Chapter 2 The Step-Mother #3
Lord Treveon fell into a terrible coughing fit, tea spewing from him.
Oddly enough, Luci hadn’t known a face could turn that shade of red.
It was nearly apple red as he thumped on his chest. Drusilla and Stasia barked incessantly at Luci, deeming the upheaval her fault.
Brielle was immediately up and threw a rueful glance at Luci that would have been accusatory if it weren’t for the small quirk of her lips.
“Are you all right, Father? I did try to tell you,” she said, patting his back gently as he fought for his breath. “Luci is awful with tea. Anytime she touches it, it’s-” she sent an apologetic smile to Luci. “Well, it’s not very good.”
A small murmur across from her saw Lady Treveon carefully leaning forward and placing her teacup back on the table.
It was all Luci could do not to laugh as she bit the inside of her cheek.
The barking turned to a ringing in her ears, and she considered yelling at the little beasts just to see what they would do, but Lord Treveon beat her to it.
“Will you shut those rats up?” he shouted, and even the dogs went quiet.
All the humor leached from Luci at the way Lady Treveon’s eyes went wide, and silver lined her eyes.
The dogs drew closer to her and curled up into small balls on either side of her.
There was genuine hurt written in the way her lower lip quivered.
Luci reached for her, and she took her hand and squeezed once, an attempt at a smile failing.
“Margaret, darling, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise-.” Lord Treveon began.
Lady Treveon waved a hand before dabbing at her eyes. “Oh, it’s nothing, Stefan. Think nothing of it.”
Luci was inclined to disagree. Lord Treveon’s apology did little to soothe the disgust welling inside her, though that would not have bothered him in the least. He might not have loved Lady Margaret, but he wasn’t cruel to her.
He only ever reserved that for Luci. No, something had happened to put him on edge.
“Father?” Brielle asked from beside him, likely having come to the same conclusion.
At least he had the decency to appear ashamed of his outburst as he rubbed at his eyes.
“Please, sit, Brielle. I have something I want to discuss with you,” he said.
“It’s very exciting,” Lady Margaret said in a hushed whisper.
Luci couldn’t have said why, but she took Brielle’s hand as if it could steady her heart. Mostly, she wished she could prevent the words Lord Treveon was about to say.
“Prince Ira is hosting a ball,” Lord Treveon said gravely.
All the air rushed out of Luci at once, and the tightness in her chest dissipated to nothing. It was as if she were as free as the wind. Soaring without a care below her. Balls were nothing new. That the crown prince was hosting one was as common as birds in the sky. Nothing was changing.
“Oh?” Brielle said politely.
“Not just any ball, sweetheart. Morale is low in the kingdom. Many within Meridia are not as lucky as we are. There has been unrest.” Lord Treveon spoke carefully.
“What does a ball have to do with that?” Brielle asked.
“Some think it would boost morale to see their crown prince settle down.”
Lady Margaret scoffed. “You are so serious, Stefan, Prince Ira is looking for his queen, and he will choose someone from the ball. It’s terribly romantic.”
That was not the word Luci would have chosen.
In fact, in every logical way, it was the antithesis of romance.
There would be no love in the match. Merely a matter of picking who was the most attractive and wore the finest gowns.
It might as well have been a trip to the town market.
If they thought a farce of a marriage would make people forget that their bellies were empty, they had bigger problems than morale.
She may have been young before she came to Blythe, but she never forgot what it felt like to be hungry, to feel lost. No amount of romance could make a person forget that.
“You want me to go…to the ball?” Brielle stumbled over the words.
Just like that, Luci was stripped down till all that remained was her fears. This was why they had come home early from court. To sell Brielle like she was nothing more than a piece of meat.
“Well, yes, you are looking well, and I think you would enjoy the ball.” Lord Treveon said, scratching at his throat.
Wasn’t this just what Brielle was wishing for a few nights ago?
It occurred to Luci that she was being selfish.
If this was what Brielle wanted, to marry an empty-headed prince, then Luci would support her, but it was hard to imagine she wanted that life.
Not to mention how cruel the people at court would be.
