"I cannot ibelieve/i you invited that creature."
Salome closed his eyes briefly, reminding himself that his mother was not so well informed as he was.
"Lady Gallen is both a commanding officer as well as the wife of one of my good friends. She is First-Lieutenant, Mistress of the Sword, and matriarch of the Gallen family. I assure you, I would not have invited her if I did not feel she wasn't suitable company. Besides, I can't very well ask Leo and not his bride, now can I?"
His mother stood silent, a familiar vaguely annoyed expression on her face. She recognized the validity of his argument, but still wasn't happy about the situation.
"That's all very well," she went on, apparently determined to at least make her opinion heard, "but it doesn't change the fact that she came from nothing. I'll grant you she's probably a fine soldier, but she's a common woman. What can she know of running an estate?"
"Ask her yourself, if you like," he shrugged. "Perhaps you can offer her some advice. She and Leo will be here tomorrow afternoon."
Uncertain and vaguely annoyed with her son, Madam Harras nonetheless went about preparing to entertain guests. Social calls were a regular part of the winter routine. Someone dropped by for tea almost daily, and for supper at least once a week. Rather than foist his fellow soldiers on her all at once, Salome had been bringing them by for tea, one after the other. Only the Elf and the farmer had yet to make an appearance. Now, however, he had invited the couple to stay at their house for the week. Admittedly it was an honor to have such a distinguished soldier as Lord Gallen staying under her roof, but as for his wife… Little was known about Lady Gallen outside of rumor and gossip. Lady Harras did not like inviting strangers into her home, but supposed she would have to trust her son's judgement.
From the parlour, she heard the bell chime and the clack of shoes on the tile floor. After a moment, the door swung open and the butler announced:
"Lord and Lady Gallen."
Smiling, she rose to meet them.
"Lord Gallen, Lady Gallen," Lady Harras nodded politely to each of her guests as Lord Gallen briefly bowed over her hand. To her slight surprise Lady Gallen returned the courtesy, inclining her head politely.
"Thank you so much for the invitation," Leo said, following her to a seat. "I hope it will not be an inconvenience."
"Not at all," Lady Harras replied amiably, pouring tea for all present.
From the corner of her eye, she watched the other woman. Lady Gallen was indeed rather old, older than her husband, though not so old as Lady Harras herself. Despite this, she had kept her figure well enough, and her complexion was clear though several shades too dark to be considered fair. Lord Gallen himself was rather swarthy, but it seemed a bit vulgar for a noble wife to be so tan. There were wings of gray creeping in at her temples, but the rest of her jaw-length hair was a deep, glossy brown.
The so-called Lady Guard had been known in their time for behaving like men. Admittedly trousers were part of the knights' uniforms, but Lady Harras did not think it becoming for women to display their legs so openly. However, Lady Gallen's skirts were of a decent length, just short of brushing the ground. The woolen suit with its peplum jacket was of a deep shade of blue and very becoming to the woman's dark hair and eyes. It was plain, yet elegant, decorated with only a row of brass buttons and a frothy lace jabot at her throat.
To her credit, and that of her husband, Lady Gallen behaved handsomely. Although she said little, speaking only when asked a direct question, there was no hint of meekness about her. Like her son and his fellow officers, there was a shrewdness to her gaze and a strength in her bearing. Any other wife new to society might have shrunk shyly from the calculating gaze of the other wives and mothers. Lady Gallen, however, seemed to be conducting an inspection of her own from her seat on the velvet settee. Lady Harras found herself wondering if the table linen had been starched that day, or if there were a smudge on the silver teapot that she had not detected? She took a moment to remind herself that she did not stand in awe of Lady Gallen's judgement.
While she'd have to be thick indeed not to realize that her every move would be under heavy scrutiny, Lady Gallen seemed utterly unfazed. Her character was on trial as it had never been before, but she behaved as if it were Vinay del Zexay standing inspection and not she. It occurred to Lady Harras that this was the haughtiness of which she had heard others speak, but only one familiar with the military would recognize it for what it was: gravitas. Like her son, Lady Gallen was an officer, and a high-ranking one at that. She was used to giving orders, and was not about to be bullied by a pack of old women in lace bonnets. Lady Harras pressed her lips together to keep from smiling outright. Well, every general needed a good diplomat, did they not?
"Tell me, Lady Gallen," she began, passing her a teacup, "have you any other acquaintances here in Vinay del Zexay?"
Lady Gallen shrugged. "One or two, but it's been ages. I'm afraid I haven't seen them since we were cadets together."
"Oh?" Lady Harras had not expected this. "May I ask who? Perhaps I could reintroduce you?"
A cautious smile appeared on the younger woman's face. "I wouldn't want to put you to any trouble."
"Nonsense," Lady Harras waved the remark away. "You must have your own visitors while you are guests in my house."
"Well," Lady Gallen began, "Charlotte Renard, Francesca Di La Rosa, and Deanna Erstford all married and left the corps. After they became civilians, I'm afraid I rather lost track of them."
