Seryl 10th, 1513 – Carico Estate, Lothianshire, Albion

“If you don’t mind my saying… you are an idiot, brother dear. I love you. But you’re an idiot.” A voice whispered in Josh’s ear, causing him to jump and almost slam the library door.

Being a year older certainly hadn’t softened his sister any. Well, with Bet, he supposed that was only to be expected. He was a thin cover of fragile marble laid over a marshmallow center, Elizabet was diamond from the core out, only her physical appearance usually granted her any softness at all.

Tonight, however, even the usual softness granted to her by her hair and the clothing she wore had been traded for something else. Her costume, that of Lady Morgan le Fay, added an extra physical hardness to her. She certainly was shades of a legend in it, but if there was something that the Lady Morgan of legend and Elizabet shared, it was a distinct lack of the appellation “soft”.

“How,” his voice cracked slightly. He coughed into his hand and tried again. “How do you mean?”

“This is just like you, Josh. Just go in and talk to him.” Elizabet shoved at his shoulder. “I promise nothing’s changed.”

“That’s what you think.” Josh muttered. Elizabet rolled her eyes.

“Okay, let me rephrase that, except what’s going on in here.” She paused to tap the side of Josh’s head with a long finger. “Nothing has changed with him. You’re a better host than that.” Josh was starting to feel like Benoit, that was to say lost, in what should be a simple conversation to follow. He’d been doing okay until that sharp left turn at the end there. “Darin came to my party because you asked, in fact I’m pretty sure, given how much he protested whenever the party came up in conversation, that you insisted that he come.”

She sighed. “So he came and his date is in the ballroom chatting up other people and he’s hiding in the library with Ri, only she at least is pretending that she is interested in that book of poetry she’s holding, and he’s staring at the Orkney crest on the wall.” Elizabet shook her head one of the flowers woven into the dark strands of her hair threatening to slide out. “It is your duty as host of this event–and as the person who invited him–to make sure that Darin has a good time. So.” She poked him hard through the sleeve of his doublet. “Oww.” She complained. “What do you keep under that thing, Josh? Rocks?” She wandered off still muttering about how nothing good could come from a birthday where she hurt her finger on her brother’s bicep.

“You have better manners than that, Joshua Piers!” She called from the dining room door, waggling a finger in his direction. She was right, of course, damn her. He did have better manners than that. But she didn’t understand.

It had all started in the reception line. He’d caught sight of Darin in his costume as Florian Carey, the later years steward of Earl Pellinore, a rather ironic choice, as Florian was said to have a very peculiar sense of humor and a distinct sense of whimsy. Darin, so far as Josh had ever seen, had no sense of humor and wouldn’t know whimsy if it bit him in the arse. He could never imagine Darin holding a record for being kicked out of the most taverns in his time in Albion, managing to even beat Captain Jessiah Andavri for the record!

The blonde wig didn’t suit him. Josh had decided as he nodded in response to whatever Lord Henry had just muttered to him, briefly losing sight of Darin to the huge puffed shoulders of Lady Henry’s costume. It made his face look sallow and drawn, contrasting badly with the dusky tone of his skin and reinforcing the hollow hopelessness that was almost always lurking in Darin’s blue eyes.

He needed–he needed… His mind was pulled back onto what he was supposed to be paying attention to, which was the receiving line, by the sound of Lady Henry simpering to his mother.

“Oh, Lady Marisol, I was so grieved to hear that Lord Jayson would be missing this. I know that Henry wouldn’t have missed our girls debuts for anything. I would half expect him to crawl out of the grave to be at Julia’s. Such a shame that he couldn’t make it back from Camelot in time.”

Josh’s mother was obviously trying to wrangle whatever sharp thing that had been building behind her teeth into something appropriate to say at a party when the tension was defused by an unlady-like snort from the woman behind Lady Henry in the receiving line.

“What?” Lady Henry turned, affronted.

“Oh, nothing, I am sure you are terribly grieved,” Madame Cox smiled as she gave Elizabet a hug. “I, unfortunately, have mixed feelings on the whole thing. It certainly is a shame that the baron will miss this.” She winked at Elizabet. “But it does mean that Masen is still in Camelot too, which kind of dries any tears I might have over the whole thing.” Elizabet covered her mouth with her hand, probably covering a giggle as well. Josh’s mother was too well schooled to smirk, but he thought he detected a hint of a smile at the corners of her lips too.

“Surely you wouldn’t stand for Master Masen missing your own daughter’s debut!” Lady Henry asked, planting her hands on her hips. Lord Henry was looking like he was praying for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“It would honestly depend on why he was missing it.” Madame Cox said, ignoring Lady Henry’s stance to lean in and kiss Marisol’s cheek. “After all, the universe is the Lord Wright’s to control and not ours. And certainly should it be fire, flood, or act of Wright that was preventing him from being there, he’d be excused in my eyes!” She fluttered her lashes in Lady Henry’s direction.

Lady Henry stormed off to where Lord Henry stood waiting looking like he still wanted to be swallowed by the paving stones, forgetting to say anything to Josh at all. “What?” She hissed at him.

“I told you not to get into that with Lady Marisol, Katherine. It’s not like she’d miss that it was a jab at her.” Lord Henry muttered before heading off toward the house, their murmured conversation fading as they went. Madame Cox, then the Captain and Mrs. Cox followed through without further incident when Josh caught sight of Darin and his date as well.

“You might as well come up, Darin, we’ve already spotted you.” Elizabet called to the pair at the bottom of the stairs. “And you’ll have to forgive me for asking who this lovely young lady you’re escorting is.”

