Bouquet
(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo
The two-part story The Budding Garden is dedicated to Houyoku, whose story Lady of Violets not only introduced me to the complexities of the Pent/Louise pairing but is still what I consider to be the story about them.
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The Budding Garden: Nutmeg Geranium, Ivy Geranium, Purple Columbine, Red Camellia Japonica, Calycanthus, Coreopsis Arkansa, Thornless Rose
(At the meeting called at the behest of Count Reglay,
twenty women gathered so that they might be considered his bride.
Each in turn presented themselves to him,
one and all resolved to win his favor.
However, when the last of them rose, both count and maiden were struck;
he by her unpretending excellence,
she by his unassuming benevolence.
Would this be called 'love at first sight',
or rather an early attachment that watered the seeds of love
until they blossomed into a glorious garden unparalleled in the eyes of all who saw them?)
"Milord, it is time to consider marriage prospects."
As soon as those words were uttered, the graceful loops that formed the words of Pent's correspondence went slightly askew before he could correct himself. Without a word, he lifted the quill, placed it upon its resting stand, folded his hands on top of the desk, took a deep breath, and then affixed his steward with a nobly confused look. "Pardon," he said, "I'm not sure I heard that correctly."
"Yes, of course, milord," the steward of Reglay Castle said in a tone that suggested he did not believe his young master. "Indeed, I shall speak plainer: You need to get married."
Pent, sixteen years old and Count Reglay for all of four months, considered this. "No, I think not," was his evaluation after several moments of thought.
"You needn't get married right this minute, milord," the steward said in a dry tone. "Though it would be nice. However, it is certainly true that you should enter into an engagement as quickly as possible. There are many families who would love to enter into a, say, beneficial relationship with House Reglay and we should accommodate them. And--"
"--An heir is needed," Pent finished, his tone as dark as thunderclouds rolling in from the distance. Wanting some distance from the looming conversation for even a few moments, he stood and walked over to the grand windows behind his desk; it was spring, and from his private study on the third floor he could see green fields and a few workers dotting here and there. To him it looked as if it were lacking something, but having lived here only sparingly he couldn't see what that was. "Well," he started, turning back to face the graying steward, "I have no argument. I will do my duty and uphold the honor of my house, as is expected of me."
Thankfully, his steward did not note the slight sarcasm behind Pent's words, merely nodding in acceptance. "Wonderful, milord. Certainly we will be able to secure a bride that pleases you. Now, what sort of lady would interest you?"
Having never thought about this in any great detail beforehand in his life, Pent struggled to come up with an image that was more than wisps of an ideal. "Hm...I would say that a kind, considerate woman with a gentle heart and an open mind would be nice."
"Milord." The steward looked rather perturbed. "Let us be reasonable. Women like that are sure to exist, that is true, but they are not of the caliber of women available to you."
"...I see."
"I am glad you do. Now, let me clarify my question: What sort of women does milord prefer? Blondes, brunettes? Redheads, greenheads, bluenettes?"
Pent said nothing for a long time. When he finally did open his mouth, it was only at the urging of the great deal of distaste he felt about the whole situation. "I feel as though I am being asked to choose a horse," he complained, indignant now about the whole exercise. As a statement of the steward's absolute professionalism and why he held such an esteemed duty in one of the great noble houses of Etruria, he did not look as though he was bothered by his lord's adolescent irritation and willingness to belittle tradition. Indeed, to Pent's annoyance, the steward didn't even appear to be losing any ground in their conversation.
"Of course, there is truth to milord's words. Perhaps we will schedule a showing of the finest ladies for your choosing?"
At these words, only years of etiquette training kept Pent from covering his face with his hands. "...What?" he said, not yet in shock but getting there.
The steward nodded. "Yes, milord. While I was not here at the time, I have been assured that your father held such an event in order that he might choose a suitable bride. What caught his eye was your mother's impeccable taste in the poetry she chose to recite. Milord should be familiar with it, the sonnets of Wilhelm of Basque? I was told she recited the thirty-third one, to everyone's delight."
"And I am to hold one of these...these poetry meetings?" Pent asked, wavering between indignation and deadpan amusement.
"It needn't be poetry. It is a showing of fine talents, such as singing, the playing of delicate instruments, proper dance, and yes, poetry recital. In this way, they exhibit which one is most deserving to be your lady wife."
"But what do these skills have to do with being a wife?"
