I can't just go from not being in charge to being in charge without any practice of bossing people around, now can I?"
"Well, what do you propose we do, little lord?" asks Maybell, still put out. She blames Pointon's influence. Filling the boy's head with ideas.
"I can't boss you around Mistress Maybell" Robin answers, ignoring her patronising tone, "And I can't boss you around, Master Pointon. And... some of those guards are a bit scary, and when I tried to boss one around once, he just laughed at me and called me Dukeling... like 'duckling'. I was going to send him to the dungeon, but then I thought he might have a family and friends and that that would make them sad. Plus also, we need guards to guard the dungeon, and they can't do that if they're already in the dungeon."
"You are not allowed to boss around your sisters either, Robin" reminded Maybell. "Just because you are the oldest."
"But they're not allowed to boss me around either, just 'cos they're girls and there's two of them" Robin answered.
"Oh... " he says, "I know who I could boss around!"
Robin has an idea. He stands up, ready to try to outwit the grown-ups.
"You! Girl!" he calls, in the direction of the servant girl. "Bring me a big plate of food. Bring me whatever you think looks best. Bring lots."
Maybelle shoots Pointon a look. Should they allow this? He smiles back. He wants to see where this is going. The boy is not entirely wrong about learning to command. He wants to see what he does next.
The girl does as she's told, and brings a laden plate.
Robin pulls himself up to his full height.
"This is my food" he says, self-importantly. "This is food from the Ducal family picnic. It is not yours, servant girl. It is mine."
He takes the plate from her. He feels Maybell's approval, but he doesn't want it.
"My sisters can get their own, or have it brought. If they so choose. But this is mine. Does anyone disagree?"
No-one was minded to do so.
"Therefore, if it is mine, it is mine to do with as I wish. And I wish to share it with this girl. I order you to sit next to me and share my food, servant girl. You look hungry."
"You can't just-" objects Maybell
Pointon laughs. "A little bit of sophism, but overall...well played."
Robin turns to Maybell, suddenly assertive.
"I want all the servants who wait upon us to be well-fed, and I want them to be looked after. Machiavelli says that it is better for the Prince to be feared than loved, but above all, he must not become hated. Machiavelli means the whole population, but I think it goes double for the Prince's own household."
"Robin, the girl is greedy and disobedient, not hungry."
"Respectfully, Mistress Maybell, I disagree. Greedy and disobedient would not make me risk your anger."
"Whatever shall I say to the Duke your father when he returns and finds you sharing a plate with a servant girl?"
This is not the trump card she thinks it is.
"Whatever you think fit to say. I think Mother has a soft heart and will think it sweet. I think Father will be amused. I don't think anyone wants our servants to have cause to hate us."
Robin moves away from the others, back into the treeline, and sits down with his back against the trunk of a large oak. He gestures to the girl to sit.
"I've already eaten" he announces, feeling suddenly a little shy. "You probably saw. So I'm not actually hungry. So you can eat what you like. What's your name? I can't keep calling you "servant girl", that would be rude. My real name is Robert, but everyone calls me Robin."
"I'm going to get you!" Estelle practically sang the words, breathless though she was. Robin seemed to just be getting faster and faster — it used to be easy to catch up to him with the superior length of her little legs.
Still, though, his fate was set. She closed in on him with a very unladylike leap, a thin but nonetheless voracious bear as she threw her arms around him. They both went tumbling into the long grass, disappearing into the waves of green that grew alongside the pond's edge. The loamy earth was soft underneath the grass, saving the poor boy from bruises and Estelle from some very harsh scolding.
Of course, she didn't really care about the dirt or the grass stains on her miserably drab uniform. She was much more concerned with keeping Robin underneath her, his hands pinned to the ground from her grip. Stuck prone on his belly, he absolutely hated it when she did this, which made it all the more rewarding — why shouldn't a girl be able to claim victory over a boy?
He grunted as he struggled beneath her, knowing full well that the tickles were coming next. That was always the right of the winner! Before she could gloat, however, he did something strange with his hips. One moment she was perfectly balanced with her weight to keep him pinned, and the next she was suddenly knocked into the grass on her back. It was impossible to regain her bearings before he was on her, a shrewd little panther eager for revenge.
