Heya, guys~ I know I should be working on Breaking the Rules (what's with me and three word titles?), but I ALREADY got a review and a few faves! Thanks, watson8910 and Mew Sunsetstar!
The theme song for this story is 'Beautiful Times' by Owl City.
I've been on a short hiatus on my deviantart account, so if you don't see any character designs for this story for a while, don't be surprised. I recently got a new laptop, so I haven't transferred all my files yet (that's my lame excuse for not updating BtR, lol). I swear, I could have a field day with five laptops and some plot bunnies.
In this chapter, Emmaline and others will be speaking a bit of Scottish Gaelic, so the italicized type is in Gaelic, with the translations in parentheses. I blame Google translate for any typos, but should anyone who speaks Gaelic come across this story, feel free to correct me. The same with their accents- Emmy grew up in two different cultures, so when she's speaking English, she doesn't really use any Scottish phrases, and her accent is a slight mix between Scottish and English, causing the 'you's instead of 'ye's and stuff. If you have any advice on her accent, message me!
'The sparks soaring
down through the pouring rain
and restoring life to the life house
A slow motion wave on the ocean
stirs my emotion up like a raincloud
when did the sky turn black?
And when will the light come back?'
We took the carriage as far as it would go across the countryside, before leaving it with the man Zach had apparently rented it from. Then, we took a short quarter-mile walk through a bustling and rather large town, and ended up at the port, where one of Uncle's sailboats, which was manned with a small crew of ten, appropriate for a boat that small, was docked.
"It's just us, this time," Zach commented, no doubt remembering the times when Uncle and his rich friends would show up here and randomly whisk me away to some party on the mainland. We walked down the length of the dock, and Zach boarded first, helping me in after. We crossed the busy deck, weaving through the fast-paced and lively sailors, and stepped down into the cabin. There, I placed my bag on a coat hook near the entrance and sat across from Zack in an armchair. Below deck, there was a comfortable sitting room, with an overall nautical theme and white furniture. Don't be mistaken, when I describe it as a sitting room, I don't mean that it looks just like an indoor setup- it didn't have lamps other than the simple, carbon-electric ones attached to the wall- rather, it had some chairs and a small table placed in it for convenience.
"How long's th' ride gonna be thes time?" I asked, mostly because Uncle would often take different routes through the Minch just to mess with my mind.
Zach shrugged, and said, in a vague manner, "Enough time to take a nap and read a novel- maybe seven hours, eight?" I groaned in response.
"I hope ya brooght cards, or I'm gonna kill somebody afair we gie aff thes blasted boat!" I groaned, probably scaring the living daylights out of any sailors within hearing distance. I dreaded having to put on a show of being a lady when we would finally arrive in England.
"Ugh ... áit a bhfuil mé?(Ugh, where am I?)," I muttered, woken by the rocking of the carriage that I had somehow been transferred to while I was sleeping. I looked around, and saw the familiar green velvet cushions and sepia paneling of my favorite coach. I peeked out the front window, and saw the dark blue uniform of the driver.
Beside me, Zach ruffled my hair, and made sure to inform me, "Now, don't use your Gaelic in London, you're already going to be gossiped about with that accent." The cart rounded a bend, and tilted a bit, so I couldn't cross my arms. Instead, I had to brace one hand on the door and one on the wall in front of me. I still managed to glare at him, though.
"Ah, yer soundin' mair feminine by th' day, Zach," I ground out. He rolled his eyes at me, and leaned back into his seat, crossing his legs.
"Oh, very funny Lady Emmaline," he said, sarcasm dripping from his lips. I looked out the window, and saw the tightly-packed townhouses of London. Uncle Dan's manor (which is mine now, I guess) was just outside the East end of the city, and according to the street signs, about ten minutes away. How long had I been asleep? I only fell asleep about four hours into the boat ride, and it was now late evening.
"It's Emmy, ur Em, tae you Zachary," I informed him, hoping he would go back to addressing me as a friend instead of an employer. He was still pretty young, only eighteen, and had just become Uncle's butler last year. When he started working at the manor, he was a street urchin and Uncle had taken him in as a stable boy. He treated the younger Zach as a son, and made sure we were good friends whenever I visited, so I would have someone my age to talk to.
Zach shook his head at me, and with a more serious tone this time, told me, "Well, not in public, it's not."