"It shows that they are of fine breeding. Undoubtedly they will use these skills to entertain while you are away at court, and when you are home such display will refresh your soul. My predecessor told me as much regarding your mother."
Pent looked away, brow furrowed as he considered the steward's words. He was distinctly uncomfortable with everything having to do with this discussion, not to talk of a little sad at how inevitable it all seemed. A life spent in the depths of his research may have been a happy dream, but he had told himself before he became the new Count Reglay that it was not an unattainable one. Because he was willing to hold on to that small happiness, he had to make sure that he kept his noble house unblemished; therefore, he could not fight this. He would have to play this game, choose a wife, sire an heir--this was fate as it had been dictated to him.
But he was also a mage, a researcher of magic. He had learned long ago how even the tiniest detail could derail an entire magical formula, and life was nothing if not full of tiny details. That he was to choose a woman to be Countess Reglay on the merit of her skills at the harp, or how she spun and weaved along stone floors seemed altogether lacking. He felt resentful towards his ancestors as well as the whole of Etruria's highborn society for believing that this was the right way to choose someone to whom he would bind himself with holy vows for the rest of his life.
The rest of his life. He was sixteen.
Gradually, he released the breath he hadn't even been aware he'd been holding. He decided to be optimistic and think of how nice it would be if he could find someone agreeable to him. Some light conversation, a smile or two--those things would be his success. All he had was correspondence with his old professors at the academy with which he used to belong, issuing orders to his steward, and a meeting or two with other nobles. Too much of his time was spent trying to learn what it meant to be Count Reglay to allow him to have friends--not that he had so many friends to begin with.
"I understand. Please have a list ready by the end of the week for me to review." He glanced at his steward, whom he sensed always knew he was going to capitulate so easily, and found that he couldn't resent the man; he was just doing his job, protecting the interests of House Reglay. "Thank you for your guidance."
The steward bowed. "You needn't thank me, milord. I am pleased to do what little I can for the sake of your noble house." But despite the stiff words, Pent felt that he had the older man's approval.
He supposed that would have to do.
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A week, perhaps, was not enough. Or it had been too much time--Pent was uncertain.
Before Pent was not only the steward, but two clerks who had been necessary in extensively researching the familial backgrounds of each of the ladies who were being considered for an invitation. Once the list had been fifty women great, all highborn ladies of Etruria; now, he had been told only nineteen remained. Pent still felt that such a number was far too numerous, but when he perused the list the family names jumped out at him and he saw the predicament therein. Daughters of dukes, counts, viscounts and even the odd baron or two were all listed--the crème de la crème of Etrurian society, as it would be said in the old language.
And then he reached a twentieth name on the list, only a family name, which had been crossed out. "What is this? 'Émile'?" The three gave him strange looks, though one of the clerks, he noted, was starting to redden somewhat. "It is one of the very oldest names, if I recall correctly, when all things Etrurian was called Etruscan, but I have not heard this name connected to anyone in society."
The steward of the castle was shaking his head before Pent finished his quiet rumination. "Begging your forgiveness, milord, but you are correct. That name is nothing to proper society and should not have even been placed on the same page as so many esteemed ladies of the court." He glared at the clerk to his left, whose face was deepening in color--the shade of humiliation, Pent noted with some discontent. Obviously the clerk would have something different to say, if that discoloration meant anything.
"Were you the one who placed this name for consideration?" Pent asked, keeping his tone light. The clerk was in his early twenties, and the youngest of the three that faced Pent; perhaps it was because of his youth that Pent felt inclined to listen to him. He himself knew how frustrating it could be to have his ideas brushed aside because of his age, never mind that he had been published in scholarly notes since he was fourteen.
The clerk lowered his head, auburn hair not much of a difference in color from his red face. "Forgive me for my error, milord."
"But if you placed this name on the list, then you must not have felt it was an error at first," Pent suggested. "I would like to hear your reasoning for this."
"Yes, milord." The clerk lifted his head, though his eyes would not meet Pent's. "The father's name is of a minor noble status, although there are many who would say that the gentry are unworthy of such consideration, but the mother's name is..." He seemed to pause here, as if noticing for the first time all the attention that was focused on him. "House Reglay is Etruria's greatest house, that is true, but the mother is connected to a higher title than your own, milord."
Pent leaned in, interested. "The mother is a duchess?"
"She--she's the only child of Duke Mersey, the retired great general...milord."
While the other clerk looked surprised, the steward seemed to be ascending to a state of shock that Pent had only touched a week ago. "Lady C-Catherine, Princess Hellene's most favorite lady-in-waiting...the king's cousin by marriage..."
