Chapter Text
A single young woman, in possession of a large fortune, would find that the doors of society open more readily to her than they would otherwise. It was the way of the world: where birth may not recommend a connection to a young lady, a dowry might, and property, independent of parental or legal ties, would.
Though Alenca Goffil knew that, she still worried. All the fortune and property in the world couldn’t make up for the obvious facets of her character that made her stand out amongst high society. She had been taught to scavenge and survive, living on the outskirts of the country with her small family, and though she would idly day-dream, she never mistook herself. Her aunt made certain of that.
When a lawyer, dressed in more finery than Alenca had ever seen in her life, appeared at the cottage door, her aunt had chased him away with a sickle. He returned, two days later, with armed guards, who sat both of them down and pestered Vanya for some time about the facts of Alenca’s birth. Had her parents been legally married? Yes, in the local parish. Witnesses? Herself and one of Koris’ friends. None from Shyli’s side?
That was then Vanya had started to lose her patience. When asked about documentation, she directed them to the parish priest, Mr Forrester, and when asked about Alenca’s birth date, she did the same. By the time they asked about proof of Shyli’s and Koris’ death, she’d had enough, and pointed them to the door, not caring that they had weapons. “We don’t have none of that here,” she’d all but snarled, “you’d find them all in the parish. If you’ve any other questions, ask them and get out.”
Alenca remembered clearly the long, awkward silence, when the guards looked to the lawyer – a Mr Rayne, apparently? – and he looked back at them with a long-suffering sigh. It was the usual reaction one had after dealing with her aunt. They thanked the two of them for their hospitality – Vanya snorted loudly – and quickly exited the cottage, leaving the door open a crack behind them.
“They’ll be back,” Vanya snarled, later, over a bowl of near-tasteless soup. “They’ll be back, no doubt with some sort of notice of eviction. They wouldn’t take notice of us, otherwise.”
Vanya was right, though not entirely. Mr Rayne returned the following day, more documents in hand, and by the end of his presentation the room was left in stunned silence. Alenca knew little of her mother’s past and, it became clear, that was because Vanya similarly knew little. Koris has always promised stories and explanations “for another day”, but that day came and went when he fell ill, with naught an explanation to be found.
It was quite simple, Mr Rayne had said. Shyli had, in fact, been a gentlewoman, addressed as Miss Shyli of the Cuthil family – an old and wealthy bloodline, though having never attained the level of distinction that came with a noble title. What her parents had dismissed as a childish inclination towards romanticism returned in a rather disastrous way; she had convinced them of sending her home from town ahead of schedule, only she never returned to the manor. By the time they found her, she was with child, wed to a poor man of no consequence, and they had considered her lost to them.
She’d had an elder brother, Noxt, who inherited the estate upon the death of their father. Apparently, he had written letters, but they never found their way to their intended recipient; Shyli had already passed by that time and the family retreated even further to the forest.
The reason for the questions, the insistence on proof, was that Noxt had died childless, and left the entirety of the estate to his sister – or, as the will dictated, any surviving issue. Though he was a gentleman, there were parties interested in the governing of his lands, needing approval that could not be given by a mere steward, and that required his proper heir. One, in particular, had paid good money so that the projects could move forward.
“Do you understand now, Miss Goffil?” Mr Rayne had asked, lowering his spectacles to give Vanya an unimpressed once-over. “This is not an issue of petty land ownership. These matters concern your betters. We will be leaving in two days, with or without your approval.” Then, he turned and addressed Alenca plainly, the first time he had done so all evening. “You seem a sensible young woman, Miss Alenca. Surely you understand, where your aunt does not, that in inheriting the Cuthil estate, you will have far better prospects than you would if you remained here?”
“Prospects.” Vanya’s scorn was plain. “You speak as if you would not be exposing her to the scorn of the world.”
“… My aunt has a point, sir,” Alenca frowned. “I have not been raised for that sort of society, I –“
“- will be educated,” Mr Rayne continued for her, with a casual wave of his hand. “Your late uncle has foreseen this and made provisions for such an event.”
That is what much of the past six months had been: lessons, and many of them, in the setting of the Cuthil manor. She’d agreed to go, of course. Alenca loved her aunt dearly, but she knew Vanya had been wanting to be on her own for many years, and she knew she could support her better if she did this. Besides… well, those romantic dreams still held sway over a small part of her heart.
