Chapter Text
June, 1814
“Ah, there she is.”
The breath caught in Mary’s throat.
Before she even turned her head, she could feel it- her presence. The air of royalty enveloped her, utterly overwhelming.
There she was, with all her ruffles and jewels and every queenly glory.
Mary wanted to run, to melt into the floor, to disappear. She thought she’d have more time, more time to prepare herself. They’d only arrived mere days ago, not at all long enough to ready herself for this reunion. She’d only afforded herself half a glass of champagne thus far, so much less than she knew she needed.
But Lady Danbury was moving with too much purpose, eager to present the girls.
The girls. Mary knew that she needed to push away whatever reluctance she had in order to support her girls; Kate and Edwina could not afford a coward for a mother.
Still, she was just the slightest bit hopeful as she asked, “So soon, Lady Danbury?” If she could have just a few more minutes to ready herself. Check her appearance, take another long sip of champagne. Her necklace- it was getting too tight. She hadn’t wanted to wear it, but she knew she had no choice. Now, it was compressing more with every step she took toward the queen, choking her as it pressed against her skin.
It didn’t matter, however, because Lady Danbury did not answer her, and much too quickly they found themselves standing before the woman Mary had once known so well.
Queen Charlotte.
But also,
Lottie.
She was still Lottie, even under all the embellishments. She- her face, her essence, was still so beautiful The familiar gentleness emitted from her, despite her attempts to hide it away.
She knew those eyes as they turned to her- those soft eyes that used to look at her with such warmth. For a moment, she thought that perhaps it would be alright. That the messiness of the past was behind them, that they could start anew.
You must keep composure. Mary smiled, then bowed. Look her right in the eyes.
She blinked. There here was no warmth in those eyes.
Her gut wrenched, but she did not cower. She could not cower, not so long as Kate and Edwina relied on her. After they were both settled and content, then she could run. Then she could bury her past and move on to whatever life she wanted.
Not now, though, not yet.
Queen Charlotte glanced over Kate and Edwina, assessing them. A small part of Mary hoped that she would be disinterested. She knew that the girls had grown up striving to be better- to be the best , but Mary knew too well what it was like to be the prize of the season. To be the girl under the queen’s thumb. The one everyone sought after, usually with little importance placed on who she really was.
At first glance, being the queen’s chosen diamond meant options, all the freedom to choose. The harsher reality, however, was the eyes everywhere. The other minds and hands leading the way.
There was nothing to be read from Charlotte’s face. Nothing until-
“I hear you have made quite a journey to join us again after all these years, Lady Mary.”
Oh, God.
Keep smiling. The girls are watching. The girls are counting on you.
“If only you had extended the courtesy of offering your queen a final farewell before you left.”
Twenty-six years prior
At nineteen years old, soon-to-be queen Charlotte was tall, beautiful, and proud. She was also frightened out of her mind, though no one else knew it.
She had three months to prepare for the wedding, three months of what her new English company referred to as a betrothal. There would be lace embroidery and flowers shipped from home- her old home, but it didn’t matter. Charlotte was getting married and staying in England no matter where her dress came from, and she had always known it. The theatrics were just that: theatrics.
Still, she ignored that weight in her stomach as she smiled and pretended to enjoy the concert being done in her honor. It was a bit out of key, she thought, but she had always been good at hiding what was on her mind. She was doing a marvelous job with her acting, at least, nodding along to the music as if Mozart himself were performing.
The conductor turned to smile at her, and she returned it, wondering exactly how long this might take. Her feet were rather sore from the evening, and all she wanted was to peel her shoes off (or, rather, have a servant peel them off) and get tucked into bed.
Alas, though, her future mother-in-law was still gallivanting around the room, occasionally glancing at the musicians between conversations.
Stifling a yawn, Charlotte caught a flurry of movement from the corner of her eye. Carefully, she glanced over to see the flash of a skirt disappearing behind an archway, the spot hidden from most of the room.
And then- something else peeked out. She saw a few gloved fingers wrap around the arch before retreating, their owner likely realizing the vulnerability of their hiding place.
Charlotte looked back towards the stage, attempting to regain her focus, until her gaze drifted back toward the archway. There was no longer any movement, but she could still imagine the someone there. Whatever they were doing, she somehow knew they were still doing it.