"Well," Pent said, his tone a touch dry, "certainly her daughter is noble enough, I would think."
"But milord, I must beg you to reconsider!" the steward burst out with, his distinctive cool and remarkable dry wit hastily discarded in some corner of the room. "Lady Catherine dared to disregard the duke's wishes and broke her betrothal promise, all to marry a man who could be considered as barely being better than baseborn. She is a pariah of the court! Only through her father's remarkable patience is she still considered nobility. If you were to have her daughter appear for your consideration, you would insult all of Etruria!"
Pent was not completely cold to this plea, whatever his birth affinity would have others think about his reserved personality. He understood his servant's appeal as the sum total of the steward's devotion to House Reglay. More than anything, the steward wanted to protect the house he served, and Pent understood that. He truly did.
That being said, he also had a vested interest in choosing a wife best for him, and so what his steward called a 'scandal' merely sounded to him like an intriguing story.
"I understand your concern," Pent started slowly, "but if there is an eligible daughter from such a union, she must be quite interesting. Also, I find that Saint Elimine had some words to say regarding situations such as these... 'Let all those who wish to come find shelter under my roof,' I believe. High society may be exclusive, but I find no need to be the same. Please send Lady Émile an invitation along with the rest." His voice was firm, brooking no argument.
"Yes, milord," the steward said, sounding defeated. "As you will."
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Louise knew there was something out of sorts brewing inside the house when her own mother's personal maid, a generally sanguine and sweet-tempered woman called Lisette, was waiting for her as she finished her archery practice. As Louise had not expected anyone else out in the little range constructed for her when she was but a child, the sight of the lady's maid gave her quite a fright before she regained the presence of mind to approach the older woman. "Lisette, is something wrong?" she asked, one hand fearfully clutching her bow as the other wrinkled the bottom hem of her loose blouse.
Giving a short bow as greeting, Lisette seemed to wear an expression of concern when Louise was able to study the maid's face. "I wouldn't say something is wrong, exactly. Your lady mother wishes to speak with you."
"Oh," was a subdued Louise's first response. She was certain that any meeting to occur between herself and her mother would doubtlessly involve her studies in the finer arts; it was easier for her to hit an apple at a hundred paces than to play Moiraine's 'A Distant Dream' on the violin, the instrument in which she excelled--if one could call excelling the ability to simulate sounds that approached what the instrument was capable of producing. Although depression had overtaken her, Louise could not help but wonder why her mother had sent Lisette when either of the regular maids would have done. That action revealed something about the upcoming conversation that seemed rather more unusual than a normal lecture. "But surely I will need to clean up for dinner," she insisted.
Lisette nodded. "Yes, Celia is waiting. Your father has already arrived and dinner is to be served shortly."
"What? But it's not--" Cutting herself off, Louise glanced at the position of the sun. As it often was in the late spring days in Alloway County, the skies were sparsely dotted with cotton-like clouds as the sun serenely drifted towards the west. "We'd only just had afternoon tea, Mother and I..." She whirled around in a flurry of golden locks and unsuppressed confusion. "What exactly is going on?"
"It will out in time," Lisette told her, tucking some of her loose hair behind her ears. Louise calmed at the touch but slightly, mind still working away with worry as she was wont to do at times. "Come," the maid said in a firmer tone, "you must get ready." And so Louise allowed herself to be led into the house, stood by in a pretense of complacency as her own dear maid Celia dressed her in one of the simple dresses she liked to wear in the house, and then was led by Celia to the sunny dining room, where her mother and father were already seated. Her parents had been conversing in low tones, but at her arrival their words were immediately replaced with smiles stiffer than a strung bow. Since they were normally altogether too casual, Louise's fears were heightened substantially.
Something is wrong, she believed. Too wrong.
Remembering her former governess' words, Louise held in her fear and merely took her seat as she would any other day. They sat at one end of the long mahogany table, her father at its head, her mother to his right and herself to his left, each of them quiet as bowls of creamed vegetable soup were laid out in front of them. Louise loved this dish, as it took full advantage of the rich bounties the land had to offer, but the tension humming between her family made a casualty of her appetite. As she struggled to finish her meal, lest their cook Ellie be disappointed, her father cleared his throat. "How did your archery practice go today, Louise?"
"I-it went very well, Father," she replied. "It's very instructive to practice by myself. I...I find that I like the challenge."
