Hybel 8th, 1513 – Merchant District, River Sulis, Lothianshire, Albion

Tawny twisted her hands around each other, her teeth cruelly locked around her bottom lip. She didn’t know why she was so nervous. All she was doing was meeting a friend of Annette’s who taught piano lessons. That was all. Maybe it was the fact that Miguel was not particularly enthusiastic about the idea of her taking the lessons in the first place. But for Wright’s sake, she was a sim. She needed something to do other than think of new and different ways to seduce her drunken husband!

That was more or less all she’d done for the past six weeks and they were so sick of seeing each other naked that she was about to take a blindfold to his bedchamber. Tawney released her hold on her lip to quirk them up into a something that was almost a smile, remembering what Annette had said when she’d told her that.

“If you don’t like Curran, you can find another tutor.” Speaking of the Grim, Annette appeared out of the nowhere as she frequently did.

“I know.”

“So what is it?” The redhaired woman asked, green eyes fixing her in place. Though they weren’t cat-like in color or shape there was something somewhat sharp in them that reminded Tawny of a cat. Not even a housecat, once–when they were riding in the carriage to visit a family friend–they’d seen a mountain lion basking on a rock. The look in it’s eyes when it raised it’s head and looked at them sleepily was a lot like the look in Annette’s eyes. Wary confidence. The more she got to know Annette the more she was reminded of something that one of her tutors had liked to say “You can stick a hawk in a songbird’s cage, but that doesn’t make it a songbird.”

Annette played the role of the songbird grudgingly, but she wasn’t one.

“And I already know that Miguel probably doesn’t like it, but despite what he’s thought previously, having a wife who is completely dedicated to getting knocked up seems to require a lot of him. He doesn’t like that either. I’m not sure he likes anything.”

“Himself, maybe.” Tawny said before clamping a hand over her mouth and looking horrified, she hadn’t meant to say that outloud.

“Nah, I doubt he even likes himself, look at how much he drinks.” Annette said cheerfully. “And I don’t blame him, if I were him, I wouldn’t like me either.” Tawny giggled behind the hand still clamped over her mouth.

Letting her guard down around Annette was one of the smartest things that Tawny had done in a long time. It was hard pretending to be the kind of girl that her mother had wanted her to be. And while that seemed to be held up as some sort of ideal, people didn’t really like you if you’re shallow and self-interested. And trying to pretend you only had your husband’s interests worked about as well as square carriage wheels when your husband had no interests. Besides himself–and wine–and bad clothing.

A knock came at the door and Annette shot her a smile before heading to the door. Tawny folded her skirt in one hand and stared at the blue floral paper on the walls. It had been beyond kind of Annette to volunteer her house as a neutral meeting ground for this. She’d have to think of some way to help Annette later. She was a lot better friend than Tawny knew how to be back.

There were two men following Annette when she returned, both tan, one with light brown hair in a very similar shade to her own, though he didn’t look mousey with it, the other dark haired with a very shy smile and candid gray eyes.

“Tawny, this is Kevin Finnegan,” She gestured to the brown-haired man. “He’s the artist who painted that portrait I sent to my mother.”

“Pleased to meet you, you’re very talented, Mr. Finnegan.” Tawny said. Mr. Finnegan had an infectious smile, as she felt the corners of her lips being tugged up almost unconsciously in response.

“Of course, I’m the best painter in River Sulis, just ask anyone.” He winked a blue eye at her.

“Hey, hey, space in here is limited, I’m not sure we’ve got room for you and your ego, Finn.” Annette told him.

Apparently ignoring that, he turned back to Tawny. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Cox. And you’re welcome to call me Kevin or Finn rather than Mr. Finnegan if you wish. I try not to stand on formality.”

“Because your ego’d knock you off it if you did.” Annette wrinkled her nose at him when he turned a mock glare at her. Something about the way that Annette almost smiled, the way her shoulders seemed a little less set decided for Tawny that he’d be Kevin to her, anyone who could get Annette to unwind, even just a little was obviously worth knowing.