“This is Eve Rose.” Darin said. Marisol’s eyebrow shot up as she looked over her shoulder at Josh who shrugged. Actually he had known that Darin was planning on inviting Eve, but there was no way to gently break that bit of information to his mother, so he would just pretend that he hadn’t known. Whether it worked was anyone’s guess.

“Rose–any relation to Reginald? Or to Guardsman Colby?” Elizabet asked curiously.

“Aye.” Eve said with a smile. It was Elizabet’s turn to look at Josh, only her expression was puzzled. He shrugged again. “They’re my brothers.”

“Oh–I didn’t know that Colby was related to Reginald.” Elizabet said faintly.

“We don’t make much of a deal of it. There are people,” Eve looked at the back of Miguel’s gaudy tunic as it was disappearing into the distance. “who would make it into something it isn’t. Call Colby’s loyalty to the guard into question when there’s no need for it. He wouldn’t do that.” Elizabet nodded in seeming understanding, probably actual understanding, if Josh could follow it, then Elizabet could more than likely follow it that much easier. Not for the first time he thought that River Sulis would have a much brighter future if there were some way that he could step aside and let his sister take the barony when their father died. The last thing this town needed was an idiot like him in a position of rank.

As Eve, Josh’s mother, and sister fell into easy discussion of the various costumes, Josh was pinned in place by Darin’s blue eyes. A wave of something that he had been trying–for months–to ignore or mislabel swept over him. And like a sharp slap to the face it was impossible to mistake it for anything else, that wave of lust, woven tight with softer things; hope, comfort, security, (love?) all wrapped up in a pulse of “want, want, want”. When that one single, perfect moment passed, between one heartbeat and the next, a second wave of much more familiar emotion rolled in: hopelessness, cowardice, panic on the verge of physical pain. Still, he had been trained from the cradle to keep up appearances, and so he murmured out some mechanical formula to Darin and then to Eve. They too turned down the path toward the house. All Josh wanted to do was run. But he couldn’t. It was Elizabet’s debut party and he, despite what he wanted, had a job to do. He was the host.

Still, that was what had lead to him standing out in the hallway lurking outside the library. Knowing that Darin was miserable and that it was his duty, his responsibility to make him happier or at least more comfortable–but–being a coward and as Bet so gently reminded him, an idiot. Oh, he didn’t want to mess up everything he’d built with Darin with him being stupid. Darin had forgiven him a lot, including everything that had happened that night, but he’d never forgive him for this. And Josh would never forgive himself if he ever let on.

But Darin saw right to the quick on so many things, how could he hide this from him?

He had hated himself lots and lots of times, but never more than in the stasis he found himself in standing outside the door to the library. The question “why” pounding in his head in time to the pounding of his heart. Why me? Why him? Why now? Why this? Why-why-why?

He took a step back as a group of his father’s contemporaries headed for the library–or maybe the balcony outside of it where they could smoke their pipes and talk about things that sometime in the next ten years society dictated would become the very most important things.

A moment later, the door to the library opened and Josh caught sight of a green sleeve, hurriedly he turned toward an arrangement of roses on a side table and began fiddling with the positioning.

Darin hesitated for a moment, but apparently the ruse worked, for he turned and wandered off in the direction of the bulk of the party. Still caught up in self-loathing, still hating himself for doing it, Josh followed along silent as a shadow and just as insignificant.

Darin seated himself on one of the gold settes in the corner of the room. Josh’s mother had been threatening for years to recover them, firmly of the opinion that the gold didn’t go–but she hadn’t found a fabric that she liked in their place, so there they stayed.

“There’s a seat open, Darin.” Dell said jerking his chin at the empty seat at one of the card tables. “Oww. What was that for?” He reached down to rub his right shin.

“For being stupid.” Severus said. Josh sighed to himself. Being stupid indeed.

“Are you sure?” Jules asked, looking over his shoulder.

“Nah, I’m not much of a poker player.” Liar, Josh thought, Darin was a helluva card sharp, Josh knew he played a lot with his own friends. He just didn’t play with Josh’s friends. It was just a lot of tutoring sessions to put into stakes. They thought nothing of tossing in a few silvers to a “friendly” game. Darin had to think of it, he didn’t have the luxury of thinking that money was unimportant.

“Besides, I’m more fascinated by the schoolteacher hustling the nun at billiards.” Darin joked, jerking his head toward where the Mrs. Coxes were playing an absolutely cutthroat game. Madame Cox laughed before turning toward Josh, who was still lurking in the doorway, eyebrow arched. Josh hurried into the room, trying not to look like he was hurrying. Somehow he didn’t think it worked to fool her. He dropped, hopefully casually, into the seat next to Darin.

“I meant to ask, Madame Cox, who are you supposed to be?” Charlie asked, turning in his chair to look over his shoulder.

“See, that’s the trouble with attempting to be clever,” she said to the room at large. “You never know if you’re succeeding in being clever or if you’re missing the mark. Heloise.”

“Pardon?”

“Heloise–the elder daughter of the first branch of Wesleyans in Albion. She’s a distant ancestor of mine or so the family legend goes.”

“The one who published all those scandalous treatises?”

“Aye.” Madame Cox said. “We both share a talent for saying things that are–mildly–scandalous.” Mrs. Cox choked. “Oh, c’mon, those books weren’t so bad.” She nudged the woman dressed in the nun’s habit with her elbow.

“Yes, Annette, they were!”

“They’re educational at the very least.” Madame Cox said blandly.

