Note: I don't own the GW or any of their characters. I just borrow them now and then to satisfy my sexual fantasies – I can't get NO satisfaction! –singing- (I'm just kidding!)
The Lighting Of The Fires (Chapter 3)
Lady Belmore paced up and down the well-furnished library that lay on the second floor of her brother's London house. Her blue eyes were twin mirrors of disapproval. "But you cannot marry a young woman merely because she amuses you, Quatre. You do not love her!"
Quatre said, "She is intelligent and she needs rescuing."
"Rescuing?" she echoed. "From whom or what?"
"From her chaperone," he replied, becoming more obscure by the moment, his exasperated sister thought.
"Do you know what the word rescue means to me?" she demanded.
"No, you will have to explain your meaning." He smiled.
"I see Andromeda chained to a rock…I see dragons and knights at arms and beautiful maidens. Lady Relena is neither a beautiful maiden, nor is she surrounded by dragons – so why are you donning knight-errant armor?"
"Dragons may come in many shapes, Iria," he said gravely. "Unless I am deeply mistaken, Relena's dragons are named Lady Howard and Lady Peacecraft…both of them keep her from being herself. I am becoming rather fond of her."
"But she is so…so…"
As she paused, searching for a proper adjective, he said quickly, "So…what? You cannot tell me that she is not well born. Her family tree stretches back just as far as our own. She has a large dowry. She might not be beautiful, she is far too heavy, but is pleasant company and she is certainly undemanding."
"You are not in love with her, not in the least," she accused.
His smile vanished. "Am I supposed to be in love with her? How many marriages among us are based on love?"
"Mine," his sister responded promptly. "And you once said that nothing would ever make you…" She paused as he held up a hand.
"Anything I once said is to be ignored and forgotten. I married for love once. Such a feeling will not come to me again. Lady Relena is well connected, very well. She is rich. I cannot understand why we are having this discussion. I thought you would be delighted by my decision."
She was silent, gazing at him rather sadly. Then she said slowly, "I am not delighted by it, Quatre, dearest. We are having this discussion because I happen to believe that a man of your temperament – you, Quatre, - needs to be in love." Iria's eyes filled with tears. "Supposing after you are wed you should meet someone you do love?"
He said stubbornly, "Lighting never strikes twice in the same place. Would you have me withdraw my offer because for once in my life I am being extremely practical? I could not withdraw it, Iria, my dear, even were I to be assailed by second thoughts. I would hurt the poor child. She has already been hurt too much by well-intentioned persons who, as far as I can see, do not take her feelings into account. She is not without feelings, Iria."
"He is marrying that girl out of kindness," Iria told her husband that night. "Poor Quatre, oh, I do so loathe that creature!"
Her husband regarded her with mild surprise. "I thought you rather like her."
"Whatever gave you that impression?" Iria demanded hotly. "In spite of the poor baby, I was not at all sorry when she died, that is the truth of it."
"Oh, you were speaking about his wife," Lord Belmore said.
"Whom did you think I meant?" she demanded edgily.
"I beg your pardon, my love. I had the impression you were speaking about Lady Relena."
"Oh, no, I am only sorry for her, poor thing. I think she is quite madly in love with Quatre, and he has done nothing to discourage her, more's the pity."
"Why should he, since he is planning to marry her?" Lord Belmore stared at her confusedly.
"Can you not guess?" she asked challengingly.
"No, I must admit that is a conundrum that escapes me. You are not making very much sense, my dear."
"I am making perfect sense," she said stubbornly.
Unknowingly Lady Peacecraft shared some of Iria's opinions, and these she felt incumbent upon herself to pass on to Relena even though the plans for the wedding due to take place at St. James's Church in mid-June, were proceeding at a most satisfactory pace. She chose a time when Relena, flushed and happy from her first visit to St. Bartholomew's Fair in company with her fiancé, was describing its wonders.
"He is kind," Lady Peacecraft commented. "I think you will deal together very well. It is really the very best sort of a marriage. I think it much more important to be friends with the man you marry. I am pleased that you appear to be acquainted with the fact that he is not madly in love with you."
The pleasure of the afternoon was suddenly abated. Relena was aware that Lord Marne was not madly in love with her. She knew that he was more friendly than loverlike. She had plenty of opportunity to witness husbands who were loverlike. Sylvia's lord treated her as if she were a piece of rare porcelain. His eyes glowed when she came into a room. He seemed to be speaking with the rest of the family, but actually he hardly ever heard what was being said to him. His eyes were on Sylvia, his thoughts were fixed on her – she was his life! Sally's husband was less overt, but that he adored her was unmistakable. As for herself, she wished strongly that she might refute what her mother believed to be "well-meant" advice, which, in this case, was merely stating the obvious.