With the grace of a well-trained swan, she stood up from her seat, nodding politely to the musicians before making her way to the back of the ballroom. Though she’d been seated in the first row, no one would dare begrudge the future queen from a trip to the washroom.
Once she entered the hallway, however, she waved her handmaids to keep some distance, following the path that circled the ballroom. She absentmindedly glanced at the paintings as she passed them, each nameless face blurring into each other. She hadn’t even a clue whose home she was in (they all just seemed to look the same ), only aware that it was yet another aristocrat who wished to welcome their new ruler.
The floors squeaked below as she picked up speed. There was no reason for her to run, really, but she would have liked to. She had to know who was hiding behind that arch- why they were hiding behind it.
Finally, she reached it. Behind a potted plant, she caught a bit of fabric on the floor. She approached quietly, her mouth downturned a bit in surprise. There was a girl standing by the arch, one with a youthful glow and skin with coloring not unlike her own. Though she had met a few people with darker complexions like hers, they were few and far between, and none of them had been close to her age.
“From what are you hiding?” The language still felt a bit foreign on her tongue, the words coming out just the slightest bit awkward. Though she’d spent years learning English in a classroom, it still felt strange to have to use it in regular conversation.
The girl before her gasped, a hand reaching up to clutch her chest as her head whipped around to see Charlotte. Half a moment passed before she registered who had spoken to her, eyes widening as she dipped into a low curtsy. “Your Majesty.”
Charlotte’s mouth quirked. “I am not queen yet,” she reminded, though she couldn’t say she was really bothered.
“Of course,” the girl replied, avoiding eye contact as her own lips formed an embarrassed smile. It was endearing, really, and Charlotte couldn’t help but give a soft smile in return.
She bent down a bit to meet the girl’s gaze. She had thick, long lashes, the kind that made her eyes look even larger than they already were. “Again, from what are you hiding? Or-” she glanced toward the ballroom conspiratorially, “- from whom?”
The girl flushed, taking a deliberate step away from the arch. “Nothing, really. No one.” She swallowed nervously, but Charlotte just stood, waiting for more. With a sigh, she admitted, “I’m not supposed to be down here. My nanny had to take sick leave, and I begged my mother to bring me along. She agreed, but only if I promised to stay in the nursery.”
“And,” Charlotte smiled again, taking a long, deliberate look around. “This is the nursery?”
The girl grimaced, though it was good-natured. “The governess is currently trying to wrangle seven children into listening to a story. I feel a bit guilty, it was almost too easy to step out.”
Charlotte gave a delicate chuckle, nodding as she examined her. With a small squint of her eyes, she asked, “A little old to have a nanny, are you not?” The girl looked a tad younger than herself, but still, likely old enough to be of marital age.
“I’ve just turned seventeen.” Her eyes kept flitting between looking at Charlotte, the ground, and the direction of the ballroom, as if they were fighting with where to set themselves. “My parents agreed to let me wait until next year to present to the court.”
“Mm. I suppose we will be exploring this world together, then.”
There was the slightest pause, and the girl blinked. “I suppose.”
A new song began to play- it sounded out of tune.
Charlotte nearly rolled her eyes, “This torture will not end soon enough, I fear.”
The girl’s head twitched in surprise. “You don’t like music?”
“Oh, I like music,” Charlotte answered, leaning forward to disdainfully glance around the plant. “But this cannot be called music.”
“Hmm.” The girl gave her a whisper of a smile, looking as though she couldn’t decide whether she was amused or offended on the musicians’ behalves. “My cousin is the harpist.”
It was not in Charlotte’s nature nor upbringing to be embarrassed, so she was surprised to feel the bit of heat that rose to her cheeks. She cleared her throat before nodding diplomatically, taking the time to think up a clever reply. Instead, all that came out was, “Well. I assume you play better.”
This time, there was no shyness in the girl’s face as she looked at Charlotte, merely curiosity. “And what makes you think that?”
Your hands. Charlotte had been glancing at them ever so often, watching as they moved, sometimes with the music, and sometimes with her words. They were delicate, graceful. Designed for music.
She would never say that, of course. Certainly not to someone she had just met. Certainly not to this curious girl she’d found hidden behind a potted plant.