“I could have gone my whole life without that kind of education.” Mrs. Cox said primly. “It’s your turn.”

“So,” Josh said almost freezing again when Darin turned those heart-of-the-ocean blue eyes on him. “How you are doing?” Darin’s brow rose sharply, though it was half obscured by the blonde strands falling in his face.

“Words fail me.” Darin said. Aye, I was afraid of that. Josh thought.

“Hmmm. Well would you say it’s on par with the historical epic–or is it more like that Reman poetry recital?” Josh asked.

“More like that one time I walked into the hall by the salle and saw Brother Loki with his tongue in Brother Dustin’s mouth.” Darin told him blandly.

“Yeesh.” Josh said.

“Wait, you saw Loki kissing Dustin–and you didn’t tell us?” Edouard asked, slurring just slightly. His head was going to kill him in the morning. It was a good thing that they had the week off of courses. Of course it was no real surprise that he’d hit the bottle at any occasion. Josh didn’t know what he was drinking to forget, but he’d lay a month’s pocket money that whatever it was… it was something serious.

“…Aye.” Darin said after a long moment.

“Why?”

“I guess cause they–um–like each other? Why do most people kiss?” Josh couldn’t see Darin’s expression, but could hear his eyes rolling in his voice.

“No, I mean why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because I know what you’d likely do with the knowledge.” Darin asked. “C’mon, I’m the orphaned street rat, you’re the gentlemen. If I have the manners not to gossip and make fun of them, you should know better yourselves, but that’s never stopped you before. What business is it of any of ours if Loki and Dustin are–um–fond of each other?”

“Father Remi says that it’s a mortal sin.” Jules said rubbing the back of his neck.

Josh heard Darin’s sharp intake of breath and nudged him slightly. “Well, if  Father Remi said that the sky was blue, I would probably go stick my head outside and check that it hadn’t turned green with violet spots before I believed it.” Darin said folding his arms over his chest and slumping back into the settee.

Josh leaned toward him and murmured “Nicely said.” by his ear. Darin glanced and him and shrugged again. Josh nodded and stared at his boots for a long moment, trying to pull his heart back out of his throat and into his chest where it belonged, feeling the hammering of his pulse to the soles of his feet. What am I going to do?

Tyves 10th, 1513 – Fitz-Chivalry estate, River Sulis, Lothianshire, Albion

“Leo wrote me again.” Caroline fluttered her lashes at Marianne who tried not to cringe. Sunday tea was the worst, being that Sunday was the seventh day, it was Fitz-Chivalry family law that they would all gather for tea. There was no excuse good enough to get out of it, no company to be invited unless said company was staying at the estate with them, which happened about once every blue moon. They were expected to have a couple of cousins come in for Elizabet’s birthday, but that was still a month away.

So today it was just family and it had been and was going to continue to be one of those teas.

“Yes, Caroline, we heard.” Brandon said, throwing a flickery sort of smile across the table at Marianne, who swirled the last bit of tea in her cup.

“Well, Marianne hadn’t heard she wasn’t here when the letter arrived, can’t I share my good news with my favorite sister?” Elizabet would have been brave enough to point out that Marianne was hardly Caroline’s favorite sister. Vivianne would have pointed out that surely Julia already knew, or pouted because Leo bothered to write her at all. Marianne just looked at the lemon slices on the tea plate and peered around the flowers as if looking for the sugar bowl.

“Ah-ah-ah.” Caroline said primly. “You haven’t enough tea left in your cup to even dissolve a second lump and you certainly do not need another lump of sugar. After all, Elizabet’s birthday party is in less than a month and mother doesn’t need to be constantly running to the tailor to have waist let out. Nor will the maids thank you for needing a winch to lace your corset tight.”

“Caroline.” Brandon rolled his eyes.

“Well, if our sister would just watch the amount of sweets she eats, I wouldn’t have to remind her about fitting into her undergarments at tea and you wouldn’t have to hear about her unmentionables.” Caroline said in dulcet tones.

“I was objecting to you “reminding” her of anything at all.” Brandon told her in a blunt, irritated tone. “If she’d like a second cup of tea, or another lump, it’s none of your business. I put twice the cream and sugar into my tea that Marianne did and you didn’t say a word.”

“It’s different for boys. You have your arms practice and your rugby games and your riding to work off that cream and sugar. All Marianne has is her riding three times a week and the walk to the Finessa’s estate for lessons and the walk to the Carico’s estate for lessons.” She shook her head. “And besides, Marianne needs to work on looking her best. She is going to be fifteen at the end of the month.”

“Um, so?” Brandon asked.

“So? She’s fifteen and father hasn’t so much as fielded a nibble of interest in a betrothal in three years of looking.” Marianne ducked her head and looked at the pink table linens as if there were some sort of mystery held there with-in.

“How do you know father hasn’t had any nibbles, Caroline, you know he doesn’t talk with us about things that do not concern us personally.” Brandon pointed out. “He hasn’t told me, so I’m pretty damned sure that he hasn’t told you.”

“With the way Marianne is? You’d be able to tell if she’d had good news.” Caroline said shooting a look at Marianne who was chasing a sandwich crumb around the saucer. “See.”

“Maybe she just doesn’t appreciate us talking about her like she isn’t here.” Brandon sighed. “For which I apologize, Marianne.”

“Oh, you don’t need to apologize for that, Brandon. Marianne wouldn’t have anything to add to the conversation even if we tried to to include her. I don’t know what she’s been doing during her deportment lessons. Or maybe that awful Elizabet is just taking up too much of the teacher’s time.” Caroline sniffed. Elizabet isn’t awful. Marianne thought at her sister. She’s far nicer than you are. At least she saves her cruel jibes for people who deserve it.