And revenge he had! With him on top of her skirts, she couldn't even kick properly, left curling in on herself with her arms defensively crossed. He easily found his way past them, spidering his fingers down the sides of her ribs. This was the problem with boys like him — he seemed to have an instinctive nose for weakness, aware that the key to his torture was a light touch, almost affectionate as though he were petting a puppy behind its ears. The more he tickled, the more she laughed, quickly growing too weak to fend him off. She grabbed at his sleeves, trying to pry him away, and he simply used the opportunity to slip his fingers under her arms.
Just as she was brought to bright, giggling tears, however, he suddenly stopped and went still. She gazed up at him curiously, finally able to breathe, and batted his hands away. He barely reacted, supporting himself on one arm as he leaned down closer to her, narrowed eyes on the grass.
And then she heard it, too.
"Master Robert! Master Robert, where are you?" That frustrated baritone could only belong to the boy's butler. Surely his tutor didn't need him again already!
"Estelle? I swear, if you're out here with him again, Maybell will have your hide. Come here right now!" Oh, gods, and that was Mia, one of the maids.
Neither Robin nor Estelle moved. The pair of servants continued to call out, steadily making their way closer. A cold sweat started to bead along the back of her neck, and she moved to get up, but Robin gently pressed her back down.
"They won't find us if we don't move." He spoke the words in a hushed voice, two of his fingers pressed over her lips to keep her quiet. "The pheasants Father hunts are always done for the moment they run."
Pride urged her to shove him away — it seemed they could be discovered at any moment — but just this once she'd let him have his way. She didn't move a muscle beneath him, eyes trained up at the sky as she tried to keep her breathing as soft as possible. Slowly, the footsteps came closer, tromping the long grass heedlessly underfoot. Just when she swore they were fully upon her, a deafening pause lingered in the air. Her heart beat rapidly as she stared up at Robin, pale blue eyes full of innocent panic.
Somehow, he remained composed, eyes fixed up toward the grass and the searching servants. She couldn't recall the last time she'd seen him so serious. Or perhaps he was nervous, too? She was used to seeing him smile, pout, and glare, but this sort of tension had never existed between them. Was this how those princesses felt when the hero was stealing them away from a castle full of wicked captors?
Her cheeks were starting to feel warm, so she glanced away from his face and tried to think of something pleasant. Suppose they were to run away into the nearby woods, never to be bothered by the Duke and his servants again?
"Where could they have gone? I swear the Young Master was just within my sights, reading alone in the garden before he suddenly wasn't." The butler sighed with exasperation, still much too close for comfort.
"They can't be far. Come along and we'll find them soon enough." Mia already sounded tired, and Estelle almost felt bad for her. Almost. Walking the estate's lovely grounds seemed much more pleasant than endlessly dusting paintings.
Finally, the pair of servants started moving again. It seemed like an age before their footsteps finally faded into silence, leaving only the chirping of birds and the sound of the pond lapping at the grass nearby.
"Is it safe?" Estelle dared to speak at last, wriggling impatiently beneath him.
He didn't answer immediately, slipping off her at last to peek above the long fronds of grass. "They're gone. I should go distract them while you sneak back into the house."
She pouted, sitting up at last. "You don't wanna play s'more?"
The look he gave her was stunningly wicked. "We don't need to. I won."
"You did not! I caught you! You're it!"
"It doesn't count if I escape." Now he was just proud, his chest puffed just that little bit more. It was, after all, the first time he'd ever successfully fended her off.
She reached for him to quickly remedy this, but he was faster, stepping back and nearly tripping over in the process. His gaze narrowed at her as he caught himself, annoyingly serious. "You're going to get in trouble, Leafy."
Estelle snorted, standing up to shake the grass off her skirt. "I'm always in trouble."
Still, though, his fate was set. She closed in on him with a very unladylike leap, a thin but nonetheless voracious bear as she threw her arms around him. They both went tumbling into the long grass, disappearing into the waves of green that grew alongside the pond's edge. The loamy earth was soft underneath the grass, saving the poor boy from bruises and Estelle from some very harsh scolding.
Of course, she didn't really care about the dirt or the grass stains on her miserably drab uniform. She was much more concerned with keeping Robin underneath her, his hands pinned to the ground from her grip. Stuck prone on his belly, he absolutely hated it when she did this, which made it all the more rewarding — why shouldn't a girl be able to claim victory over a boy?
He grunted as he struggled beneath her, knowing full well that the tickles were coming next. That was always the right of the winner! Before she could gloat, however, he did something strange with his hips. One moment she was perfectly balanced with her weight to keep him pinned, and the next she was suddenly knocked into the grass on her back. It was impossible to regain her bearings before he was on her, a shrewd little panther eager for revenge.
