Chapter 10 – The Duchess of Andelin’s Salon #4
“That was a good strike, wasn’t it, to disarm him?” Duchess Andelin asked, looking at the boy who had disarmed his opponent. But Davi and Leonin were completely unappreciative.
“My lady, would you mind sitting back a bit?” Leonin bent to take her elbow. “Please.”
“Oh, but—” she began, looking automatically to Davi for her ally. But he shook his head, his left eye narrowed, and offered his hand to help her to her feet. She sighed. “Very well. I can’t see so well from back here. Batistin, how did you do that, that thing with your hand?”
“I saw His Grace do it, isn’t it great?” The boy boasted. “You strike hard, for this part of the sword…”
This was why.
Even as the duchess sat down a safe distance away, Mionet instantly realized that this was a living example of a reason for many of the manners of nobility—no, the caution of nobility.
The Duchess of Andelin could not afford to risk the least harm.
There was small chance that being struck with a wooden sword would do any lasting damage, but stranger things had happened.
Princess Ophele Agnephus, beloved child of the Emperor, Daughter of the Stars, had a duty to protect her own sacred blood, to perpetuate it, and to join it to His Grace’s in the creation of his heir.
Blissfully unaware of these considerations, Duchess Andelin cheered and applauded, congratulating the boys on their skill in the final demonstrations.
There was only a little trouble in her face when they finally bid farewell, and the boys trooped back out the door to be bundled off to the barracks.
“Jacot didn’t look well,” she said, once the door was safely closed, her brows puckered with concern. “Has he been ill, do you know?”
“No, my lady, but we don’t see much of the pages,” replied Davi, dragging the heavy table back into place with cheerful disregard for the existence of servants. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“He swam the Brede to come here,” she said reminiscently. “His Grace wasn’t letting anyone in, but Jacot swam across the river, and Miche threatened to throw him back in. It was so good to see them all again, I swear Valentin is three inches ta—”
“You ought to be more cautious of yourself, my lady,” Mionet interrupted, with careful moderation. It was not for her to chastise a duchess. “You might have been hurt if that sword had struck you.”
“That can never happen again,” Leonin said immediately, as she had known he would. “We ought to have anticipated that. You must keep well back in future.”
Duchess Andelin looked between them in surprise.
“But even if it had hit me, it wouldn’t have done any real harm, it’s just a practice sword,” she protested, appealing once more to Davi. But even he shook his head.
“Can’t take that chance, lady. His Grace would have our necks, if he saw that.”
“It is a noblewoman’s duty to keep herself safe,” Mionet agreed, seizing the opportunity to drive the lesson home.
“That is one of the reasons why nobles do not mix with commoners, and sit away from them when they are present. You cannot risk harm for their sake. What would happen to those boys if they accidentally hurt you? In the Empire, the penalty for drawing blood from a noble is a flogging.”
This was a winning argument. It might even be sufficient to end this nonsense once and for all, and Mionet felt the momentum behind her as she went on, gently and regretfully explaining the necessary divisions between classes, not just for the lady’s safety, but the safety of her people.
But she felt an unexpected twinge as she watched all the fun fade from the young woman’s face.
Well, Duchess Andelin was young. 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 that is 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…”