“Annette’s told me a lot about you.” Kevin continued.

“I hope it wasn’t all bad.”

“She was uncertain about you at first, but it’s gotten a lot better recently. Besides I’d take all her bad-mouthing with a grain of salt anyway. You’re married to the illustrious Captain Cox of the River Sulis guard–and you haven’t smothered him in his sleep yet, that tells me you’re probably a saint in disguise.” Tawny covered her smile with her hand.

“And if Finn would quit running his mouth, I’d introduce you to the person who you actually expected to meet today.” Annette said shaking her head. “Anyway, this is Curran Hamilton. Piano tutor extraordinaire. Curran, this is Tawny Cox, my–cousin-in-law, I guess. And a friend.”

“A pleasure to make you acquaintance, Mrs. Cox.” The hither-to silent young man said with a formal bow.

“And yours, Mr. Hamilton.” Tawny said. “Though–I don’t suppose we have to stand on ceremony either.”

“I wouldn’t presume. Some people like ceremony, my mother for one. There’s not a ceremony or formality she’s met that she hasn’t liked.” Curran ducked his head, not entirely hiding the shy grin quirking his lips.

“He’s right, Mrs. Hamilton’s written the book on formality for the sake of formality.” Kevin said solemnly. “I’m pretty sure that Curran’s father called his wife Mrs. Hamilton from their wedding to his death by henpecking thirty-four years later.” Annette snorted and Curran shook his head.

“Well, unless you’re fond of formality for the sake of it, you’re welcome to call me Tawny.” She said, extending a hand to him. He took and bowed over it, causing a faint bit of color to rise in her cheeks.

“And please, call me Curran.” Curran told her when he looked up, their eyes locking for a moment.

“Well, there’s the piano if you want to dive right in.” Annette said sitting down in her chair, a cat with a bowl of cream smile on her face. “It’s even tuned.”

“Thank you, Annette.” Tawny said. Curran pulled the bench out for her and she sat on it, smoothing her skirt in a nervous gesture.

“Sit up just a little,” Curran suggested, “But keep your shoulders relaxed, it’s a piano, not a firing squad.” She did as he suggested, he pulled a sheaf of music out of his bag and set it on the wooden music rest.

“This is the C major scale.” He quickly and easily tapped out the keys, managing somehow to lean over her shoulder without it feeling like he was hovering over her, which was kinda amazing, considering Miguel could hover over her from clear across the room.

—

“So what did you think?” Annette asked after Curran and Kevin had left.

“He was–very nice–and I think he’ll be a good teacher.” She added the second part in a rush as if saying that Curran was nice was somehow leaving something hanging that she really ought not to leave. “I liked Kevin too.”

Annette smiled and nodded.

“He’s–more than your friend isn’t he? Kevin, I mean.”

“Not–exactly. We are friends, he is someone I can talk to and he’ll listen and understand as best he can. And he knows that being friends like we are is all I can offer.” She sighed and sat down in her arm chair.

“I meant you’re sleeping with him.” Tawny covered her eyes. “I’m sorry, that was out of line.”

“I think, considering the first few conversations we had and how you reacted to them, you’ve spent too much time around me.” Annette looked up at her, eyes shadowed. “Yes, I am.”

“I like him. Not that that has anything to do with anything.” She stubbed her toe at the carpet.

“No, but it’s nice to hear. No one ever says it about Masen. Then again, I’m not sleeping with Masen, so…” She trailed off with a shrug.

“You–,” Tawny sat down on the settee and looked at her for a long moment. The sunlight coming in the window set off the paleness of Annette’s skin, making the copper of her hair shimmer like metal. And just like that it was back, the marble-and-metal armor that Annette always kept around her.

And just like that–Tawny’s whole life seemed to spread out in front of her–if she did succeed in having a child with Miguel in a decade she’d be where Annette was–even her closest friends at arm’s length, wrapped up in armor and and respectability.