Unfortunately one did have to be realistic, and her grandmother had felt it incumbent upon herself to tell Relena about the late Lady Marne and her tragic death – an account that differed very little from those she had already heard on that never to be forgotten second visit to Almack's, when he had unaccountably asked her to dance. The countess had concluded a considerably more detailed version of the tale with words, "He must have an heir."
"He must have an heir," Lady Peacecraft said.
Relena, startled, looked at her mother, realizing that she had not heard much of what she had been saying. Obviously it must not have differed in content from her grandmother's comments. She said, "Yes, I know. I will try to be a good wife to him, Mama – and now, if you will excuse me?"
"Of course, my dear," Lady Peacecraft said. Then, obviously feeling that something more should be added, she continued, "I am sure he is becoming fond of you."
"He is very pleasant, Mama," Relena said. "Will you excuse me? I must change my clothes."
"Yes, dear, of course. And do not forget that you are due at the theater tonight – Sir John and Lady Caldwell. Old friends."
"From Norwich. Yes, I remember, Mama." Relena hurried out of the room and, arriving in her own chamber, told herself strongly that she must not weep. She must needs be realistic and not long for what he could not give her. She did enjoy his company. She had enjoyed it greatly that afternoon. They had watched a balloon ascension. They had laughed at the antics of a trained pig, and they had been similarly disgusted at a sideshow exhibit, the pig-faced woman. They had agreed that she ought not to be put on display for crowds to gawk at and discuss with horror or amusement as If she were bereft of feelings. Expressing a mutual distaste, they had hurried out, and then he had waltzed with her on a little platform with other couples and afterward treated her to a lemon ice.
Obviously he enjoyed being with her, but he seemed more like an older brother than a lover, and Relena was quite aware that there were portions of his mind that would unlock to no verbal key. That was only too apparent in the occasional brooding sadness that appeared in his eyes when she guessed something reminded him of his late wife and lost love.
She could not be jealous of her and should not be. Poor Dorothy had died so young, and oddly enough, despite her own burgeoning happiness, she wished that the lady had not died. She was generous enough to resent it when Lady Iria spoke about her in the most disparaging terms. The countess, too, had aroused her ire when she said sharply, "The late Lady Marne was a featherbrain, and selfish to the bone. Had she lived a little longer, her husband would have found it out, I can assure you, my dear Relena. It is extremely unfortunate that he did not. She was not born to be idolized, much less canonized.
Despite her pity for the late Dorothy, Relena did think about her conversation with her mother off and on during the play that night, and once she was home again, she had needed to make a strong effort to keep from crying herself to sleep. However, the next morning, she was more philosophical, and fortunately, in the days that followed, she had little time to dwell on her bridegroom's late wife. Her days were spent in visits to the mantua maker's where, in addition to the fittings for her wedding gown, she was having a whole new wardrobe made. It would consist of stylish ensembles that a maid-into-matron might wear, and which, her mother said, suited her better than her demure muslins. While this was not precisely a compliment, it did raise spirits that occasionally flagged when she thought of the willowy figure of the late Lady Marne. Then there was the need to meet the relatives that she had not seen in years but who came into London from such distant places as Edinburgh, Yorkshire, and the Isle of Man. They came bearing gifts she must needs acknowledge. Other relations wrote sending gifts which again required notes. These her mother composed for Relena to copy.
Most important was, of course, her wedding gown, which, unfortunately, must needs be white rather than the blue or violet that would have lent its hue to her eyes. However, for the last three years, white and only white was de rigueur for wedding gowns, and as Relena was only too aware, she would look twice her size in white. She was to wear the veil, lacy and long, which had been passed down by her grandmother. It would, unfortunately, conceal her hair – the color of which pleased her bridegroom, as he had told her more than once. He would not be seeing her hair. He would only be seeing her full face, flushed pink, she feared, by excitement.
She had begged Mrs. Bell to find a way to make her appear less gigantic in white, and the lady had obliged with a panel of cream-colored lace down the front, which, she insisted, would create the illusion of slimness. Relena was doubtful about that, but since she dared not challenge the mantua maker's decisions, she could only hope for the best and, while she was hoping, pray that Sylvia would remain in Land's End, which lay some two hundred and ninety miles from London and where her husband had an estate to which he had insisted they go after one of their many quarrels. As usual, it had revolved around the attentions of one Lord Carleton, whom Lord Ludlow had accused his wife of encouraging. Were Sylvia to insist on taking the long journey to London, she must easily outshine everyone present – including the bride or, rather, especially the bride. For perhaps the millionth time Relena wished that she had more in common with her sister than the timber of her voice, which, everyone said, was amazingly similar.
