A/N: I know it's only been a week, but I feel like I need to post this. Also, I think I'm going to start bouncing around in the timeline after a couple of chapters. I know I said nonlinear from the start, but I'd rather not jump right into stuff like "three kids and a baby later" or "oh, hey, look, parenting adult children" immediately without everyone having at least a little bit of grounding.
Chapter Four: The Special Curriculum
It had all started one evening as the Marquis sat up in the study, proofreading some mandates that needed to be thoroughly combed through before their approval. It was a moonless night, both in the lack of the celestial body and his wife's absence, making it so that he shared the table with his daughters. Astra and Tara were both drawing quietly on some paper scraps, while Lena was concentrating as she read a book.
"Papa," Lena frowned, "can you tell me what this word means?" The Marquis adjusted his spectacles and watched as his daughter walked around the table to his side.
"Why of course, what is it my starlet?" he asked. His face fell as he saw the word she had pointed out and looked at her critically. "Is this one of the books from Mama's case?"
"From the shelf I'm allowed to borrow from, honest," Lena insisted. "I just don't know this word, is all, and it keeps on popping up."
The Marquis swallowed hard; he could see the twins now looking at them from across the table. "That word is 'betrothed'," he explained. "When the prince says the serdar's daughter is his betrothed, it means that one day they are going to marry whether they like it or not."
"Do people often marry the ones they don't want to?" she asked, tilting her head. She did not know it, but her father's heart skipped several beats.
"Sometimes, if the marriage is what's best for a political alliance, or if there is a large enough dowry, or wedding present, that makes it so there are no more money issues," he said, his ears beginning to burn.
"The prince in the book says he has been betrothed since he was a baby. How come? Babies can't marry."
"They can't, but there are betrothals that happen when the ones that are to be married are only babies or children, because their parents are friends or they will end up uniting two great houses." The Marquis was beginning to sweat, and was hoping that his daughter did not notice. "They just wait to marry when they come of age—it is a thing that happens, nothing more."
"Do the soldiers and smallfolk get betrothed?" Lena wondered. "What about merchants and guildsmen?"
"Occasionally, though it's more common with people like us." This was going to have to come to a close very soon if he wanted to get any more work done with a peaceful mind.
"Do I have a betrothed?"
"No!" the Marquis replied, much too firmly to seem calm. Lena jumped, caught off-guard by her father's sudden outburst. He quickly composed himself and sighed, pulling his daughter close enough to kiss her brow. "I'm sorry. It is just that I want you to choose who you marry yourself, and decide if you want a husband out of love or out of duty."
"So then Astra and Tara don't have betrotheds either?" the girl asked.
"That's right," he nodded. "They have dowries, for if they want them, but not a betrothed. You don't have one, because you are Papa and Mama's heir and because of that your husband will be the one who needs a dowry. He won't be Marquis, but he will be the Companion, and I would still rather you choose who sits at your side for yourself instead of having the man chosen for you."
"Huh, that's interesting. Thanks Papa," Lena said. She kissed her father on the cheek and returned to her chair, where she settled back down to read some more.
The Marquis, however, sat there with a twitch on his face and a knot in his gut—his daughters now knew what a betrothal was, and that the twins had dowries in lieu of a title. With Lena's ravenous appetite for the written word came an early onset of worry for his daughters' future courtships. He looked at his girls, tiny and young and surely so far away from things such as suitors, both the wanted and the unsavory, that he had to keep repeating to himself that he was overreacting.
Yes, he was overreacting, he silently repeated later as he laid in bed, unable to stay still. He tossed and turned and tried to get comfortable, but to no avail. If Lena had not been reading that book, she never would have asked, and if she had not asked, there was a chance that they could have been kept away from the concept for a while longer yet.
Suddenly, he smiled privately: he had the solution. It was brilliant and clever, if he did say so himself, and all it would take is a short chat with their tutor.
The next morning, the Marquis found himself again covered in daughters as he woke for the day. He dressed, made sure his girls got up and shuffled into the nursery to change into their day clothes before ushering them down to breakfast. As the meal was ending, the children's tutor, Sir Daniel, arrived and was nearly ready to whisk them away when the Marquis stood up first and cleared his throat.
"I'd like a word with you before you begin with lessons, if you don't mind," he said. The tutor blinked at him, curious.
"Of course, Your Lordship," he said. They stood off to the side of the room while the girls finished their meal. Feeling very uneasy about the look on the Marquis's face, the tutor steeled himself for the worst. "What is the problem?"