And revenge he had! With him on top of her skirts, she couldn't even kick properly, left curling in on herself with her arms defensively crossed. He easily found his way past them, spidering his fingers down the sides of her ribs. This was the problem with boys like him — he seemed to have an instinctive nose for weakness, aware that the key to his torture was a light touch, almost affectionate as though he were petting a puppy behind its ears. The more he tickled, the more she laughed, quickly growing too weak to fend him off. She grabbed at his sleeves, trying to pry him away, and he simply used the opportunity to slip his fingers under her arms.
Just as she was brought to bright, giggling tears, however, he suddenly stopped and went still. She gazed up at him curiously, finally able to breathe, and batted his hands away. He barely reacted, supporting himself on one arm as he leaned down closer to her, narrowed eyes on the grass.
And then she heard it, too.
"Master Robert! Master Robert, where are you?" That frustrated baritone could only belong to the boy's butler. Surely his tutor didn't need him again already!
"Estelle? I swear, if you're out here with him again, Maybell will have your hide. Come here right now!" Oh, gods, and that was Mia, one of the maids.
Neither Robin nor Estelle moved. The pair of servants continued to call out, steadily making their way closer. A cold sweat started to bead along the back of her neck, and she moved to get up, but Robin gently pressed her back down.
"They won't find us if we don't move." He spoke the words in a hushed voice, two of his fingers pressed over her lips to keep her quiet. "The pheasants Father hunts are always done for the moment they run."
Pride urged her to shove him away — it seemed they could be discovered at any moment — but just this once she'd let him have his way. She didn't move a muscle beneath him, eyes trained up at the sky as she tried to keep her breathing as soft as possible. Slowly, the footsteps came closer, tromping the long grass heedlessly underfoot. Just when she swore they were fully upon her, a deafening pause lingered in the air. Her heart beat rapidly as she stared up at Robin, pale blue eyes full of innocent panic.
Somehow, he remained composed, eyes fixed up toward the grass and the searching servants. She couldn't recall the last time she'd seen him so serious. Or perhaps he was nervous, too? She was used to seeing him smile, pout, and glare, but this sort of tension had never existed between them. Was this how those princesses felt when the hero was stealing them away from a castle full of wicked captors?
Her cheeks were starting to feel warm, so she glanced away from his face and tried to think of something pleasant. Suppose they were to run away into the nearby woods, never to be bothered by the Duke and his servants again?
"Where could they have gone? I swear the Young Master was just within my sights, reading alone in the garden before he suddenly wasn't." The butler sighed with exasperation, still much too close for comfort.
"They can't be far. Come along and we'll find them soon enough." Mia already sounded tired, and Estelle almost felt bad for her. Almost. Walking the estate's lovely grounds seemed much more pleasant than endlessly dusting paintings.
Finally, the pair of servants started moving again. It seemed like an age before their footsteps finally faded into silence, leaving only the chirping of birds and the sound of the pond lapping at the grass nearby.
"Is it safe?" Estelle dared to speak at last, wriggling impatiently beneath him.
He didn't answer immediately, slipping off her at last to peek above the long fronds of grass. "They're gone. I should go distract them while you sneak back into the house."
She pouted, sitting up at last. "You don't wanna play s'more?"
The look he gave her was stunningly wicked. "We don't need to. I won."
"You did not! I caught you! You're it!"
"It doesn't count if I escape." Now he was just proud, his chest puffed just that little bit more. It was, after all, the first time he'd ever successfully fended her off.
She reached for him to quickly remedy this, but he was faster, stepping back and nearly tripping over in the process. His gaze narrowed at her as he caught himself, annoyingly serious. "You're going to get in trouble, Leafy."
Estelle snorted, standing up to shake the grass off her skirt. "I'm always in trouble."
"Now, Robin.... Master Pointon and I wanted to have a talk with you. Mia tells me you were asking about the servant girl?"
Robin narrows his eyes. He cares neither for Mistress Maybell's tone, nor for her referring to Estelle as 'the servant girl' when he knows she knows her name perfectly well. He dislikes being summoned for this discussion when he should be at fencing practice, and he dislikes the feeling of foreboding that is gnawing at him.
"Estelle" he says, with emphasis. "Where is she? I haven't seen her for ages."
"It's been three days" says Maybell. Pointon shoots her a look. This isn't helping.
"I know you are fond of her, and that she's your playmate" says Pointon, "So I'm sorry to have to be the one to break bad news to you."
Robin's eyes widen.