I looked over at him, unsure if he knew me at all. I voiced my opinion quietly; surprised he even bothered saying that. "Ní féidir liom cúram, Zach. Ní féidir liom cúram cad a cheapann sin snobs de dom. (I don't care, Zach. I don't care what those snobs think of me.)" Zach sighed, and mustered up a grin at my choice of language. Obviously, as an Englishman, he forgot every attempt I ever made at teaching him my first language. I learned his stupid language, but I had the decency to remember it! Well, mostly because my school taught it, because Scotland was a bilingual country.
"You always did use more Gaelic when you were tired," he said, this time his voice tinged with amusement.
I huffed at him, and responded, "Shut up, you soond like an auld man." I looked back out the window, and was surprised to see us turn onto the winding driveway coiling towards the center of the estate. I made a small noise of surprise, and was about to say something when-
"Oh, well. Look, we're here!" Zach exclaimed, seeming just as surprised as I was. "That was faster than expected."
"Yes. Th' manur looks different," I stated as we breached a rise and came into view of the large and beautiful purple-tinted grey manor. Zach looked over at me, and hesitated to say something.
"We did a few things (Daniel and I) to have it more suited for your tastes before he passed away," he said, a slight smile pulling at his lips. After all, he was my friend before my servant. And the manor did look different- if only slightly. The glass in the windows were tinted yellow, based off of some windows in Uncle's study that I had always loved, and there was paneling lining the walls below the roof, which was off-white with dark framing and patterns weaving throughout it.
"It's lovely, thenk you," I said grate fully, but muttered under my breath, "Holc dúr, ag smaoineamh i gcónaí de dom. Diabhal, chailleann mé é. (Stupid sap, always thinking of me. Damn, I miss him.)" To which Zach gave me a look I couldn't quite decipher. The buggy pulled up in front of the mansion, where the lane grew wider to accommodate guests' carriages. The driver came around to my door and pulled it open, and held out his hand to help me down, which I denied. I jumped out of the cart, and walked a few feet away from it, let the cool nighttime air soak into my skin, and stretched.
Behind me, I heard Zach tell the driver, "We best be off. Take it to the stables and give the horses a good brushing." I turned to go to the horses, but as soon as I faced Zach, he tossed my satchel at me, which, of course, bounced off of me. Before I went to retrieve it, I shot him a dirty look. After he sent the driver off, we walked along the narrow walkway that led to the steps, that, in turn, led to the doors. Zach opened one for me, and we quietly entered the dark grand hall.
"Whaur are th' other workers?" I asked. Zach peered around the room, and answered-
"Hm. Probably done with their duties by now, and preparing for bed." I nodded in understanding, and made my way towards the large and magnificent staircase that arched towards the second floor, where most of the bedrooms were.
I looked over my shoulder, and saw Zach walking swiftly to catch up with me. "Will I be stayin' in my room?" I questioned. He nodded in confirmation.
"Yes. The master suite is still being redecorated, and none of your personal belongings have been moved yet. We can probably have you in there by tomorrow night, best case scenario." I looked towards the top of the stairs, and thought for a moment.
"Okay. You can go aheid tae yer room, I can make it myself," I ordered as he tried to follow me up the steps. He hmphed at me, and turned around, but I made sure to tell him, "Good night," before I practically ran to my room.
My room was cozy and welcoming, if less so than my bedroom back in Scotland. It was painted with a greyish blue-green, with dark wood framing and black metal emullions (with newly-yellowed glass between them). I had a queen-sized bed with dark blue translucent curtains tied up and woven around the oak frames. There were paintings depicting old Greek legends and majestic landscapes, and a floor to ceiling, wall to wall, closet full of the latest styles, French and English, some even Scottish (because, hey- if you're gonna have a rich Uncle, he's gonna have the best stylists for his little girl). Of course, there were my paints, still set out on my huge desk, and my chessboard, with a pile of the figurines scattered all over from the last game on top.
When I entered the room, though, my nap was catching up with me again, so I didn't even bother to turn on any lights or pull back my duvet. I just crashed on top of my quilt (which had an image of a pack of wolves woven into it), and fell asleep immediately.
When I woke up- correction, when my maid woke me up, even before the sun rose, I was clutching my black-clothed pillow, with a stale taste in my mouth, and a puddle of drool beside me. The maid (her name was Anne, I believe, but I wasn't sure.) opened the curtains surrounding my bed, that someone must have released last night, letting the daylight stream in. She moved around the room while I blinked blearily, turning on lamps and picking garments from the expansive wardrobe. She was humming a vaguely familiar tune, one that I couldn't quite place until she began singing softly.
