by Lucia Ashta
“Good morning, Maggie,” I said.
She turned, surprised. “Good day, Milady. I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s all right. I was ready to waken. Has day broken yet?”
“Only just, Milady.”
It wasn’t possible to open the shutters and let in the morning light. It was too cold early in the day at this time of year, nearing the winter solstice. Maggie opened the shutters only during the height of the day, and even then, for only an hour or two at most.
She scuttled around the room lighting the candles left from the previous evening. She looked much older than her years, still hunched with the memory of an overbearing cold. She was only as old as I was.
“Shall I prepare your clothes, Milady?”
I stretched. My bed was warm. I was reluctant to leave it. I knew how cold the stone floors were.
“I suppose so. I think I’ll wear my green dress, the thick one.”
Maggie was already assembling the small pile of clothing expected of a future countess. “Perhaps Milady may want to reconsider. Today the Count and Countess of Chester are arriving. Perchance your new violet dress would be a better choice.”
I groaned. The violet dress was not as warm, and the sleeves and bodice were tight and itchy. But Maggie knew better than I did what my parents expected of me. I’d learned long ago that resistance to her suggestions was futile. Inevitably, my mother would send me back to dress precisely as Maggie had recommended in the first place.
“Maggie, I wish you looked like me. Then you could take my place, and I’d be free to do as I wish.”
Maggie laughed aloud. Behind closed doors, we could be friends. Outside of them, my mother wouldn’t allow it. “There’s no one that would mistake us for the other.”
She was right. In most ways, we were polar opposites. With her dark, straight hair and stocky body, there was no confusing us.
“Besides, I’m not sure I’d want to trade places with you today, Milady.”
I searched her eyes. The orange of the fire played across her face in a game of shadows and light but revealed nothing.
“The Count is in a serious mood this morning.” Even though we were close, Maggie still wouldn’t cross certain boundaries. She was always careful, and I wondered what that was like, always monitoring what she said. I suppose I was the same in a way. My circumstances didn’t allow me to be myself either.
Maggie looked away, pretending to be distracted by the choice in shoes to match my outfit. But she didn’t fool me. She’d grown up in the castle, shadowing her mother, who shadowed my mother as her lady’s maid. Maggie had heard my mother’s commands, complaints, and impossible requests in the place of nursery rhymes. She’d learned the punctilious requirements of a life of nobility from a master.
“The Count and Countess of Chester are bringing their son.”
I didn’t say anything. We both knew what that meant.
My parents were trying to marry me. They’d been searching for a suitable match for some time. I wondered what this latest arrangement offered the Court of Norland.
I closed my eyes and rolled over in bed, trying to block out my life. “I think I was born into the wrong family.” Goose down filling muffled my voice, but Maggie interpreted my mumbles. I’d made the same statement to her many times before.
“Our lives are in the hands of God, Milady. I don’t think He makes mistakes.”
I’d heard that same answer many times before too.
It didn’t make me feel any better.
I sat in front of the mirror that had once been my mother’s. Its carved wooden frame was busy with leaves and flowers. I watched Maggie painstakingly braid my hair, mostly in silence. She was aware of what I was thinking and left me to my thoughts—What would this son of the House of Chester be like? Would my parents force me to marry him even if I didn’t like him?
Maggie twirled the finished braids and pinned them into place atop my head. Even if she hadn’t already announced it, I would have known: Today I was to look my best. She reserved the pins adorned with freshwater pearls for special occasions.
Maggie picked out two auburn strands to either side of my face and encouraged their natural curl. Then she surveyed me, satisfied with her work. “Now make sure not to move around too much so your hair doesn’t fall out.”
She was perpetually dismayed at how my hair tumbled out of the intricate hairdos she put me in. I met Maggie’s gaze in the mirror. “I’ll do my best.” Both she and I knew I only partly meant what I said.
I stood so Maggie could tighten my corset further.
“Breathe in,” she said.
“I hope this one breath will last me until dark. You know I can’t breathe in this thing.”
“It’s the price you pay for beauty.”
It was a hollow statement. My beauty was more evident when I was free of all this artifice.
Maggie smiled a sympathetic smile and handed me pearl drop earrings. “There. Pretty as a picture you are, Milady.”
I looked in the mirror at a girl who was beginning to resemble the striking woman she would become. Still, all I saw was emptiness reflected in eyes that looked like someone else’s instead of mine. A weak smile at Maggie did nothing to bring life to my naturally sparkling amber eyes.
I turned and made my way down the hall. This being such an important day for them, Father and Mother would be waiting for me to begin breakfast. Maggie helped me with the ample skirts of my dress down the wide stairs from the family rooms of the second floor to the entry hall. She wished me luck before leaving me to walk the hall to the dining room by myself. When I took my seat at the table, I was the last to arrive, even though the sun was still low in the sky.
“Good morning, darling,” Mother said with a pleasant-looking smile while she looked me over approvingly. My five sisters and I watched her. “Did you rest well?” This mother was much less business-like than what we were accustomed to.