"Has something happened? Is she hurt? Is she...?" Dead. Is she dead? His words trail off, but that's what he's thinking. He's catastrophising.
"Oh, Twelve Gods, no" says Maybell, "No, no. She's perfectly fine. Hale and hearty. It's just that... she has returned to her family."
"Why?" demands Robin. He doesn't think Estelle likes her family much, because she rarely spoke of them.
"She was only ever here temporarily. To spend some time in the Palace. To get an education. You must have noticed that servants and ladies-in-waiting come and go all the time."
"S'pose" concedes Robin, though he's not sure that he's noticed any such thing.
"I think he's old enough to hear the truth" says Pointon. Maybelle furrows her brow in doubt. Robin is being played, but he doesn't notice.
"I am old enough!" he insists.
"Well..." begins Pointon, "It cannot have escaped your attention that Estelle is... well... Estelle is becoming a young woman now. She's not a little girl any more. You must have noticed."
Robin reddens. Grown-ups talking about this stuff is about as embarrassing as it gets. And... yeah, she's all tall and... other things.
"And you are becoming a young man" continues Pointon, ignoring his blushes.
Robin nods. In truth, he isn't... not yet. But he'll never admit it.
"In a few short years, it will be time for Estelle to marry. Her family want her home."
"She's too young to get married!"
Pointon nods. "Now, she is. But in a few more winters, it will nearly be time."
"A few more winters is ages! Why can't she stay here till then?"
"Robin" said Maybelle, unusually gently, "How do you think that you would feel to be parted from your father and mother for such a long time?"
"I would feel very sad." he concedes, considering the question with adorable seriousness.
"And how do you think your mother and your father and Catherine and Elizabeth would feel to be parted from you?"
"I think father and mother would be sad. But Elizabeth will have Catherine and Catherine will have Elizabeth, and they won't miss me"
"Your sisters love you very much, and would miss their big brother terribly."
Robin doubts this. He's jealous of their closeness. Girls and their whispers and secret games.
"S'pose" Robin sees where this is going, and doesn't like it one bit.
"Would you be the one to tell Estelle's mother and father and sister that they can't have her back, because you want to play games with her?"
"I-" Tears start to prick Robin's eyes. He would tell them that, but now he feels bad about it. He blinks.
Pointon comes to his rescue.
"It's fine to feel upset because your friend has gone. And I know - servant or not - she was your friend. Whatever Maybelle thinks, I know she was a good and loyal friend. But it's time to let her go now."
"But - what about they all come to the Palace?"
"The Palace isn't their home, Robin" says Maybelle.
"Which Robin are you going to be?" asks Pointon, a little edge in his voice, "Are you going to be brave Robin, who understands that he can't always have what he wants, and considers the needs of others. Or are you going to be little boy Robin, who screams and stamps his feet when he doesn't get his own way?"
"Brave Robin" he answers, swallowing hard, though he's not entirely sure. "Can I talk to her? I want to say goodbye. I want to give her a present."
"No" said Maybelle, "She's already gone. She knew this would upset you, and she didn't want to remember you upset."
Robin's jaw tenses. He knows she means that he wouldn't be able to say goodbye without crying. He also knows she's right.
"It's better this way" says Maybelle.
"If you want to send her a present, I'll see that she gets it" says Pointon.
"You know I don't want to marry Estelle!" Robin blurts out, apropos of nothing, suddenly wondering if this might be why. It's true - he has no interest in marrying anyone. He'll marry a beautiful noblewoman someday, but today, he just wants his friend back.
"I'll marry whoever Father and Mother think I should marry, for the good of the realm. I promise."
"That's not why she's gone, Robin" says Pointon, gently. "No-one thinks you want to marry her." That's true... and not true. He changes the subject.
"Now that you're older, you do need more friends. We think maybe you became friends with Estelle because you didn't have enough friends."
"Lots of other children want to be my friend, but that's because their parents told them to. I want to choose my own friends."
"And you knew that Estelle's parents didn't tell her what to do?"
Robin nods. "Because I chose her. She doesn't..." He trails off. He doesn't know how to put it. "... she only laughs at my jokes when they're funny. She says what she thinks."
"You wanted to boss her around, remember?" smiles Pointon.
"Only at first!" answers Robin, protesting, "... she's... unbossable."
Maybelle, for once, entirely agrees.
"You needed something, and we didn't give it to you, Robin." says Pointon. "We didn't see what you needed."
