Bouquet
(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo
-0-
Flowers in Disarray: Pride of China, Champignon, Foxglove, Yellow Balsam, Cabbage, American Linden, Bee Ophrys
(there is dissension here; between one suspicious of any insincerity and another impatient for profit, they wonder if matrimony is an error...)
Gérald Émile was not happy.
He did not like being away from his home, and liked being away from Alloway even less. He did not like traveling long distances, much less traveling for days within that moving coffin that his wife called a carriage. He especially did not like the diminishing quality of food served by the inns along the way, nor the narrow beds and their straw-stuffed mattresses. And from what he had seen of the outskirts of Reglay, he was not impressed with either the colossal mismanagement of resources or the discomfort of the people. Was he really going to let his daughter marry the perpetuator of such callous arrangements?
He thought not.
What he especially hated at the moment was the finery his wife had snuck into his valise before they had left home and, just before going next door to help Louise, 'suggested'--hah, as if Catherine ever only suggested anything--that he wear it for their meeting today with Reglay's young count. He was certain he did not own anything that purple, and so he put it aside and wore his usual fare: a high-necked, long-sleeved dark gray shirt under an open-collar, russet-brown tunic with absolutely no trim, and khaki-colored pants tucked neatly into dark brown boots. It was the nondescript clothing of good, hard-working men who strove to make an honest living each and every day, and Saint Elimine save him, but he would be damned before he dressed up like a bloody eggplant for some lordling, even if that boy had the good sense to pick his daughter. Not that it meant the boy could just have her...
Gérald let go of the breath he hadn't been aware he was holding and casually tossed the offensive outfit back into his luggage before opening the only window in the small room. It was as sunny and dry a summer morning as any, and despite all the problems he had with their lodgings it had a fine view of the city that clung to Castle Reglay like a child to her mother; things were much nicer here than out in the country proper, and it was that knowledge that deeply disturbed him. Alloway was all wide plains and winding rivers, a paradise for anyone willing to work to cultivate the land, but Reglay had thick forests and tiny gardens in its neglected villages; moreover, it was missing the network of roads that would make living in those far-flung towns tolerable. It worried him, because it was his modest belief that a lord that could not ably watch over his people was not one who would care well for his family.
Blessed saint above, how that worried him.
The click of the door opening behind him did not stir him from his position, though the sharp intake of breath right after was so dramatic that he rolled his eyes in automatic response. "I don't know why I would think this," his wife's voice reached him, her annoyance like a rising song, "but I could have sworn that I had left a different outfit out for you, dearest."
"I don't recognize it, therefore it can't be mine," he said, forearms on the windowsill, glancing over his shoulder at his beautifully glowering wife. She narrowed her eyes.
"Oh, I didn't realize I had to introduce the two of you!" Bringing a hand up to her mouth in feigned shock, she continued, "Perhaps I should've arranged it over tea? Do you need just a casual acquaintance with it before you'll wear it, or should I send the two of you off to Aquleia for a weekend together?"
Sometimes in the course of their nearly sixteen-year marriage he didn't know whether he should thank Saint Elimine for bringing them together despite all odds, or to wonder what he had done to be cursed in such a way--the latter usually when Catherine stopped holding back her acerbic wit and started lashing at him with a tongue full of barbs. He wanted to laugh at the expression of indignation on her face, but then she would probably flay him alive and how could he let that happen mere days after he had just made the biggest business decision in his life? "Catherine," he said, his tone nearly benign, "it's just clothing. If that Lord Pent is so exacting on such a small thing, I hardly think he would do well with Louise."
"You don't think," she returned, and he was surprised by the sudden vehemence in her voice. "For God's sake, Gérald, we are having the prenuptial negotiations in less than an hour. Don't you understand what that means? Their impression of all of us is going to reflect in how they see Louise and the value they believe she will bring to House Reglay, so the least you could do is to not embarrass her and dress according to your rank!"
"So I'm an embarrassment now, am I?" Gérald said with his arms crossed in front of his chest, a cold note entering his voice that he couldn't hide, did not want to hide. For all their squabbling from their courtship until now, she had never once insinuated that their difference in class was anything else but pure nonsense.
She turned her head away from him, her hands clenched at her sides. "...That isn't what I meant and you know it," she said quietly. "But whoever will negotiate on behalf of the count will judge accordingly and we must be realistic. We are not in the best position to bargain well. They will ask much from us and if we want this marriage we will have to accept it."