"Singing... Blow away the morning dew- Dew and the dew- Blow away the morning dew," she sang, her quiet, rough morning-voice sounding unpracticed and cracking in places, but still lovely in the way that she dreamily remembered the lyrics that my Aunt Oliver used to sing. Oh, no, I'm throwing another person at you- Aunt Ollie is the youngest sibling on my dad's side, and would often visit the manor. She lived on the Scottish mainland, and was always bright and cheerful. She loved to sing. She timed her visits so that I was always there, and would hop energetically out of her bright yellow carriage, singing 'Blow Away the Morning Dew,' and gushing about how I was growing up so fast, just like her daughter. My cousin, Abigail, and I had always been told about each other, to the point of taunting, but Ollie and Dan kept us apart so we could 'develop into independent leaders with unique personalities, that could one day come together and combine their personal ideals to better the communities they influenced,' which sounded ridiculous. So, we were kept apart, only to have a planned reunion.
"Okay, okay- ya got me, I'm up," I mumbled, my words sounding slurred and not at all believable.
The maid- Anne?-laughed cheerfully, and told me, "Well, Emma, breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes, tea is waiting in the sitting room, and after that a bath will be drawn- then, there'll be a meeting with the high-ranking staff." I groaned at the prospect of a meeting (and at British tea, really- Didn't they have any coffee?), and rolled off the bed gracefully (no matter what Anne will tell you). I shooed her out of the room, and set off on the adventure of formal wear.
First, I grabbed a hairbrush off of my desk, and quickly rid the auburn stuff of knots, before fastening it into a tidy bun at the nape of my neck. With a sigh, I realized that I had left my reading glasses at home in the confusion, so I settled for the extra pair that I kept in my desk drawer that didn't adjust my vision quite right, and gave me a headache whenever I used them. I added new spectacles to my mental shopping list.
The first step was a stiff, tight bustle (a corseted bodice that branched off into a half-hoop skirt with padding on top to support the butt-emphasizing skirts that were the fashion), followed by a button-down blouse, which was a loose, cotton material and a very pretty off white color. After that, I put on the skirt that Anne had chosen; which had the usual knotted fabric in the back, and sweeping layers in the front. It was high-waisted, with a tighter, belt-like section that reached up towards my navel, causing the blouse to become puffed out where the skirt cinched it. The aesthetic skirt was made of satin, in various shades of shimmering navy. After that, I tugged on some lightweight wool socks and a pair of fitted leather boots, before putting on the black chemisette that Anne had laid out for me. It was fitted at the bodice, with medium-sized buttons off-centered down the front, large, frilly cuffs, and loosened into a tailcoat at the bottom. There were two pockets, one sewn under the other, situated right over my heart, the higher of which I tucked my black framed glasses into. After I put all that junk on, I walked over to my wardrobe (a bit wobbly, as I was out of practice with high-heels and the binding skirts that were affectionately dubbed 'Hobble skirts' by the general public), and opened one of the many doors to one of the many different sections of it. This one was a half-door, starting halfway up, and there was an identical one below it. Inside, there were many hooks, which held many hats, two jewelry boxes, and pairs of gloves half-hazardly strewn around, with no particular place in mind. I picked a pair of sky-blue elbow-length gloves, a silver chain necklace, and a silver ring dotted with lapis lazuli; I grabbed a black top hat with a small veil as an afterthought.
I bustled out of my room and down the empty hall, tugging on my gloves as I went. I passed ten or so doors as I went, carefully counting until I stopped in front of the twelfth one, which resided right next to a corner in the hall that led to the grand staircase. This door belonged to my office, which in turn led to a quick shortcut to the sitting room, through a door in the back. I lingered outside it for a bit, clasping the chain around my neck and slipping the ring on, over my velvet gloves. I perched the top hat at an angle, the back resting on top of the simple bun. I turned the knob hesitantly, and was relieved to see that, other than cleaning, the room hadn't been touched while I was away. Dodging the chairs and random piles of books and papers, I crossed the room with only two minor disasters, telling myself I could clean them up later. The second door opened to reveal a slim hallway with one curve, offering a unique route to the tea room. The walls were a simple white, with light cherry wood floors. The next, and final, door at the end was more welcoming then the large chestnut-colored ones that filled most of the house- this one was made of a more red-tinted wood, and had a long, rectangular window that was split into square inch sections, each a different hue of blue, eventually fading to green near the bottom (apparently rich people can throw their money around like that). It always fascinated me as a child, the first time I discovered it I was late to dinner from studying it and counting the little squares. While pinks and yellows usually entranced most girls in my generation, blues and greens had always enchanted me- in my mind, they were the shades of magic and dragons, the opal at the end of a sorcerer's staff. Now dark hues and silvers held my attention, but I still appreciated the beauty of the natural colors that you could see all around you without any need for dyes.