"I need Estelle"
"Robin" warns Maybelle, her tone hardening. "This is not up for debate."
"I'm sorry, Robin." continues Pointon, "We made a mistake. We left you alone for too long. Were you lonely when you met Estelle?"
He nods. And he'll be lonely again now she's gone. He bites his lip.
"We won't make that mistake again. We will help you find friends you can trust. Do you forgive me?"
"S'pose" he answered. It's not every day his tutor admits to being wrong, never mind asks his forgiveness.
"And Mistress Maybelle."
Robin nods, but the look on his face sends a different message.
"You be brave, now, Robin." says Pointon, "Life is full of disappointments. Being a man is learning how to accept them."
"Can I go now?" Robin asks. He's on the brink now.
"You can" says Pointon. "You can either go back to fencing, or have some time by myself."
"Some time by myself"
"Fine. We will expect you for supper, though. And we expect you to be brave Robin, not petulant Robin. We want your father and your mother to see how brave and sensible and kind you can be."
Robin nods. And bolts for the door.
As soon as the door is closed, Robin hurtles - head down - back to his room. He rushes to his desk, opens the drawer, and fishes out a small black notebook that he's hidden as best he can. He opens it, and the first page reads "Things to do when I'm Duke" in a neat, practised, hand.
He flicks through the first dozen or so pages, each covered in writing in the same hand, careful and precise. He turns to a new page, grabs the quill, dips it forcefully into the ink. In huge letters, taking up the entire page, and with such force he's more carving than writing. He writes, "GET ESTELLE BACK!!" and underscores it again and again.
He drops the quill and stares at what he's just written. He thinks about what Master Pointon said, Would she be happier with her family? Would he be the one to make them all sad? He feels so very sad, and so very guilty, and so very sad.
It's all too much. He pushes the book away, not wanting to see the words he'd just written. He dashes over to his bed, and buries his head into the pillow.
In a few hours time, he will go to supper with Father and Mother. He will be quiet. He will be withdrawn. But he will be brave Robin. He will not be a petulant child. He will not mention Estelle. He will accept that a light has gone from his life. Possibly forever.
For now, he buries his head in his pillow to stifle his sobs, and cries the hot tears he can only shed alone.
Robin narrows his eyes. He cares neither for Mistress Maybell's tone, nor for her referring to Estelle as 'the servant girl' when he knows she knows her name perfectly well. He dislikes being summoned for this discussion when he should be at fencing practice, and he dislikes the feeling of foreboding that is gnawing at him.
"Estelle" he says, with emphasis. "Where is she? I haven't seen her for ages."
"It's been three days" says Maybell. Pointon shoots her a look. This isn't helping.
"I know you are fond of her, and that she's your playmate" says Pointon, "So I'm sorry to have to be the one to break bad news to you."
Robin's eyes widen.
"Has something happened? Is she hurt? Is she...?" Dead. Is she dead? His words trail off, but that's what he's thinking. He's catastrophising.
"Oh, Twelve Gods, no" says Maybell, "No, no. She's perfectly fine. Hale and hearty. It's just that... she has returned to her family."
"Why?" demands Robin. He doesn't think Estelle likes her family much, because she rarely spoke of them.
"She was only ever here temporarily. To spend some time in the Palace. To get an education. You must have noticed that servants and ladies-in-waiting come and go all the time."
"S'pose" concedes Robin, though he's not sure that he's noticed any such thing.
"I think he's old enough to hear the truth" says Pointon. Maybelle furrows her brow in doubt. Robin is being played, but he doesn't notice.
"I am old enough!" he insists.
"Well..." begins Pointon, "It cannot have escaped your attention that Estelle is... well... Estelle is becoming a young woman now. She's not a little girl any more. You must have noticed."
Robin reddens. Grown-ups talking about this stuff is about as embarrassing as it gets. And... yeah, she's all tall and... other things.
"And you are becoming a young man" continues Pointon, ignoring his blushes.
Robin nods. In truth, he isn't... not yet. But he'll never admit it.
"In a few short years, it will be time for Estelle to marry. Her family want her home."
"She's too young to get married!"
Pointon nods. "Now, she is. But in a few more winters, it will nearly be time."
"A few more winters is ages! Why can't she stay here till then?"
"Robin" said Maybelle, unusually gently, "How do you think that you would feel to be parted from your father and mother for such a long time?"
"I would feel very sad." he concedes, considering the question with adorable seriousness.
"And how do you think your mother and your father and Catherine and Elizabeth would feel to be parted from you?"