"Why do we want this marriage? You saw those villages yesterday, Catherine. Why would I willingly want my daughter, our only child, to bind herself forever with a man who is guilty of widespread negligence at the very least?" But it was useless to demand answers from her, he already knew. The set line of her jaw attested to that much.
"At the very least, you could say, if it weren't a fact that he has only been Count Reglay for six months. Give him time to grow into the position. He...I truly believe he is a good match for Louise." Hand on her chest, Catherine was giving him a look that he was unused to and growing more uncomfortable with by the moment: a soft, pleading expression, beseeching him to understand.
He didn't, he really couldn't. Not yet.
"Is this another one of your instincts?" he asked wearily (as well as a little warily). Catherine smiled a little at this, her hand dropping from her chest to grasp the other.
"If you had only seen it, you would know," she said. "It was better than a fairy tale. Louise was so steady, even when that entire crowd of useless bints began laughing at her, and the lordling kept giving her the most gentle looks while the guards were clearing out the whole crowd afterward. It's no mere instinct."
"It's not that I don't believe you..." he started, before exhaling heavily in growing frustration. Of course he believed his wife--what would a man be if he couldn't trust his own wife? And he only had to remember how Louise had looked when she had returned from Reglay to know that it was not just pride at winning such a foolish contest that had made her eyes light up that way. It bothered him that he could not see what made this young man more than acceptable to his daughter and his wife, and after seeing the condition of the outskirts of Reglay he did not believe he could ever see it. He possessed his own instincts when it came to the character of others, and if it were not this Count Reglay's fault for such deplorable conditions, then whose was it? The past Count Reglay? The steward of House Reglay?
How could he entrust his precious daughter to a family he did not trust?
Soft hands cupped the sides of his face and Gérald started in surprise; he couldn't believe that she could move so quickly and so softly with such a heavy-looking dress, but there she was right in front of him, looking up at him with those luminous lavender eyes. There was a softness to them now, a different one from the desperation of before, that reminded him of when they were much younger and the love they held for each other seemed so much greater than the pressure the world exerted on them to separate. To that woman with those eyes, he had promised to stand beside her even if the whole world hated them, and it had and it had been worth it.
Would the world Louise was to enter going to hate her? If so, would that boy look into the eyes she had inherited from her mother and promise to stand by her anyway, or was he going to fall to the pressure of the high society of Etruria...the very same society her mother had escaped from?
How could he watch his kindhearted daughter enter such a world, knowing what awaited her there?
He reached up and held the back of his wife's hands, lowering his head until their foreheads touched. "I worry," he said, the honesty too much for anything more than a whisper.
"I know," Catherine whispered back. "I do too. But we raised her well, didn't we? We have to trust in that."
"I know." And he did, of a sort. Intellectually.
Was it enough?
-0-
Borenze, steward of House Reglay and all its holdings, knew something that his lord did not and would never know, the good saint willing. As a servant of the greatest of all the families of Etruria, he was well aware of the discretion necessary in maintaining the good name of the house. A wrong word to the wrong person could spell doom for the family, which meant even worse for all those who faithfully served the family and depended on their lord for all the necessities of life. Discretion was necessity.
Even the lord of the house had to be on a need-to-know basis if all of them, lord and servants, were to survive.
As he followed behind the new lord of House Reglay, indeed the only living member of the Martel line, Borenze kept to his policy and made sure no unnecessary words fell from his lips. It was understood between them that he would handle the prenuptial agreement; all his lord was required to do was to lend the affair the degree of legitimacy necessary for the proceedings to go smoothly. Also, it would help the master of the Émile family to understand his place, even if his daughter had been inexplicably chosen to become a count's wife. All that mattered, as far as Borenze was concerned, was that House Reglay was able to survive for another generation.
Glancing at his lord, he felt a deep sense of unease, a feeling that was becoming unpleasantly familiar. Perhaps it was because the young lord had often been away for his schooling, unlike the other heirs of noble families who were tutored at home and learned their responsibilities while being surrounded by their servants. Because of it, he felt that there was a divide between his lord's idealism and how things were actually run. Of course his lord was very young, perhaps the youngest in history to take up the responsibilities of his rank, and so there had to be a few allowances made for the quicksilver desires of youth. He was well prepared to make sure his lord did not stray from his path overly much. Yet, he worried.
It must be the Émile girl, he thought. The Émile name.