Not even dreams could make her blind to the reality of her situation, however. No matter the words of Mr Rayne, the estate’s chief lawyer, and Mr Cantor, her late uncle’s steward, she knew she would stand out. Though her posture had improved, and her manners were impeccable, it was quite clear, from the looks she’d been given at the few small gatherings she’d attended, that she was regarded as an outsider. She had not been playing piano and singing from infancy, as some young women did. She’d known hunger and pain. Certainly, her skin had softened, and the once-hard lines of her figure turned softer, and the calluses on her palms had long since healed. But they knew with a simple glance that she did not belong. The moment she was introduced, Miss Alenca Goffil of Cuthinthal, they knew who she was and where she’d come from.
Alenca sighed and looked out the window, one hand idly fiddling with the fabric of her dress. Her lessons had trained her not to do that in polite company, yes, but while she was alone, two decades of habits had a way of undoing her careful guard. She had been dreading this evening for quite some time. One of her uncle’s old business partners – indeed, the very man whose project needed Alenca’s approval to proceed – was throwing a rather lavish gathering, meant to mark the beginning of the season, and she was to attend.
She’d known, within minutes of first meeting him so many months prior, that one did not simply say no to Mr Duliae Laushust without consequences. He was a man that wielded power without reprieve, with a strange sort of charm that made him manners almost inviting.
He’d been clear, in that same meaning, that he intended to use her – use the estate, rather – to further his own means, and invited her to do the same to him. “You may find, Miss Goffil, that we will be of mutual use to one another. The wealth of your estate reflects well on my own,” he’d added, with a half-smile. “I am not adverse to promoting your own agenda, should you be amenable to my own.”
“I am amenable,” she’d replied, and she’d not entirely liked the satisfaction on his face. “Though I wonder, if I had not been, whether you would have had other means of persuading me.”
“Then,” Mr Laushust had given her another shrouded smile, “we should count ourselves fortunate that I did not have to use them.”
In the intervening months, their relationship had progressed to point of – well, not quite comfort, but Alenca no longer felt as much on her guard when interacting with him. She trusted him to support her interests – namely, protecting her from the scorn her aunt had so worried about – so long as he could draw benefit from them. No doubt he trusted her in a similar manner, to allow his investments and his projects on her land so long as he continued to benefit her. Indeed, they had progressed to a first-name basis, along with an increase of frankness between to the two of them.
“As it stands, my dear,” Duliae had told her once, over dinner with their respective lawyers, “I have had a profitable relationship with your family, regardless of the condition of the markets, that pulling out at the first sign of trouble would seem abominably flighty and short-sighted.”
Certainly, there were other failings he could be accused of, but short-sighted was not one of them. And so, Alenca found herself waiting for the clock upon her mantel to chime, so that she could finally leave for the damned party. She’d been ready for what felt like ages, dressed in one of many fine gowns, soft gloves pulled just above her elbows, hair piled high upon her head with pearl pins. A year prior, she would have laughed at the notion, yet there she was, ready to go to her first society ball.
If it weren’t for the fact that she’d been too nervous to eat much, Alenca was certain she would retch before the chime rang out. Yet, just as she’d begun to despair, she heard the rich intones of the clock count out the hour: six-thirty. A heart’s beat of a moment later and one of the servants – she had servants, she had yet to get used to that particular facet of her new life – opened the door to the drawing room and announced that her carriage was ready.
By the time she had pulled on her cloak – fur and lined with a plush, warm fabric – Mr Rayne was already at the door, waiting on her. Having her own property, in her name, assured her a degree of independence other young ladies her age would assuredly lack, but on this occasion the lawyer was accompanying her. Duliae, ever practically-minded, had seen fit to arrange yet another business meeting behind the scenes.
Her lawyer aided her into the carriage, then sat opposite her. Once the carriage lurched and began to make its way down the cobbled streets, he pulled out some papers and began to rifle through them, confirming her decisions. Rayne, she trusted more that Duliae – from what she had heard at the estate, he had been very close with her uncle, and he was always clear that his priorities were, first and foremost, the preservation of the lands and family he had so faithfully served. The only reason he was still in town was to see her settled and to finalize these last few deals, before returning to the countryside to oversee business there.
“Very well,” he nodded to her, once they were done, tucking the papers back inside his coat. “Should anything else arise, I will send for you.”
Alenca nodded back at that, her attention mostly on the townhomes they were moving past. From the corner of her eye, she could see Rayne open his mouth, as if he wanted to something more, but he then cleared his throat awkwardly and looked askance.
There was already a sizable crowd growing outside of Duliae’s home in town, though it was yet early in the evening. Some were lingering at the door, no doubt negotiating their own entry, while others moved past effortlessly. A few particularly decorated carriages caught her eye, almost overburdened by the hanging liveries and splendor.