The tea room, or sitting room, was a large room with a huge light silver carpet in the center, hardwood floors, bookshelves lining three walls, and a huge expanse of crystal-clear glass forged into arches that acted as spyglasses into the hidden universe that was the back garden. The only furniture was a circular coffee table with loveseats and chairs surrounding it, all with the same white fabric that was patterned with black, flowery, lace designs. This room usually was calm and relaxing, especially with the addition of my favorite piece of furniture, a butler named Zach, but now there was a more stressful air to it.
Partially because the tea was quickly getting cold.
But mostly because there were already two extra people in the chairs, when there should've been just me and a maid to pour the tea and then scram to help in the kitchen. The first was brunette with a cluster of curls at the base of her neck, a fashionable set of bangs that turned back on themselves in a set of wispy curls, and a gold aesthetic dress. The second was one that I recognized, and did not want to deal with right now- a blonde with a very in-fashion black frock coat and piercing green eyes.
I cleared my throat from the back of the room, the door still opened behind me. The blonde, or, rather, Arthur, lit up and waved at me from his perch on the seat facing me, and the brunette twisted in her chair to glance back at me. The maid offered me a cup of tea, which I took after crossing to the middle of the room. I sat in my favorite seat, that was a loveseat that I usually stretched out on while reading the paper or a novel, but had to sit up straight in due to the company. Arthur got up from his chair and joined me, settling in and putting his arm around my tense shoulders while he was at it.
"Hello Arthur, ma'am- might I ask why yoo're here uninvited an' unintroduced?" I asked sternly, bringing the cooled tea to my lips. I turned to the maid, who was packing up the tea set, and ordered, "Would you please fetch Zach fur me?" She nodded shyly, and, leaving the tea behind, bustled off to get him.
Now, Arthur- what can I say about Arthur? Uncle and I have always had the same opinion about him and his family, and that was that they were pushy and annoying. Both our families were about marrying whoever you wanted, just in different ways. For example, apparently the first time Arthur met me, when we were twelve, at a party on one of Uncle's boats, he came home telling his mum he wanted to marry me. Now, the difference between our families' views on marriage- Uncle told me I could marry whoever I wanted, as long I don't come running to him if my heart gets broken (he doesn't have to worry about that now, eh? Okay, okay- I get it, too soon.), and Arthur's family would keep bothering Uncle and whichever adult was in charge of me at the moment to have a ceremony planned. So, yes. Arthur wanted to be my fiancé, but I simply wanted him to either accept that he would always be a friend or just leave me alone. Jeez.
"Aw, Emma, you seem tired," he laughed cheerfully and hugged me closer. "Long trip?" I wrestled out of his grasp, but stayed beside him, unwilling to give up my favorite seat for this bassa*1. I was used to having clingy friends, but his clinginess wasn't as innocent.
"I am," I remarked, crossing my arms. "But I have business tae take caur of today an' who is this lady?"
She grinned at our antics, and waved. "I'm The Honorable*2 Abigail Terin, a pleasure." She held out her hand, and I shook it warily.
"Duchess Emmaline McGee," I said tersely. So this was the cousin I've heard so much about. I knew she was close to my age, but I didn't know she'd looks so similar. We could be sisters! Suddenly, a knock at the door broke the beginnings of an awkward silence. "Come in!" I called, knowing it would be the useless butler.
Sure enough, he opened the thick wooden door, and stepped inside, ready to be interrogated. "Yes, Lady Emmaline?" he asked with a small smirk, as if he was amused at my visible annoyance, which was probably the case.