"I am acquainted with Madam Di La Rosa," Lady Harras confirmed. "Send cards and invite them all to tea. I should like to get to know them better myself."
Word, Lady Harras soon discovered, had gotten round. Not an hour after the Gallens had arrived, a veritable deluge of calling cards descended. The butler must have answered the door twenty times in one hour, accepting card after invitation after card. Most of them were not for her, but she nonetheless sorted them into heaps before passing them along to Lady Gallen. Most of the names were those she knew only through (ill) reputation. These were shallow attempts to gain audience with Lord Gallen's infamous bride. Her parlour was not a circus ten-in-one where one could come to gawp at freaks of nature. Had the notes been addressed to her, she would have thrown them into the fire without thought. However, such a decision was not hers. Instead, she brought the pile of cards to Lady Gallen herself.
"What on earth?" Lady Gallen remarked, sifting through a heap of invitations so precarious that it barely balanced on the silver platter.
"Invitations- some to you, some of you."
Lady Gallen blinked, evidently bemused by her sudden popularity. "I see."
Although the younger woman made no other immediate comment, Lady Harras got the impression that she did, indeed, see.
"I'm afraid none of these names are familiar to me," she said, looking up from the shuffle of cards at last. "Would you be good enough to help me sift through these?"
Lady Harras smiled. "It would be my pleasure."
In the end, a mere dozen of the invites were accepted and returned. Half would be making the pilgrimage to the Harras home, the rest would see the Gallens riding out to meet their foes. Actually, they would only be venturing into enemy territory three times- and only because the invites could not possibly be turned down. The other cards had come from friends: Lady Lightfellow, Lord Redrum, and, as it turned out, the Di La Rosa's. Lady Harras resolved to arm Lady Gallen as best she might for such a duel of etiquette.
"What was the name again?" Aurella asked as the Harras' borrowed carriage rattled along the cobblestones. The ride was smooth enough for wooden wheels on stone, but it still made an appalling racket.
"Dieterich," Leo supplied. "I confess I don't know much about them, only that Lord Dieterich is some sort of clerk on the Council staff. One of the secretaries or something. I forget the official title."
The carriage clattered a halt and Leo flung open the door and jumped out, glad to be out of the chilly little box, plush and upholstered though it might be. Turning, he offered a hand to help her down. Ordinarily Aurella would have climbed down herself, but she took his hand and smiled, holding her skirts clear of the muddy curb with her other hand. She was perfectly capable of making the jump, but things were different here in town. Here she was wearing skirts, and people were watching. However, she reminded herself, she did it mostly to please Leo. After all, why spurn an opportunity to take hands with her husband? There were few enough moments for socially acceptable cuddling in Vinay del Zexay.
The Dieterich home was not particularly large or grand, but very securely dignified. Made of the same gray stone as the other homes in the city, it was wedged between two other moderately stately dwellings. The windows were narrow but long, and an ornamental lintel of worked stone protected the door. A butler bowed them through said door and, after taking their cloaks, showed them to a parlor that looked as if it would have liked to be grandiose but had settled instead for a sort of architectural equivalent of Sunday best.
"Lord and Lady Gallen," the butler intoned before bowing out.
"How lovely to finally meet you!" A small woman in a silk gown the color of cocoa rose to meet them. Perhaps it was her large dark eyes, her ready smile, and lively chatter, but she reminded Aurella of nothing so much as a brown squirrel.
"Lady Dieterich," Leo said politely, bowing over her hand. Aurella automatically inclined her head the appropriate thirty degrees. "Thank you so much for inviting us."
"Not at all," Lady Dieterich waved them toward the sofa with a sunny smile. "The honor is entirely mine. I'm so glad you came."
"Thank you," Leo said, taking a seat, Aurella sinking down next to him. "Will Lord Dieterich be joining us?"
"I'm afraid not." Briefly, the smile faded. "He's terribly busy you know. I'm sure I don't have to tell iyou/i, Lord Gallen, of the Council's uncanny fondness for forms filled out in triplicate."
"I have had some experience with it, yes," Leo chuckled.
"Tea?" Lady Dieterich asked. "Or would you prefer chocolate? My husband says I'll ruin my teeth with so much sugar but if he can have his sherry after dinner I don't see why I can't have a sweetie here and there."
Not wanting to make the decision for both of them, Leo turned to his wife. She did not notice the unspoken question immediately; she'd been studying the chocolate pot, trying to puzzle out whether it was for tea or coffee?
"Chocolate, then," Leo nodded. "I confess it's a treat in which I rarely indulge. I've never quite mastered the trick of mixing it properly."
"Yes, the trick is in the preparation," she agreed, taking up the pot and swirling the wooden muddler to stir up the cocoa that had settled to the bottom. "If one may boast, my parlour is famous for it's chocolate. Clotted cream? My daughters insist it's divine that way, but I feel there can be too much of a good thing."