It was a thought he discarded as soon as it appeared. The girl was only a girl, nothing more. The name meant nothing; it was not a name of blood-born nobility. Rather, it was the parents, one whose family tree captured even royalty within its branches, the other potentially one of the richest men in all of Etruria if the news of the deal down in Alloway was correct, that truly bothered him. There was dormant power backing the Émile family, power that could tilt the negotiation in their favor--even though the name was wrong, even though the girl was far from being appropriate for his lord to marry. At that bridal competition two weeks ago he would have never suspected that his lord's instincts would prove to be right, that such a girl with such a tainted family history was a better choice than even the daughters of true nobility. Now he had to admit that this was probably the case.
Despite his many lingering doubts, Borenze knew that he would do everything in his power to make sure that his lord and the Émile girl married. They would marry and have a suitable heir or two, and the Émile family would be bound by familial ties and the prenuptial agreement to support House Reglay to the best of their ability.
That was because the truth was this: Reglay was in deep trouble.
"Is something wrong?"
A wave of nervousness swept over Borenze, but he forced it away and gave his lord his best blank expression. "No, milord. And yourself?"
"Hm." To his confusion, his lord smiled slightly. "I've been looking forward to today. I must confess that I've wanted to see the whole family together. They must be quite interesting, considering the stories I've gleaned about them."
"And you wanted to see the young Miss Émile, I would assume."
A flicker of unreadable emotion crossed his lord's face before a sort of boyish awkwardness appeared--since he carried himself well normally, it always surprised Borenze to realize that his lord was not even seventeen yet. "I...well, yes, it would be a pleasure to meet with Louise again...though it's only the second time," his lord managed before taking a deep breath. "Let's hurry on, shall we? We shouldn't keep them waiting."
"Of course not," Borenze said with sufficient dryness, and hurry on they did, though he wished his lord would take into consideration his much greater age and what that meant for a body. It would be fine. The whims of a lord were not such a bad thing to permit every now and then. So long as House Reglay remained firm, it was acceptable.
That was what the late Count Reglay had asked of Borenze during those final days, and a good servant carries out all his master's requests.
-0-
Sometimes, Gérald thought, his wife was just as inscrutable as God Himself.
There was nothing about the lordling that he found to be very impressive, save for the fact that the boy hardly blinked when Gérald offered his hand for a handshake, which was a tradition of expressing equality among the working classes--he wouldn't have faulted a noble for not knowing what the gesture was. (However, if the lordling had glared at his hand like Catherine's father once had, that would absolutely be grounds for a lowered opinion in Gérald's mind.) There was a faint smile on the lordling's face and a faint blush on Louise's after the two greeted each other, but Gérald was not disposed in seeing the first flutterings of love between the two like his wife was; he ignored his wife's elbow nudging him in the side at the scene, espied some papers in the hands of the Reglay steward, and concentrated on the matters to come.
The steward, a man who seemed to linger in his lordling's shadow, caught his eye before turning towards his master. "Milord, shall we begin the negotiations?"
In the very second of hesitance between the boy's recognition of his servant's voice and the parting of his lips to agree, Gérald heard his wife insinuate herself as neatly as she returned her novels to their proper places. "Oh my, is it already that time? Lord Pent, you'll have to forgive me if I have a request to make." She smiled up at the lordling. "If it wouldn't be a problem, of course."
"Not in the least," the boy replied, and he looked so sincere in his interest in Catherine's words that Gérald was forced to think a little better of him. "What can I do for you, Lady Catherine?"
That the lordling was familiar enough with his wife to use her given name surprised Gérald; however, it didn't compare to Catherine's next words. "Then, why don't you show Louise and I some of the castle while my husband and your steward hold whatever discussion is necessary? It's a superb morning for such things, and I've heard such lovely things about the Reglay gardens. Wouldn't you like that, Louise?"
Catherine, Gérald did not automatically say in a warning tone; whatever her aims were, he didn't like her pushing their daughter into the forefront of it. His feeling was vindicated for a moment, as Louise blinked and began to wring her fingers in rising panic, but then she seemed to regain her mental balance and smiled sweetly at the lordling. "I-I would, if Lord Pent would allow it."
The boy smiled. "Yes, of course, that's perfectly fine. It's probably best to take a walk now, before the heat sets in." He turned to the Reglay steward, who to Gérald looked as though he was trying very hard not to betray his feelings--were it not for his slowly reddening face, he might even have succeeded. "Borenze, I believe I can entrust this matter to you?"