"I think father and mother would be sad. But Elizabeth will have Catherine and Catherine will have Elizabeth, and they won't miss me"
"Your sisters love you very much, and would miss their big brother terribly."
Robin doubts this. He's jealous of their closeness. Girls and their whispers and secret games.
"S'pose" Robin sees where this is going, and doesn't like it one bit.
"Would you be the one to tell Estelle's mother and father and sister that they can't have her back, because you want to play games with her?"
"I-" Tears start to prick Robin's eyes. He would tell them that, but now he feels bad about it. He blinks.
Pointon comes to his rescue.
"It's fine to feel upset because your friend has gone. And I know - servant or not - she was your friend. Whatever Maybelle thinks, I know she was a good and loyal friend. But it's time to let her go now."
"But - what about they all come to the Palace?"
"The Palace isn't their home, Robin" says Maybelle.
"Which Robin are you going to be?" asks Pointon, a little edge in his voice, "Are you going to be brave Robin, who understands that he can't always have what he wants, and considers the needs of others. Or are you going to be little boy Robin, who screams and stamps his feet when he doesn't get his own way?"
"Brave Robin" he answers, swallowing hard, though he's not entirely sure. "Can I talk to her? I want to say goodbye. I want to give her a present."
"No" said Maybelle, "She's already gone. She knew this would upset you, and she didn't want to remember you upset."
Robin's jaw tenses. He knows she means that he wouldn't be able to say goodbye without crying. He also knows she's right.
"It's better this way" says Maybelle.
"If you want to send her a present, I'll see that she gets it" says Pointon.
"You know I don't want to marry Estelle!" Robin blurts out, apropos of nothing, suddenly wondering if this might be why. It's true - he has no interest in marrying anyone. He'll marry a beautiful noblewoman someday, but today, he just wants his friend back.
"I'll marry whoever Father and Mother think I should marry, for the good of the realm. I promise."
"That's not why she's gone, Robin" says Pointon, gently. "No-one thinks you want to marry her." That's true... and not true. He changes the subject.
"Now that you're older, you do need more friends. We think maybe you became friends with Estelle because you didn't have enough friends."
"Lots of other children want to be my friend, but that's because their parents told them to. I want to choose my own friends."
"And you knew that Estelle's parents didn't tell her what to do?"
Robin nods. "Because I chose her. She doesn't..." He trails off. He doesn't know how to put it. "... she only laughs at my jokes when they're funny. She says what she thinks."
"You wanted to boss her around, remember?" smiles Pointon.
"Only at first!" answers Robin, protesting, "... she's... unbossable."
Maybelle, for once, entirely agrees.
"You needed something, and we didn't give it to you, Robin." says Pointon. "We didn't see what you needed."
"I need Estelle"
"Robin" warns Maybelle, her tone hardening. "This is not up for debate."
"I'm sorry, Robin." continues Pointon, "We made a mistake. We left you alone for too long. Were you lonely when you met Estelle?"
He nods. And he'll be lonely again now she's gone. He bites his lip.
"We won't make that mistake again. We will help you find friends you can trust. Do you forgive me?"
"S'pose" he answered. It's not every day his tutor admits to being wrong, never mind asks his forgiveness.
"And Mistress Maybelle."
Robin nods, but the look on his face sends a different message.
"You be brave, now, Robin." says Pointon, "Life is full of disappointments. Being a man is learning how to accept them."
"Can I go now?" Robin asks. He's on the brink now.
"You can" says Pointon. "You can either go back to fencing, or have some time by myself."
"Some time by myself"
"Fine. We will expect you for supper, though. And we expect you to be brave Robin, not petulant Robin. We want your father and your mother to see how brave and sensible and kind you can be."
Robin nods. And bolts for the door.
As soon as the door is closed, Robin hurtles - head down - back to his room. He rushes to his desk, opens the drawer, and fishes out a small black notebook that he's hidden as best he can. He opens it, and the first page reads "Things to do when I'm Duke" in a neat, practised, hand.
He flicks through the first dozen or so pages, each covered in writing in the same hand, careful and precise. He turns to a new page, grabs the quill, dips it forcefully into the ink. In huge letters, taking up the entire page, and with such force he's more carving than writing. He writes, "GET ESTELLE BACK!!" and underscores it again and again.
He drops the quill and stares at what he's just written. He thinks about what Master Pointon said, Would she be happier with her family? Would he be the one to make them all sad? He feels so very sad, and so very guilty, and so very sad.