"Lena was reading a novel last night and she had me explain to her all about betrothals and dowries, with the twins right there," the Marquis grumbled, his voice hushed. "This is very bad—I was hoping to keep those ideas as far away from them as possible for as long as I could, but no… it's now ruined."
"With all due respect, sir, they are little girls, and that sort of stuff is in many faerie stories. I'm surprised that it took this long, if you have a problem with that." The tutor looked at his employer and raised an eyebrow. "What does this have to do with me? You don't think I encouraged this, do you?"
"No, I'm not accusing you; the book came off one of Clara's shelves. If there is one thing about Clara I dislike, let alone hate, it's her love of those lurid novels," the Marquis growled. "That's why I need you to add a subject to their curriculum."
"'The Evils of Modern Literature'…?" the tutor asked in trepidation. The Marquis scoffed.
"No. I'm not going to stop them from reading because that would only make the situation worse as they grow older. I want you to teach them all how to fight."
"…like, military tactics?"
"Hand-to-hand combat, Daniel," the Marquis clarified. "At this rate I'm going to have all daughters, and while all daughters is better than no daughters, it will help put my mind at rest that if they happen to wander off with a suitor when they're older for some clandestine fling, they will be able to stop unwanted advances even if they end up with my wife's height and a man taller than me."
"That's very unorthodox, Johan," the tutor chuckled. He could now relax, with the real reason for concern finally out in the open. "Even in soldering families, the children do not start being formally trained in combat until they enter the Academy at age eleven. The girls are six and four."
"I understand, but even at eleven children start to think they're adults. Now what good is having an old soldier as my daughters' tutor if he cannot teach them how to defend themselves?" The Marquis grinned, his whiskers parted by a thin row of teeth. "Start whenever you can spare the time, but the sooner the better. I'd rather have Clara unaware until she cannot protest."
"Then how about we say that I planned on teaching them all along beginning at age eleven, but with all the extra work that has to be built into their schooling, it is better for them to begin early?" the tutor offered. "I can teach them the works: hand-to-hand, marksmanship, the shield and sword, just as long as they respect the tools I'm giving them." He sighed, scratching the back of his neck as he continued his thoughts. "As far as Clara is concerned, you have to admit that they have much more on their plate than a soldier's daughters would, and if that can't convince her, then nothing will."
"Thank you, Daniel. I knew I could count on you," the Marquis nodded. He pat the other man on the shoulder before letting him take the girls off to the schoolroom. It was a comfort, knowing that his daughters' tutor would bend the rules to help reaffirm their safety.
A week later, the Marquis was interrupted while he was brainstorming a way to deal with the mercenaries from Sontaria the Cyberans were rumored to be seeking out—the Marchioness had returned. He met her down by the stables, watching as she rode in atop her horse.
"How did I know you'd be my welcome party?" she laughed as she slid from the saddle and into his arms. He put her down and kissed her hand, bending at the waist to press their foreheads together.
"You grew," he said, reaching for her hips. She chuckled softly—the child in her womb was certainly more prominent now than when she had left, that was true.
"Where are the girls? I want to see them."
"With Daniel," the Marquis replied. They began to walk arm-in-arm, away from the stables and towards the gardens. Eventually they found heir and spares with their tutor on the grounds, with the girls waving around wooden swords in an exaggerated manner as instructions were barked out.
The Marchioness's eyes grew wide before they narrowed. "Daniel," she said, clearing her throat and raising her voice. Student and teacher alike snapped their gaze in her direction.
"Mama!" the girls cheered, dropping their weapons and running towards her. She bent down slightly and hugged them.
"Why hello there, little ones," the Marchioness smiled. "Now what's this you're doing? I don't remember you having the sword as one of your sports before I left."
"Sir Daniel says that we're all old enough to hold a sword as long as we don't treat it like a toy," Lena explained. "He said it will be useful!"
"Yeah! It's really interesting, and he says we're good at it!" Tara giggled. "Did you ever learn swordsmanship, Mama? What about shooting?"
"No, I did not," Clara frowned sternly. She paused and tread carefully as she continued. "Though, things are much different in Gallifrey than they are in Blackpoole. Grandpapa never had to worry about me and enemy soldiers until I came here. I simply wish Sir Daniel had told me beforehand…" She shot the tutor a disappointed look, to which he recoiled slightly. He was about to stammer out a response when he was cut off.
"I cleared it—not to worry," the Marquis chimed in. His wife looked at him, perplexed.
"You did…?"
"Yes, I did. Not to worry. Daniel, girls, you may continue." With that, he began to walk away, leaving his wife to rush to catch up to him.
