But she felt an unexpected twinge as she watched all the fun fade from the young woman’s face.
Well, Duchess Andelinwasyoung. Most women of her rank were comfortably middle-aged, and though Mionet knew the pleasures of noble society in the capital compensated for its restrictions, the duchess could not know that. This poor society in Tresingale was all she had.
It was the only society the Exile Princess had ever had.
“…your bloodline,” Mionet went on, feeling a sudden, strange reluctance to employ the weapon in her hand. But no, such behavior had to be curbed now, before Duchess Andelin went to the capital. Nothing could be permitted to interfere with her social debut. “You are a child of the stars, and the blood in your veins is sacred. It is your responsibility to protect it, and join it to His Grace’s ancient, noble heritage when you produce his heir. Would you risk jeopardizing all that for something so trivial?”
“No,” Duchess Andelin replied, subdued. “I…I will be careful.”
Mionet did not delude herself. She had won a battle, but not the war. The greater victory was the discovery of so potent a weapon. Duchess Andelin might be persuaded to do many things, if she was convinced it was for His Grace. It was a valuable thing to know, but…
As a victory, it felt strangely hollow.
***
To Her Grace Liliet, Duchess of Ereguil, at the estate of Mimosa in Segoile, from the Duchess Ophele of Andelin at Tresingale Manor in the duchy of Andelin:
Thank you so much for your last letter, and I hope this one meets you safely in the capital. What a long journey thatis for you, and all by carriage! It makes my own seem like nothing at all. They are refurbishing some of the ships for passenger transport, so it will be quite comfortable, and Remin says we might make a hundred miles a day, if the wind is with us.
It has been one thing after another since my last letter; we hardly got through that bout of sickness when Sir Justenin fell and dislocated his shoulder, and I guess Remin will have told you and Duke Ereguil what happened to Sir Huber. He and I have spoken often enough that I feel I ought to do something for him, but I don’t know what.
Remin said I ought not be afraid to ask you questions if I have them, and I do hope you won’t mind, when everyone says that you are so very deadly in society and I have a few difficulties in that line. We have only a little society at present, but it is still enough to be troublesome, and I worry that perhaps I am not doing as I ought. Sir Justenin warned me many times to watch and be sure that the things people say to me match what they do when I am not there, and I have found that sometimes it does not. Only I don’t know what to do about it.
The problem is, some of the ladies in town don’t like the ladies from Benkki Desa, even though they are very nice and I have found their ways so interesting. And I will not have people being unkind to each other, but how do I make them stop? Lady Verr says it will do more harm than good to go at them directly, which is probably just as well because I don’t see how I ever could. And I guess I can’t force them to like each other, but they must at least be polite. Do you ever have such troubles among your own people?
Perhaps I will be lucky, and they will solve it for themselves while I am away.
But I do not wish to paint them in too unflattering a light, for they have all been so good to each other this winter, and Amise—that is my friend Mistress Conbour, she is Sir Auber’s sister-in-law—says that almost every cottage by the North Gate has blankets and linens made by our sewing circle, or has inherited some of the ones Miche brought back from Aldeburke. I have quite forgiven him for his depredations, for I don’t know what we would have done otherwise, with so many people coming to Tresingale unexpected. And of course, he pretends he planned it that way the whole time, so it is just impossible to scold him.
I will be so sorry to leave them all. I confess I am very worried about coming to the city, though it will be a great pleasure to meet you and Duke Ereguil, and see Mimosa. Remin says the house is beautiful, and I am excited to see the library and the gardens and mimosa trees.
I know that since this will be my debut in the city, I must have a grand ball, and I am sure it must be a great undertaking to hold such a thing, with all the food and music and everything. But Remin and I are hoping that we will only go and have our audience, and then come home straightaway. I hope you will not think me ungrateful when you have offered so much help, and inconvenienced yourself so much already, but I am afraid to stay in the city for long, in case something should happen to Remin.
And so, would it be possible to plan to hold the ball, with the understanding that it may not happen at all? Or would that be too rude. I shouldn’t like to burn any of our bridges; I know that in time, we will come to the capital for a full season, and I wouldn’t want to offend anyone. Maybe we could plan a debut ball if I must stay, and a farewell ball if we will be allowed to leave. That might answer, if you think it good.
I hope your journey is pleasant, and look forward to your next letter.
Yours,
Ophele
***
All at once, it seemed like Ophele knew everyone in town.
“That’s Celande,” she whispered to Remin as one of the Isigne survivors hurried off to fetch something from her cottage. “She embroiders the loveliest flowers, she said she would make a sampler for me…”
Remin drew Lancer up beside her indulgently, enjoying the wan sunshine. The roads had been cleared again by the long-suffering Third Company, and he seized the opportunity to go riding while the risk of frostbite was low. The snow had been relentless. As promised, the cottages were buried to their thatching, and some people had had to tunnel through the snow to reach their front doors. Celande was one of these, emerging from the snow in a waddling of many layers.
“Here ’tis, my lady,” she said, presenting a folded bit of linen and bobbing a nervous curtsy at Remin. “I had a few moments to make it, it’s lucky you happened by. I show each flower in stages, you see…”
The young widow was Valleth-pale, with fair skin and very light blue eyes. The ever-wary part of Remin watched her hands for the least threat, especially given the added provocation of her terrible losses from the devils, but Celande showed no sign of ill will as she chatted with Ophele.
“I mentioned her to Master Tiffen,” Ophele explained when they moved on, tucking the sampler into her pocket. “Her husband died, so she must find work somehow, and he needs seamstresses and embroiderers. Perhaps she could even moveinto a house in town, in time. Or apartments, maybe? Master Forgess was telling me about the Tower, and it would be easier for some people to manage a few rooms than a whole house, wouldn’t it?”
“It’s a thought.” Remin was reluctant to admit that the Masters of the Tower could have anything resembling a good idea, but might it be faster to build one apartment building than a dozen cottages? “I suppose they might all heat each other’s rooms, with a dozen fireplaces going.”
“We could ask Master Ffloce. He was talking about building more cottages anyway, by the river for the fishermen, and a few by the clay banks for Master Peltier’s apprentices. That would free up cottages on this road for the people from Ferrede.”
