Eleanor Cousland's scowl was clearly visible in the large mirror, her entire face a visible display of frustration, as she tangled her fingers in her daughter's long hair. For her part, Jaine was trying desperately to look sufficiently contrite and not wince when her Mother tugged. Whatever it was she had managed to get in her hair, it was not coming out easily. It was deserved to: this is what happens when you run through the pine garden while practicing swordsmanship. Eleanor growled in frustration and gave a particularly sharp tug on her hair, drawing a sharp gasp from Jaine.
"Oh, I'm sorry dear," Eleanor apologized and Jaine smiled faintly. If she was apologizing, she was not really angry. That was a classic hallmark of Mother. She would make the faces and go through all the steps, but it could be impossible to tell if she was really angry unless she spoke. Mother never spoke when she was angry. Jaine relaxed in the chair slightly and let the deeply apologetic expression fade from her face. She even let her eyes drift closed for a moment, remembering when she was little and her Mother used to brush her hair for her.
"Your Father tells me that Thomas Howe has been asking after you again. I think he means to make an official offer of marriage." Jaine's eyes snapped open and, for the briefest moment, she simply stared at her Mother in the mirror, horror written on her face. Then she jerked forward, forgetting her Mother's fingers were tangled in her hair. The pull was painful and she squealed loudly, reaching up quickly to force her Mother's long fingers out of the tangled mess. Turning her head she gaped at the older woman, rubbing at the sore spot on her head.
"Please tell me that was not a serious suggestion that I should entertain a marriage to Thomas Howe, Mother." She looked into her Mother's eyes, silently pleading for it to be a joke. Jaine knew her parents would not force a marriage on her, she was quite spoiled in her own way, but the flicker of consternation that crossed her Mother's face was more than answer enough. With an exasperated gasp she spun back around and slammed herself back into the chair, arms folding stubbornly over her chest.
"And why not, Jaine?" Eleanor scowled faintly at Jaine's behavior but her hands found their way back into the long, rich brown Cousland mane of her daughter. What it was that had tangled it up so badly would have to come out either way. "By all appearances, Rendon will bypass Nathaniel and leave the arldom of Amaranthine to Thomas. Such is as good a position as can be hoped for, it is one of the most powerful lands in the country, aside from Highever and Gwaren." Jaine recognized the slightly tight sound in her Mother's voice. She was well aware that her refusal to even consider Thomas Howe was becoming a long-wearing nuisance, but she would not be convinced.
"Well, for one thing, he is several years younger than me." The argument would not work, it never did, but since she had had this argument numerous times before she might as well tread the old familiar ground anyway.
"That is no argument, and well you know it Jaine." She was being scolded now and it drew a childish pout to her lips. It was not as if she was completely resistant to marriage, she just had no wish to marry him, of all men. "I am eight months your Father's senior, no do not interrupt me. That is rude," Jaine met her Mother's eyes in the mirror and managed to look sufficiently apologetic for her attempted interruption. "Queen Anora has a full six years on King Cailan. It is not as if you would rather marry an old man."
Jaine sighed again and relaxed her arms, letting them fall into her lap. That was true enough; the thought of marrying one of the older widowers amongst the nobility made her shudder. So did Thomas Howe. Eleanor continued working at her hair, tugging every so often in an attempt to free some of it from the mat. She seemed to take Jaine's silence as a concession.
"At least you already know him well. It is always for the best when you know your spouse before you wed, even though such arrangements are not that common. Especially when position is a key factor. I had only met your Father a few times when I chose him." Ignoring the faint tugs on her hair Jaine sighed heavily again. She was well aware of the story of how her parents came to be married after the war. It was one of her favorite stories, actually, but she had no wish to hear it now.
"Maybe knowing him is part of the problem," she mumbled, wanting to drop her chin but settling instead for staring at the wood of the vanity in front of her. Despite having this argument at least a dozen times in the past year or so, she had never dared bring up exactly why she refused to consider a marriage to him.
"I don't understand," Eleanor said softly, her fingers stilling in Jaine's hair. When Jaine dared to glance up, she met her Mother's eyes through a mirror and saw confusion in them.
"He is… creepy, Mother. Just like his Father." She was mumbling again, and with good reason. Eleanor pulled her fingers from her hair, none to gently either, and quickly snatched up the nearest brush, rapping her on the head with it sharply. It was not hard enough to truly hurt, but it got a startled yelp out of her. For all her years, Eleanor was still as swift as ever.
"Bite your tongue! Arl Rendon Howe has long been a friend of your Father's, and this family. He is a good man." There was that tone again, coupled with a look of utter disapproval. It made Jaine want to disappear into the floor. She was much too old to still be made miniature by her Mother's disapproval, but that thought was not enough to keep it from happening.