"Can you tell me why I wasn't informed 'at we had guests residin' in my manor?" I asked, trying to sound stern, but sounding tired instead. Arthur glared at him, and Zach scowled in return, which meant he didn't want these people here either. Arthur had this strange idea that I liked Zach more than him (Gee, where would he get that idea?), and Zach just went all alpha-male on him, which guys tend to do, even the aristocratic/aristocrat-serving ones.
"Well, Lady Terin is here to help with the funeral arrangements and to help plan the ball," he looked at her pointedly, for some reason unbeknownst to me. "Viscountess Terin will be here shortly, she was detained in Wales (probably shoe shopping). Lord Arthur just… showed up. We're not exactly allowed to turn down a Prince-"Arthur glared at him. "Sorry, Archduke- he's technically ranked above us."
Yes, yes- I spontaneously forgot to tell you he was an 'Archduke'- he preached us if we called him a prince ('I'm hardly related to the king,' he would reprimand). Three generations ago, there was an Austrian King/Emperor who had, like, too many brothers and sisters to count. The youngest, a girl, married the youngest prince of the King at the time, and kept the Austrian title of 'Archduchess', rather than 'Duchess,' because, technically, there were still two sisters below her husband that could be duchesses instead. They had kids, the oldest of which married a Countess, and then those two had Arthur (the oldest) and his two twin brothers, who were my age, while Arthur was two years older than me, a solid nineteen. I would turn seventeen next month. Normally, a duchess would be higher than such a removed Archduke, but I was even farther away from the throne than he was, as you can tell by the Viscountess Aunt and middle-class father.
Now that we've dealt with his family history, let's move on to mine and Abigail's. Let's see… five generations ago, there was a normal Duke. He had one heir, but she was female, and therefore had to marry into power. So, he took a street rat, trained him in the art of aristocracy, and the line carried on from there. That, combined with the fact that I was Uncle's niece and not his daughter, made me an honorary duchess, but not really a full-blooded one. Now, Daniel was the first born child of his litter, so he got to inherit the title of 'Duke.' My dad, Ronnie (or Ronald) was the second child, and right after he was born, my grandparents separated. Granddad stayed in England with his heir, and Grandma moved to Scotland, where she had always dreamed of living. Then, she met a friendly Viscount, and married him. They had Oliver not two years later. If you couldn't tell by her name, they had a very nontraditional way of thinking. Now, Ronnie and Daniel both hated the Viscount, whom I shall leave unnamed, but they also hated each other. So, when Ronnie turned eighteen, instead of moving back to England with grandfather, he moved to the island chain skirting around Scotland, with the Minch separating it from the mainland, and thus, his crazy family. He met Mum, and soon had Ariah and I. That left Oliver to take over the role of Viscountess after grandma and her spouse passed away, which she at first held over Ronnie's head, until she met the love of her life at a ball (that she wouldn't have been at if Ronnie hadn't 'left her for dead,' as she so gracefully put it.). She had Abigail, but, soon after, her lover (they hadn't ever married) went out to sea and never came back. So, to conclude: Oliver hates Ronnie for abandoning her, Ronnie hates Oliver for pegging it on him, and having a bassa child, Daniel loves his dear little sister, and thus, her daughter, Daniel also loves me, because I hadn't inherited my Dad's …. Whatever uncle doesn't like about him, and Daniel and Ronnie hate each other for the sake of hating each other.
With that all cleared up, let's continue with my confusing morning. Now, remember, Zach had just said, '- he's technically ranked above us.'
Arthur shrugged. "You could have, but I would sue you for everything you have, and then take Emma under my wing in her time of need, then kick you to the curb, wanker." He's not the classiest Archduke there ever was. I shifted uncomfortably in my too-tight, too-layered dress. Zach hissed in a sharp intake of breath, then, catching my eye, rolled his shoulders back and decided not to say anything.
"You will be polite in my home, Archduke or nae," I said sharply, and then winked at Zach, letting him know that I had his back. I stood up and arched my back in a stretch, which ended quickly due to the horrid corset that, even though I had laced rather loosely, squeezed my insides much too tightly. "Well, breakfast is ready by now- Zach will show you th' way tae the small dining hall, an' I'll catch up in a minute," I told them, holding back a yawn. Then, I remembered- "We'll deal wi' yer sleepin' arrangements a' th' meetin' today."