Everyone knew of Lord Treveon’s invalid daughter.
They would scoff at her and judge her. More than that, it was unlikely the prince would choose her even if she were the best woman to walk through the palace doors.
The upper class and royalty were only ever interested in breeding.
Brielle’s mother had been sickly, and they would assume the worst of any children Brielle had.
They would never stop to get to know how incredible Brielle was.
Asking Brielle to go to the ball was asking her to lay her heart on the table only to be ripped apart.
It was cruel. A man as clever as Lord Treveon would know it just as well, but his ambition was too consuming to stay his hand.
Even before Brielle spoke, they all knew her answer. Not because it was a dream come true or some fairytale, but because it was who she was. She would never disappoint the ones she loved.
Luci closed her eyes as if she could ward off the words she knew would come.
“Of course, Father, if that is what you wish of me,” she said.
Lord Treveon had the decency to turn a light pink and stammer. The spring breeze turned sour coming through the air as if all the strawberries in Blythe had gone rotten with a single sentence. Pulling closer to Brielle, Luci threaded her arm with hers.
Whatever words Luci would have said were stripped away by the slight shake of Brielle’s head, her wet hair quickly braided to the side. Fine, Luci would keep her opinion to herself for now, but they would have to talk about this even if it wouldn’t change her mind. What was done was done.
“Excellent.” Lord Treveon cleared his throat, standing. “I must be getting back to court then.”
All at once, an inferno rose in Luci as she saw his game for what it was.
He could have sent a letter or a page, but he had come in person because he knew Brielle wouldn’t say no to him.
Even if she had been ill in bed, she would have said yes.
He was a coward and a sham of a father all wrapped in one.
“You’re leaving,” Brielle said quietly.
Lady Margaret reached out her hand, though she couldn’t reach Brielle, “You know how busy your father is. I don’t think King Rupert could do without him more than a moment, but I’ll stay with you till the ball, sweet girl. We can travel together.”
Brielle responded, and words were exchanged, but all Luci could think was that these women deserved better.
They deserved better than the man who reeked of ambition and manipulation as a husband and a father.
True enough to form, Lord Treveon stood and glanced at Luci; narrowed eyes and thin lips were a message enough. Luci was not invited to the ball.
“I would speak to the girl in private a moment,” Lord Treveon said.
Brielle’s body stiffened next to hers. “I don’t-”
“It’s fine,” Luci said, her fire thawing to ice.
“Brielle, sweetheart, I want to show you the newest fashion I brought home. Maybe we could think about what you’d like to wear to the ball.”
At least Lady Margaret was a good woman.
The youngest of seven daughters, she had often spoken of being overlooked, but Lord Treveon had seen her fortune that her father had made through privateering and saw an opportunity.
While she loved the life of a lady, Luci had once found her crying, staring at a portrait of Brielle’s mother holding her as an infant.
It was then that Luci had understood her a little better.
It was also the reason Luci tolerated Stasia and Drusilla.
They were the daughters Lady Margaret could never have.
Despite the invitation, Brielle turned to Luci with a question. All Luci had to do was ask her to stay. As tempting as it was, some problems couldn’t be left to another day. So Luci nodded and pressed a kiss to Brielle’s cheek.
“I’ll meet you upstairs,” she said.
Brielle nodded even though her heart-shaped lips were turned down into a frown.
The sooner she got this over with, the better.
Part of her wondered if Brielle knew what her father was about to say.
If she really understood the depth of his disdain for her.
Probably not. Luci was careful never to speak ill of Lord Treveon because she knew it would hurt Brielle.
Life was already cruel enough without breaking the illusion of one’s father.
A nip at her ankle had her letting out a startled squeal, but when she searched for the source, Stasia was already following close behind her mistress and Brielle. The little beast. If only she knew what she did to offend the rats so much.
“You know they say dogs can sense a person’s soul,” Lord Treveon said, his back to her as he stared at the empty fireplace.
It felt like an unequal balance that Luci wasn’t prepared to concede to be sitting while he stood with his hands folded behind his back. When she stood, he turned abruptly, scowling at her. His caterpillars all looking rather angry.