“What is your name?”
Though she clearly wanted an answer, the girl merely examined her future queen for a moment. “Mary Sheffield, Ma’am,” she answered quietly, accompanying it with another curtsy. Charlotte couldn’t tell whether it was mocking. “And I’m actually a terrible musician.”
Charlotte bit the inside of her lip to keep from laughing, but the way the girl’s eyes twinkled told her that she knew all the same. “You may call me Charlotte.”
The girl- Mary- looked stunned for a moment. Her mouth parted before closing, and she blinked, nodding and rather awkwardly falling into another curtsy. The smile on Charlotte’s face grew.
“Charlotte…” she said, testing the word. It looked as though she were waiting for some secret footman to come in and chastise her for it, but no one did. “Charlotte,” she repeated, this time with more confidence in the word. It sounded lovely in her voice.
Too lovely.
“Not when we’re in public, of course,” Charlotte amended automatically, though she nearly regret it. It seemed to put something between them, and suddenly she was aware of the music playing again.
“Of course,” Mary muttered, looking back toward the ballroom.
They stood quietly for a few moments, listening to the start of a new song. This one, Charlotte had to admit (but only in her mind), was not nearly as awful as the ones before. It was actually quite pretty, with a melody that almost made her want to dance.
She’d just closed her eyes to listen when Mary said, “I’m not sure how to do this properly, but I should probably be getting back…”
“Oh.” Charlotte, blinked a few times, finding herself just the slightest bit disappointed. “Of course- Mary.” She stumbled on the name, it feeling strange on her tongue. Mary was already nodding, about to step out. Charlotte’s mind went blank for a moment, unable to put her thoughts in order. She raised a hand to stop Mary from leaving. “I- I hope we might become friends.”
Mary looked at her with surprise again, brows furrowing together before relaxing again. She looked as though there was something she wanted to say. Charlotte braced herself for whatever it was, but no reply came. Instead, Mary simply nodded, curtsying one final time before scurrying down the hall away from the ballroom.
Charlotte resisted the urge to watch her, instead looking down at the enormous engagement ring on her finger. It was one of the larger rings in the English vault, and it was beautiful. Large and sparkling, perfect, one might say. And it was. Perfect for her.
Still, it felt lonely in the hallway. Even with her lady’s maids not far behind, it felt as though Charlotte was alone with no one but her big shiny ring. She glanced at the potted plant, wondering whether it was possible Mary might feel a bit lonelier as well.
It was easy, pretending to belong. Charlotte had spent her entire life getting ready for something like this- a move to a faraway land, a marriage to someone she didn’t know, a throne in a country she’d never set foot in before. Admittedly, she’d never thought England was the place where she’d end up, but it really was just more of the same.
She did well enough with the court. What she lacked in knowledge, she made up for in charm and grace. She knew exactly when to laugh, when to dance, when to hide her accent. It was getting easier with the tutor; a few years and no one would remember that their queen was a foreigner. Charlotte would make sure of that.
George was kind, at least, from what she could collect. So rarely did the two spend time together, and even more rare that they were in a private enough place to get to know one another. But although she hadn’t formed much of an opinion of him, everyone told her that she had made “quite an impression on him.”
She still wasn’t exactly sure what this meant, but from what she could collect, the king had apparently seen a painting of her (a gorgeous portrait done on her 18th birthday) and chosen her. It was flattering, and perfectly understandable in Charlotte’s opinion, but… there did seem to be a certain air about the way people told her. Almost as if they knew something she didn’t.
Still, she needn’t concern herself. She was going to be a young queen and had no plans of involving herself in conspiracies or political matters. Art, music, dancing. That was all she would concern herself with. That was all anyone wanted her to concern herself with.
(Oh, there was something about a conflict in what used to be the colonies, but what did that matter?)
And now, she was really accumulating herself. She was making friends.
Well, friend.
She sat gracefully on a sofa, waiting for them to enter the room. There were four servants milling about, but they wouldn’t meet her eye let alone dare to talk to her.
“Open that window, please,” she said to the nearest footman, gesturing toward which one. It was stuffy in the summer, she’d have to remember that.
The doors opened at the same time the window did, letting in a wonderful floral scent. It reminded her of freshness, youth, sweetness. It was jasmine.