“How do people do this?” Tawny whispered, as reality crashed down.

Annette didn’t seem puzzled by the non-sequitur. “The same way they do anything unpleasant, all the other choices are worse. C’mon, it’s not all bad. And it’s better when you can remember the good stuff, too.”

“Aye.” Tawny agreed. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

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?

Clatan 20th, 1513 – Merchant district, River Sulis, Lothianshire, Albion

Just one last check through. Tawny promised herself, she’d just double check the linens in Luis’ room one more time before she went downstairs. She had promised, as it was Sunday, that the housekeeper could go home after the meal was prepared, which meant that finishing everything was Tawny’s job. She wished she could tell if the queasy feeling in her stomach was due to nerves–this was going to be Luis’ first official visit since the wedding–or if it were due to finally, finally being blessed with a pregnancy, hopefully the boy that she needed.

The bed was spotless, not a crease or misplaced fold in sight. Even the fur throw–probably not necessary as it was summer–was laying nicely. Now to double check the towels and she’d go down. Her hand flicked at her hair, then falling to smooth her skirt. Oh, how she wished that she knew what Miguel was wearing! What if she was being too informal? It was only a family brunch, but she didn’t know if how formal her father-in-law was. But then again–what if she went and changed into a nicer dress and within ten minutes of arriving they were all down to waistcoats and shirt sleeves? There was no way to know.

So she kept to the buttercup yellow dress that she had on and just headed down the stairs toward the kitchen. Should I light the candles in the hall? It was always a little dark and chilly in the hall, the single window at the far end only sort of lighting far enough to make out the steps. But it was the middle of the day, certainly no one would give her praise for wasting wax when you could see well enough.

A check into the kitchen and a double check of her menus told Tawny that the housekeeper had made good on everything that she had promised to deliver. As Miguel had yet to make an appearance, ratcheting the queasy feeling in her stomach up to the point where she knew it was mostly nerves, she paused in the kitchen doorway and surveyed the dining room.

Perhaps it wasn’t charitable, but somehow Tawny doubted that Miguel had chosen the furnishings. They were in a tad too good of taste. Ornate, showy even, but not the undignified clash of ORNATE that the rooms that Tawny knew he had a hand in.

She bit her lip and refrained from going and one more time straightening the silver or smoothing the table linens. Everything was as straight as it could be, everything was smooth. She wasn’t too sure about the table arrangement–but what could she do? Their table only sat six with any comfort! Which was a problem when you had to seat seven.

Miguel had just shrugged and suggested that Lyssandra could just eat by herself in the kitchen. It was what his mother had done with the children when they had had guests. Tawny’s mother had done the same thing, but the table had usually been set up in the music room. And there had always been several children at the table, it wasn’t like they had ever been banished to the room in lone splendor.

What kind of hostess would she be if she stuck one of her guests in the kitchen like a servant to eat by herself? When it was apparent that Miguel didn’t care about the impression that gave, she had done what was becoming a distressing habit. She’d gone and thrown herself on Annette’s mercy. Annette had been the one to suggest that they bring in a smaller table and set it at the end of the the larger table.

Except of course that the only table that would fit in the space was a dark red wood that didn’t at all go with the white wood of the table or with the ebony accents on the chairs. Annette had been the one to suggest they cover both with table linens–the bows at the corners she swore were what many of the nobles used for garden parties.

“Wife!” Miguel called, interrupting her revery before she could run around the table and take them off again. Her mouth suddenly went so dry it, she would have expected sand to fall out of it should she open it. Of course Miguel wasn’t even waiting for her in the house, so she walked down that long, cold hallway alone and out into the warm early summer sunlight. The blue sky was spotlessly clear. It was apparent only a moment later why Miguel had called her.

Or at least had called for his wife, an identity that slowly but surely would eventually subsume her own entirely, if she was given the time.

