Chapter Two – The Important Matters of Men
"Good morning, milady."
The blackout curtains were pulled back in one fell swoop, sunshine radiating into the bedroom through the ceiling high window. Darlene clenched her eyes tightly, cupping a hand over her eyes.
"What time is it?" she sat up and squinted at the bedside clock.
"Just past the eighth hour, ma'am."
She fell back into the feather pillows, her hand ran across the sheets beside her. His side hadn't been used last night.
"Lord Clemens stressed that I not wake you until now, and to inform you that we have guests in the reception room," Astrid wandered into her lady's dressing room, returning with a robe.
"Guests? At this hour?" she gave Astrid a puzzled look as she helped her into the robe. Darlene wrapped the robe around her and fastened the silk tie in a loose knot. "Who is it?"
"The Pendleton Lords, ma'am," Astrid began plumping the pillow and smoothing the sheets back into place. Darlene went into the dressing room and began rummaging through her wardrobes; the hangers flitted along the rail as she scanned over her clothing. "Oh, the Lady Bouchard sent a message-"
"This early?" she was astounded at how everyone else was so active in the early hours. She trailed off, mumbling to herself.
Astrid chuckled and pulled a note from the pocket of her white apron. "She writes to tell you about a…party? To celebrate your wedding anniversary, milady."
"Hmm," she nodded and glanced over the girls shoulder at the writing. "Next week? She's definitely adamant."
Lady Clemens pulled at the hem of her jacket, smoothing out the material as she walked down the staircase. Wisps of smoke trailed from the ajar door of the reception room. She was glad her husband never made smoking a regular habit. She could not, and would not, have been able to endure it…and the god awful smell lingered.
She pushed the door lightly with her fingertips, bringing her hand to mouth to catch a cough brought on by the gag inducing smoke.
The Pendleton twins sat opposite one another, watching the young woman, clearly entertained by her reaction. "My lords," she began hoarsely, clearing her throat. She turned to the window, opening it as wide as possible and catching the latch. "While it would be my pleasure to have you here, there is a smoking room."
"But then, my lady, Charles doesn't allow women to set foot in his domain, does he?" Custis chuckled, leaning back into his armchair, "So then how would you grace us with your presence?"
Morgan reclined in the larger seat, leg crossed over the other. He took another drag of his Serkonan Cullero cigar, turning to the door behind her.
"Speak of the outsider."
As Darlene glanced over her shoulder, her eyes met with the chest of her husband. Her gaze travelled up to his face, his attention on the Lord Pendleton's. His looks and overall appearance were striking, a handsome figure of a man. Towering over his wife, easily beyond six feet, he was even among the other men, tall.
His blonde hair was scraped back against his head, chiselled face free from facial hair at all times, and eyes of hazel. He pulled his silver pocket watch from the waistcoat of his beige, three-piece suit and examined the clock face, "Apologies for the time I called upon you, gentlemen," he addressed the men, neatly pocketing the watch once more. "Shall we retire to my study?" He moved from the doorway, outstretching his arm, directing them down the hallway.
"Of course." The two stood to their feet, extinguishing their cigars in a decorative bowl on the low table between them and provoking an inadvertent cringe from the lady. "Lady Bouchard," they nodded their respects and passed the couple.
Charles' gaze lingered on the two as they entered his study before turning to his wife. "I apologise for returning home so late last night."
"You came home?" her brow furrowed in confusion.
He nodded towards the chair in the reception room. "I didn't want to wake you-"
"You wouldn't have woken me-"
"Nevertheless… I'm sorry," he placed a hand on her waist for a brief moment, grazing her cheek with the slightest of kisses. "We'll speak later."
She could only nod and not object. There was no room to do such a thing.
Darlene watched after him as he walked the hallway, entering his study and closing the door behind him with a soft click. She let her breath escape at the sound, a breath she hadn't realised she had been holding, and moved across to the table.
She withheld a tut as she pulled a handkerchief from her jacket pocket, laying it over her outstretched hand and pouring the ash and cigars from the bowl.
"Milady, I shall clean that. Do not inconvenience yourself with such a thing."
Darlene glanced over her shoulder at the maid now hastening towards her. "Oh Viola, it's nothing," she uncouthly handed over the ashen handkerchief to her maid and brushed off her hands on her trouser legs. "I presume the gentlemen will be some time. His manservant's will see to anything they need. I won't require anything, but I'll be in my rooms, if Charles asks for me." Viola bowed her head to her mistress as the young lady retreated to the staircase.