"Johan, why are you letting our daughters learn how to wield a sword… and what was that about shooting?!" she hissed as she took his arm. The Marquis shrugged.
"It was part of my education when I was a lad, as with all the heirs of the marquisate" he explained. "Soldiers listen better to commanders whose skills they can respect, and some only listen to shows of strength. The troops love and respect you now, but you are not of Gallifrey, let alone Kasterborous, and due to that they give allowances with their favor."
"That doesn't mean I'm forced to like the idea of our daughters learning how to kill…"
"Defend, my darling—we teach how to defend." The Marquis stopped walking and faced the Marchioness, cradling her cheek with one of his hands. "It is the battlefield that teaches how to kill, and I hope it never comes down to that. We all allow things we dislike to continue, such as your refusal of a carriage while with child…"
"I ride sidesaddle and at no higher than a canter, I'll have you know," she retorted. They both chuckled and leaned in to one another for a light kiss, blissful as they parted. "Next trip, alright? I'll use a carriage next time I ride out."
"Thank you, Doctor." He kissed her hand and bowed with a flourish, bending so far he had to grin at her from underneath his brows. She smiled back and they returned to the castle eager to catch up with one another.
A couple weeks passed and the Marquis and Marchioness had the distinct displeasure of being on the hosting end of a social call. The Count of Painswick was generally a tolerable man when encountered in the neutral playing field that was the capital, but dare he travel more than a few leagues from the city walls and little but complaining came from his mouth.
"I don't know how you tolerate this weather up here," he grumbled, looking out the window. It was grey and dreary outside, drizzling rain, which bothered the visitor from the sunny southern valleys. "All day and all night—doesn't this ever dampen your mood?"
"Not always, but you'd be surprised what sort of weather we find normal," the Marquis said. He stood by the count looking out the window, gazing down at the gardens, before looking back to his wife sitting next to the fire. "How about it Clara? You've been here twelve years now; when did you get used to Kasterborsian weather?"
"I'm still not used to it," she dully quipped, turning a page in her book. "Storms in the dead of winter are the worst. I'd rather birth a child over a week than get caught by snow-fever again."
"Surely you don't mean that," the count said. The Marchioness moved her eyes from the page, staring at the two men across the room as she remembered her first winter and what nearly became a mistake of a paramour.
"Try me." She turned back to her book, only for her daughters to come barging into the room excitedly moments later. All three were sopping wet and tracking mud over the rug. "Girls! Where have you been?!"
"Outside!" Tara grinned. "Sir Daniel was teaching us how to grapple and after he left we went outside and tried it ourselves."
"Well, I'm going to have to tell Sir Daniel that all of these lessons are called off until we can fit you into some breeches and shirts for fighting," the Marchioness scolded. She put down her book and began fussing with Astra's dress. "Oh, I hope the washing ladies can do something about these dresses."
"Your daughters? Grappling?" the count asked, rather incredulous. "If my daughter did anything of the sort her governess would have a fit."
"But we don't have a governess," Lena replied. "We just have Sir Daniel, and he says we need to know how to fight because not everyone is a nice person. I'm going to be in charge of soldiers one day too, so that makes it double for me."
"What a sharp little girl you are," the count chuckled. He crouched down to her height and pat the top of her hair. "But what if you have a baby brother next? Then what?"
"Uh… then I have a baby brother…?" The little girl looked over at her mother, confused. "What happens if we get a brother and not a sister?"
"Then you have a brother, nothing more," she replied, wiping mud off Astra's face with a kerchief. The Marchioness shot the count a glare commanding him to back down. "One day Lena will be Marchioness, no matter who her siblings are."
"With all due respect, but even for children your daughters look delicate. Is it safe for them to learn how to throw people around?"
"I don't know; Lena, show him what you learned today," the Marquis said. Without much more prompting, the girl caught the count as he was beginning to stand, rolling him down over her shoulder and flat onto his back. Barely able to contain his pride, the Marquis helped the count up from the floor. "Now I didn't mean demonstrate on him, starlet. Throwing around Tara would have sufficed."
"I'm sorry," she squeaked quietly.
"Nothing to be sorry about if it was a misunderstanding," the Marchioness said. She stood up and began to herd her daughters out of the lounge, leaving the men alone. The Marquis went over to the table by the window, where a decanter of wine had been left earlier. He poured two drinks, holding one out towards his guest, a smirk growing on his face.
"Slender muscles run in the family," he said simply. The count reluctantly took the glass and downed the liquid in one go, knowing that this time it was wise to keep his mouth shut.