Her father-in-law and his brother were stepping down off the carriage that they had most probably taken. Miguel grinned and Tawny just smoothed her skirt over her still girl-slim hips and tried for a serene expression.

“Father!” Miguel said with more genuine warmth than Tawny had ever heard applied to the word “wife” as the two embraced. “Uncle Ellan, welcome. I hope your trip was well.”

“Ah, well, you know that our king does as good a job taking care of the roads as he does chasing his wives around their bedchamber apparently.” Tawny tried not to cringe. That was all she needed, a reminder that between his two wives, the king had eight children for his trouble. One less wife and eight more children.

Even after going to the tailor that Annette had suggested and reading the books that were–well just short of horrifying compared to what a well-bred young woman ought to be reading–even after the bedroom romps that had happened every night that Miguel wasn’t passed out drunk, Tawny still had nothing to show for her trouble. Last month’s course had been right on schedule and this month’s was not even due for days yet.

Luis turned is eyes toward Tawny then dismissed her in the same breath as the gate opened again. It was, of course, Miguel’s cousin, his wife, and their daughter. Masen first, his cold lavender eyes flickering from his own father to Miguel’s onto Miguel and then on to Tawny before starting a circuit again.

Lyssandra, adorable in her white and blue muslin dress, even after Annette had told her not to be an idiot, that of course Lyssandra was Masen’s daughter, she found herself looking for a trace of another in her. But of course, Annette was right, the girl was her father in coloring and those features that weren’t feminized versions of Masen’s were squarely Annette’s.

Lastly through the gate, with a well timed grin–for Miguel, his father, and uncle were all looking at Masen–was Annette.

“Well, now that we’re all here,” Miguel said heartily. “What say we start our meal?” He lead the way into the house, leaving Tawny to bring up the rear behind the guests.

Obviously the first test was passed as no one looked in askance at the extra table or the linens, even the bows, when Tawny made her way around the table to the kitchen to grab the first course.

“How are you, father?” Miguel started by asking.

“Oh, fine, fine. Not getting any younger of course. The old bones protest a little more every day.” Luis told him. Ellan snorted.

“Your father is exaggerating, of course. I can barely restrain him from heading down to the knight’s training facility and outdoing the young bucks on the course.” Ellan shook his head. “He’s as hale and hearty as he was when you were her age.” He gestured down the table at his granddaughter. Lyssandra glanced down at her hands folded in her lap, shooting Tawny back fifteen years to her own childhood.

She had just finished telling her brother how he had been wrong about something, she didn’t even remember what it was any more. Probably because it was so overshadowed by the looks that her mother and father had given her. The look of horror on her mother’s face, the look of distaste on her father’s. They had gotten up and left the table, meal half finished, her brothers and sisters following suit, leaving her alone at the table with her grandmother.

Grammy had looked at the still swinging door and shook her head. “Lass, I’ll tell ye somethin’ me own grammy told me when I was no older than ye. Something ye’ll do well to remember to the days when ye have a little girl lookin’ up at ye with your exact same eyes. No man is going to love a clever girl.” Tawny had protested. “What about Princess Jessica and Lady Morgan le Fay? What about the stories of the first baroness of Finessashire and her daughter, Danielle?” There were all sorts of clever girls in her stories, and they all found someone to love them!

“And how d’ye know that their husbands loved them and not their father’s gold?” Grammy had said with bluntness that bordered on brutality. “Excepting Lady Morgan, but she were married to a corpse that shoulda been years dead and in the ground, do ye wanna marry a man dead?”

“But that’s not what the stories say.” Tawny had told her grandmother.

“Aye–and thems stories, me girl.” Grammy had sighed. “Those writers say what will make good stories, that don’t mean that’s the way tis in the real world. Nope, boys want them a pretty girl–an’ if you’re not a pretty ‘un,  and you gotta admit, you’re not, Tawny me girl. You’ve got too much o’ your daddy in yer face. Then you gotta be a docile, sweet ‘un.”

