Icestorm

by Theresa Dahlheim

  She spread the gown out on her bed and went back to the wardrobe for another, then another and another. It was too hard to actually try them on without anyone to help her with the hooks and laces, so she held them up to her chest and held out her hand mirror to see herself, since the big mirror was in the sitting room. Why did she own so many bright colors? With her pale hair and skin, she looked washed out in all of them, just like Nan had always said.

  She lit more lamps and got out more gowns, stacking them on her bed. She would not wear any of these tonight. Maybe she could borrow Jenevive’s grey dress, since Jenevive would probably find a holy sister’s gown and wear that. Not that it mattered, since they would never let her join a cloister. Caps, veils, gloves, slippers, and boots joined the piles on the bed, and eventually the entire contents of the wardrobe were spread around her bedchamber, organized into piles and categories. Too many of them needed altering or repairing. The laziest seamstresses in the world lived in Betaul.

  When Pamela opened the door some time later, her thick eyebrows went up at the scene, and the other girls soon came to peer in. Jenevive asked to borrow her light brown veil, and Tabitha let her, without saying that it would not look good with Jenevive’s ash-blonde hair. She suspected that Jenevive did not want to look good tonight.

  As the chambermaids helped the girls dress, Mistress Sabine kept trying to suggest more festive colors, first for the gowns, then for the accessories, but the girls followed Tabitha’s lead in choosing neutral shades and sober prints. They ignored the governess’s forced cheer as they dutifully braided and veiled their hair, scrubbed their cheeks pink with wet towels, and put jewelry on their wrists and necks. Tabitha knew she should be excited, because her father did not often host gatherings, even small ones. He was only hosting this one because Jenevive’s cousin had suggested it. Catherine’s letter had reminded them all of the ultimate reason for such gatherings: to put girls on display for men who might eventually marry and rape them.

  Tabitha shook her head sharply, hoping the thought had not shown on her face. She reached the bottom of the staircase, and she forced herself to think about more agreeable things before she turned the corner. Maybe the players would perform a comedy, or even a murder mystery. No matter what it was, though, she was glad that the players had come, because it meant that she would not have to sing for the guests. Not only was she not in the mood, but Master Manay had given her nothing but criticism lately, and she was sick of it.

  Her father was waiting at the open doors leading one step down into the blue receiving room, and next to him was Lord Daniel, who announced the girls as they greeted the duke. From the end of the line, Tabitha could see into the long room. Mistress Sabine the governess, Mistress Evonne the tutor, and old Mistress Cortille the healer were the only other women there, except for the servants. All the other guests were men, over a dozen of them, including Count Maisenblere’s intimidating brother.

  Then Tabitha saw Alain. Sir Alain. He stood near the back of the room, talking to another guest. His clothes were dark-hued and sober, much like her own, and his short blonde hair and beard were the color of the candlelight. Tabitha felt her heart racing. She tilted her head a little to try to see Marjorie, who was ahead of Jenevive, but Marjorie either had not seen Alain or did not care. Like Jenevive’s, her head was bowed as she followed Pamela across the small anteroom to greet Tabitha’s father, and like Jenevive, she did not raise her eyes even when Lord Daniel announced her name.

  “And lastly, Lady Tabitha, the Jewel of Betaul,” Lord Daniel announced Tabitha as she glided forward to rest her hand in his. The assemblage bowed to her, and then she turned to dip a curtsey to her father. She was surprised at the frown on his face when she rose. “What’s wrong with all of you?” he murmured to her, flicking his eyes toward her friends. “Is this a funeral? Smile. Tell them to smile.”

  “Yes, Father.” She managed to produce one for him as Lord Daniel stepped away from them to catch up with Pamela.

  Daniel had just over a year to wait before he could marry Pamela. And then would she be the one of them who died in childbirth? It was a grim thought, and Tabitha bit her lip to stop thinking it.