“Yes, Mother, I did. Thank you.”
“Today, the Count and Countess of Chester will be visiting us,” my father said in his usual straight-to-it style. “They are bringing their son.”
He paused to sip his tea. He let his words hang densely above the chestnut dining table. Then he made measured eye contact with each of us. He began with my youngest sister. Gertrude was eleven, but she knew as well as any of us what the look meant. He ended with me. I was the one he was most worried about.
“You will all be on your very best behavior while the Count and Countess are here.” There was no need for Father to mention the consequences if we were to misbehave. We all knew the repercussions would be severe.
“This is important to our family, and we will put the well-being of our family first.” Although he spoke to all of us, this statement was directed only at me. My parents expected me to put their well-being before my own happiness. This was my duty in life, and it would also be the fate shared by my sisters.
My siblings looked back at Father with obedient blue eyes. They accepted what he told them without question. Only Gertrude showed signs of a rebellious spirit in a flash of honey eyes that were very much like mine.
Of my four sisters, only Gertrude looked like me. The spark of our inner fire revealed itself in our copper hair color. Our other sisters had blonde, straight hair, as if not even their hair considered deviating from the norm.
“Yes, Father,” I said. I was the only one who needed to reply.
“Good.” He leaned back in his chair. The solid, dark wood accepted his large frame stoically. “They’ll be arriving soon. Break your fast so you can be ready to welcome them.”
The rest of the meal was devoid of the usual chatter that followed my sisters everywhere they went. They restrained their easy-going manner in the presence of our parents.
On normal days, we were left to the care of governesses and ladies’ maids, while Father and Mother tended to matters of the estate—that seemed often to involve the atte
ndance of hunting and tea parties and dinners that extended late into the night.
“Excuse me, Milord,” interrupted the butler. “Little William has spotted the Count and Countess of Chester at the bottom of the drive. They will arrive shortly.”
Father pushed his chair back. “Thank you, Henry.”
As we each stood, Father and Mother examined us. We passed inspection, all of us in our finest dresses and ornate coiffure.
“Gertrude, remove that jam from your upper lip,” Mother snapped. She then plastered what would pass as a joyful smile on her face and took Father’s extended arm. They began to make their way to the entry hall.
Even as we were leaving the dining room, Bertha and John were hastily removing any traces of our unfinished breakfast. Everything had to be in order for the grand arrival.
Three blonde heads fell into step behind Father and Mother, but Gertrude came to my side and took my hand. I squeezed hers, anticipating the introduction to my potential future husband. We joined the procession together, dread weighing down our steps.
Chapter 3
The clop of hooves and wheels dragging behind them on the cobblestone drive finally came to a stop in front of the manor. The footsteps of a horseman and footman descended on the pavement. The men would soon begin to open doors for the passengers.
I couldn’t see anyone. Father and Mother decided that the appropriate place for us to receive our guests was in the entry hall, not outside. So all Gertrude and I could make out was the wide stone steps that connected entrance and drive.
The sound of a tired horse nickering wafted into the entryway, and my stomach tied into a big, unpleasant knot.
Henry appeared at the threshold of the massive wooden paneled door: “The Count and Countess of Chester.” Then he stepped aside to allow them entry.
The Counts of Chester and Norland shook hands then circled around each other in a practiced move of the nobility to kiss the extended hands of each other’s wives. The Countesses curtsied to each other with trained faultless smiles.
“Heir to the Count and Countess of Chester,” Henry said, and all six daughters looked up as I caught the first glimpse of my suitor.
He looked as nervous as I did, trailing behind his parents. He locked eyes with me. As the oldest, I was the tallest and easy to spot. His mouth turned up slightly in tentative entreaty, and I felt the knot in my stomach loosen a notch.
Gertrude squeezed my hand discreetly. She, too, was relieved. He looked nice, although it was still unfathomable to comprehend that this boy might soon become my husband.
The relief in my stomach was short-lived. The servants approached the doorway with two large trunks. It was too much luggage for a day’s visit. I sensed my sisters suppressing the same groan I did. Our parents would of course extend the invitation for as long as the guests wanted to stay.
It was going to be a very long day.
“It really is too bad that you have so many daughters,” the Countess of Chester said in a pause between bites at dinner. The candlelight flickered across her face in sinister slashes and waves. “Not a son among them all.”
“Charles contracted small pox when he was only four. His death has been our cross to bear,” said Mother.
“What a shame.” The Countess of Chester looked us over unconcernedly. “At least they’re all pretty. That should make it easier to find suitable matches for them. We’re fortunate to have had two boys. Male heirs are always best.”
I cringed inside but was careful to keep my visible expression acceptable. I’d been mindful of Father’s warning all day.
“Samuel is a good son. He will marry whomever we think is best for him. Isn’t that right, Samuel?”
“Yes, Mother.” I sympathized with what I imagined was Samuel’s restrained misery. We’d gotten along well so far but surely no one wanted to marry a stranger.
“That’s how it should be,” Father said. “I’m sure that’s what we all did, in our generation. We didn’t question our parents’ judgment. And now we see that our parents did know best.”