Tawny had looked down at her hands the same way that Lyssandra had. But she came back to herself as Annette’s hand lightly clasped Lyssandra’s forearm. Tawny paused for just a moment to look at Annette who screwed her face up comically and stuck her tongue out at her daughter, who put her hand over her lips, probably to hide a smile.

Apparently no one had ever told Annette what Tawny’s grammy had told her, because she showed no fear of being clever, even against the pressures of her husband and her father-in-law.

“Annette, be nice.” Masen frowned at his wife.

“I’ll be nicer when your father is smarter.” Annette told him dismissively.

“A woman should know her place.” Luis interjected.

“I know my place. It’s just not what you think my place is, Sir Luis.” Annette said, her green eyes sparking.

“So, father, have you heard anything about the new silk route that’s opened up from Smina, the baron’s just signed a proposal allowing the merchant to open up a shop here in River Sulis, I’ve heard because he’s coming in through one of the northern ports in Albion it should be nearly a quarter less import tax.” Masen asked suddenly.

“No, you know us over there in Sarrashire, plain stubborn old men who like their linen and their woolens.” Ellan said, apparently going with his son’s bid to redirect the conversation rather than fighting with his daughter-in-law. “Give me a good old Sarrashire sheep any day.”

Annette’s lips tightened again, but the light in her eyes said she was amused, not angry. “What?” Apparently Masen caught the expression as well.

“Just thinking of all the things that a sheep is good for that a silk worm isn’t.” Annette offered in a dry tone. She couldn’t really be thinking of–of…

“Our tutor told us the other day that it was Earl Elyan I of Sarrashire who first brought the sheep to Sarrashire.” Lyssandra played with the handle of her fork as she stared at the table top and spoke.

“I’d heard that too, honey.” Annette said before any of the men could interject something.

“Yes, the men of the de Ganis family have always been destined for big things.” Ellan said smugly. That was probably a cue to go get something from the kitchen, because Annette had pursed her lips in a way that said either she was about to break out laughing or say something that would just turn this brunch into a brawl.

—

After brunch, Luis and Miguel had disappeared into what Annette referred to as Miguel’s cave–she said that every primitive sim needed one and as Miguel was certainly the most primitive sim she knew of course he would have a cave. Masen and his father had left to go out for an afternoon of something and Annette had taken Lyssandra out to do something completely different. Tawny had done up the dishes and retreated to the sunroom.

Of all of the rooms in the house it was the one that Tawny was most comfortable in. Up to and including her own bedroom. Who had decorated the sunroom, Tawny didn’t know, it–seemed to be a different hand than the dining room. She imagined that one of Miguel’s wives had done one room and the other had done the other. It seemed peculiar not to know who was responsible for the furnishings in your own home–but this wasn’t really Tawny’s home.

It was Miguel’s home. Still it seemed odd that he had turned the decorating over to his wives and he had never even consulted her about what she would like or prefer in a room, not even her own bedroom. Maybe he was just tired of letting women decorate a room that they would be leaving shortly.

Maybe if that knot in her stomach was a baby and not just ill-humor she would get that chance.

“Wife, I wanted to compliment you.” Miguel said from across the room, bringing Tawny’s attention flying back from the maybes and hopefully that a baby might mean for her. “The brunch was excellently done. The only rough spots were of the fact that we have to invite that woman and her smart mouth.” He almost-smiled at her.

“Thank you. I shall continue to try and do my duties.” Tawny said.

“Well, just don’t forget that you haven’t done your most important one yet.” Miguel snarled before turning and stalking away. As if the slamming of the door shook it loose, a tear coursed down her cheek before she dashed it with her hand. Somehow her eyes, through the tears that smarted in the corners of them, were drawn to the big white grand piano. She had never seen anyone play it, ever, but somehow, she wondered, if it was some other woman’s hope. What had gotten her through these days…

Imsdyn 20th, 1513 – River Sulis, Lothianshire, Albion

The only sounds for a moment was the soft call of a mocker-bird in the yard and the soft splash of water in the basin, but that would change shortly. There was someone on the other side of the whitewashed kitchen door and soon enough that she would start speaking again. Annette had already put off listening to her talk for long enough.