  Her eyes sought Alain again as she entered the room fully, but the first guest to greet her was Count Sebastene, one of her father’s vassals, and she had to give the bald and beardless man her attention. As his small talk moved on to a technical description of the moon’s frost features as he had seen them through his new telescope, she wondered why he was here. He certainly could not be a potential husband for any of her friends. Soon Baron Louard joined them in the mingling crowd, and he told a mildly harrowing story about the icestorms through which he had passed while on the road. He had stopped in Betaul two days ago to visit Marjorie on his way west. They all agreed that once he took to the highway again tomorrow morning, it would doubtless be no warmer or drier.

  When at length Count Sebastene excused himself from them, Baron Louard’s thin face became more serious, and he looked at Tabitha squarely. “My lady, I am concerned about my daughter,” he said in a low voice. “Does she seem happy here to you?”

  “Of course, my lord.” Tabitha was puzzled, but then she understood. “Do you mean tonight? I am afraid there was a small argument a little while ago that upset her. It upset us all, truly. But it will pass.”

  The baron seemed at loss for words, as if Tabitha’s answer had confused him, and Mistress Sabine stepped to Tabitha’s side and smiled. “I could not help overhearing, my lord. Please set your mind at ease. Your daughter is quite happy here.”

  “I miss her, of course,” he said hastily. “Forgive me, ladies. My concern is misplaced.”

  “But understandable, my lord,” Mistress Sabine assured him with another smile, and Tabitha wanted to roll her eyes. Marjorie’s mother had died years ago, but really, Baron Louard was too old for Mistress Sabine, and more to the point, she was too far below his rank. Apparently that was not enough to keep her from acting foolish.

  The baron’s concern was understandable, though, for Marjorie certainly was not acting happy. Tabitha drew each of her friends aside to tell them that the duke wanted them to smile more, and the others all brightened visibly, if falsely, but Marjorie seldom raised her blue eyes to whomever she spoke. When she did speak, it was very softly, and Tabitha heard several people over the course of the hour ask her to repeat herself. She did not even become more animated with Alain when he tried to gently flirt with her.

  Tabitha pushed down a wave of jealousy when she saw that. The hard truth of it was that no man here, least of all Alain, would flirt with her. And soon it would be too late. Very soon she would turn fifteen, and she had never had a suitor, never been kissed. No male in Betaul had the courage to risk her father’s wrath by showing anything other than the strictest respect toward her. Even though they all smiled at her, their smiles ranged from solemn to petrified.

  But she had to behave as if it did not bother her, as if nothing bothered her. So she nodded her head to whatever talk flowed around her, as poised and graceful as a swan.

  She wondered why Alain was so stuck on Marjorie. She was pretty, yes, but she had such a hard time making conversation with men, especially when she was upset like this. It was sad to see the girl who had been so helpful during Tabitha’s puppy’s burial, who could stitch and write so neatly, who spoke two languages and knew how to tie sailors’ knots, of all things, become so meek and dull whenever a man looked at her. Especially a man like Alain, who was so handsome that even the older ladies followed him with their eyes.

  Tabitha wondered what it would be like to kiss him. She wondered what it would be like to kiss anyone. Time was slipping away, even as she stood here. All too soon, she would find herself married to some man who would make her bleed all over the bed, and all chances for kisses, romance, and excitement would be gone forever.

  If only she could marry the Telgard prince! He was as young as she was, and even if he turned out to be a disgusting brute,
she would become a queen, which was the only reward worth the pain that Catherine had endured. Last year, her father had sent another proposal to the Telgard king, but again, it had been courteously declined. Her father was preparing a third set of terms, but in dark moments Tabitha knew that it was a waste of time. The Telgards did not want her. The prince did not want her. Fair gentleman or disgusting brute, she would never have him.

  Smile. Father wants you to smile.

  At last, Aime arrived at the door to announce supper. Tabitha took her father’s arm, and they led the way to the green receiving room and the two dozen places set at the table. She watched her friends enter after her and saw that Jenevive had been forced to accept the escort of her cousin. Pamela held Lord Daniel’s arm, and Marjorie her father’s, while Beatris had somehow ended up with the thick-necked Sir Prosper, the only man at the gathering who could rival Jenevive’s cousin for boorishness. The seating arrangement placed the ladies at different points at the table, each surrounded by men, and Tabitha resigned herself to ten courses of flavors too strong for her tongue and talk too boring for her temperament.