It's all too much. He pushes the book away, not wanting to see the words he'd just written. He dashes over to his bed, and buries his head into the pillow.
In a few hours time, he will go to supper with Father and Mother. He will be quiet. He will be withdrawn. But he will be brave Robin. He will not be a petulant child. He will not mention Estelle. He will accept that a light has gone from his life. Possibly forever.
For now, he buries his head in his pillow to stifle his sobs, and cries the hot tears he can only shed alone.
Sometimes Estelle wondered if she was, in fact, human. The presumption that she wasn't was absurd, but it also explained why she felt nothing when Baron Lineham lasciviously ran his sweaty hand up her thigh. She fluttered the ornate fan in her hand, the brittle-brightness of her smile painted perfectly on her lips. A giggle followed, so well-practiced that it almost didn't have the harsh edge of disapproval in it.
"My Lord, you cannot tempt yourself now or we'll be in complete disarray by the time we arrive." Estelle could already sense his declaration that a little fondling before then would hardly hurt. Once upon a time, such a notion would have made her nauseous. "Please, I'd like to make the best possible impression on your peers. They ought to know what an impressive man you truly are."
"Bright girl! I knew taking you was the right decision." The Baron slapped her thigh in what she presumed was meant to be a playful gesture. The consequent sound of her own flesh making contact with his was yet another thing she'd quite forgotten to be embarrassed about. She did, however, know the correct reaction, squeaking with scandalized shock.
"Indeed. I shall be the perfect partner and show the Court that you are a man to be properly cherished." Estelle sold this damning bit of dialogue with the same plastic smile — he was not the sort of man women would get jealous of merely because someone pretty was on his arm. He was too old and too crass to attract a decent wife, and his desperate need to have an heir made him no more appealing.
Well, she supposed there was still a crowd of women who might consider him, given their poor circumstances and ill luck in the marriage mart. At the end of the day, however, such ladies still had their families and enough cushioning to keep them away from ever having to consider a workhouse to get by. For a woman like Estelle, this was a golden opportunity, a chance at a comfortable life with an odious husband she could nonetheless control with her wiles. Few women of common rank ever got to go to the sorts of noble gatherings she was headed toward, to stand at the side of their nobleman lover as though they were equals in society.
Granted, that wasn't quite what this was. She wore a pale blue mask with silvery accents to hide her face, and the story they had agreed upon was that she was his distant cousin visiting from abroad. If she could conduct herself well, he'd said, he would consider legitimizing her title with a bribe to the right official. As long as he could secure a healthy heir for himself, it seemed, the price for a wife like her would be worth the cost.
So what was she doing, wasting a perfectly good chance at a comfortable life? Why had she spent the better part of what she'd saved away for a ridiculous dress and jewelry? To risk everything on a single shot, a few precious moments with a childhood fantasy… quite what had gotten into her head?
While it had been simple enough to keep her nerves in check on the way there, her return to the Duke's estate was a different matter entirely. One would think, what with the passage of so many years, that the familiar iron gates and manicured lawn would have little effect on her. But she noticed that the rose bushes ensconcing the pathway to the front door were exactly the same, a succulent peachy-pink that held the warm essence of summer in every petal. She couldn't help but recall plucking those very blossoms — without permission, of course — and her first experiments in herbal teas. With just a touch of sugar, those petals could be boiled into the most beautiful honey-colored tea.
Gold like his hair, pink like his lips… yes, that's exactly what I thought the first time I made it. Estelle let her hand drift downward, the silk of her long glove catching against the open mouth of a rose. If she wasn't careful, she knew the Duke's palatial estate would drown her with nostalgia. Indeed, she would have given almost anything to be a ghost, to abandon all her careful plans to linger, silent and insubstantial, in those precious places that held her fondest memories.
Unfortunately, Estelle was still very much among the living, and the baron was already impatiently tugging her along. His pace was not a forgiving one, and her dress didn't exactly allow for the lengthy steps it demanded.
Gently, she expressed her own impatience with a squeeze on his forearm. "My darling Baron Lineham, you move with such purpose! I assure you, the festivities aren't going anywhere without you."
He let out a breath of exasperation, glancing down at her with the most condescending sort of annoyance. "I would like to make it to the ballroom sometime before the party is over. Can you truly walk no faster, girl?"
"I wish to be seen as graceful, my lord, not heard as I tumble into the dirt." This time, she gave his arm a sharp tug, pulling him into line with her step. While he cursed under his breath, she cleared her head of any further fog brought on by memories, the angle of her chin proud and the gait of her walk poised as she was lead into the palace's grand ballroom.
