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“Don’t you remember. Mother wants to suit her with the Duke himself,” Ewan said.
Baldwin’s expression was difficult to read. He crafted a thin-lipped smile and sipped his tea. “I see. We’ve known Lewis a number of years. Haven’t we, Ewan?”
“Yes. A fair number,” Ewan said.
Marta shifted. She yearned to express her disinterest in the Duke, that she felt herself pledged for a game she knew not how to win. Still, Ewan and Baldwin’s eyes seemed to tear through her.
“Have you told Aunt Margaret?” Baldwin asked.
“I haven’t yet seen her today,” Marta said. Finally, a question that had a reasonable and easy answer.
“Well, we must inform her of the news,” Baldwin said. “After all, it’s not every day that one of our own is invited to the Regent’s ball. I suppose this means Ewan is invited, as well, as it’s necessary that you attend with an escort…”
“Yes. In fact, it will be a mighty time for me to exhibit my greatest fashion achievements,” Ewan said. He sucked in his cheeks to make them hollow and then peered out across the garden.
The tension between the three of them was outlandish. Moments later, Marta was oddly grateful to hear the call of Aunt Margaret from the back door. She appeared, carting her skirts high, and grinned broadly in at them. “Look at you! Beautiful, beautiful children. May I join you?”
“Aunt Margaret, it’s essential that you hear the good news,” Baldwin said. His eyes glittered ominously.
“What is it, darling?” she asked. She bustled and perched on the bench beside Marta. As she was a much larger woman, this shoved Marta to the side of the bench. A hard iron bar cut itself through her side. Marta furrowed her brow but kept her lips closed.
“I don’t suppose I should be the one to reveal such prosperous news,” Baldwin continued. “Ewan. Marta. It’s yours to tell.”
Ewan rolled his eyes slightly, illustrating to Marta alone just how bizarre he felt the scene to be. Aunt Margaret clapped her little palms together and said, “Please, tell me. I don’t think I can handle the suspense.”
“All right. Mother. Our lovely Marta has truly caught the attention of Duke Remington himself. He’s invited her to the party thrown by the Regent, in one week’s time.”
Aunt Margaret lurched up from the bench and wrapped her floppy arms around Marta’s torso. Marta felt utterly squashed. Her aunt’s squeal entered her ear and made a mockery of any sort of peaceful thought.
“That’s fantastic news! Oh, I knew you had it in you, my darling Marta. I can’t believe you two haven’t told me this until now. Only a week to prepare! Well, with your figure, I’m certain we can find something worthy for you to wear in the coming days. Marta, say you’ll come to the dressmaker’s with me tomorrow. Early.”
Her aunt disappeared soon after that. Marta blinked wide eyes towards Baldwin, generally shocked at his outlandish behaviour. Was it possible that he was truly so thrilled for her that he wanted to make such a show? She’d thought he’d seen her clearly enough to know that this sort of matchmaking didn’t thrill her. Perhaps she’d been wrong about him.
“I hope you’ll excuse me,” Marta said suddenly. “I’ve just remembered that I have an English lesson with Laura.”
The men made no motion to say goodbye to her. Both seemed to stir in their own anxious thoughts. Marta gripped her skirts and hustled through the creaky garden gate and then swept inside, up towards the library on the second floor. Once there, she fell into the corner, brought her knees to her forehead, and remained there, an utterly broken individual, until it truly was time for Laura’s lesson.
Laura arrived just after four in the afternoon. As Marta had grown less and less in need of her assistance, Laura had taken to a sort of individualism that suited her, one she said she could never have discovered back in Austria, due to her duties in Marta’s parents’ home.
“I walked through the village today looking at everything, in each of the shops,” Laura told Marta excitedly. “Nobody questioned me or even assumed I was any sort of servant. They stared at my bright blonde hair, just as they stare at yours. To them, I’m this bizarre entity, but nothing less than them. It’s magnificent.”
“You’ve truly taken to this world, haven’t you, Laura?” Marta said. She felt a sad smile form. Why was it she felt such desolation? Was it because of her dissatisfaction with her own existence? Was it because, in Laura finding her own freedom, Marta felt latched to another version of “societal prison”?
“Perhaps,” Laura said. “Although I’m trapped with my lack of language. Please, help me.”
Marta chuckled, grateful to have something else to consider beyond her reckless and aimless heart. She collected several sheets of paper and arranged them in front of Laura. Each had a series of nouns, verbs, and adjectives on them.
“Just like in German, the English language is constructed of a noun and a verb, generally, with adjectives arranged around them to make things interesting,” Marta began. “We’ve covered a few standard phrases in the past…”
“Like, ‘how are you,’ and ‘what is your name?’” Laura said, her eyes growing large.
“Precisely. Yes,” Marta affirmed.
Marta arranged the nouns and verbs and adjectives accordingly, to create a little sentence for Laura.
“The yellow cat jumps,” Marta recited, showing Laura the little sentence. Laura furrowed her brow and studied the words, aligning them in her mind.
“Now, you make one,” Marta said.