As the day drew nearer, Relena was comforted by the fact that Sylvia had not arrived. It was wrong to feel as she did about her sister, but all too often she had been the brunt of Sylvia's pointed remarks concerning her size. Her sister had also lectured her on the dangers of becoming a bluestocking because of her copious reading. In vain, Relena had protested that she did not write.
"Writing, my dear Relena, will be the next step. I can see you sitting at a desk, her fingers ink-stained and spectacles on the end of your nose – and I can see myself sending you a pair of blue stockings."
That Sylvia had not forgotten that threat was apparent when, in the note accompanying the handsome silver candelabra she had sent as a wedding gift, there was a note wishing her well and, in the postcript, a line stating, "I could not find any blue stockings in all of Land's End."
Lord Marne had wanted to know the meaning of that note and had laughed when she explained saying lightly that he was looking forward to meeting Sylvia. It had been wrong to feel so strong a stab of jealousy, and she was extremely glad that he could not read her mind. Yet it was on Sylvia that Relena was dwelling when she opened her eyes very early on the morning of June 9, 1816, her wedding day.
A note sent by messenger had arrived the previous evening. The envelope had borne Sylvia's careless black scrawl. After all, by dint of traveling night and day, she would be present at her sister's wedding even if in an unofficial capacity, by which she meant, not as a bridesmaid. Lady Peacecraft had been delighted, speaking with uncharacteristic sentimentality about all her "chicks" being under one roof – save for her son, at present in India.
"Oh, dear," Relena murmured unhappily. "Let her coach break down on the road…let a sudden storm rise, unlikely in June, but possible." Then common sense took over. It was foolish to worry about Sylvia – it was her wedding day.
It was also a day that passed like a dream. It seemed to Relena that scarcely had she opened her eyes than she was garbed in her white gown, which, in her mirror, made her look as she had feared – twice her size. Then she was in the coach, her tearful mother murmuring that she was losing the last of her babies, quite as if she were not absolutely ecstatic over having married her youngest and least prepossessing daughter to a rich, handsome bridegroom of impeccable lineage, a triumph neither Sally nor Sylvia had achieved.
Relena was never quite sure how she came to be standing at the back of the church with her bridesmaids, nor how she was suddenly proceeding slowly up the aisle to the altar, where the minister stood ready to united her with the tall, handsome stranger waiting for her, the unsmiling stranger who had stared at her as if she were equally strange to him. Indeed, it had seemed to Relena that rather than looking at her, Lord Marne's gaze was turned inward. However, when it came to the responses, which she spoke hesitantly, his had been firm, even if voiced in a lower tone that was generally his wont.
Then the minister was blessing them and they were hurrying up the aisle to the open doors. They came out of the church to crowds of interested spectators. Subsequently they were helped into a coach and driven to the reception given by Lady Peacecraft, this after a three-day argument with the countess, who had wanted it to take place at her mansion. However, a mother who has so creditably disposed of three daughters, and with the last and least of them making by far the most influential marriage, was not to be stared down and out-argued by her mother-in-law!
Stepping over the threshold of her mother's house symbolically for the last time, Relena still felt as if she were dreaming. Oddly enough, uppermost in her mind was the fact that despite her ominous letter, Sylvia had not been present in the church. Evidently her prayers had been answered. Her sister must have been delayed on the road! That was really all she needed to complete her happiness, she realized, and immediately castigated herself for most unsisterly thoughts.
Meanwhile she was automatically nodding and smiling and thanking her bridesmaids and others for their good wishes, and at the same time longing to find a nook where she could sit and watch the handsome people at the reception, as she usually did, without participating, which was much more comfortable, really. Now, however, she was surrounded by her bridesmaids, none of whom she knew very well. They were daughters of family friends for the most part, and from their expressions some of them were more surprised than elated at her good fortune. However, they were all wishing her happy an, of course, she could not slip away. She looked for her bridegroom and was amazed to find him at her side. A glance at his face showed her that he was smiling as congratulations were spoken. Then, suddenly, his gaze grew fixed and he stiffened.
"Relena, Relena, my dearest, oh, I was so dreadfully afraid that we would miss the reception!" Sylvia caroled. She threw her arms around her sister and kissed her on the cheek. "Congratulations, my dearest."