“One of the things they teach us in deportment lessons is how not to dominate a conversation and one of the others is how impolite it is to gossip. So far Mother hasn’t had to have a single one of my dresses let out at the waist.” Marianne said. And thought hard at her sister and I can still lace my stays tighter than you can.

“That’s because I’m hear to remind you, like a good big sister should.” Caroline said it with the air of someone patting a dog that had done an amusing trick on the head. Inwardly Marianne snarled and some part of her that had probably spent too much time with Elizabet was throwing itself at the bars of the cage that her mother, her deportment lessons, and that cursed shyness built around her, wanting to say something mean or awful, to make Caroline cringe and hurt.

“Honestly, Caroline, if you’re a “good big sister”, I’d hate to see a shabby one.” Brandon grumbled.

“What is that supposed to mean, Brandon?” Caroline gasped. “Name one shabby thing that I’ve ever done to you!”

“You haven’t ever done anything particularly shabby to me–or to Edmund. But that doesn’t make you a good big sister. I don’t have to listen to you under anyone’s definition of hierarchy. But I’ve seen you do plenty of shabby things to Julia and Marianne.” Brandon said.

“Like what?” Caroline gasped.

“Like embarrass them, harass them, make snide comments, you’re constantly poking Marianne about not being betrothed, engaged, or spoken for. Well I’m almost two years older than Marianne is, and I’m not betrothed, engaged, or spoken for.” Brandon pointed out.

“That is different.” Caroline replied huffily. Before Brandon could roll his eyes and ask how so, she continued. “You’ll be going to Camford and no one will expect you to marry until you graduate. With my dowry and your Camford fees, and no estate, yet, to replenish them, there certainly won’t be the money to send her–” Caroline poked a finger toward Marianne. “To Camford. And even if Father is granted an estate and there is the money to send her to Camford, if she hasn’t at least had a few suitors by then, everyone will assume that she’s a terrible bluestocking. Which is a fine reputation to have when you’re at university.”

Brandon looked at Marianne and she shrugged.

“I am just trying to look out for Marianne. You know that books don’t teach you any sort of sense, Brandon.” Caroline addressed the comment to Brandon, but her eyes were on Marianne. “All they do is stuff your head with candy floss and make you into a ninny.” Marianne bit hard on the inside of her cheek.

Out of the black darkness came the harps of the holy llamas, proclaiming the presence of the Lord Wright, or rather the bells of the cathedral, chiming the None, signalling the time for Marianne’s escape.

“Brandon, Caroline, excuse me, I have–a test to study for tomorrow.” She flashed Brandon an apologetic smile and pushed her chair back from the table.

“Marianne, where are you going?” Her mother asked as she passed their table to head out the garden door–she knew she should’ve used the library door. Oh well, too late now.

“The bells just rang the none, I have an exam to study for tomorrow.” She offered with a flickery, forced smile.

“It’s alright, Marianne, study hard.” Henry interjected before Katherine could do more than start to say Marianne’s name.

“Henry, she’s obviously upset.” Katherine told him before she was barely two steps away from the table.

“I know. And if she’s upset the last thing she needs is to be called out for it in front of an audience.” Henry said.

“We’re all family here.” Katherine objected.

“It isn’t as if family can never say anything that upsets you. Half the disputes I hear about when I’m at court are dealing with brothers who did something to their brothers to cause a grievance. The last two emperors in Reme were taken off the throne by their families.” Henry ticked off before Marianne got far enough out the door to let it shut behind her. She took a deep breath to walk decorously across the courtyard. A Fitz-Chivalry, a Gwynedd, a Reman lady, none of them, ran from the room in tears. No matter what was said to them.

Still, by the time she reached the top of the tall stone stairs that lead up to the second floor of the estate, she was going far faster than a well-bred noble should ever go. She didn’t even pause inside the door before turning and heading up the stone stairwell into her own bedroom.

She flung herself onto her bed, but refused to cry. Caroline and her pettiness, and that was all it was, Elizabet told her so, Vivi told her so, even Mistress Cox had said that Caroline was petty, none of it was worth her tears.

A few moments later she heard the garden door shut firmly and pushed herself to the edge of the bed. She didn’t want to hear the lecture that would surely follow if her mother came into her room and she had her slippers on the edge of the bed.

And it would be her mother, the heels on Katherine’s slippers clacked as she made her way up the stairs and a moment later her head appeared just over the white parquet.

“Marianne, you should be less hard on your sister.” Of course the first words out of Katherine’s mouth would be why Caroline was right and Marianne was wrong. “Come, sit, a daughter of the Gwynedds does not entertain sitting on her bed like a common girl without a whit of manners.” Marianne slid off the bed and walked over to one of the white chairs in front of her bookcase.

Her mother sat with head up, neck arched proudly, just like Marianne’s deportment teacher told them to, spine and shoulders just barely rested against the back of the chair. Was being a proper Gwynedd lady really all about carrying a deportment teacher around in your head all the time? No one would accuse the baroness of being anything but a lady, still she didn’t sit there like she had a book perched on her head and a ruler tied to her spine.

“Your sister, Marianne, is just trying to educate you. To remind you that eyes are on us all the time. From taking another lump at tea or the thick cut slice of ham for your sandwich, one needs to remember we are being watched. And we more than most of noble blood. Your father is close to being granted an estate, if we show common blood or course manner it may never occur.” Marianne frowned just slightly. From what she had learned in her Governance courses that table manners had less than nothing to do with how one was granted lands or a title.