He smiled at her, a normal smile that caused her to lower her defenses. "Good, good. Perhaps you should enter the Festival d'Armements our good count is holding this autumn. I know you didn't feel ready enough last year, but Lionel has been praising your skills lately."
The thought of her dour archery instructor espousing any sort of praise regarding her skills nearly had Louise on the floor, belly full of laughter. "That can't be true!" she insisted.
"It certainly is!" he declared, one hand on his heart, the other towards the ceiling--a gesture used to reference God in common affairs. "Every time we talk his eyes light up and he describes how you've easily picked up this and that. All I want to see is my little daffodil of a daughter trounce all those arrogant hunters and knights--haha! Perhaps yet I'll see an archery general worth boasting about!"
"Father!" she exclaimed over his laughter. "As if the king is so desperate to choose me as even a squire!"
"Maybe so, but a count is interested in perhaps choosing you as his wife."
Louise stared across the table at her mother, shocked beyond compare at such words. "What?" she all but mouthed, uncomprehending. Her mother nodded once, such economy suited far more to a country nobleman's wife than to the mother of a very stunned child.
"Catherine, I thought we were going to introduce the topic to her slowly," her father said, his tone tinged with disapproval.
"This was a little too slow for me." Her mother glanced in her direction, eyes the color of lavender blooms affixed to her own, before a measure of shame flickered within them. "Though I suppose I could be kinder. Louise, are you feeling all right? Would you like some water?"
"I...I am fine, Mother," Louise said, lowering her eyes when it seemed that her mother would not do so first. "Truly. I am just...a little surprised."
"That would make two of us," she heard her father grumble. Waving the day's kitchen maid over from her post, next to the door which led to the kitchen proper, her father indicated that he wished for the meal to be taken away; except for after church, their evening repasts tended to be small affairs, owing to the fact that it would be disastrous for their situation if they had meat on a whim. Their region was known for delicious baked goods and cream-based dishes, not the waste that was the entitlement of the true nobility--or so she was often told by her father.
Do counts eat meat whenever they like? she wondered.
"It really isn't all that surprising," her mother said, waving away their concerns with one well-manicured hand. "Do you know Reglay County? It's the province just north of the capital. The new Count Reglay has ascended to the title, and as he's the last of the family he needs to take a wife."
Louise felt a little light-headed. "But Mother, why would he choose me? I mean..."
"I do have my connections, Louise. And I don't mean to imply that you've been chosen just yet. It'd be too simple if that were so." Her mother was smiling at her in a decidedly odd way, which Louise took to mean that something bizarre was going to be said in the next few moments. "Rather, you've been picked to display a talent to the count, along with a number of other blue-blooded, well-heeled young ladies, and if he should be smitten by your performance you'll have won yourself a husband."
Though there were no words Louise could find to accurately describe her feelings on the matter, her father seemed to have a mind full of them as he turned to his wife with a scowl wrinkling whatever skin that wasn't hidden by his beard. "What is this supposed to be, some sort of bloody farce? Does the good count not get enough entertainment that he has to make do with my daughter?"
"Technically it won't be just Louise, dearest."
"Th-that's--!" Sputtering in righteous rage, her father was as angry as Louise had ever seen him--though he was relatively even-tempered, she had the feeling that between his disgust with the practices of the nobility, the idea that she would be involved in such antics, and her mother's seemingly complicit agreement with said antics, his growing anger would have fuel for quite some time. "Catherine, this is ridiculous!"
Her mother crossed her arms. "I never said it wasn't."
"Don't tell me that when you obviously agree--"
"Oh?" The look her mother was sending her father was as withering and desolate as she imagined an Ilian winter to be. "Strange, that. I certainly don't recall saying such a thing."
There was an odd look on her father's face before he crossed his own arms; now, Louise saw, her parents resembled greatly two squabbling children after they had been thoroughly lectured, both of them fully entrenched in the idea that pouting would work wonders for the overall situation. This, Louise believed, was the eventual route all arguments took, and therefore she had resolved some years earlier never to get into an argument. Better to smile than to pout, and not just for the sake of beauty.
"Fine," her father said after a moment to compose himself, "what do you think?"
Her mother seemed to be considering how best to word her thoughts. "I think it is an opportunity," she said after a moment. "It is nearing the time when marriage should be paramount in all our minds, and an invitation such as this may make it easier for us. However..." Her mother gave her a sympathetic smile. "This will impact your future most of all. What would you like to do?"
