Chapter Text
Miss Leonie Pinelli, aged seven and twenty years, was never once referred to as a beauty in her village of Sauin. As a child, she had been described as very athletic, outgoing, friendly and most often, blunt to a fault. As the only grandchild of one of the village elders, she was well-known in the country society. Every festival, holiday, and gathering—no matter how small—was not complete without the young Miss Pinelli in accordance, her jack-o-lantern grin a consistent sight amongst other young rabble-rousers and ankle-biters. It seemed, even at the tender age of seven, that she was destined to be a cornerstone of the sleepy hollow.
Leonie, naive and stubborn and knowing no more than the rickety tree-branch fence that acted as the border of the village, desired a little more than what Sauin offered. Despite the 100-mile hike to the capital of the country, Edgaria, and an even greater distance from the Leicester capital of Derdriu, social mores remained. The opportunities afforded to Leonie’s future were scarce and slim: teacher, governess, lady-in-waiting, nun, town oddity—for each community, no matter how small must have one—or of course, a gentleman’s wife.
If her grandmother had any say in it, she would have seen Leonie as a gentleman’s wife, well-distinguished and comfortable. And while Leonie didn’t have anything against the freedoms of being a wife, especially that of a nobleman, she knew how deeply her deficiencies would affect her.
In all the books her grandmother had given her—brooding romances and comedies of manners—the heroine was always well-to-do and beautiful, and there was never any question about her appropriateness. And when Leonie was seven, she became increasingly aware of another issue: her beauty, or lack thereof.
While the sun-kissed skin, freckled face and rough hands of a hunter’s daughter—and the economies and goods that came with it—were pleasing to a butcher or an apothecary, such features would be wholly inappropriate for a gentleman’s wife. And while her father taught her well of the meadows around Sauin, how to hunt and trap and the difference between certain plants, her grandmother trained her just as hard in the arts of housekeeping, polite conversation and feminine accomplishments.
Miss Bernadetta von Varley, of the Adrestian north, was the charge of her uncle, Sir Francois von Varley, during the winter of her seventh year. Up until that point, Leonie had known she was not as winsome as the tailor’s son, or as beautiful as the village elder’s daughter, but Miss Varley’s presence informed Leonie that she was barely passable in regards of handsomeness and lack thereof.
Miss Varley arrived on a dull winter afternoon to the sleepy hamlet of Sauin. Upon first laying eyes on her, Leonie realized that they were not the same. True, they shared the same sex, but past that, nothing about them was similar. Where Leonie’s hands were developing callouses, Bernadetta’s hadn’t seen a day of hard labour. Bernadetta was exactly the type of character from Leonie’s book: demure, pretty and utterly perfect like a porcelain doll. Even as her brow furrowed in a nervous expression and she hid behind her uncle’s pant leg, she was the ideals of beauty.
She had wide grey eyes, similar to a sky Leonie had seen before a heavy storm. And her lips were soft pink, her cheeks dusted with rouge. Her dress, a lavender-coloured frock with frills and lace, was free of patches or tears, and she wore silk slippers.
Leonie had only ever had canvas shoes or thick fur boots in the winter; and all her outfits had been patched over multiple times after playing outside or getting into trouble.
Bernadetta’s uncle and Leonie’s father had business to conduct as adults; something about furs from the animals that Leonie’s father trapped, or the weapons that Varley produced. Thus, they left the girls alone in the care of Leonie’s grandmother, Radia.
“Go on, Bernadetta. I’m sure Miss Leonie would love your company.” Said Mr Varley in a gentle tone of voice.
“Yes, Leonie would love to entertain Miss Varley. Go along dear.” Leonie’s father said.
Snow had just fallen and made both her frock and hair wet. After sufficient time quivering before the fireplace, wherein Bernadetta scarcely moved, let alone spoke, the girls moved into Leonie’s tiny little room. It was a quarter of the size of Bernadetta’s, which she remarked upon entry, then promptly found the tightest corner—between the second-hand dresser and the wall—and hid.
Leonie, growing weary with such shyness, prompted her: “You don’t want to play dolls or anything?”
Bernadetta had shaken her head furiously, and continued to tremble in the corner. She remained there until Leonie took one of her books about beautiful princesses and ladies and asked if she liked reading.
Bernadetta’s head snapped up fast. Her hair, which styled into decorative little ringlets and frizzed with the snow, bounced with the movement. “Iloveit.” She said, her words combining into a single sound.
“Oh, me too.” Leonie managed as gently as she could. “Here, let’s read.”
For the afternoon they read and read and read until Leonie’s grandmother happened upon them. After the fourth fable, which was about a bear and a hornet, Bernadetta pointed them out and said, “Thatisus.”
“It is?” Asked Leonie.
“Yes.” Bernadetta said quickly. “B-Because it zips out from the trees and strikes. L-Like you!”
“I sting like a hornet, do I?” Leonie thought in wonder. Any other girl would have been upset for being compared to an insect. Leonie, good-natured, took it as it ought to have been: a compliment. “Actually, I like that!”
Bernadetta huddled close to Leonie as the girls read. “That’s you.” Said Leonie, pointing out a large bear. “Because you’re quite lovely. You just get a bad rap.”
“B-Bad rap?” Winced Bernadetta. Fresh tears flooded her eyes and she began to cry once more, sending Leonie scrambling.
“Well it’s just that you…” She stumbled. “You seem so frightened and scary! But you’re really kind.”
Bernadetta glanced up. “R-Really?”
“Yes. You really ought to be more confident, Bernie-Bear.” She playfully nudged her shoulder and gave her a bright smile.
Not long after, Leonie’s grandmother, Radia, happened upon the girls, tucked beneath a fur blanket reading. With a self-assured smile on her face, Radia took the girls back to the men and said their farewells. At the sight of her granddaughter seated so politely and patiently with a young lady, Radia’s heart softened, and thus began her new quest: Leonie would be accomplished like a gentlewoman.
The village had not the accommodations or infrastructure for accomplished young ladies of rank and good breeding: it lacked a conservatory for music, the schoolhouse was constantly in need or repairs, and in the place of luncheon parlours there was a public house. But Radia, a stubborn woman by all rights, was not keen on giving up, two traits instilled in her granddaughter. While her mother had passed and took with her more common social mores, Radia took to an older measure of education to teach her granddaughter.
She taught the girl how to curtsey and bow, how to speak properly—though her country accent and somewhat blunt, borderline vulgar speech stopped any true improvement—how to serve a proper tea and hold conversation. Bernadetta was a good influence upon her and spent the winter calling on the Pinelli house as a ward of her uncle for the season. The girls tempered a deep friendship that lasted until the dawn of the dawn of the new year.
Before Bernadetta left, the girls promised to write each other, which they did often. As they said a bittersweet farewell, Bernadetta confided gently: “I can never be afraid when by your side.”
Thus, the education of Leonie Pinelli began in earnest.