Katherine didn’t even notice. She just continued on. “I did the same thing for my sisters when we were younger.” A traitorous voice in Marianne’s head said and that’s probably why Aunt Anne and Aunt Emma won’t talk with you now.

Her mother sighed. “You have always been of less stern demeanor than Caroline and so I have more concern with you, Marianne. I have never doubted that Caroline was a true daughter of my house. There is much of your father, however, in you. The Fitz-Chivalries have many virtues. But I am not certain that what virtues they possess will serve you well in this world.” Katherine said, pursing her lips slightly.

“Still, it is not too late for you to adopt more of the virtues of my house.” Katherine stood up, still with that internal deportment teacher nipping at her heels, her heels clacking at an exactly precise staccato as she descended.

She looked at the windows for a long moment, wishing that they were of clear glaze, so she could see out. The problem with her room, she decided, as she heard the door shut below, was that it was basically a trap. There was no way to get out of it once someone else was in it, without seeming dreadfully rude–and anyone who would make her feel trapped in the room would never forgive her being rude.

So what she needed was an “away” some place she could go and her mother and Caroline wouldn’t follow to tell her that she was sulking. Thought was parent to deed and her slippers were padding–not clacking–toward the stairs before she was even finished with the thought.

It was still the warm, pleasant afternoon it had been, her siblings banished to the courtyard to enjoy the summer sunlight. Marianne paused for just a second in the sunlight when she saw Caroline’s horrid white and green damask train that clashed awfully with the pink gingham sash she’d chosen to go with it. And my mother thinks that she’s a picture of virtue.

“Caroline, what sorts of dances do you think Lady Elizabet will have at her birthday celebration?” Julia asked, a shade too loudly, after her eyes touched on Marianne. Was Julia trying to–distract Caroline from noticing her? Well, whether that was the intention or not, it was succeeding and Marianne slipped past through the garden before anyone else even noticed she was there.

Her feet carried her, enjoying the sun on her shoulders and back, to the Library. She found her way toward a book of Geoffry Chausseur’s poems. She liked this one, it was poems about youth and the shivery-yet-warm feeling of being near someone who caused that frisson that was part lust-part interest-part something that might be something more around the one you liked.

She liked all of Geoffry’s poems, actually, but this book, so far, was one of her favorites. Somehow she wondered–thought–perhaps that he would have understood a lot of this. The poem that she had left off on, however, instead of drawing her in like usual was turning her thoughts outward, it was about seeing and noticing and the offer of friendship in the strangest of places.

And as her eyes danced over the letters, a flash of movement caught her attention from over the corner of the book. It was Vivianne’s brother, Severus, a book not unlike hers in his hands, though he’d just shut the cover with a soft, hushed thump. She turned her attention back to the line of text which seemed to shift and dance under her eyes.

“The poems of Geoffry Chausseur, huh? Is this the book of naughty ones?” Marianne blinked as his warm brown eyes met hers, she hadn’t noticed him move to the seat right next to her.

“N-naughty ones?” Marianne stammered out.

“It is! It is!” Severus chuckled as Marianne flushed red as the eagle on the Orkney crest. “You’re blushing.”

“How do you know that I’m not blush-blushing because you even suggested that there are naughty poems?” Marianne asked as she fanned her heated cheeks with her hands.

“‘Cause unlike your sister, you have more brains than a bag of rocks. You’re at the library all the time. In everybody’s library. Ours, the Carico’s, the Academy’s, here,” Marianne blinked. How did he know that she spent so much time in the library? Did he notice that? She didn’t think it was so obvious…? “If you’re not with Vivi and Elizabet at some party, you’re in the library, it’s the first place your brother sends anyone to look for you. Vivi too.” Severus continued. Oh, her brother and friend, of course. He knew Brandon. He, obviously, knew his own sister. She could’ve told you where you were most likely to find Vivi or Brandon at a party too.

“Well, books are nicer–if you don’t like the book, you can just close it and find another one.” She explained.

“If it’s not being too forward of me–and–er–knowing that my definition of “forward” is a bit… more than most peoples.” He bit his lip and rubbed the back of his neck. “Are you–is everything alright?”

“Oh, just.” Marianne tried to think of a way to explain without sounding like she was whining and making a big deal out of nothing.

“Marianne–if you don’t want to tell me, you’re welcome to go tell me to jump into the river. Hey, I’m the one with no manners who is prying.” Severus pushed his hair off his forehead where it promptly fell right back into place. She wondered, for just a brief moment, what his hair felt like. It was the same color–almost–as hers, but more touched by the sun.

“You have manners.” Marianne protested.

“Not enough to not be talkin’ in the library.” He winked at her. “We probably shouldn’t sit and talk in the library. Could I ask you to trust my intentions and walk with me over to the Shrine of St. Betsy? Last thing my Sunday needs is a grouchy old monk stumping over here to yell about the sanctity of books or some such rot. My luck it’d be Brother Loki and I see enough of him during in the week.” Marianne smiled and nodded, getting to her feet. He blinked for a moment before bouncing to his feet as if he really hadn’t expected her to do it.

“I–I didn’t actually think you’d trust me.” He said as they approached the gates of the garden that served as a shrine to the patron saint of housekeepers and children in trouble. There was the hospital, where actual work was done, but every city in Lothianshire had a garden dedicated to St. Betsy.