The adults nodded in agreement and muttered some comments about how today’s children were so much more rebellious than they’d ever thought of being.
I resisted my tongue’s impulse to unravel and strike with words like a viper. Rebellious? How might we be rebellious when our parents told us what we must do every important step of the way? Their comments were ridiculous.
I flicked my gaze to Samuel and wondered if he shared any of my thoughts. If he did, I couldn’t tell from his immutable expression. He played the role of the consummate son of a count and countess well.
My mind glazed over even as the adults discussed the possibility of my marriage to Samuel. I made a mental note to check the atlas later to find the exact location of Chester. I risked a look at Gertrude and found her looking at me already. I bore a tear back, and Gertrude turned her gaze to her food. She’d barely eaten, even though I knew Martha’s crêpes were one of her favorite dishes.
Bertha and John cleared the last of the pear compote, cheeses, and nuts.
“Children, you will go to the playroom with your governesses.” Father’s eyes rested on me, but he addressed Samuel. “Samuel, would you like to join Clara in the library?” That was the moment I realized I ceased to be a child in Father and Mother’s eyes.
Now, I was a business transaction.
“Yes, Sir,” Samuel said.
“It would be good for you two to acquaint yourselves. And you will, of course, be chaperoned.” Father turned to the staff. “John, let Maggie know she’s needed in the library.”
“Right away, Milord.”
“Let’s retire somewhere more private,” the Count of Chester said to Father. “We have much to settle.”
Father pushed back his chair. “What’s your liking? Brandy? Cognac?”
“Good man,” the Count of Chester said. “Those will work for me.”
Father made eye contact with Bertha. She nodded and retreated to the kitchen. She knew the drill.
The women would not be part of the business talk. After a lifetime of it, they knew their places well, and they withdrew to the fireside in Mother’s favorite parlor.
Awkwardly, Samuel and I advanced to the library. I was acutely aware of every step he took and how his body moved close to mine as we walked. We collided more than once. By the time we made it to the library, embarrassment flushed our faces, and I wished the night would just be over already.
Maggie waited for us while she tended a burgeoning fire, and I flashed her a grateful look. I was glad it was she and no one else that would witness this uncomfortable exchange.
That first night, Samuel and I performed a stilted routine of empty pleasantries. But by the second day, our parents left us alone while they went on hunts and picnics, and Samuel and I discovered that we enjoyed each other’s company.
Of course, what we appreciated most was not on our parents’ imagined list of ladylike and gentlemanly activities. However, they didn’t know exactly what we did, just that we were appropriately supervised by a lady’s maid.
Samuel and I ran through the gardens behind the house when the sun was brightest, dispelling the chill of winter and leaving Maggie far behind. As was her obligation as my lady’s maid, assigned to supervise courtship, she went through the motions of monitoring us at all times. However, her motions were purposefully half-hearted.
If anyone at the manor house understood my predicament, it was she. She was working hard to conceal her compassion from Samuel, but I saw it. I’d never been more grateful that Maggie had Mother’s trust.
“You know,” Samuel said, “I’d been dreading coming here to meet you.”
I laughed, and he continued. “Since the very moment my parents announced that I was to marry the ‘eldest daughter of the House of Norland. Quite a catch,’ they said. ‘And pretty too.’” He blushed, but only for a second.
“I’d been dreading meeting you too,” I said. “It’s such
a strange thing, isn’t it? To think that our parents arrange for us to marry with no thought as to whether or not we’ll get along or even like each other.”
I paused to look at the sandy blonde hair that had broken loose of the careful haircut meant to keep every strand of hair in place. It fell across Samuel’s forehead, making him look more like a boy than a young man.
“What could be more important than the person you share your life with? Yet for our parents, it’s all about wealth and power, and a deal that benefits both parties.”
It was a bold thing to say. I’d barely met Samuel, and I was a girl. Girls weren’t supposed to voice their opinions unless they were restricted to fashion and needlepoint.
Yet, Samuel seemed to appreciate my opinion. A dash of hope dared to skip across my frightened heart.
“I fully agree. I’ve been hearing about what my future wife would need to bring to the table in order for us to marry for so long now that it seems that my parents have completely forgotten that I’m a person not a bargaining chip, and that my future wife is too.” His glance toward me was cautious.
“Do you know what your parents are getting out of our marriage?” I didn’t dare look at Samuel after I asked. I was certain this was crossing the boundaries of what a bride was allowed to say. But I had to ask. My future happiness was being dealt away. At the very least, I wanted to know why.
“Oh, I think Father is getting a summer house in Wilkershire out of it along with a substantial dowry. Maybe some horses too. I don’t know precisely. I haven’t exactly been part of the negotiations.”
Wow. The summer house in Wilkershire. It was a large house that Mother had worked hard to get just right. We went there for weeks at a time during the summers, and Mother worked almost non-stop on the interior décor and the maintenance of the gardens while we were there.
“The house in Wilkershire is a working estate,” I said. “Lots of farmsteads.”