Relena fastened dazed eyes on Sylvia, who, on drawing back, was found to be wearing a blue gown that matched her great eyes. Her golden hair clustered about her lovely face, and as usual, she was as slim as a fairy. Then, on turning to the bridegroom, she stared up at him in an amazement that widened her eyes and, for a split second, her mouth as well.
Relena said, "Q-Quatre," his name unfamiliar to her tongue. "My sister Sylvia."
He bowed over Sylvia's hand. "Your servant, ma'am," he murmured.
"But I am delighted." Sylvia seemed to be having difficulty in speaking, for she did not offer any further congratulations.
Then others closed in on the newly wedded pair, and Sylvia vaguely acknowledged the greetings she was receiving from friends she had not seen in months – not since being, in effect, exiled to the far end of Cornwall. She wished she might speak to her mother, but a glance around the room showed her Lady Peacecraft surrounded by other well-wishers. Consequently she could not ask her how it happened that Relena, large and clumsy, looking twice her size in white, could have married so well – an earl, a dashing young earl and so handsome that he might almost be called beautiful and, judging from his interested reaction on meeting herself, not in love with the chit, either. Indeed, how could he be? Heero had told her that he knew the bridegroom at Cambridge, she suddenly remembered.
She tried to remember what else he had said and looked around for her husband. She found him speaking to the groom and smiling at Relena, whom he had always liked for reasons she never had been able to understand. Though one was supposed to love a sister, Sylvia had always found Rleena singularly difficult to love or, for that matter, even to like! She was such a lump! And not this lump, this fat, clumsy creature who was practically bursting out of her gown, had made the match of the season, and in her first season, too – which was a miracle, indeed. Reasons flew into her head and were summarily dismissed. Though Relena did appear very large in that unbecoming gown with the lace panel down the front that made her look even wider in the hips, she was positive that Lord Marne never would have gotten her sister with child!
"It is amazing, is it not?" someone commented.
Sylvia turnedto find Lady Une, an old friend whom she had known in school. She was recently wed to Sir Treize Kusherenada, not a brilliant match to be sure but one based on love, as hers had been, she had believed – for who would have expected Heero to be such a bear! She said, "Une, my dear, yes, I do find it amazing, Relena of all people."
"It has been the talk of the town," Une murmured. "She is certainly nothing like his first wife."
"Oh, has he been married before?" Sylvia asked interestedly. "Mama failed to tell me that. And what was she like, his first wife?"
"The most utterly beautiful creature, my dear. They married at the beginning of her first season…it seems to be a habit with him. This is Relena's first season, is it not?"
"Yes," Sylvia nodded, adding impatiently, "Tell me more about him. I have heard nothing."
"How might you in Cornwall? How do you bear it, my dear? It is the very end of the earth!"
"Oh, it has its beauties," Sylvia assured her, thoroughly disliking her erstwhile friend for implications she could not refute. "You were telling me about Lord Marne's first wife. He must have been very young when he married."
"He was twenty-one and she was seventeen. They were divinely happy, entirely wrapped up in each other, and living in the country."
"They lived entirely in the country?" Sylvia regarded her wide-eyed.
"Entirely. The town knew them no more for three or four years, I am not quite sure the length of time. Then she died in childbed two years ago."
"Oh, dear, how tragic." Sylvia murmured.
"Yes, it was tragic. He fell into the deepest melancholy. His sister Iria, a friend of mine, told me that they feared he might take his own life…and I believe he is still affected, but family pressures, you understand. He is the last of his line and there must be an heir."
"Oh, of course." Sylvia nodded.
Une regarded her thoughtfully. "Did you know, Sylvia, my dear, poor Dorothy looked a great deal like you? Despite the hair, you have very similar features,"
"Dorothy being, of course, his late wife?" Sylvia questioned. As her friend nodded, she felt singularly cheered by news that could not be discounted as mere gossip. Certainly it explained Relena's remarkable marriage, and it also explained the bridegroom's fixed stare at her.
Not for the first time Sylvia wished that she had not rushed so gladly into marriage with Heero, a mere viscount. She had loved him, or rather she had thought she loved him. Still, who could have known that he would prove so very jealous over the most trifling matters? She looked at Relena, red-faced and beaming, as she stood next to that singularly handsome young man. He was not beaming. Indeed, he was looking sober and meeting his eye; she smiled warmly at him, mentally pleased to receive an answering smile, and even more pleased when that smile faded as Relena looked up to say something to him. Though Sylvia was not very familiar with the Bible, it seemed to her that some king had been strongly impressed and at the same time depressed when he had seen some handwriting on the wall of his palace. She, herself, seemed to see much the same thing magically appearing on her mother's stripped wallpaper, but it did not depress her in the least!