“Why wouldn’t I? My brother would skewer you if so much as thought about doing something–untoward. Not to mention what your sister would do to whatever was left. Plus this is the shrine of St. Betsy and she’s known for helping people in trouble.” Marianne pointed out.

“True. You know what this is?” He jerked his head at the little stone and wood building by the stairs into the gardens.

“It’s some sort of Sminese shrine isn’t it?”

“Wishing shrine. The Sminese put them out in parks, if you toss a copper in and make a wish on it, they say if you wish hard enough as you toss your copper, it’ll come true.” Severus shifted from one foot to the other like he was nervous.

“Oh.” Marianne said, right now she wished she hadn’t left all her pocket money in her purse at home.

“You wanna try it?” Severus asked.

“Well–kinda. But I can’t, I left all my pocket money at home.” Marianne said.

“Well, far be it for me to leave a damsel in distress wanting for something.” He fished a copper out of his belt pouch and handed it to her.

“I couldn’t take your pocket money!” Marianne protested.

“You can owe me, I just get to name my price.” He batted his lashes at her with a smirk.

“You can name your price, but what you’ll get is one copper.” Marianne told him.

“Well, what if my price is for you to not sound like your sister with something uncomfortable stuffed up your arse.” Severus stuck his tongue out at her.

“Really, it’s your pocket money, shouldn’t you be making the wish.” Marianne asked even as her feet took her to the front of the shrine.

“My wish is for you to make a wish and tell me if it comes true or not.” Marianne blushed as his warm brown eyes seemed to be a little warmer. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she flipped the bright coin into the air. I wish–oh there were all sorts of things that she could wish–I wish somebody’d like me. She seemed to hear a chuckle and not so much words in her head as an impression, something floating to the surface. If you only knew.

She heard the coin hit the stone bowl that held the other coins, but other than that fleeting impression, nothing.

“Well, it hasn’t worked yet.” Marianne reported faithfully to Severus as they walked up the stairs.

“It’s a shrine, maybe it takes time.” Severus said. “Although–did you hear anything?”

“Not hear–more like…”

“… Got an impression.” They said in unison. “So you’ve tried it.” Marianne said triumphantly.

“Aye. On a dare, once.” Severus shrugged.

“Did–your wish come true?”

“Not…” He seemed to lean a little closer to her. Close enough she could pick out golden flickers in his irises. “Yet.” She felt her breath catch, her eyes widening. And even as she was swaying a little closer to the fire in Severus’ eyes, he turned and the spell was broken. “Brandon, I don’t suppose you have that assignment we’re supposed to do for Loki’s class done yet…?”

Oh, bother and last seasons slippers. Marianne thought to herself as Elizabet often said when she was trying hard not to use course language. Was he–did he? Was it all in her head? And yet she couldn’t be sure that she was mad at Brandon because she didn’t know what that fire in Severus’ eyes meant–or if she wanted to chase it–or if chasing it was like chasing the white stag, something she’d chase forever and never catch.

Brandon and Severus chatted for a minute longer, Severus leaving with some sort of naughty joke that only made passing sense to Marianne and then he skated around Marianne’s brother and was gone with nothing more than a nod in her direction.

“What you two talking about?” Brandon asked as Severus went through the arches at the front of the garden.

“Oh–just the wishing shrine.” Marianne said.

“I’m sorry about Caroline.” Brandon said.

“Well, Elizabet says she’s not my fault–and that means she’s not your fault either and we shouldn’t be sorry over things that aren’t our fault.”

“Wise woman, your Elizabet.” Brandon chuckled.

“Aye that.” Marianne agreed, even as they walked out of the garden and her eyes caught on the wishing shrine again.

Darid 14, 1513

Lianne closed her eyes, breathing in the intoxicating smell of roses in bloom, even though the pavilion overhead kept the worst of the sun off, the warm light was a palpable pressure, like the soft hand of a lover, not the cruel task master that it would be in just a few weeks most likely. It was so rare anymore, with the children grown or very nearly, that she had time to sit in her own garden and host a tea party. It seemed to happen so fast.

Surely just a few days ago her little Vivi, now a bright vivacious young woman, one who would make a wonderful bride for Prince Nathaniel if she would just stop being so stubborn, had been a little girl in a violet and white sprigged dress, begging her to stop her research to play teaparty with her dolls. Or to not go to court so they could pick flowers in the wildflower gardens. If only Lynnette didn’t need her so often! Maybe they could have done that more often.

Still, she’d grown up so well. All of their children had avoided the traps that preyed upon so many of the young nobles she saw at court. And even if there hadn’t been nearly as many tea parties, Vivi still seemed so regal, so grown up, sitting with her little friends holding their own little court of girl-stuff.

“Isn’t that right, Lianne?” Katherine asked leaving Lianne to stumble after the thread of conversation.

“Oh, I am terribly sorry, Katherine, my mind wandered. What were you asking?” Lianne colored slightly under her freckles, a useful trick for added sincerity even if it was rarely genuine any more. She really should be paying attention, it was just that her companions–well. To her right, reorganizing her thoughts like a lecturer reorganizing her notes for another round of pontification, was Katherine Fitz-Chivalry.

How many times had she seen girls just like Katherine at court? So earnestly striving to be liked, to be included. So desperate to prove that they were as good, that they lived up to the titles and the surroundings. Except Katherine lacked that innocence, she was obviously skilled at shilling, at proving that she, too, was the right sort.