"Yes, of course. I will not fail you, my lord."
"Right. I don't expect there to be much to negotiate over other than the usual." The lordling looked directly at Gérald, who merely stared back. "If you have any concerns, Monsieur Émile, my steward has the power to make corrections when necessary."
His accent was terrible, but Gérald preferred that title immensely to the one bestowed upon him by his friend, Count Alloway. He nodded in respect, and watched with some bemusement as the lordling joined Catherine and Louise. The awkwardness between the boy and Louise as the former seemed to remember with a jerk to offer his arm for the latter to take, only for Louise to either not notice or misinterpret the gesture until Catherine spoke up made Gérald, for the first time since the act, regret firing the governess who had been charged with Louise's education but only cowed his daughter into acting like every other noblewoman.
He hadn't wanted that. He wanted Louise to be confident and self-assured while still maintaining her gentle, cheerful nature, not become some haunted little thing more concerned with her weight and balls than her own spiritual and mental growth. Could she keep everything that made her his beloved daughter and still be a woman worthy of becoming the next Countess Reglay?
It angered and saddened him to think that the two concepts might be mutually exclusive.
He heard a small cough and refocused his attention upon the middle-aged shadow of the lordling; the steward's stern look in turn inspired within Gérald a tremble of irritation at the whole situation. "Well now," said the steward, "shall we begin?"
Gérald thought it was better not to say the truth and only nodded, following the steward inside the meeting room.
-0-
Borenze did not like this man, this farmer from Alloway who came to greet his lord in clothes suited for the fields, this lowborn man who dared offered his hand to shake as if he could be counted as equal to Count Reglay. Worse still was his impertinent wife, who whisked away Borenze's lord as if she were here on a pleasure trip--could she not see there were serious matters at hand? And even worse than that was the fact that he knew his lord was being played the fool, the tactics of the two serving to ingratiate and then lead him off, separating him from the truly important matter.
But it would be all right. Count Reglay was yet a boy, one who had spent his formative years in schooling that had nothing to do with his true responsibilities--the result of his father's kindness. Borenze knew better; he could shield his lord from the consequences of such childish mistakes.
What truly mattered was House Reglay, and Borenze would protect it and all its interests from even the head of the house himself.
At first, the other man was, if not completely amenable to the contract Borenze had prepared, appreciative of the work that had gone into it. There were all the usual clauses of what the girl needed to demonstrate knowledge in before she would be acceptable as a wife, some rather more stringent due to the quality of the house she would be marrying into. It was his personal opinion that House Reglay should be entrusted with the girl's education in these matters, but his lord seemed hesitant because it would entail an earlier marriage in order for House Reglay to assume guardianship for her. Either way, the man who sat across the table from Borenze only frowned as he spoke of the possible options to make sure the young lady would be deemed adequate--whether 'Sir' Émile disliked what was said or did not even comprehend them would hardly matter in the end.
It was when the dowry was brought up that Émile made an objection, swearing in the old Etruscan language and punctuating his displeasure with a hearty, "Non! Absolument pas!"
Borenze frowned. "We only speak the common tongue here."
"Then, let me translate," Émile said, his tone dark with disdain. "No, absolutely not! How dare you presume to take me as a fool! Twenty-five thousand per year until either ten years has passed or a proper heir is born? You think your lord is worth that much? The Church tithes a much more reasonable amount in service of our Lord above, and you dare to charge more than His agents?"
The feeling of wanting to hold his head in his hands lingered as Borenze struggled for an answer that would not immediately offend that man; he'd heard that many of the people who claimed Etruscan heritage in the south and southwest of Etruria were of the Lighter Elimineans, a more strongly religious denomination than that of the main branch in central Etruria, but he hadn't known that this man--this family--would be a part of it. After all, that would mean that he had willingly broken one of the most well-known tenets by marrying a woman who had been formally engaged to another. Minor adultery, if such a crime could be considered minor--and the knight general's own betrothed, at that.
Borenze hated hypocrites.
"Perhaps you do not understand what marriage is to blood-born nobility." Borenze cleared his throat. "Princess Hellene commanded a one-hundred-thousand gold dowry when she married the king of Bern, which decreased to fifty-thousand once she bore an heir. One of her ladies-in-waiting, Duchess Valsey, had a fifty-thousand gold dowry when she married Mage General Adain. Another one, Lady Trent, held a sixty-thousand one until her engagement was dissolved," Borenze paused, staring straight at the other man. "But I believe you know all about that one."