  She was not wrong. There were dishes with livers, radishes, salt, cheese, asparagus, goose, and curry, to name a few, and there were stories with battles, hunts, heretics, legends, trade, games, scars, and horses, to name a few. She tried to take in as little of it as she could, keeping her ears attuned to the sound of her own name in case someone spoke to her but otherwise letting her mind drift as she pushed each course around her plate or bowl. From what she could tell, the other girls were doing the same. Once, when she thought she heard Pamela laughing, she looked up curiously, and she caught a glimpse of Alain at the far end of the table. That set her thoughts in a different direction, until she noticed Lord Maisenblere taking covert looks at her over his goblet every time he drank. She pretended not to notice, and wished she could go back to her rooms, to daydream about Alain in peace.

  But she could not, of course. She sat straight and pretended to eat, listen, and enjoy herself, and eventually the last course was cleared and the brandy was served. After many toasts, which were long and detailed enough to give honor and flattery to her father and his guests, supper was finally over. Tabitha tried not to stretch her back and shoulders too obviously as she stood up, but God, she had been motionless for so long, she felt as stiff as an old woman.

  Back in the blue receiving room, the servants had rearranged the furniture to the players’ direction, allowing a large paneled screen to occupy the end furthest from the gallery, with chairs and settees before it. They had even moved the harpsichord, placing it closer to the screen, so evidently this play would have music. Tabitha, as expected, took a cushioned chair near the middle of the grouping, and, as expected, Alain was nowhere near her once everyone had found places. She suspected he was at the back. Marjorie sat beside Tabitha, and Tabitha hoped her friend had stopped brooding so that they could laugh and whisper together during the play.

  In this, she was disappointed, though it was not Marjorie’s fault. The play was not a comedy, or a romance, or a mystery. Tabitha did not know what to call it. The music came in broken flurries on the harpsichord, distracting enough that Tabitha lost track of the story. Before long, she was glancing at the people around her, wondering if they were also only pretending to be interested. She was sure her father was. Marjorie was not even pretending. Her face was aimed at the players, but her eyes were far away.

  Tabitha’s disappointment became annoyance, then restlessness. Enough of this. When the current scene ended, she would slip away to the privy closet, then down to the kitchen for food that she could actually eat. With luck, she would miss the next scene or two entirely. When the players all vanished behind the screen to change costumes, Tabitha softly excused herself. Heads turned slightly at her departure, but no one was rude enough to say anything about a lady going to make water.

  Alain was indeed at the back of the audience, and he and another knight were standing for lack of seats. They, too, were supposed to pretend not to notice her leaving, but she thought she saw Alain glance at her. As she walked down the gallery to the privy closet, Tabitha wondered if she should say something to him when she returned. If she entered the room during a scene, it would be impolite to step in front of other people to retake her seat, so it would be perfectly correct for her to linger in the back until the scene ended. She could ask Alain what he thought of the play, then watch his face when he answered and see how he looked at her.

  Maybe he liked her just as much as he liked Marjorie. Maybe he felt he could not show it because of Tabitha’s station. The idea sent a thrill up her spine.

  When she finished in the privy, she did not visit the kitchen, but instead went straight back to the blue receiving room. She paused a moment in the gallery just beyond the door to smooth her veil and skirts and to tug down her sleeves. Then, as the players droned the next scene, she silently entered the room. The other knight had not moved, but Alain now stood a few paces further away from him.

  Tabitha kept her steps slow and dignified as she approached Alain. He turned his golden-blonde head at her approach and nodded to her. She nodded back and whispered, “Sir knight.”

  He seemed startled, and whispered without meeting her eyes, “My lady.”

  She almost lost her nerve. She had never spoken to him before, nothing real, nothing beyond acknowledging a greeting. She wet her lips and whispered, “Are you enjoying the play?” She did not think anyone could hear her, since they were standing at least a pace behind the back row and the harpsichord was sounding a quick, rising tempo.