“Are you sure you don’t need help, Annette?” It was funny, Tawny’s speaking voice would be wonderful if it just didn’t have that petulant whine to it. If life had dealt her another hand, made her someone other than the third trophy wife of a man whose only accomplishment was avoiding drafts enough to still be alive at this point in time.

“It’s two cups and a plate with crumbs on it. I don’t need any help.” Annette said leaning her head against the shelf above the sink and scrubbing more than strictly necessary at the cup in her hand.

“Miguel hired a housekeeper for us.” Tawny bragged. And she’ll be gone by Hybel. Annette thought cynically. Like every other housekeeper that Miguel’s ever had. She’ll get worked like a saltminer, paid a pittance, and have to deal with Miguel, it’s a bad deal and she’ll figure it out within six months.

I wonder how long it’ll take Tawny to figure out she got a bad deal–or maybe she already had, she did come by when we could talk alone. Or maybe she hadn’t, Annette thought, tossing the waste water out the window and putting the tea cups back on their pegs and the plate into the dresser. She may have figured out that her new role isn’t all sunshine and roses, but she’s probably not come to the realization that somebody sold her that proverbial riverside property in the Dousa Desert yet.

“But it is nice to come take tea with you, I mean we’re practically sister in laws.” Tawny said. Oh please don’t say that. Annette packed down a tiny whimper. My family is crazy enough as it is, I don’t need to add the Coxs any further into the mix. Not that she didn’t love Christian and Selene and her mother. But see, the thing about Patron was he packed enough crazy into one old man for about six families. She shut the cupboard door with a little more force than she had to as she always did when she thought of her late, not lamented father.

“Well, I know we’re not really.” Tawny nattered on, obliviously. Thankfully, being her husband’s cousin’s wife didn’t make them all that closely related. The only thing, sometimes, that saved the Coxes was that Annette did not want to be in the same position her mother had been in–in the Tower prison for murdering the father of her children–or in Annette’s case child. “But, you are right next door.” And if she didn’t kill Masen, that would leave Lyssandra alone with him. And promises be damned, she didn’t trust him any further than she could throw the house. Annette raked fingers through her coppery hair, eyes flickering around the kitchen for something that could keep her attention for just a little longer. “A-Annette? I-uh-I need to talk with you, before um–while we’re alone.” And that was her cue to stop procrastinating.

“Let’s go to the parlor.” Annette said pushing through the door to the dining room and shooing the younger woman toward the door like a goose girl with a goose. It’ll give me another half moment to not have to think about any of the reasons you might possibly want to talk to me alone. She had a pretty good idea why Tawny wanted to talk to her and equally she didn’t want to think about why Tawny wanted to talk to her.

Tawny sat down on the settee, Annette chose the arm chair and both women took a long moment to arrange their skirts.

“Annette, I would rather bite my tongue out than be critical of my husband.” That’s okay, Tawny, Annette schooled her expression to be as serene as possible. I’ll be as critical of him as possible. “But, Miguel tells me that his father is planning a visit.”

Oh no! Because a visit from Luis almost inevitably meant a visit from Ellan and that was the LAST thing that Annette needed right now. But the brothers Cox, having emotionally and mentally battered their wives into respective early graves, were basically joined at the hip. I don’t need to deal with my father-in-law right now!

“And I,” Tawny continued on blithely “would like to inform him, when he arrives, that I’m–that I’ve fullfilled my duty, for surely the Lord Wright will reward me for patience by bearing my husband a son. But–I am not–yet–um,” she trailed off.

“You’re still getting blood on the sheets.” Annette hide a rub at her temples by sweeping her hair back.

“Well, to put it crudely, aye.” Don’t be asking me for sex advice, don’t be asking me for sex advice. Annette thought without much hope. “And I know that you aren’t–necessarily–it did take you more than two years after your marriage to become with child–and you only have the one, but I thought you might understand my plight, as you’ve surely been trying for a son.”