Émile did not look contrite, even when faced with his sin. He only stared back, pride all but evident in his posture and the cast of his face. It angered Borenze to see this man believe that he was untouchable, even though by his own moral law he was a sinner.
This world was about being true to the duties one accepted in his life. That was what Borenze believed. To take up the duty of religion and decide to disregard its laws was no different from serving a noble house and breaking its rules for a single lord out of the generations before him. In both cases, the erosion of the rules meant the crumbling of the foundation.
Unforgivable. Absolutely unforgivable.
"Your daughter was chosen to marry into the greatest of Etruria's houses. It is a privilege and an honor that is bestowed to few. The money is a pittance in many ways."
"Twenty-five thousand is a pittance?" Émile said, disgust plain on his face. Borenze merely removed one of the papers in his files and pushed it across the table. Looking down, the other man's face darkened once he realized what it was: the legal contract filed by Count Alloway to the royal court in Aquleia, denoting that one Gérald Émile now owned roughly twenty-five percent of various subsidies and legalized farmland in Alloway County through a combination of inheritance, partnerships, and land purchases. While he was not the wealthiest man in the country, he very well could be one of them.
In other words, checkmate. Not just for this argument, but for Reglay itself.
Émile wet his lips, pursed them, his eyes hard and staring at some random point off to the side. Borenze smiled inwardly, twenty years younger in his victory.
"I won't marry her to Count Reglay."
The smile dropped. "What?" Borenze wheezed, suddenly an old man again. "What did you just say?"
"I won't." Émile looked him in the eye. "You don't give a damn about my daughter. All you want is the money. I refuse."
This man, this lowborn farmer...that he would do this was completely beyond anything Borenze could ever have expected. He could not think; all he could do was swallow with a dry throat and wonder what had just happened. "This...do you realize what you are saying? What you are doing?"
"Yes. I'm protecting my daughter from this," Émile said, waving one arm to indicate the room. "Louise won't want for a husband in Alloway. Even if we were poor she wouldn't, so why would we have to beg at the front door of House Reglay to do so now? For a noble name? Dignity enriches the blood of all those who follow Saint Elimine, so what does she need your Lord Pent for?"
Borenze gave him an appraising look. Despite the other man's words, he wasn't moving to leave. "You want something," he stated. "What is it?"
"Ten thousand for the dowry per year until an heir is born or until after the first ten years. My wife was a noblewoman, as you noted; she will educate Louise to your exacting standards. Speaking of which, I noticed the clause that stated that the degree of education necessary would entail my daughter's marriage in the autumn and full guardianship passes onto her husband." Émile glared at Borenze. "She won't be married a day before sixteen, and that is final. She isn't marrying a king but a count, and they can have a proper courtship like any other noble."
Closing his eyes, Borenze wondered if he was getting too old for this job. His lord would probably find Émile's demands to be reasonable, but House Reglay couldn't. He wasn't sure if it could go on without the dowry payments for another two years, not with the last Count Reglay's legacy forever hanging over their head.
A father's love was truly a tragic thing.
-end-
It's been almost a year since I last updated this...I knew it would be a while, but I didn't think it would be that long! I'm sorry, moreso because there will be another wait until mid-June at best before I can work on these stories again. And to top it all off, there's more plotty stuff than Pent/Louise fluff! I hope you won't mind--if I must write romance, then it should be one with a plot!
-On 'Sir' Émile: His title is 'esquire.' While it should be properly written after the name (ex. Gérald Émile, Esq.), here in Elibe it's more of an upgraded squire title given to people who aren't properly in the military and confers minor noble stature. In the real world, it's an English title used to denote high gentry as opposed to low gentry, who used 'gentleman' instead.
-On dowries: They did go that high, and some were on an annual basis. There's a chapter in the (somewhat) nonfiction book Sex with the Queen which talks about one such girl with an one-hundred-thousand dowry per year, which made it very difficult for her to leave when it was obvious to everyone that the marriage was never going to work.
-On using French: Sorry, but I like it. I'll keep it to a minimum, and most of it will be words that have already crossed into English.
Please remember that this series is not written on a schedule, so if you like it and want to read more you should put it on story alert and think of each short story as a nice surprise to your day. Thank you for reading!