Before anyone could get a word in edgewise, I slipped away to the back of the room, and back into my study. Waving at me from my desk was the worn and faded leather jacket of a well-loved notebook, with my favorite fountain pen sitting beside it. My hand brushed over it hesitantly, before snatching it and holding it by my waist. I reentered the sitting room, which had been evacuated. Spotting my still half-full tea cup, I gulped down the excess (Which was cold. Diabhal *3.) I exited through the door that I had not yet used, into a more dimly lit, but broader, hallway than the one that connected the tea room and my study. This one had more doors lining it, and split off two ways; One leading to the second floor guest bedrooms, and the other leading to a more normal-sized staircase that went back down to the first floor. Immediately at the base of it was the narrowest section of my library (which expanded to cover nearly half the first floor.), which you could walk across to a huge arch that served as the entrance to a large room whose only purpose was to connect two more hallways, and a few small rooms that clustered around it. One hall led to the servants' quarters and kitchens, and the other led first to the ten-seating dining room, then on to the ballroom. Breakfast was being held in the dining room.
When I crossed the threshold, all eyes turned to me, in a way that made me slightly uncomfortable. The servants sized me up, as I was the new signer of their paychecks, rather than a sweet little girl who they could play with in their spare time. Zach, Abigail, and Arthur were gazing at me with thinly-veiled pity; a feeling that I never wanted directed towards me. After all, both Uncle and Father raised me to be an independent person, who took nothing from no one. The door that connected the dining room to one of the kitchens was wide open, and lining the short hall were servants ready to march in with trays. There were no windows in this room, making it feel stuffy and much too prim and proper.
"Were yer journeys safe?" I asked idly, trailing to my chair, where I rested my hand and paused before sitting down. The servers took that as their cue to bring in the dishes, and Zach shifted from his position by Arthur, who was in the chair closest to the head of the table, to take stance nest to me, placing his hand on the backing, just as I had.
Abigail smiled at me, and responded, "Very, thank you. Yours?" I held my hand about six inches away from my face and rolled my wrists, as a 'waving off' gesture, and to crack my stiff wrist.
"Same. Arthur," I turned to face him, just as a maid placed a steaming plate of eggs and lightly seared pineapple before Abigail, and then one in front of me. She skirted around Zach to access Arthur's seat. I took my silver fork and stabbed a bit of scrambled egg before looking back up from my plate. "You'll be stayin', as usual, in th' biggest guest room we have. If ye need anythin' from th' servants, jus' ring th' bell," I popped the egg in my mouth and gestured at Abigail with my fork. "You'll be stayin' in the room next te Aunt Ollie's usual quarters. Same principles apply."
Arthur gave me a worried look. "Emma, dear- you know we still have to make funer-"
"No' until this afternoon, we don't," I snapped. "Viscountess Terin mus' be here firs'." I angrily impaled a piece of charred fruit.
Zach leaned down, and whispered in my ear, "Napkin." My face heated up at my forgetful habits, and quickly placed the folded-up napkin onto my lap.
"She won't be here 'till late, though," Abigail remarked, salting her eggs. I sighed, and pushed the rest of my breakfast around on my plate. There were still several more courses, but I couldn't stomach as much food as these Brits can. Okay, well, technically, Abigail is Scottish, like me, but her accent spoke of much more time spent in Britain than me.
"That's just as well," Zach piped. "Since Emmy," He stopped abruptly, before correcting himself- "I mean, Lady Emmaline, needs to go shopping for… things. It'd be a great help if Lady Terin could help." Abigail and I eyed each other knowingly. Obviously, I had to shop for clothes and curtains; which was not Zach's strong suit. He'd rather dust the entire library than shop for frilly things. He was usually more than willing, though, to go out for hunting gear and the likes.
She smiled impishly, an expression that I easily matched, and told him, "I'd be glad to. Maybe she could refresh me on my Gaelic during the carriage rides. I can only say, 'What is your name?' see- Gá dom aon fheabhsú, sea?"
I held back giggles, because she was doing what I had always wanted to do among English speakers: She used Gaelic as a means of code. What she actually said was, 'I need no improvement, yes?' I got the sense that I would enjoy having her around.
After a dragged-out breakfast, Abigail and I decided to relax in the library until it was time to depart. She agreed to help me compile a shopping list, and to help me convince the staff that a dog would, contrary to popular belief, be a stupendous idea. I gave Arthur strict orders to not disturb us, which, as a guest in my manor and not an Archduke, he had no choice but to follow. We ended up sitting in a window seat, leaning against a huge window that arched twenty feet up the pale green wall, without even brushing the lofty ceiling. I had my notebook out, which I used for lists and the occasional poem, and the fountain pen poised to begin writing. For the fun of it, we spoke completely in Gaelic. Both of us loved our first language, and felt a rush of pride when we used the familiar words in a way that actually sounded good, rather than my usual massacre of English pronunciations.