To her left with an air of icy indifference to anything and everything, sat Marisol. The baroness of River Sulis, their home away from home at least until Hector sent Squeak somewhere else to attend to some other problem or issue for the kingdom, Marisol was as icily regal as any queen born. Some would think that she thought she was above such silly things as tea parties in the garden, but that just didn’t seem quite right.

Personally, it seemed more to Lianne as if Marisol knew that these were things that she had to do, and so she would to do them. What she was really like, Lianne had no idea, she had never so much as glimpsed behind the icy visor to see the sim looking out from inside.

Behind her, seated in lone solitude was Lord Henry, Katherine’s husband. If Lianne had realized that neither Squeak nor the Baron were going to attend she’d have had Juliana center the table under the pavilion and only put out two tables rather than three. Or at least insisted that the twins go riding after the tea part was over with. It surely made Lianne seem a poor hostess.

It was just that only pregnancy, serious illness, or death ever made one miss one of the parties that she usually co-hosted with Lynnette in the Queen’s gardens. She forgot that here in River Sulis, she was not the Queen’s companion, she was just the baroness of some tiny little holding two shires over.

Also, she should have gotten hold of a second pavilion or at least a sunshade for the girls’ table. Sloppy, Lianne, she chided herself. There was a staff to arrange tables and bespeak sunshades and pavilions at the palace, certainly, but that didn’t excuse her not taking care of such things herself with this party.

Just when she thought of asking Vivi if she might go ask the housemaid to come make the necessary arrangements to the table, the point became moot. Through the front gate marched Squeak, such a silly childhood nickname for such a tall, handsome, quite obviously fully grown man possessing as deep and manly a baritone as surely anyone ever had.

The effect, of course was spoilt just slightly by those hideous robes that he wore. Her Squeak had far better taste than that, but as he was so fond of reminding her, the wardrobe made the man. And the man he was here in River Sulis was silly, a little pompous, and not to be taken at all seriously. Besides, he would also remind her, they were historical, a faithful recreation of the robes famously worn by the first Earl of Sarras.

It was hard to believe that the blood of a man who would commission such a terrible outfit could be running through Marisol, probably the single most tasteful woman that Lianne had ever met, even with all of her years at court.

“Squeak, darling,” Lianne called.

“Don’t worry, my love, I shan’t wear these “awful” clothes in your house or to your party,” He called back with a stunning smile, framed to perfection by his mustache and goatee.

“Merci!” She was rewarded with his rich chuckle at the Gaulish. A few moments later, she heard a groan from near the door. Her eyes flew wide and concern rushed to fill her.

“Severus!” Squeak bellowed, surely it was his voice that shook the leaves above and not an errant breeze.

“Vivi, could you be my best friend and go tell your father that the twins are off riding?” She’d also see that a maid was called to bring Squeak something appropriate to wear. I don’t need his sense of humor getting the better of him and him coming to the teaparty in his hosen–or worse–his braises. Lianne thought to herself.

“Of course, mother.” Vivianne stood up, smoothing her lavender skirts, her curls falling over her shoulders as she pushed her chair up to the table. Lianne was too far away to hear what Caroline said to her, but it would take a far less observant woman not to notice the way Vivianne’s spine stiffened. However hard on the heels of Caroline’s comment, Elizabet turned to Caroline and said something. Caroline gasped, eyes wide.

“Lady Marisol, could you please restrain your daughter? The last time that she took tea with Marianne and Caroline, Caroline cried for twenty minutes over whatever cruel thing that your child said.”

“When your Caroline gains the wits to not insult my daughter and her friends, I am certain my Bet will stop making her cry.” Marisol said, swirling her wine around her glass.

“I am quite certain that Caroline said nothing of insult.” Katherine reared up at the challenge.

“Truly?” Marisol quirked a perfect blonde eyebrow. “The last time that Caroline took tea at our estate, she told Marianne that if she insisted upon gorging herself on sweets at every tea, her girth would increase to the point where no chair would hold her and then your husband would never be able to find Marianne a husband.”

“Well, you must admit, Lady Marisol, that hunting for a spouse is a battleground and that a young lady must use every bit of advantage in battle. It’s just bad policy to gorge oneself on anything, especially sweets.” Katherine pressed her hand to her bosom in affront.

“I took more pastries at tea than the two that Marianne did.” Marisol said cuttingly. “And certainly my own arse has not grown to the proportions that would require it it’s own shire!” Katherine gasped and gaped.

“Ladies, please. There’s no need for profanity or arguments.” Lianne interjected.

“Oh, did I miss profanity. I always miss the fun parties. I only ever show up at the boring ones.” Oh, thank the Lord Wright. Lianne thought to herself as she glanced over her shoulder to see Squeak, now properly attired in an Aubergine suit. He grinned at her and winked.

“It was just a small spat, my lord.” Katherine said, glancing at Marisol and then Lianne.

“And no wonder it’s turning into a romp, those are not tea glasses.” He gesture to the golden goblets on the table.

“We were just having a little Gaulish, as a finisher for the tea.” Lianne offered. Squeak gathered a plate of fruit from the refreshments table and walked over to the pavilion, he dropped a kiss on the top of her head before dropping into the chair next to Henry.

“I do hope you saved me some.” He said. “And I hope that you will forgive my manners as I eat, I worked straight through luncheon, my lord.”

“Oh, not at all, I understand, my lord.” Henry said with his usual easy-going tone.

“Does that fill our requisite my lords for the afternoon, can we just call each other by our Wrightian names rather than being so cursedly proper?” Squeak asked.

“But properness makes the world go round, father.” Charlie said appearing as if conjured out of the hedgemaze. She hadn’t known that the twins were home.