"A good friend to Father, maybe, but I see the way he looks at me when none are watching." Jaine slouched down in the chair until she was afraid she might slide out of it completely. Her fingers twitched nervously until they found a loose thread in her chemise and began worrying it free of the fabric. "It is not with respect… or friendship." She chewed her lip, a terrible habit she had kept from childhood despite her Mother's best efforts, and waited for another scolding. Only one did not come. After a long, tense moment of silence she glanced up at the mirror. Eleanor looked horrified, and deeply concerned.
"What- What do you mean? How does he look at you, Jaine?" There was a quality in her Mother's voice that Jaine had never heard before. It frightened her a little.
"With contempt," oddly enough she saw her Mother's features relax somewhat. What had she thought she was going to say? "Perhaps it is disgust. He always looks like his prized Mabari just took a pee on the King's boots. And I'm the Mabari. Thomas is no better; he is a perfect little copy of his Father in every way." She had been watching her Mother in the mirror as she spoke, disturbed by the way she had slowly relaxed again, the concern on her face replaced with a calmer, more contemplative expression.
"Thomas is still young. Young men often seek to emulate their Fathers. He will find himself in time." Jaine groaned loudly and sat up again suddenly, Eleanor's hovering hands slapping against the top of her head. These arguments never went anywhere, so why should it this time?
"Give up, Mother. I will not marry Thomas Howe. I'd sooner join the Chantry. Oh!" She laughed suddenly. "There's a thought!" Eleanor sighed and rolled her eyes, a most unladylike thing that she always scolded Jaine for, and folded her arms across her chest.
"Is this about your preference? It is, isn't it? I know it makes things difficult, Jaine, but you are a Cousland and-"
"Couslands always do our duty first." Jaine cut her off, repeating her Father's beloved saying drolly. "Yes, Mother, I know. I fully intend to do my duty, I will not run away and join the Chantry. This is not about my preference; unless, of course, you are referring to my secret preference to not marry a creepy little toad who sees me as a trophy to be conquered." Somehow, saying that made her mood lighter and she ended the sentence with a soft laugh.
"I do not think Thomas sees y-"
"I do." Jaine ended her Mother's rebuttal before she could get started. Eleanor arched a brow and Jaine offered her a smirk. "Thomas Howe sees me as a wonderful little ornament, a symbol of how he managed to marry 'up' but also as dreadfully 'mannish'." If he has his way I'll be kept locked away in his castle, relegated to little more than keeping his bed-" Eleanor gasped in what sounded like a mixture of shock and outrage and whacked her with the brush again; significantly harder this time.
"Ow! –bearing his children and keeping his house. I refuse to be chained so, to be treated as chattel. Or it could be worse and he could treat me as his Father treated his Mother." The minute the words left her mouth she knew she had gone too far.
"Jaine Eleanor Cousland!" Her Mother was truly outraged now, but she could not tell exactly why. It was hardly a secret that Rendon Howe had resented and hated his wealthier wife. Maybe it was because it was true.
"It is not like I am simply summoning a simple excuse, Mother. There are whispers…" she trailed off, dropping her eyes away from her Mother's in the mirror again. So much for not making her angry. There was a long, tense silence between them as Eleanor dropped her eyes to return her focus to Jaine's hair. Jaine could feel the soft but strong fingers working through the thick but fine hair and was sorry she had said it. Fergus had warned her not to bring it up. It was better to simply keep refusing until another offer came along that she was willing to accept he had said. But when had she ever been able to keep her mouth shut?
"What whispers?" Eleanor asked softly, breaking the silence. Jaine glanced up, but her Mother's eyes were still cast down at her hair. The tugs were coming less frequently, so either it was nearly out or her Mother was distracted.
"Whispers that say neither Rendon nor Thomas think much of women. That Thomas has a taste for bought flesh… and he treats them poorly. Rumor has it he was actually banned from The Pearl in Denerim for getting rough. And he heartily, and vocally, disapproves of my martial training. Just like his Father." Her voice was small and she let the silence rise between them again when she was done. The slight tugging of her hair returned, but it was sharper than before and she could tell her Mother was unhappy and distracted. Well, she might not be able to make her less distracted, but she could try to make her happy again.
"What about Bann Loren's son, Dairren? He is quite pleasant from what I remember, he's also smart and well-read, and very respectful." Jaine could not stop herself from looking into the mirror hopefully as she spoke. A small smile broke across her face as she saw the angry tension leave her Mother's shoulders and knew she had successfully redirected her Mother's thoughts. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.