"Chéad, ar ndóigh- Agam nach bhfuil cúram cad a deir Zach, anois a dhéanann mé mo rialacha féin, mian agam madra! (First, of course- I don't care what Zach says, now that I make my own rules, I want a dog!)" I exclaimed, and hastily scribbled 'DOG' in my sharp and jagged cursive, then underlined it four times and circled it.
Abigail gave me a curious look, loose bits of hair, that I didn't see before the sunlight hit them, fell into her eyes. "Feicfidh agam a iarraidh ort arís, ní gá neamhaird a dom an am seo. Shíl agam seilg agat? An ní a cheangal madraí? (I'll ask you again, don't ignore me this time. I thought you hunted? Doesn't that require dogs?)," she asked.
"Uncle hated dogs," I explained. "So we mostly hunted large game that didn't require the help of dogs as much.Ba bhreá liom chun fiach le ceann amháin, tá mé cinnte gur mhaith sé a bheith i bhfad níos beacht agus suimiúil go bhealach.(I'd love to hunt with one, I'm sure it'd be much more precise and interesting that way.)"
I tapped my pen on my chin, and studied the ceiling. Abigail leaned back on the corner formed by the wall and the window. "How about a haircut?" I asked, looking to her for advice. "Ba mhaith liom breathnú maith le gruaig ghearr? Ba mhaith sé a fháil ar an mbealach is lú nuair a léigh mé nó fiach.(Would I look good with short hair? It'd get in the way less when I read or hunt.)" She shrugged, and voice absentmindedly that it 'would certainly be unique.'
After a while, we compiled a list that went something like this:
(Emmaline- Italics, Abigail- underline)
DOG!
Haircut/?
Ugh, dresses Shush, we'll make it fun! Somehow.
Abigail, after a review of my closet, says I need more hats. A lady cannot survive on top hats alone!
Meeting with two designers. ooh! One's Irish! Almost Scottish, right? Ewww, one's French! I have to work with a frog!
We're going to a Scottish store to get our Claddagh rings cleaned! Mine's still pointed outwards, but Arthur doesn't get it. He thinks someone gave it to me.
PANTS. Mine are mothbitten and old and I HATE SKIRTS.
Jackets! You rant about your love for them CONSTANTLY. Just buy some already! Fine!
When we were done, we breezed through the library, and had a servant fetch the carriage driver and a cart. I bid goodbye to Zach and Arthur, told them not to kill each other, and then we were off. We talked together on the ride, and gave some order to out half-hazardly thrown together list.
"We should save the dog 'till the end," I concluded, after some debating. That way we could discuss breeds during the rest of the trip.
Abigail scratched her neck thoughtfully, and speculated, "When did you say the appointment with the designers was? Noon, right?" I nodded in confirmation. "Well," she continued, "How about we go to get our rings cleaned first. I know a good place." The she leaned forward to speak into the driver's ear. We were currently in an open-roofed carriage, rolling through the busy streets of London. I personally loved fall, and we both agreed it was worth it to brave the 'biting' (as Abi put it) weather to see the clear sky and colored leaves. The driver nodded in confirmation, and adjusted our route with a delicate pull of the reins, causing us to turn onto a road that obviously hadn't been fixed up in years. Abigail settled back into her seat, and pulled a small book from her purse. She held it up and grinned as I read the title- Dog Breeds of Europe- which I soon returned, even brighter. There were a few strips of ripped paper sticking out of it, serving as bookmarks.
"Dad left this for me," she said excitedly, "I've been marking it since I was little." She flipped the book open to the first bookmark, where a picture of a proud looking English setter dominated the page, with stats and origins lining it. I winced a bit.