“At least that’s what Brother Dustin is always telling us.” Severus followed. “And you know what they say about broken clocks, after all.”

“Severus!” Lianne scolded, getting to her feet to plant her hands on her hips. “I am quite sure that Brother Dustin is not a broken clock.” Before Severus could come up with whatever his clever retort was, and Lianne was certain he had one, Squeak turned to her.

“While you’re scolding our son, my love, please remind him again why it is not okay to hide my clothing?” Squeak asked with another disarming grin.

“Severus!” Lianne sighed.

“I didn’t!” He protested looking up from the fruit trays, injured look on his face. “I just switched the pots in front of the door.”

“It’s the same thing.” Squeak sniffed.

“Sorry, father.” He said walking around the table, Lianne turned around to see him sliding into her chair. “Severus.”

“You tell me not stand and eat, Mum. It was the only open chair.” He paused for a second and looked toward where his sister sat. His Adam’s apple bobbed for a moment as if he were swallowing heavily.

“Mother, may Elizabet, Marianne, and I be excused? Master Chalmers is going to be giving us a test tomorrow on the story of St. Romeo and St. Juliette and I want to be certain I know everything.” Vivianne asked.

“Of course, Vivi, study hard.” Squeak said turning in his chair.

“Thanks, daddy.” She blew him a kiss as she headed for the mouth of hedge maze. Lianne stifled a sigh, she couldn’t remember the last time that Vivianne had been that affectionate toward her. She reserved much more of her regard for her father and her brothers, especially Leo.

“Thank you, Lady Finessa. The tea was wonderful.” Marianne said with a curtsy.

“You’re quite welcome, Marianne.” Lianne said with a nod.

“Yes, thank you, Lady Finessa.” Elizabet said, her blue-gray eyes sparkling. “I especially enjoyed the pastries.” Marisol actually chuckled, it was a rich sound that was all too infrequent.

Vivianne’s leaving had left Caroline in lone splendor at the girls’ table and that wouldn’t do, she’d spent too much of this tea lost in thought, not attending to her guests’ needs. She slipped into the chair that Marianne had vacated. “I’m not keeping you from studying, I hope?”

“No,” Caroline said. Well, that was one conversation starter that had lead nowhere fast.

“Your sister is such a lovely girl.” Lianne tried again. Caroline glanced at the tree with a slightly sour look on her face.

“I think Julia will be prettier when she grows up.” Caroline told her. This was going to be like extracting water from a stone. “Have you heard from Leo? Is he enjoying Camford?” There that was something that they could talk about.

“What are those two girls doing?” Lianne could hear the scowl in Katherine’s voice from where she sat.

“Playin’ it looks like, Lady Henry.” Severus told her. “That’s what they were doing when we came in, playing solider it looked like.”

“Soldier!” Katherine gasped. “I knew nothing good would come from letting Julia spend time with that girl.”

“Pray recall, Lady Henry,” Marisol interjected with what Lianne imagined was the cold certainty of a hunting knife being plunged into flesh. “That that girl is my kin. My cousin’s daughter.”

“Second cousin.” Katherine corrected. Lianne saw Henry cringe.

“Aye. Second cousin, still puts us at closer relation than you have to those Reman families you like to remind us you’re related to.” Marisol’s tone was growing icier by the moment. Lianne wracked her brain to think of some way to defuse the situation, she certainly had never intended for this party to stop the two ladies from talking to each other, which had happened before. Especially because it made Vivi so miserable.

“Henry, I’ll tell you, I don’t like the look of that cloud, d’you?” Squeak interjected loudly enough that they could all hear him.

“It could be nothing, but it could mean rain.” Henry agreed. “Perhaps I should gather my daughters and head on back home before we find out.”

“Aye.” Squeak said, standing up from his chair and offering the other man a firm handshake. “Charlie, could you please go find Marianne for us.” Severus turned in his chair as if he was going to say something then turned back toward the table and popped a grape in his mouth without a word. Charlie stood up and ran off in the direction of the house.

“Well, if we’re going to use inclement weather as a reason to break up the party, perhaps Lyssa, Bet and I should take our leave of you as well.” Marisol smiled tightly. Goodbyes were said without incident and finally, when all of the the guests had disappeared through the wrought iron gate.

“Those two.” Squeak expelled his breath in a sigh.

“Aye.” Lianne agreed.

“You two are braver than I am. I’d be afraid to have dinner with Lady Henry and the baroness in the baron’s dining hall.” Severus said.

“Why so?” Squeak asked, sounding honestly puzzled.

“The baron has all those weapons and suits of armor in there. I’d be too afraid that they’d pull something off the wall, suit up and use them on each other.” Lianne offered a polite twitter of laughter that paled next to Squeaks heartier guffaw.

“Well, it’s probably a good thing that Caroline is intended for Leo then.” Squeak said. “And  that I don’t see the baron or baroness pursuing the idea of the Fitz-Chivalry’s Edmund for Elizabet.”

“Yeah, that’d be a bad idea.” Severus seconded as Vivianne sat down at the table next to him, her face as blank as a just washed slate. “I don’t think that Edmund could handle a girl like Elizabet. I’m not sure there is a man who can handle a girl like Elizabet.”

“What, you’re not up to the task?” Charlie asked, sitting down himself to finish the rest of his plate. Something, again, passed over Severus’ face. It was so peculiar how she could read almost any courtier with consummate ease, but her own children were often completely incomprehensible to her.

“Nope. After all, our mama only raised one fool, and that’s you.”