They didn’t grow jasmine anywhere near this part of the castle.
Charlotte inhaled for a moment, distracted.
“Er- Ma’am?”
She looked up just in time to see an older woman look at Mary with something between the lines of horror and distress. The girl flushed under what was presumably her mother’s gaze, the realization that she hadn’t followed protocol forming behind her eyes.
There was something about it that made the corners of Charlotte’s lips rise, though she kept her face merely polite. “Mrs. Sheffield, Miss Mary, I’m so pleased you were able to join me today.”
“Thank you so much for the invitation, ma’am,” Mrs. Sheffield said, eyes slightly wide even as she bent down into a nervous curtsy. “It was such a lovely surprise.”
“Yes,” Mary agreed, looking at Charlotte with a pointed expression as she matched her mother’s curtsy. “Very surprising.”
“Well, I’ve heard good things about you both.”
Mrs. Sheffield looked puzzled for a moment, though seemed to think better than to question her future queen. Mary glanced at Charlotte, a hint of humor passing across her face. Clearly, her mother had not been made aware of their chance encounter.
“Please sit,” Charlotte invited, gesturing to the seats in front of her. “And thank you for coming on such short notice.”
“Oh, of course!” Mrs. Sheffield brightened, taking her seat. Behind her, Mary gave a shrug that read Well, I suppose when you’re invited for tea by the future queen…
The floral scent got stronger as they neared, and Charlotte wondered what kind of soap they used. She was considering whether it would be appropriate to ask, but the older woman interrupted her wonderings.
“Are you enjoying England, Ma’am?”
Despite the politeness of the question, Charlotte’s stomach clenched unwittingly. She swallowed. “Very much, thank you. The weather is lovely.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Sheffield smiled. “I hope you’ve been enjoying the parties. My niece was actually a member of the quartet at the Maccensfield musicale.”
Charlotte glanced at Mary, who was now casting an almost disapproving look at her mother. “Yes, I have. There seems to be no shortage of talent in London.”
The older woman laughed a bit too much, eagerly accepting the cup of tea offered to her. Mary visibly bit the inside of her cheek, murmuring a thank you to the servant handing her a cup.
Something about the gesture calmed Charlotte, as if she wasn’t alone in her thoughts.
“Are you landowners?” she asked, mostly desperate to turn the conversation away from herself.
Mrs. Sheffield’s smile wavered and she shifted her weight in the chair. “No, it was… My husband’s brother is a baron.”
Charlotte didn’t quite understand the woman’s change, but she thought better than to ask. She could, if she really wanted to. But she did not.
“The harpist’s father, I presume?” There was the slightest hint of humor in the question, just enough to relax Mrs. Sheffield again.
“The very one,” Mary nodded, giving Charlotte a thankful little smile.
The conversation went smoother from there. Charlotte was charming, as always, and Mrs. Sheffield complimented as such.
“And so beautiful,” she gushed repeatedly. The third time, Charlotte swore she heard an almost mocking, “so beautiful,” parroting her.
She shared a smile with Mary as Mrs. Sheffield gestured toward the antique vase on a nearby table.
“Shall we take a walk?” Charlotte asked once they were sufficiently done with tea. “The gardens are lovely at this time of day.”
Mrs. Sheffield looked at her apologetically. “I would love to, but I twisted my ankle earlier this morning.”
“Oh,” Charlotte said, a perfect look of surprised disappointment on her face. (She’d noticed the woman limping to her seat earlier that afternoon.) “Miss Mary, might you join me, then? I like a bit of exercise after tea.”
Mary gave her a touch of an amused smile, politely nodding. “Of course, Ma’am.”
They trailed after Charlotte as she exited the room, leaving Mrs. Sheffield at a stone bench right outside the French doors.
Once Mary had fallen into step with her again, the floral scent returned, almost overwhelmingly. There was something about it that just captured her, returning her to a memory she wasn’t quite sure she actually had.
“Do you…” The question disappeared from her tongue as she finally caught sight of the white in Mary’s hair. Throughout the coiffure, little white flowers had been interlaced like pearls. It was really was a beautiful visual, and so different from anything Charlotte had seen before. “Do you often put jasmine in your hair?”