“No.” The answer came automatically and so firmly that Tawny looked at her bewildered.

“N-no.” Tawny asked. “Do you think that giving your husband a daughter makes you–above me? Only a mere daughter?”

“No, I understand what you’re going through. We’re just not trying for a son. Masen and I agreed we would have one child, regardless of gender, the Lord Wright blessed us with Lyssandra, and I’m happy with that.” Annette told her. The only word for Tawny’s expression was horrified.

“You would deny your husband the privilege of a son?” Tawny exploded. “But, what of providing him an heir?”

“An heir to what, Tawny?” Annette spread her hands and gestured around the parlor. “We’re not landed nobility, it’s not going to screw up the line of succession, the country will not crumble if one gentry couple, even one of cadet nobility lines, only has a daughter.” Annette pointed out.

“But every man deserves a son.” Annette slowly turned her head to fix Tawny with a sharp gaze. Do not tell me what my husband deserves. Her fingernails biting into her palm were probably what saved her from doing anything stupid. “St. Robert said so!”

“Well, there is some debate on that passage, it is wonderfully vague and could just be people wishfully thinking. I’m of the mind that the Lord Wright probably likes women as much as men.” Annette nudged the edge of the carpet with the toe of her shoe.

“How can you think that?” Tawny gasped.

“Because, if the Lord really hated women, why did he create them? Is he not capable of creating perfection? Are we to say that one of the Lord Wright’s creations is better than another? If He had really only liked men, why create women in the first place? Why not just let men produce babies the way the fae do and not even bother with us.” Annette’s tone was caustic and Tawny winced.

“But this is our duty–our privilege.” Tawny thumped her hand against the arm of the settee.

“It’s our privilege to be a walking uterus?” Annette scoffed and rolled her eyes. “The Lord Wright gave us minds and hearts to further his work, to improve the world, to love and succor our fellows, not to be an incubation chamber.” Tawny sighed and looked over her shoulder toward the glazed window.

“As much as I would love to sit and debate the subject with you, can we please get back to the reason I came to talk with you?” Tawny asked with a sigh that Annette echoed. Arguing about the purpose of woman in the scheme of things sim was interesting, probably getting more detail about her cousin-in-law’s issues in the sack was–nauseating–at best.

“I suppose.” Annette said.

“Um, he–I am not saying this to be critical of Miguel!” Tawny fixed Annette with what she probably intended to be a steely gaze, unfortunately for her, Annette had been on the receiving end of a proper steely gaze more than once and Tawny’s sharp features were about as steely as a kitten’s. “He has–um–”

“Why don’t you just be blunt. I promise I will think no worse of him for whatever you tell me.” Mostly because it’s very difficult to think worse of that horse’s ass. “And I will take your statements under the mantle of not-being-critical.”

“I–no matter what I do–I can’t–he has a hard–” Tawny paused and swallowed hard. “It doesn’t want to come up.” She finished in a whisper. Ugh. Annette steeled herself against the wince which would only put Tawny on the defensive. “I’ve tried!”

Annette bit back the Honey, better women have tried. When you’ve heard that even professionals, women of heart-stopping beauty and immense skill, couldn’t even work their magic on his inconvenient organ, it was not the fault of the just barely-not-a-teenager with her skinny body and thin face on Annette’s couch.

She also bit back the what makes you think it’s your fault? No, if there was a fault here, it was all Miguel’s.

“What do you wear to bed when you share it with him?” Annette asked instead.

“A-a shift?” Tawny stared at her.

“Well, perhaps you could try finding something a bit more–sensual. I know a tailor who sorta specialize in that sort of thing.” Annette offered. Not that it would help, but Tawny’s lack of confidence probably didn’t help either.

“Oh. Do you think that’s it?” Tawny folded her skirt and refolded it. No. Annette thought. I think he’s just got a glitch in the system.