When had she last seen the place in all its glory? It was familiar and foreign at once, this place with too many windowsills she'd once been tasked to dust. She could clearly recall the Reynuax sisters dancing on the polished wooden flooring for their lessons, innocently giggling or otherwise whining under another of Miss Maybell's lectures. Dance was a thing to be taken seriously, one of the first real conversations between man and woman as they joined hands for the first time, or so she'd said. No one knew how to suck the joy out of something as well as she did.
Focus, Estelle! No staring at the grandly tall walls with their golden accents, no gawking at the sparkling lamps and beautiful pastels of the floral arrangements — and most importantly at all, she wouldn't spare so much as a glance toward the hors d'oeuvres being passed about on serving trays. The only thing she allowed herself was a delicate glass of champagne, and even that bubbly-sweet touch of cherry and cream was too much of a delight to her senses. There was no doubt about it: royal family aside, no one else in the kingdom treated their guests better than the Reynauxes.
In a perfect world, the baron would have been more popular among his peers. He was taking great pains to introduce his vaguely related cousin, hinting at every opportunity that she loved him dearly and was ready to wed any day now, but every one of his cohorts were… well — not persons of interest to the Duke or anywhere close to his acquaintance. The wives on their husbands' arms squinted at her, gossipy peacocks eager for something to peck, and the men tried to pretend that she wasn't the foreign princess she appeared to be.
After all, her diction was a little too perfect, the tone of her voice mellow and warm as lavender-infused honey. She knew exactly how to embody the 'perfect' woman, that refined and tragic heroine who would die without the love of her beloved. It was there in the demure curve of her wrist, the elegant confidence with which she held herself, never flinching away from the gaze of others.
It didn't matter if their gaze quickly wandered down the form-fitting shape of her gown, particularly where the pale blue fabric became translucent from the knees down. While most of the women seemed to do their best to puff out their hips and sleeves, Estelle was quite the opposite, favoring a natural drape of silk and organdy that hugged the true shape of her waist and hips. A silvery lattice of leaves and blossoms had been sewn atop the fabric, the delicate lace curving over her arms in place of proper sleeves. Then there was the outer part of her dress, an even more translucent skirt that opened like the blossom of a calla lily around her legs.
Her real pride and joy, however, was the jewelry. All she'd ever worn was costume jewelry, flashy but cheap and clunky stuff. This, however, was the real thing, delicate silver laurel leaves forming a chain around her neck. They dripped with gorgeous sapphires, matching the jeweled hair pins that glittered like dew drops against the blond coil of her hair.
Add to all the finery the soft and elegant curve of her chin, the thin daintiness of her lips, and she could be nothing but the most noble of women among her peers. Her slender frame was on full display, and yet she acted as though this were the only proper and natural way to conduct oneself.
She was, unfortunately, also losing her patience. If she allowed the baron to keep her chained to the sidelines where the unimportant so often liked to gather, she would never find her way into the circle of the man she was risking so much for. Her heart squeezed nervously every time she thought of him, wondering if she'd even be able to recognize him. The image of young Robin was so clear in her mind's eye, but she knew it was impossible for him not to have changed. Physically, mentally, he would be as much a man as she was now a woman.
"Ah! Your cup is empty, my Lord. I shall remedy this at once." Estelle flashed a bright smile that would broker no arguments, gratified when the man was too deep into his bragging to care about her sudden absence. It was a simple enough thing to set the two empty glasses aside so she could wander the ballroom at last, searching for the gaggle of noblewomen that would no doubt be cornering the unmarried duke.
"Charlotte! For heaven's sake, straighten your back, girl!" An eerily familiar voice made Estelle freeze in her tracks. Yes, it had been a long time, but she'd know the sharp bite of that woman's voice anywhere.
Charlotte was more the stranger, flustered and frustrated in equal measure. "Mother, you are speaking too loudly. He already looked this way. A-And he hasn't moved an inch toward me…"
"He's only being polite to the other guests. Ugh, and there's Madam Solene, flaunting her daughters like prize piglets in front of him. Wholly unaccomplished women, both of them." The familiar head of ebony hair shook with disdain. "You must be more assertive to win the Duke's attention."
Estelle's ears suddenly felt numb. The Duke. Was he nearby already? If she just stepped a little closer… but she didn't want to risk getting any closer to the two women, one of which had strikingly similar blue eyes.
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