The wedding feast took place at three in the afternoon, so that the newly wedded couple could begin the first leg of their journey to Somerset before sundown. The bridegroom's castle was located near the historic town of Chard, though according to Lord Marne, his home was less a castle than a manor house, the latter rising as had many other houses after the depredations of the Civil War.
"That it is still called Marne Castle is out of respect to its historic past rather than to its more mundane present," Relena remembered him telling her.
"Knights and cavaliers rode out of its storied gates, and country gentlemen rode back in later years." He had spoken rather wryly, as if, indeed, he regretted the armor and the banners, the spears and the war machines, though why that occurred to her, she did not know. She was thinking about that new conversation as her excited new abigail, Catherine Bloom, arrayed her in her going-away gown, which, thanks be to heaven, was not white but a muted blue silk that complimented her eyes and her coloring.
Elaine Walwyn, one of the girls she had known from her brief year at a private school in Bath, was helping Relena dress, and so was Marina Fitzwilliam, a friend from home. They were both excited and at the same time surprised that she was marrying so handsome and well connected a young man, Relena knew. She could not blame them for that. She had read varying degrees of that same surprise on the faces of many wedding guests. However, it had been most obvious when Sylvia, who had just now entered her chamber, had come to speak to herself and Lord Marne, whom she must remember to think about as Quatre, her husband! It was early to adjust her thinking, and she could not help believing that she was in a dream from which she must soon awaken.
Why was Sylvia here at this moment? She wondered. Sally was directing Catherine as to what she must take on the journey. Sylvia, however, had not come to help her. That was not her way. Furthermore, the smile with which she had greeted her below was missing. For reasons she could not quite explain, Relena braced herself as Sylvia reached her side. Still, she managed to say politely, if not truthfully, "I am pleased that you were able to come to my reception, Sylvia."
"I am pleased that we were able to reach London in time," Sylvia responded. "You are fortunate, indeed, Relena."
"I know I am," Relena said simply, thinking that her sister's eyes were as cold as twin pieces of ice. In fact, she had an almost overwhelming urge to hold up two fingers as she had seen old Janet do when she was warding off what she termed "the evil eye." Sylvia was staring at her as if she actually hated her.
She said, however, "I do wish you well, and one day I hope you will invite me to your home in Somerset – such a lovely part of the country."
"We will certainly do so," Relena said warmly now, her happiness returning with the delightfully allowable substitution of we for I. And then she wished that she wished that she had not expressed it in quite that way, for she received another narrowed glance as Sylvia responded, "I will remember that, my dear." Then she leaned forward and kissed Relena on both cheeks before hurrying out of the room.
Almost unthinkingly Relena put both hands to her cheeks, feeling, indeed, as If rather than receiving kisses they had been stung buy a pair of furious bees.
"How very beautiful your sister is," Elaine murmured.
Sally, who was close at hand, murmured, "Beauty is as beauty does." She bent a compassionate look on Relena, and moving nearer, she said, "Sylvia is Sylvia, but Heero has told me that they are returning to Cornwall within the week."
Relena looked at her older sister in surprise. "You noticed?" She would have gone on, but Sally interrupted her quickly. "You must not let her spoil your day, my dear. And…" But whatever else she might have said fell into silence as the countess, with Jane behind her, entered the room.
"Ah, my dear Relena." Her grandmother looked up at her. "You must always wear blue, must she not, Jane?"
"Aye, your ladyship," Jane said. Her eyes, gray and deep-set, lingered on Relena's face.
"Jane counts herself the harbinger of your happiness, my dear." The countess stood on tiptoe to kiss Relena's cheek. "You are such a giantess – but your husband is taller yet. My felicitations, my dearest. Jane, you must admit, has outdone herself."
"She has." Relena, looking into the ancient abigail's hooded gray eyes, was, as usual, unnerved by their intensity. "I do thank you, Jane."
"I am not to be thanked," the old woman said in a low voice. "I tell what I see, and I see you happy…in time."
It was an odd thing for her to say. Implicit in her comment – or was it a prediction? – was delay, Relena thought, and hoped devoutly that she was wrong.
"Of course she will be happy, you silly old woman," the countess said briskly. "How could she not be happy, Jane? Lord Marne is a handsome, charming young man and he is also intelligent. You are very fortunate, my dear."