"Oh, uh… Well, tha' won't work," I said nervously, and flipped to a new marker. Abigail studied my expression for a moment, but didn't touch the subject. I think that was when I actually began to like her as a human being, and not just as a family member. The page I had opened to was farther back in the book, with several bookmarks behind it and only a few in front of it, and I instantly loved the dog pictured on it. The title at the top read, 'Belgian Shepherd: Tervuren,' and the photo depicted a regal, long-furred dog with lightish patches on the legs and stomach, with dark brown or black overlay; It was hard to tell from the slightly grainy, black-and-white photograph. It looked like a cross between a German shepherd, with a long snout used for herding, similar coloring, and pricked, pointed ears, and a wolf, with long, feathery fur, predatory teeth, and a mane of sorts ranging from fur around the face and ears to the chest.
I looked up from the book with bright eyes, and turned to Abigail to say, "This one! A Tervuren!" I winced a bit at my accent arguing with the breed's name. Abigail adjusted the angle at which I held it to see the picture better, and seemed to recognize it- well, of course she did, she had marked the page after all! Unfortunately, she set her jaw, and shook her head in disappointment.
"This won't do; Tervurens are herding dogs," she said, a tinge of regret in her voice. "I've always wanted one, though," she smiled warmly; "I wish we could get one." I squinted down at the page thoughtfully, and then I remembered something I had heard from my other cousin, about experiments with certain herding breeds and how they worked well in small packs as hunting dogs.
"Hey, do you remember tha' one study- th' one with little herds of herding dogs?" I asked her, a spark of hope in my voice. I really wanted one; they look so elegant and powerful, but cuddly and sweet! Besides, if those experiments were real, and worked out, then I had no qualms about getting three dogs instead of just one. Abigail looked up at the sky, and shook her head again. Okay. So I'd have to convince her. "They foun' tha' most herding dogs are so intelligent an' athletic, tha' they actually were very good hunting dogs. They work especially well in small groups, as they usually do when herding," I said.
"That makes sense," she seemed to juggle the idea, "Do they work well with non-herding dogs?" I thought about it for a minute.
"I… think so, yes. As long as they get along with th' dogs they hunt with, it even helps their performance tae work with other breeds," I confirmed. I was about to take a look at the breed's stats, but then I remembered- Glasses! I pulled out my note book and pen, and added at the bottom of the list-
IX: New lenses. Tomorrow, maybe.
"Can you read this?" I asked, and tapped the first paragraph of text. "I forgo' tae bring my glasses." From Scotland, I added mentally, because she didn't need to know just how forgetful I really was.
She smiled at me, almost teasingly, and began, "Let's see…
The Tervuren's general height can range from 55.34 cm to 66.04 at the shoulder. Depending on gender, they can weigh 40-70 pounds, but a healthy weight to maintain is around 60 lbs. A typical Tervuren life span is 10 to 12 years. They don't usually adapt well to small housing, novice owners, or hot weather, due to their thick coat. They are highly sensitive dogs, and don't particularly tolerate being alone very long. They are extremely easy to train, incredibly intelligent, and tend to be struck with wanderlust. They can be a bit mouthy and enjoy barking and howling. They shed a lot and aren't very easy to brush, but they are tough and don't get sick easily. They are affectionate with close family, sometimes get along with other dogs, and aren't usually friendly with strangers. They have a high energy level, a high level of playfulness, but are very intense and need to be exercised constantly.
Wow, that was a mouthful," she finished a bit breathlessly from trying to read fast and clearly. I mulled over the information, and decided that, if the dog got along with the other two I picked out, a Tervuren would be a perfect hunting dog for me. I had nothing if not time, I had trained a multitude of dogs before, and I enjoyed sitting down with a book, so I could easily focus on brushing. The dog might even be a good guard dog if they really didn't get on with strangers.
"That's it, I'm getting one!" I proclaimed, just as the carriage came to a halt in front of a small building on the outskirts of London.
"Lady Emmaline!" I heard someone call from behind us, sounding surprised. Oh no, I thought. That voice…
Wow, I'm terrible at ending chapters! This was a bit of a lengthy chappy, so don't expect this all the time, but it's a fairly good example of what I'll write if I'm inspired and have enough time on my hands. I expected to progress in the story more than I actually did with this chapter, but at least it provides more insight on Daniel. Anyways, R&R, and I'll see you all in the next update.
1 Bassa- 'Bastard' in Scottish Gaelic. Referenced from A-Z of Scottish insults- All .
2 The Honorable- Children of Viscounts and Viscountesses (Lady Oliver Terin is a widowed Viscountess) are referred to as The Honorable (Forename) (Surname). Referenced from the Viscount Wikipedia entry.
3 Diabhal- Damn, google translate.