Of Lords And Ladies
Lesson One: Always do as you're told.
Cora had a role to play, and she knew that. She'd always known that. Right from the very start, her mother had told her that she was simply a piece in a much larger game, and by doing her duty she would help her side win.
She never understood the concept of 'sides', but her mother's point was clear – do as you're told and life will turn out okay.
Even so, that didn't make her any happier about this.
"Cora!"
Her father's voice rang through the room and with a jolt she was returned to the present. Five pairs of eyes were fixed upon her form, and she could see her mother almost willing her to pay attention and not do anything unladylike.
"S-sorry, father," she said quietly, lowering her gaze and pressing her trembling fingers together.
The conversation between her parents and his continued, and she did her best to look as though she was a part of it, although most of her attention was directed to keeping her breathing steady.
Goddamnit, why do they have to make corsets so damn tight-
"I agree, a union would be most beneficial for both-"
The last ball of hope Cora had been desperately clutching onto dropped, and she exhaled slowly. They'd agreed. Goddamnit.
Her grey eyes wandered to the boy – man – sat opposite her, something she'd been resisting the urge to do for a while. His olive orbs were already focused upon her, jaw tight and mouth clenched into an unreadable frown. He was certainly attractive, she thought, eyes wandering over smooth strands of silver hair and pale skin. But, even if he wasn't, nothing would change. She was fortunate. Many were not.
"Well then, this is a most joyous occasion indeed."
There was a smile in her father's voice. Not because his daughter was now officially engaged and facing a 'long, happy marriage', but because said marriage would bring together the two great households of Bonneville (hers) and Gokudera (his). This meant more money and safety for all involved.
Maybe that's what mother meant by winning.
The formalities were dealt with by her parents – an announcement would be released in The Times the very next day, the wedding was to be in sixth months, etcetera. Her future mother-in-law (step-mother-in-law, more accurately – Cora knew she was not her fiancé's mother) then grabbed her chin and turned her head this way and that, murmuring that "she didn't give her much to work with" but "there was nothing to be done about that".
And then the man that she were due to spend the rest of her life with stepped forward, took her hand and pressed it to his lips, face remaining stoic and eyes revealing nothing. She rearranged her face into what she hoped was a detached look of happiness (one she'd been practicing from a young age for exactly this moment) and did her best to avoid anyone's gaze.
And so begins the rest of my life.
"Cora?"
Her mother's head appeared around the door of her bedchamber. Cora was sat at the dressing table pressed against the far wall, running an ivory hairbrush through the same patch of brown hair distractedly.
"Come in, mother, please."
She crossed the room, took the brush from her and started to coax out the knots Cora had missed. It was quiet for a few minutes, the silence broken only by the rasping noise made as the horse hair of the brush was pulled through hers.
"You've always had such lovely hair," her mother sighed finally, pulling the loose strands away from her face and into a long plait. She didn't say anything, but she agreed. Her looks had always been... average, to say the least. All three of her sisters were heart-wrenchingly beautiful, but by the time it came to her the universe had seemed to decide that three pretty daughters was enough, and thus she were born. The only difference was her hair. The light brown was universal in her family, but Cora's was much softer than usual. Running your fingers through it was like caressing silk, her old nanny had once said. It was the only advantage she had against other girls her age – she wasn't even that good at being a lady.
"I know it's scary, Cora, but this marriage will be good for us. Surely you can see that?"
"Yes, mother. But even if I couldn't, I'd marry him anyway. It's what father wants."
"Your father wants the best for yo-"
"Father wants the best for the family. And me doing this is what he considers the best." She exhaled heavily, blowing a few wisps of hair away from her face. "I am not so deluded that I believe he is doing any of this for me. I know he wanted a third son."
Her mother didn't say anything – there was no point. They both knew Cora was right.
"He's quite the looker, young Hayato," she said finally. "We do not marry for love, rather convenience. But at least your view will be nice."
That made Cora laugh.
"I suppose I'm more fortunate than Florence," she mused. Florence was the second eldest, and while being possibly the most beautiful of all four daughters, had ended up with a rather pot-bellied middle-aged man, who was some big shot in the banking world. By the time they were married, shortly after Florence had turned 23, he had lost almost all of his hair. Needless to say, their marriage was one of utmost tolerance and nothing more, although Florence had already churned out two sons for him.
"Ernest is a lovely fellow!" Her mother said indignantly, attempting to not smile but failing.
Cora laughed again. Since Alfred had moved out the previous year she'd become a lot closer to her mother, partially in an attempt to make the large house feel less empty now that five of its original eight inhabitants had flown the nest, and partially because she hoped that by being nice to her, she would prevent Cora's father from making her marry another Ernest.
Then she pulled her daughter close and wrapped her arms around her, in a movement that felt both unnatural and slightly forced to both. She hadn't played a large part in Cora's upbringing, and the two had rarely hugged.
"I'm proud of you, Cora," she whispered. "You've become a fine young lady."
Cora pressed her eyes shut, and wished that she was right.
Perhaps if I were a fine young lady, this wouldn't be so daunting.