"And so is he…" Jane murmured.
"What?" The countess frowned. "But of course they are both fortunate."
'Yes…both." Jane nodded.
Having had her say, or rather, having down her duty by her granddaughter, the countess whirled out of the chamber, followed by Jane, moving slowly, as usual. As she reached the door she glanced back over her shoulder and nodded at Relena, her expression enigmatic and, to Relena's mind, rather grim. Furthermore, those of her words that remained longest in her thoughts were only two. "In time."
As Relena came down the stairs there was a group pf people waiting for her on the first floor and looking up expectantly. However, Quatre was not among them. He was near the door and he was not looking in his bride's direction. He could not, for Sylvia was speaking to him, smiling provocatively up at him and receiving a warm smile in return from one who had eyes for non other. It seemed to Relena as if everyone were suddenly looking at the pair by the door and, in consequence, were she to throw her bouquet, there would be no one to catch it, and it must needs remain unclaimed on the stairs. Yet it was the custom, and certainly she must throw it.
"Does no one…" she began, but her voice faded into silence as Sylvia stood on tiptoe to kiss the bridegroom's cheek and to cry warmly, "For luck, my dear brother-in-law."
The bouquet dropped from Relena's suddenly nerveless fingers and fell on the stairs where Lady Iria hastily retrieved it as Relena reached the bottom of the stairs and Lord Marne, hurriedly parting from Sylvia, came to put an arm around his wife's waist and to say in surprise, "But you are shivering, my dear. Surely you are not cold."
She looked upward and, meeting his eyes, read concern in them. "I…I dropped my bouquet. I hope it is not an ill omen," she said, and then tried to laugh. "But that is a foolish thing to say, is it not?"
"It is, my dear, and certainly it is not an ill omen," Lady Iria said behind them. She returned the flowers to Relena. "Here," she added, "you must throw it, and we will see whom the next bride will be!"
"Yes," the bridesmaids chorused. "Come, Relena!"
Feeling oddly confused, Relena obeyed, flinging the bouquet high, higher, than she had intended so that it sailed over the extended hands of her bridesmaids and the wedding guests to fall toward Sylvia, who made no effort to retrieve it. Instead, she merely scooped it up from the floor once it had fallen at her feet.
"You should have caught it, Sylvia." Her mother frowned at her.
"But" – Sylvia laughed lightly – "I am married already, am I not?"
"I think we must go." Lord Marne smiled at Relena and slipped his arm around her waist. "We have a ways to go before sunset." He escorted her quickly through the assembled wedding guests. Their good wishes rang in her ears, and at the door, her mother kissed her farewell. Then they were on their way to the waiting coach, and Sylvia must needs remain behind. Relena, glancing back over her shoulder, failed to glimpse her sister and was glad of that.
Author's Notes: Hope you liked this chapter! Please review! It gives me the motivation I need to finish this story. :) Now for the questions…
Dragonrose – Would you believe that back then, you didn't even have to meet to marry? People rarely married for love so it really didn't matter whether or not you saw each other. As long as you came from a good family, had a large dowry, and your families agreed to the marriage, you were set. Afterwards, if you did not like your husband/wife (which was the case most of the time), you could go out and find yourself a lover (which most did) as long as it was under wraps. Marriages were the best way to gain a higher position in society. Everything was based on how it would make the parents look. It didn't matter if their offspring didn't love who they married – in fact, it was actually strange for a wife and husband to be affectionate towards each other, much less show affection in public or anywhere else. If you had married someone your family didn't approve of, you would've caused a huge scandal – the family taking the easy way out by disowning you. Everything was very strict back then. If you weren't happy, it didn't matter. For them, as soon as you got married and produced an heir, you were free to accept lovers. It was easier for the men than it was for the women, though (Surprise, surprise. -_-).
Mae – Does Quatre like Sylvia? Well, I certainly hope you received your answer after reading this chapter… -grins-
Dreamweaver – Actually, I hadn't planned on most of the guys showing up. I was planning on Hilde showing up along with Duo, but he doesn't play a big role. Other than Quatre, the Gundam guys won't be playing too big of a role in this story. –droplets- However, I am planning another story in which they might show up. ;)
Thanks to everyone who reviewed! It means a lot to me that you guys took the time to type down some words of encouragement. I don't care if you criticize my story for making it too OOC, or for being too dull, and so forth, it's always refreshing to know people read the story and liked it well enough to take a few moments to write down their feelings. Thanks again!