“I did not dismiss you,” he said.
She would not bow. “I was merely tired of sitting.”
“You are insolent,” he shot back.
Holding out her hands in supplication, Luci fought to understand why he disliked her so.
“You and I both love Brielle. Isn’t that enough?” she asked.
“No.” The answer was sharp, sure.
If that wasn’t enough, then the truth was nothing ever would be.
They would always be enemies if Brielle weren’t enough common ground.
Even if Luci didn’t understand why, she wouldn’t make it easy for him.
When they were fifteen, after their trip to court, Lord Treveon had tried for the first and last time to get rid of Luci.
He had his footman throw Luci into an unmarked carriage and down into Picadilly alley, where most of Meridia’s homeless tried to survive with three gold shillings and the clothes on her back.
Only the gaslight lamps to show her what lies in the dark, waiting amongst the stench of human waste.
It was a time in her life that she fought hard not to remember.
Three days she lived on the streets. The first shilling was for a blanket, the second a bowl of soup whose contents she was grateful never to know, and the last- the last she still kept at the edge of Brielle’s bed where she slept.
A reminder of how easily life could change and how cruel the world could be.
Her next step would have been one of the workhouses where you died from illness or from exhaustion, but in the meantime, there was a cot to lie on.
The other option left to her was to sell her body, and while she would never have judged the women who chose it, she wasn’t able to bring herself to.
Probably enough time at the workhouse would have made her more pliable to the idea.
She never made it to the workhouse, though.
Mrs. Blakesley had found her and begged her to come back to Blythe.
Brielle had taken to one of her fits, and they had used all of Luci’s tonics to no avail.
Of all the things that had happened and she had seen during that time, nothing made her blood run cold like when she saw Brielle’s pale, lifeless body.
The fever had taken too long to break, and she was cold where she should have been warm.
Luci had made more of her tonics, the one with jasmine and aloe in particular.
Coaxing it down Brielle’s throat without her choking had been the hardest, but after that was done, she had washed off the germs of Picadilly and changed her clothes.
After that, it was hard to remember. She had lain next to Brielle, waiting for her to wake up.
It might have been hours or days, but her name on Brielle’s lips was a sound she would never forget.
Maybe Brielle would have gotten better without Luci, but since those days, two things had stayed the same.
Luci always made sure that there was enough stock of tonics for every occasion to last years, and the other was that Luci never left Brielle’s side again.
Not even Lord Treveon was brave enough to chance what happened then again. Or at least he had not been till now.
“You aren’t to go to the ball,” he said with a rueful smirk, as if he thought Luci would be hurt not to attend a party with pompous royals and preening nobility.
“I go where Brielle goes,” she said, holding her ground.
Lord Treveon’s face contorted with rage as he took a step towards her, hand outstretched as if he would strike her. He caught himself, but Luci never flinched despite the thumping of her heart. She would not cower for the brute before her.
“You are my greatest failure. I will not parade an orphan girl around the nobility like some sort of laughing stock. Brielle will attend the ball alone,” he ordered.
“You remember the last time you tried to separate us,” she challenged.
His face paled as he remembered, but there was a hardness to the set of his jaw that said he would not be moved.
“Once she gets out of this miserable house and sees what life can be, she won’t need you. You are a symptom, not the cure.” His eyes narrowed, conviction in every word.
The symptom. As if he understood who Brielle was at all.
A chill air ran over the room and wrapped itself around Luci’s throat, constricting.
Her chest ached with the onslaught of pressure that grew with every passing moment.
Brielle’s words haunted her, echoing each stale breath.
The way she wondered what her life could be like if she weren’t always ill.
A life filled with love and laughter. Was happiness enough to cure her spirit?
“I see you understand,” he said, though his words felt far away. “I am glad we finally understand one another.”
Luci was vaguely aware of the door closing behind him, but her feet were stuck to the soft, deep blue carpet that felt like it was sucking her into the ground.
Quicksand is consuming her inch by inch.
It might have been hours before she moved; no one could really say for sure, but one thing was certain. Luci no longer knew herself.