Glancing from her mother to her father, then back again, Louise could see how much her beloved parents cared for her as they waited for her answer. Although her father was concerned and, indeed, appeared deeply conflicted by the whole situation, the small smile on his bearded face gave her comfort that, no matter her decision and its outcome, he would stand by her and believe she had done the best she could. And, though her mother's face was mostly inscrutable, her bright eyes, of the very same color that Louise herself had inherited, were full of the kindness that her mother displayed to her and no other. Whatever she chose, Louise knew that her parents would never complain that she had made a poor decision.
However, Louise herself did not know what was the right path for her, and so she decided to defer the decision for a bit and instead asked, "What sort of man is Count Reglay?"
"Hm. I had the opportunity to meet him at his father's funeral several months ago. Father had asked me to be his representative, since his health is always poor in the winter." The last line was directed towards Louise's father, who nodded. Louise also remembered that time as well; her mother had left at the end of the month of light, Louise's birth month, amid the tail end of her birthday celebrations, and came back with yet another gift: a substantial amount of white silk to be made into a dress for Louise, though nothing had come of it since. "Well," her mother continued, "the lordling Pent--that is his name--prepared a eulogy, though but a brief one. Those are best when it comes to funerals, you understand. Hmm, he's rather...pretty, I suppose."
"Pretty," her father repeated with an arch of an eyebrow.
"Pretty," her mother repeated firmly. "He took after his mother in looks, though at least he doesn't seem to be anywhere nearly as fawn-like as Sylphine was. Light bluish hair down to here--" she held her hand at mid-level of her neck, "--and the loveliest gray eyes that reflect blue or purple with the light. He does seem to have a masculine cast to his face, but you know, he is only a young man, sixteen if I recall correctly. He seemed underfed, but I suppose that is the right of those in mourning. His father was his only family, and if I know anything about the elite families, I'll guess the lordling has lived like an orphan for years now."
"Isn't that preferable among that sort?" her father asked. "Other than yourself and your father and our good count of this region, I've never known the bonds of family to twine around nobility when it does them no good to let themselves be bound. And even your own father--"
"Yes, but I could never blame him for it. I was not an easy child, you know this." There were lines on her dear mother's brow, lines that signified some sort of inner frustration. "As I was saying, the lordling is pretty, true, but he was rather distant. I've heard things about his personality since then. Dear Nella sent me a letter last month detailing a dinner she and her husband had been invited to at Reglay Castle. Apparently he is kind enough, and no one can complain about his manners or ability, but he is quiet to the point of melancholy and has no real spark to him."
"He sounds lonely."
Louise hadn't realized she had spoken until the words were already out of her mouth. Her parents looked at each other before turning their full attention to her, as if they expected she had more to say. But she didn't, not really; her statement was merely the feeling pressing against her chest given sound and meaning--Count Reglay sounded lonely. Even if her mother had downplayed the relationship between himself and his father, Louise felt that he still must be affected by his loss. If she had lost one of her parents she knew she would be inconsolable, as they were a very close family; so, she believed, to lose a parent, no matter if they were but a distant figure on the periphery of one's vision, would weigh upon him. And, as he had no other family with which to confide, her vision of the count became clear as crystal.
She was often called sensitive by all who knew her, and after years of denial she realized it was true: she felt very sad for him, a man whom she only knew by hearsay.
That, perhaps, made her decision clear.
"May I please be excused?" she asked, her head lowered just so to avoid her parents' stares.
"If you like," her father said, a strange note to his tone. "But wouldn't you like some dessert, at least? I think Ellie was waiting for an opening before she sent out some berries and cream."
"Yes, of course," her mother added. "It would be a refreshing end to all this heavy conversation, I would think."
Louise stood, new resolve strumming through her slight form, the very same feeling she had with her bow in her hands and a target in front of her. "I thank you, but I need to practice the violin. Count Reglay requires skill in the fine arts, and I have yet to acquire it."
Her mother had a strange look on her face--and she dared not discover what sort of expression her father wore! "Well then," her mother said with a distinctly cool tone to her voice, "you have two weeks to prepare before the date of the meeting. Tomorrow I'll have Lisette help Celia measure you for a new dress." Patting her dark chestnut hair, held in place in an intricate twist and lifted to expose her nape, her mother gazed at Louise with a stare designed to give no comfort to those who beheld it. "Are you ready, Louise?"
"I am," Louise responded with all the firmness she could muster.
I must be.
-end to part 1-