Any other time, Alenca would put her history lessons to work by identifying which belonged to which family, but as the thought occurred to her, one of Duliae’s own footmen had already stepped up to the carriage and opened the door. Rayne exited first, as was proper, and then fell one step behind her as she advanced to the door. With practiced grace, she drew her invitation from her pocket, and moved past the assembled throng.
Already, she could hear their whispers – high society being as insular as it was, her being unknown to them already identified her as an upstart – but she kept her focus on her posture, her gaze kept ahead of her, the thick parchment of the invitation held between her fingers. “Miss Alenca Goffil,” she said, handing the paper over to the doorman, and then she inclined her head back, in the direction of Mr Rayne. “Mr Thomas Rayne, esquire.”
They needed no other introduction, when the names were paired with a hurried glance at the cardstock, and the man bowed before drawing open one of the doors.
Somewhere in the crowd, there was a gasp, and Alenca bit back the little smile that threatened to overtake her face at such dramatics. Her skirts gathered in one hand, she stepped across the threshold. Already, she could hear the music being played in one of the distant rooms, and the sounds of conversation echoed down the marble halls to reach Alenca in the form of a low murmuring sound. A number of servants were waiting in the entry hall, directing guests, and one stepped forward to escort Mr Rayne. Then their attention was turned to her.
The next hour passed in something of a blur, fueled partly by her lessons, partly by self-preservational instinct. She met Duliae in the receiving line – and drew more stares for the attention he paid her, damn the man. No doubt he was already amused by the stir she was causing, and planning on how best to take advantage of the whole affair. From there, she was handed off to Miss Skylar Selund – another acquaintance of Duliae’s and a similarly independent young woman – who saw her circulated with a level of careful disinterest.
Skylar, she knew, was not all that enthusiastic of Duliae associating with a low-born girl of newly-acquired fortune, but the two had come to something of an understanding in recent weeks. Alenca had apparently been deemed intelligent enough not to pose an immediate risk to their well-being, though was certain that if her fortunes changed, Skylar would not be hesitant in revoking her tepid approval. As it was, they could converse and share a few hushed laughs without too much discomfort.
As the first hour neared to a close, Skylar gave Alenca a look, her amusement evident only in the shine of her eyes. “I believe I was only told to see introduced to a few of the other guests here, was I not?”
In an instant, Alenca guessed what the other young woman was getting at, and gave her a wry smile. “Yes, and I daresay you’ve done just that, Miss Selund; by my count you have introduced me to at least five.”
“Then my obligation to you is fulfilled, is it not?”
“In both the letter and intent of your instruction, without a doubt,” Alenca agreed, and she was rewarded by a slight quirk of Skylar’s lips before she made her curtsey and parted from her. Alone for the first time, Alenca forced back her sigh of relief, and looked about. It seemed that some of the interest she had roused earlier had passed; her introductions must have sated some curiosity and gossip done away with the rest. Most of those around were satisfied with their own conversations. Spying a table of refreshments, she slipped through the crowd, ignoring the swell of song that indicated the start of another dance.
Glass of wine now in hand, she moved towards one of the windows, where the air was at least somewhat cooler, and she readied herself to enjoy her respite, however brief it would turn out to be.
Or so she had thought, before the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, stopping her from taking a sip. She’d accepted brief, yes, but not so brief as to not allow a second’s break! Frustration welling within her, she turned to see just who was staring at her so blatantly.
To her surprise, it was a young man unknown to her – a handsome young man, she realized, taking in his appearance before bowing her head to him and looking back out the window. Her brief glance allowed her to draw up a vague likeness in her mind, the dark hair and eyes, the full lips drawn into a smirk – was it a smirk? She was unsure. Only now it was too late to look a second time – it would be obvious, quite as obvious as he had been staring at her – was still staring, as that feeling of being watched had not left her.
It was not as if she hadn’t been around men. Before, when she was living under the relative freedom of behaviour that came with poverty, she’d known a number of them. One in particular – Rylen – was an acquaintance that she’d often bumped in to on her lonely walks to the village. Of course, those days had passed. A proper young lady, her etiquette instructor had tutted at her more than once, did not allow herself to be left alone with any sort of young man, poor or not. The wording of that had rankled Alenca – to be left alone, as if she had little choice in the matter. She supposed most young ladies had little choice, dependent as they were on family for their survival. Alenca at least had the advantage of her own property – she could not disown herself – but it had been impressed upon her, quite severely, that not even property could excuse for any emotional excesses or flights of fancy.