Mary met her eyes, just for a moment, before absently pushing a loose piece of hair over her shoulder. A bashfulness passed over her. “It’s something my mother occasionally does for me, when I need it.”
“Need it?”
Mary wrung her hands in front of her, eyes focused on the ground. “When I’m nervous.
“And what exactly makes you nervous?”
This time, she met Charlotte’s eyes. For a moment, they just looked at each other, a conversation taking place within the silence.
And then, they both laughed.
“Well, whatever it is,” Charlotte said as she looped an arm through Mary’s, “I do hope it stops bothering you soon enough.”
Mary looked down at their arms for a moment before returning her gaze to Charlotte, the sweet smell of jasmine surrounding them. “I think it just might.”
It was some weeks later when Mary and Charlotte found themselves strolling through the gardens again (well, if one were to get specific, it was one of the various other gardens surrounding the palace). This time, they walked with their arms at their sides, the air too thick to be any closer.
“Have you had any thought to the flowers you want?” Mary asked, just another in the line of wedding questions she’d peppered into conversation in the last twenty minutes.
Charlotte glanced at the expensively commissioned exotic tulips around her, mentally trying to find one that best matched the color of Mary’s dress. She liked doing this, for some reason. Mary’s collection was far more colorful than her own currently was, though she’d, inspired by her friend, requested some new frocks to be commissioned for after the wedding.
Today, Mary was wearing the loveliest shade of soft pink, one that popped pleasantly against her complexion. None of the flowers seemed to compare. “No,” she answered, a touch distracted as she thought she caught sight of a rose that was just right. It wasn’t, though, and she gave a small tsk of her tongue. “I haven’t been asked.”
With a glance, she caught Mary looking at her, a thoughtful expression on her face. “They must already know your favorite then.”
They shared a look, as if they both already knew the truth behind that, which is why she didn’t feel the need to say that she didn’t even have a favorite.
“The cake is going to be chocolate,” Charlotte said, filling the space. “That’s my favorite.”
Mary gave her a sideways grin. “There’s only going to be one cake?”
Charlotte scoffed, nudging her on the shoulder. “Alright, one of the cakes will be chocolate. My brother’s even sending the best baker from- home.”
She blinked at the word, silently reprimanding herself for it. She was normally so good about avoiding any discussion of her home country or slip into her old language. It was somehow harder to do around Mary, though, ironic as it was; one of the only people thus far who had made England able to feel like home.
“You must miss it,” Mary said softly, hand grazing Charlotte’s in sympathy. She felt warmth crawl up her arm from where the contact had been. “I can’t imagine, but I’ve seen how much it affects my mother.”
Charlotte hummed, looking past Mary at a row of flowers behind her. She knew that Mrs. Sheffield had been about her own age when she’d moved, having met and married Mr. Sheffield while he was on an expedition in India. She also knew that there was more to the story than she knew, but Mary hadn’t said anymore.
“George sometimes tries to speak to me in German, you know.”
She was almost as surprised to have heard herself say it as Mary was. They rarely ever spoke about George, at least nothing more than in passing. Mary had certainly never met him, nor would for some time, and Charlotte still sometimes felt like he was more mythical than real. Her engagement and relationship with him was something separate from this- an entirely different life.
“Really? That sounds nice.”
“Oh, he’s not very good,” Charlotte admitted, trying to bring some lightness back into her voice. “But he tries whenever we do see each other.
Mary nodded, brows knitting together slightly. It always amused Charlotte, how expressive the girl was. Like she could read every emotion across her face. “I don’t know any German.”
Charlotte let out a soft laugh, waving a hand at her. “And you don’t need to.”
“Does anyone do it? Any of your other friends?”
Other friends. Charlotte almost laughed again, though she made a rather noncommittal sound instead.
The truth was, she had other people, acquaintances with whom she spent time. She had to, of course, especially when Mary was still not out in society and thus unable to attend any of the public functions.
There were a few people she liked, Mrs. Agatha Danbury, for example. The almost magnetically in-love Bridgerton couple. Lady Jane Porter, Mrs. Elizabeth Mayberry. They all seemed like nice enough people.
Though no one was quite like Mary. No one was quite as comfortable as Mary. No one was as bright, as peaceful.
Finally, she just took Mary’s hand, patting it softly. “No, and I intend to keep it that way.”