"I trust your judgement," Leo deferred, accepting a cup. "It's a pity your husband could not join us. You must give him our regards, though I'm sure I'll run into him eventually. I have business with the Council that must be seen to before the end of the season."
"Oh yes, I've heard about that. Not the sort of thing my dear Robert talks about over the dinner table, but news will travel. Mostly he's convinced they're trying to drown him in paper, as if the Vice-Chancellor of the Keys didn't have enough to do."
There was a rather undignified snort as Aurella struggled not to gag on her chocolate. Reflexively, Leo snatched her cup and patted her on the back. Covering her mouth with a napkin, Aurella coughed until tears ran from her eyes.
"Lady Gallen I am iso/i sorry! Is it too hot? Is there a lump of cocoa undissolved?"
Unable to answer, Aurella shook her head, still gasping for breath. "Excuse me," she wheezed at last. "No, I just swallowed at the wrong moment."
"Oh yes I hate when that happens," Lady Dieterich agreed. "May I offer you a cake instead?"
"Thank you." Automatically, Aurella took one of the little frosted buns and bit off an edge. Aside from the single bite however, the cake lay forgotten on her plate. Leo and Lady Dieterich chatted amiably about nothing in particular, Aurella only supplying a monosyllabic answer when required. After a small eternity, a little china clock on the mantle chimed and Leo stood up.
"Thank you again, Lady Dieterich," he said, nodding over her hand once more. "The chocolate was indeed excellent."
"You're very welcome I'm sure. Please do stop by again? I know it will be a great disappointment for my husband to know he missed you."
Pleasantries fluttered around her head like butterflies as Aurella made her own goodbyes. Not until Leo had boosted her back into the carriage did the world begin to right itself.
"Are you alright?" The words were strong and warm as was the arm around her shoulders. With a sigh, she leaned into it.
"I think I'm allergic to chocolate."
Aurella was sick later that evening, and did not attend dinner with the Harras'. The chocolate turned her stomach, making her glad that the Harras mansion had an indoor privy. Although Leo had heard her retching, he knew enough not to barge in until she was ready to face him. This was not how she had wanted to begin their marriage, sick and shivering in his arms, fighting not to cry.
iFood poisoning/i, she insisted to herself. iA peasant constitution can't digest something so rich./i
After the third time Leo woke to find her clinging to the edge of the bed dry heaving, he threatened her with a doctor.
"I'm fine," she rasped. "Just a stomach ache, nothing more."
"You ineed/i a doctor," he'd insisted.
"I need a brandy," she retorted crossly, too ill to worry if she were being unreasonable.
"If I may, sir?" the chambermaid who'd been roused to deal with the minor crisis of a guest's illness interjected.
"Yes?"
"A drop of brandy wouldn't go amiss. Spirits does wonders to settle the stomach."
"Very well," Leo agreed. "Fetch a glass for Lady Dancon."
The girl dropped a hasty curtsey and scurried from the room. There was a decanter and a pair of glasses in the next room. It did not take her long to pour a measure of liquor into one of them and return with it. Aurella sipped it carefully, glad for the more cleansing burn of the alcohol as it washed the horrid taste of acid from her throat. The brandy had the added bonus of not only settling her churning stomach but making her sleepy. Allowing her husband to tuck her in, she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
She awoke with a start, scrabbling blindly for a knife that was not under her pillow. The tapping of knuckles against wood sounded again.
"Lady Gallen?" a mousy voice queried from the other side of the door.
The stab of panic subsided as recollection dawned. She was in Lord Harras' house. She'd been a guest at- her mind skipped over the entire afternoon- and become ill. Food poisoning. Like as not she'd been allowed to sleep through breakfast, which would explain the lack of husband in her bed.
"Are you awake, Milady?"
"Yes," Aurella croaked, only then realizing how dry and sore her throat was. "Come in."
The maid elbowed the door open, her hands occupied with a covered tray.
"Her Ladyship thought you might like something light," the girl said, setting the short-legged tray over her legs like a miniature bridge.
Tugging her bedgown more closely about her shoulders, Aurella lifted the lid. The cook had chosen well. Although she'd expected to have her throat close at the stench of fried eggs or porridge, none were present. Instead, only a pot of tea, several slices of toast, and two dishes of different jam sat innocently beneath the silver dome.
"Would you like anything else, Milady?" the maid asked.
"You might fetch me another drink," Aurella rasped, pouring herself a cup of tea. Servant's gossip be damned, she needed an eye-opener after a night like that. More than once she'd nursed gut misery with alcohol since tea was a rare commodity on the battlefield. Obediently, the maid curtsied and went to procure the requested drink.
"Here you are, Milady."
"Thank you."
Aurella took little notice of the girl as she puttered about the room straightening this and that. Closing her eyes, she finished the tea before beginning on the brandy. It was mint tea, good for soothing a sore stomach. Mentally, Aurella awarded full marks to the kitchen staff of the Harras house. However, she wasn't sure a bit of toast and herbal tea would cure the knot in her stomach. Alcohol might, but she doubted Lord Harras' cellar was up to the task.