Duliae, of course, was an exception. She had asked Mr Rayne once why there was such little fuss about her dining with Duliae, when he would otherwise protest her dining alone with a man, and he’d laughed so hard he started to wheeze. Apparently, she was quite safe in that regard from Duliae.
The sound of applause broke her from her thoughts. One set of dances had finished and there was another swell of violin as the next was about to begin. A warm sense of satisfaction bloomed in Alenca’s chest, glad she had been able to have some time to herself, to reflect and calm her nerves – even if she still felt eyes upon her.
This time, it was irritation that overcame her. If she was such an object of interest, she thought, it would be better if he sought out someone to introduce the two of them and be done with it! It was a struggle to keep her expression pleasant as she finished her glass of wine. It was even more frustrating to be left with an empty glass, as replacing it with a full one or setting it aside would require her to move back in to the crowds. Shock could be amusing, yes, but blatant observation, as if she were a wild animal and not a rational creature, was discomforting.
Yes, she was uncomfortable. It hurt to admit it. It hurt more to think that her only lasting impact on these people was for rumors and gossip, regardless of the finery of her clothes, the attention paid to her address. Turning inward, to face the window fully, she risked a shaky inhale of breath, trying to stop the stinging of her eyes –
“If I might be of some service, Miss Goffil?”
She turned again at the unfamiliar voice, feeling her face colour, certain her humiliation was complete – then, she beheld who was speaking to her, and knew it was so. It was the young man from earlier, a small smile gracing his lips, as he reached to take her empty glass. He was speaking to her as if they had already been introduced, and yet she knew they had not been – she would have remembered the warm expression of his eyes, the way they seemed to take her in. He turned and placed the glass on the tray of a passing servant, then offered her his arm, his smile growing. “Let us find a spot where the smoke will not irritate your eyes so.”
She had a mind to reject him, what with the voice of her etiquette instructor shrieking in the back of her mind, but it occurred to her that while she knew they had not been introduced properly, the rest of the party would no doubt see them together and assume they had been. Act as if you belong, she remembered being told by that same instructor, and your integration in society will be half-done already.
Alenca smiled her thanks, nodded her assent, and took his arm gently. Even through her glove and the fabric of his sleeve, she could feel the warmth of his person. The young man guided her into a side-room, where smaller groups seemed to be congregating and speaking quietly, away from the exuberance of the main hall. “There,” he said, positioning her near another window, “I can already see the improvement. Redness does not suit your eyes, Miss Goffil.”
As blatant with his compliments as he was with his regard. Alenca laughed and glanced aside, out the window. The candles did very little to ward away the darkness of the night. “With how little light there is, I am surprised you can say that with confidence, sir.”
“Then I will have to endeavor to behold you in the light,” came his easy reply, which he punctuated with a broad grin. There was no mistaking his meaning, which puzzled her exceedingly. Turning her head, she did not bother to hide that she was looking him over, trying to find a hint as to his identity. There was none to be found.
“You have me at a disadvantage, sir.”
He laughed, a merry sound, seemingly uncaring of who heard it. “A gentleman should endeavor to have some element of mystery about him, if only to improve his standing in a lady’s opinion.”
“And yet, without a name, that opinion can have little foundation, and littler merit.”
Another laugh, this one sounding more pleased, and the young man bowed his head to her. “I must concede the point. Lord Haron Milirose, at your service.”
Milirose. She knew that name – as if she could move through Gha’alian society without knowing it! Yet that knowledge only made for further confusion – the Milirose family was of exceedingly high standing, so why would he approached her, if not to humiliate her?
As if sensing her thoughts, Lord Haron took a careful step back and raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture, albeit there was still a light in his eyes that not even her suspicion could dispel. “I mean you no harm, Miss Goffil. I have heard much of you, and-“
“You wanted to see if the rumors were true?” There was a defensive bite to her words.
“One need only look at you to know that the rumors are patently false.” Lord Haron adjusted his stance, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “In any case, I find life is much more enjoyable when they are paid little heed.”
“Well,” Alenca paused. There was still an uncomfortable knot within her gut. “You have had your look, Lord Milirose.”
“That was to disprove the rumors. I should much prefer having you as an acquaintance.”
“As a novelty?”
There was a moment of awkward silence between the two of them, as apparently her remark had stunned him. When he recovered, he gave her another smile, but this one seemed different than his previous ones. Softer – almost private. “I will admit to being curious,” he said, quietly, “but that is because you have lived a life so unlike that of anyone I have ever known. Another in your position might have accepted the inheritance and hidden themselves away from the prying eyes of society.”