“It couldn’t hurt.” Annette offered instead of answering, climbing to her feet to pace the room. “Also, I can recommend some literature. Uh, might give you some other things to try. I’ve heard that role-playing in the bed-chamber helps.” Yeah, I pretend you’re somebody else, you pretend I’m somebody else and let’s see if that works. The problem with these suggestions were that they all implied that it was Tawny’s problem. Tawny wasn’t doing the right thing to get Miguel to salute with his little soldier. And Annette knew, considering Miguel had been married twice before and ended the marriages when his wives didn’t fall over pregnant, that it wasn’t.

“But what if it doesn’t work?” Tawny all-but-wailed. Annette paced a moment longer, unfortunately because of where Tawny sat, there were two of her staring at Annette with mute appeal as if she were the girl’s last hope.

In a way, she probably was. Parker Conway wouldn’t have started negotiations for Tawny barely before Miguel’s second divorce decree was dry if he were a kind loving father who truly cared about his daughter. If Tawny didn’t get pregnant and Miguel divorced her, the girl would probably be forced to take the veil, her father having no use for a barren daughter.

“Can I be blunt?” Annette turned and looked at Tawny, who bit her lip but nodded. “My best, truest suggestion for you, Tawny, is find a lover who looks like your husband.” Tawny gasped, horrified, blue eyes bulging.

“You–you can’t possibly be–cuckold Miguel?” Tawny wailed. Oops, I might’ve said too much. “Did-did?” She looked at Annette as if she had ripped away a costume to reveal a Medusa instead of a sim.

“Don’t be an idiot.” Annette said shortly, sitting down next to the other woman. “I could comb Albion twice over and never come up with another blonde haired, lavender-eyed man, whether he looks like Masen or no. And Lyssa has her father’s coloring in both eyes and hair which she certainly didn’t get from me. No, Lyssa is Masen’s daughter. But the problems that Masen and I have are not the same ones that you and Miguel have.” Annette leaned back against the back of the settee and stared up at the ceiling for a moment.

“But Tawny, has it occurred to you that you are the third wife that Miguel has had trouble getting pregnant?” Annette said after a long moment.

“Well, aye, but…”

“No buts. I know that Miguel will not even consider the fact that the problem might be his own and not the fault of his wives. Even though his first and second wives both have had no problems conceiving in their other marriages. But you have to consider it.” Annette told her bluntly. “And if it’s his problem and not yours then there’s nothing that you can do that will be a guaranteed solution to this problem. Nothing. All you can do is cross your fingers and hope that maybe you have a better in with the Lord Wright than your predecessors.”

“Nothing?” Tawny asked in a small voice. Yeah, being told that there was nothing you could do probably would do that.

“Look, I’ll get you the name of that tailor and the book seller who sells the books that might help. Maybe if you are a bit more proactive, enjoy yourself, then it will come a bit more naturally and it’ll work out. Maybe.” Annette climbed to her feet and went in search of a scrap of paper leaving Tawny to sigh and stare at the rug.

“I’m sorry.” Annette said as Tawny collected herself to go.

“I–I appreciate your forthrightness.” Tawny said after a moment.

“Which has to be about the most awkward compliment ever given.” Annette offered the other woman a grin. Tawny smiled back and opened the door to the outside. Annette waved and smiled as the other woman headed off to her own house, even if Tawny didn’t look back, then closed the door and slumped against it.

“Is this really all there is to life?” She inquired of the cold marble tiled walls of the entry way. They didn’t answer, instead seeming to look like her life, day after day of cold, unyielding steps down a long narrow path that lead to an end.

A knock on the door against her back startled her out of her reverie. She smoothed her hair and skirts and turned to open the door. It revealed a familiar figure. “Oh thank the Lord,” She said. “You were just the person I needed to see.” Her hand snaked out the door and grabbed his hand, pulling him inside before slamming the door against the world that was just more than she could deal with right now.