The men spent the better half of the morning closed up discussing…overseer knows what. Darlene meanwhile, busied herself with a usual routine of reading in her rooms and listening to audiographs of various musicians from across the isles. The rise of the current 'rat plague' meant venturing out into the city of Dunwall was done out of necessity, if not for the fear of contracting the sickness, but for the fact that movement of citizens was becoming ever more restrictive.
How she wished that she could just escape it all and retreat to her family's estate in Karnaca. She missed the clean air, the smell of the sea's salt on the warm breezes. She missed the beauty of Serkonos, the "Jewel of the South" as it was well known, and the general care-free, but hardworking attitude of the general populace. Darlene did not doubt for one moment that most of the nobility would have fled to the isle, but with the plague came a certain degree of animosity when it came to expatriates from the capitol of Dunwall. Word amongst the upper class tells of the Empress attempting to solicit aid from the other nations within her Empire…yet with little success at present.
Her fingers traced the open book in her lap, feeling the rough texture of the pages. She had read all the books in their library, and her small collection in her sitting room, many times over. Her current book was titled the Customs and Food of Morley, detailing cultural practices and key recipes of dishes found on the isle of Morley to the north. She smiled in a jeering manner. The book was of course biased, Dunwall propaganda, with the author constantly painting the capitol in a positive light, all the while describing Morley as disappointing and void of interesting culture. Disappointment was not something she had experienced. On Darlene's journey to Morley four years ago to celebrate her marriage, she visited the city of Alba. Charles' view on the isle seemed all too indifferent, whereas she was positively enthralled by the intellect and creativity of its people. She immersed herself in poetry and art during their stay, as well as attending various presentations of philosopher's at Alba's university. Despite what she assumed was seen as a dull activity amongst other female aristocrats, her husband was accommodating and remarkably stoic when accompanying her to the sometimes long-winded speeches.
She closed the book and placed her hand atop the rich velvet cover. Her armchair was situated near the window, giving her a splendid view of their gardens. Despite the dull, dreary atmosphere that now shrouded Dunwall, her gardens retained a sense of life. The groundsmen took pride in their work and it was demonstrated through the plant life that grew with such vigour. The grounds to the rear of their town house stretched out across twelve acres, and whilst their estate was smaller on average to other nobles of comparative status, they surely held the largest grounds within the district. Land was sparse in the overcrowded estate district and must have certainly appeared as ostentatious. The gardens never saw much use from her husband, but she took every possible chance to take a walk about or visit the horses in the stables.
Rain had begun to fall, a light patter sounding as droplets struck the window pane. The droplets cast faint shadows on the wall opposite. Her private rooms consisted of her dressing room and small sitting room that she resided in now. The sitting room saw more decoration than her shared bedroom with her husband. She saw need to add her own tastes to the room with how much time she spent within it. An oval rug woven of the finest wool out of Tyvia lay in the centre of the small room, a ceiling high bookcase covered one wall and a cabinet filled with correspondents on the other, a rosewood writing desk sat against the third wall.
Darlene sat in a pensive state, the soft lull of music continued to fill the quiet in the room. She thought back to the message she had received earlier that morning from her mother. In a few weeks her wedding anniversary would come to pass and she was expected to celebrate it in true aristocratic fashion. She massaged her forehead, despondent and forlorn. Regular socials were custom, yet she resented it, only making occasional appearance at gatherings, and usually with her parents. Charles would regularly attend such events, yet they had not attended one together in years. She presumed his attendance was necessary for business reasons, yet she never confirmed why he was truly absent most evenings.
The click of the audiograph silencing brought her out of that moment of contemplation. She looked across the room to find Lord Clemens, hands in pockets, and eyes focused on her. His poise exuded assuredness and sophistication. It reminded her of how he beguiled her with his charm all those years ago, something he rarely showed in her presence now.
"Have you been up here all morning? I expected you to have been in the library."
She merely nodded in reply, placing her book back in its rightful place on the bookcase and making the task of finding a second title to read. Despite being married for as long as they had, conversation between the two remained minimal. They busied themselves with their own duties and rarely did they converse unless necessary or the occasional idle small talk at the dinner table…that was if he made it to dinner. Whether it was her fear of crossing him or his lack of interest in her, or perhaps a combination of issues, she did not know.
"I overheard some of the maid's talk of a party that your mother is hosting for us."
Darlene glanced back at him, seeing no substantial reaction from him to the news; she turned her full attention back to her books.