  “Yes, my lady.” He paused, then said, “My lady?” in a shy tone that suggested that he wanted to talk to her.

  She darted a look at him, and he darted a look at her in the same moment. He was so handsome! She quickly looked forward again, her cheeks growing hot, and she stepped slowly backward to give them more distance from the back row. Alain did the same. “Yes, sir knight?” she asked him, her voice just slightly above a whisper.

  “My lady, I … it’s—it’s Lady Marjorie. Is she angry with me?”

  Marjorie. Tabitha controlled herself. She did not show how it stung her that Alain was asking about Marjorie. Tabitha was so far above Alain’s station, she could not show the slightest personal reaction to him, no matter how much she wanted to. “Have you given her cause?” she asked instead of answering.

  “I don’t know.” He sounded so despondent, and he had not even remembered to address her by title. How could Marjorie wind him up so tightly when she had so rarely spoken to him?

  Or had there been more? Had she kissed him before? If she had, why had she not told Tabitha and the rest of them? “You don’t know, sir knight?”

  Alain stared at the play, his brown eyes wide and soft. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then whispered, “When I left last month …”

  She waited, and prompted, “Yes?”

  He wet his lips nervously. “I saw her in the bailey just when I was riding out. I bade her farewell. She looked up at me, and she said she hoped I would be safe, and would return soon.” Now he swallowed. “She had never said so much to me before. I had hoped … when I returned, I hoped to ask her to … if she would … but tonight, my lady, her father would not talk to me, and she would barely look at me. I am … I am afraid I must have offended her, but I don’t know how. My lady, please, you are her friend, do you know …”

  He was so anxious, he could not even finish the sentence. He was so handsome, even when he was so unsure of himself like this. She wanted to kiss him. What would it take to make him see her and not Marjorie?

  It should not take much at all. He obviously liked the look of Marjorie, so he should like the look of Tabitha too. She and Marjorie had the same color hair and skin, and they fit each other’s clothes. They had been mistaken for each other before.

  “My lady?” Alain said timidly.

  Tabitha realized she had been silent for a while. Sweat trickled down her ba
ck. She and Marjorie had been mistaken for each other before. She dared herself to do it, and did it. “I will tell her to meet you,” she said steadily.

  She saw his eyes bulge. It was too much. She had been too forward. He was too much the gentleman to be anything but shocked. But then he murmured, “Where?”

  Not too much the gentleman after all. She knew that she ought to think less of him for that, just as he ought to think less of her for suggesting such a thing. But she did not, and she did not think he did either. She tried to think of a place to meet, someplace dark. She had been mistaken for Marjorie before, but not up close.

  The library. More than once, she had overheard gossip about pairs of servants going up to the attic for privacy. “The attic of the library.”

  Alain took a long, unsteady breath that she could only hear because he was standing less than a pace away from her. “I … I would not …”

  Tabitha waited, her breath held, but he did not say what he would not do. He wanted to meet her, she knew he wanted to meet her. Marjorie. He wanted to meet Marjorie, no matter how improper it was. He proved it moments later in a whisper: “When?”

  “Midnight.” Everyone should be asleep by then. Her fingers trembled where they clasped against each other, and she hoped he could not see them. “If she comes, you will know how she feels.”

  He stood there, his eyes firmly on the players at the other end of the room. Finally he dipped his head in a quick nod. “My lady.”

  “Sir knight.” Tabitha forced herself to walk idly to her left a few steps, as if to see better. Then she concentrated very hard on not letting her face betray the racing of her heart.

  She did not care if Alain liked Marjorie. Marjorie had not kissed him, obviously, and Tabitha doubted that she ever would. Marjorie always denied having kissed anyone. Alain obviously wanted kisses, so Tabitha would kiss him. He was so handsome. She and Marjorie had the same color hair, and they were the same height. In the dark, how could he tell? She would speak only in whispers … no, she decided, she would not speak at all. No talking, just kissing. She was going to do it. She was going to meet him in the attic of the library, and she was going to kiss him. She would have her first kiss.