Alenca quirked a brow at his sudden honesty and the change in his disposition. “Well, as you can see, I am here.”
“And that is the wonder.” Lord Haron smiled again. “Here, and seemingly unchanged for it.”
There was such a warmth to his words that Alenca found herself unable to respond, too distracted by the feeling of her cheeks colouring. He seemed determined to flatter her. “And this, too, has made you curious?”
“No.”
Alenca had expected him to elaborate, but what followed his answer was silence. She chanced another look his way and found him smiling at her; when their eyes met, he continued, “It has made me appreciative of your company.”
The boldness of that claim darkened the blush on her cheeks, but she rallied her nerve to respond. If he was mistaking her for some sort of wilting maiden, fresh from the country, or thinking that a few pretty words would have her eating out of his hand, she was determined to prove him wrong. “And what manner of company is that, pray tell?”
His smile only grew at her reply. “The company of a vivacious young woman with refreshing opinions.”
Alenca smiled in spite of herself and her defenses; perhaps it was his determination. “Is it not unbecoming of a gentleman to make such a premature judgement?”
Lord Haron laughed again; she was quickly discovering that she liked the sound. “You are correct, Miss Goffil. I have quite forgotten myself. I suggest, then, that we speak of more instructive matters – provided you forgive me for my prejudgement.”
There was another long moment of silence, during which Alenca looked over the man opposite her. If he was looking for an easy target of his charm, he did not seem disappointed by his failure; if he was looking to humiliate her for her lack of connections, he was not luring her in to any embarrassing displays. Perhaps his intentions were as he claimed – he was intrigued by her and enjoyed her conversation.
That in and of itself was new to her in this complicated word of niceties and gossip. But more than his own novelty – yes, perhaps she was something of a hypocrite – she could not pretend that he seemed like a man with whom she could carry on a good conversation. She’d already acknowledged his handsome face, but there was something more, too, which came from seeing his sculpted features in animation.
“You are forgiven,” she replied, the corners of her mouth turning up again. His face lit up with what seemed to be genuine joy, which he followed by clapping his hands together. The sound attracted the attention of the others in the side room, but only briefly.
“Excellent!” He smiled down at her. His mouth opened, no doubt to begin as he suggested, but another voice caught Alenca’s attention – similar, but more severe.
“Haron! There you are, I’ve been looking for you for ages –“ Another man approached the two of them, his focus entirely on the younger. His features were similar to Haron’s – though the newcomers seemed a touch more distinguished – and if Alenca had to guess, she would have thought them related. “What are you doing – the carriage is waiting –“
“Ernol,” Lord Haron replied, in an easy tone, “where are your manners? You’ve forgotten yourself.” He winked at Alenca. “Ernol, if I may, this is Miss Alenca Goffil, of Cuthinthal. Miss Goffil, my elder brother, Lord Ernol Milirose.”
The elder brother blinked as he took in the image of Alenca, offered her a harsh incline of his head, then turned back to Lord Haron. “We’re expected –“
“At parliament, yes; my memory isn’t as bad as you suspect.” He waved his hand airily. Lord Ernol took a sharp inhale.
“If that were true, you would have met me in the foyer half an hour ago.”
Lord Haron gave his brother a shrug, then sighed as he turned the full force of his attention on Alenca. “Forgive me, Miss Goffil; if I do not leave now, I’m afraid I will be subjecting you to my brother’s impatience. I look forward to conversing with you another evening, when we are not as pressed for time.”
Lord Ernol let out a strangled huff of frustration as his brother gave Alenca a bow. She curtseyed back, then offered Lord Ernol one, which he just barely returned before taking Lord Haron by the elbow and dragging him out of the room.
Having not even been able to say a proper goodbye, Alenca was left more than a little stunned, but she quickly shook it off and returned to the main hall. To her surprise, she left the side room feeling much more energized than she had entered it. Lord Haron’s influence, perhaps… and that was a wonder.
When she returned home with her lawyer, hours later, both of them were well-satisfied, albeit for different reasons. Their business with Duliae had been settled, for the present, and Mr Rayne could return to Cuthinthal and oversee its implementation. For her part, Alenca had made several new acquaintances – including another Milirose, Lady Calipoa – whose company she looked forward to having in the coming weeks. Though there was one thing she had to admit: of all those she had met that evening, and of the men she had danced with, there were none who intrigued her so much as Lord Haron.
If the thought of him seeking her out at another assembly brought a smile to her lips, there were no witnesses save for herself and the light of the moon.