"Yes, for our anniversary." She mulled over the idea of informing him on the portrait of her that had been commissioned, but thought against it. He nodded as he gave her sitting room a once over and adjusted his jacket.
"If Lady Bouchard requires anything for the celebrations, anything at all, let me know."
Charles had successfully jolted her. The young lady's brow furrowed and he had acquired her full attention. "I will," she replied slowly, as if unsure in her response. His eyes met hers and for a short while they stood in silence, only the sound of rain filled it. Lady Clemens dropped her gaze to the floor and awkwardly moved towards her husband and sidestepping him to stand within the doorway leading back into to their bedroom. "Will you be at dinner this evening?"
Her question seemed to break him from his reverie. "Ah, no…the Pendleton's have invited us to their estate to further discuss business matters-"
Invited you, you mean-
"-the servants would welcome an evening off duty. Don't you think?"
Darlene tilted her head up to meet his eyes, astonished. "That would…" she smiled widely up at him, "That would be very agreeable."
She observed the smallest upwards flutter at the corner of his mouth. "Good. We shall leave in about an hour," he examined his pocket watch, before placing it back into his waistcoat pocket. He placed his hand on the small of her back, directing her towards her dressing room. Contact between them was as infrequent as their conversing and she involuntarily quivered at the light touch. Whether he detected it or not, he did not allow it to show. "I'll send for your maids to help you prepare. I'll wait for you downstairs." She went to protest, but before she could he had left as swiftly and quietly as he had arrived.
Whilst Darlene was elated that he had invited her to accompany him, she contemplated as to the reason why this occasion was any different to any other. She sat at her dressing table and released her tresses from the bun a top her head. Ebony hair trailed in waves over her shoulders and she began to run a brush through the locks. Darlene stared off in a daydream, thinking back to that day; the day, four years past, that she first laid eyes on Lord Charles Clemens.
It was the year 1832, in the month of seeds.
The weather was warm and favourable that day, in the capitol of Dunwall. Lord and Lady Bouchard were hosting a party at their estate. No special occasion warranted the celebration. No aristocrat ever needed an excuse to hold any event, only the money and means to do so.
The weather enabled the party to be held in the grounds. Tables and chairs were being set by a legion of servants, gazebo's erected, decorations hung, food prepared, and musicians tuning their instruments. The noble's only daughter wandered amongst the tables, examining the layout of place settings for the wide variety of guests that had been invited. The warm weather not usually seen in Gristol allowed her to put her Serkonan dresses to good use. She opted for an ivory lace, calf-length dress that exposed her forearms, with a skirt that fell in a cascade of ruffles. A matching lace parasol balanced on her right shoulder, idling twirling the stick in her hand as she read the calligraphy on the name cards. Darlene would turning eighteen in a matter of months and was just coming out into society. It was important to make an impression, and not getting names of influential people muddled up was a good start.
"Darlene!" a soft, whimsical voice chimed. The young Miss Bouchard grinned widely at her friend, Ella, clasping hands and placing an affectionate kiss on each other's cheek. "Oh Darlene, wonderful day isn't it?" she beamed gazing over the busy scene in the garden.
"It surely is, Ella." The two young ladies linked arms as they wandered through the gardens, sidestepping servants with arms laden with food platters and the like, as guests begun to arrive. As the pair strolled through the topiaries, Darlene glanced up to manor from under her parasol. There, her parents were greeting the arriving guests. At that moment, two men were conversing with them. One she had come to know through other social gatherings, the Lord Treavor Pendleton. However, the man at his side caught her eye.
"Ella? Who is that gentleman with Lord Pendleton?"
Ella followed her gaze and smirked knowingly. "That my dear Darlene is Lord Charles Clemens," she nudged her friend sharply with her elbow, rousing a look of disdain from her companion. "I'm surprised you haven't made his acquaintance yet. He's been in Dunwall for several weeks now. Apparently he hails from some royal line on the isle of Tyvia, a count no less," she sighed yearningly, fluttering her hand about with a dramatic flair. "What I wouldn't give to have myself swept off my feet by a big, handsome Tyvian man. They're so…rugged," she scrunched her face with a shimmy of her shoulders, giggling childishly.
"I do believe you're infatuated, Ella," Darlene smiled as she turned back to the manor, the two men now descending the stone steps to the party below. As if aware of an audience, Lord Clemens eyes raised, searching out until they met her own. She quickly averted her gaze, heat rising in her cheeks.
"And I do believe you are too."
