Chapter Text
Vanity was the beginning and end of Grégoire von Varley’s character. Those who knew him would say that it was all he was: a vanity so black and all-consuming that was the cause of his ruination.
He had inherited the title of Count Varley at the young age of twenty-seven years old and led it from a prosperous land of craftsmen and piety to a county that was taxed to the gills and ruined by his own greed. His insatiable greed led him to owning the finest homes, wearing the latest fashions and throwing lavish parties that attracted sycophants and snakes alike, all eager to praise him.
But a few short years into his rule, his accountants suggested economies for them to take in order to extend the estate’s wealth. Grégoire ignored this and instead raised taxes all throughout the county. This, of course, was unwelcome to the public who were already displeased with him.
By his wife Countess Elodie, he had six children, three boys and three girls: Louis, Emmanuel, Bernadetta, Francois, Colette and Heloise. These children burdened the estate and Grégoire’s pocketbook.
But soon he realized that advantageous matches could between his children and other noble houses. He arranged for Louis to marry a wealthy woman of rank and then for Emmanuel to follow the trend and find employment as a barrister.
Grégoire took a particular interest in his eldest daughter, Bernadetta, whom he believed could make a good match. With her delicate features and growing accomplishments, Grégoire was certain she would be swept up by a suitable gentleman and thus placed saving the family from ruin upon her shoulders. He subjected her to his brutal training from an early age in the duties of a wife.
In Imperial Year 1182, the need for retrenchment and fears of ruin became so apparent that the family fled to Enbarr under the guise of the social season. On the eve of their departure, Grégoire advised his daughter, quite openly, that she was to make her debut into the ton and marriage market in the earnest hopes that she would make a most advantageous match.
“W-What about the estate?” Bernadetta squeaked. “T-The taxes and rent from our renters? The profits from the land?
“There is nothing left, aside from an emergency fund.” Grégoire explained tersely. “A prosperous match is our only hope.”
Bernadetta looked positively terrified.
“It is up to you.” He insisted. “And I am certain you will not fail. Image is everything and thus can be morphed as needed: you will be the model lady.”
Thus brings us to the heroine of our story: Miss Bernadetta von Varley, formerly of Burgundy, Varley territory and eldest daughter of the vain self-titled family. She, in the days of her bloom, was perhaps the most accomplished woman that ever walked Adrestian soil.
Unlike most other bachelorettes on the marriage market, she did not excel in one or two occupations. Nay, Bernadetta practiced and almost mastered all of them—and coupled with her father’s loud boasting—earning her an illustrious title as the most accomplished woman in Adrestia. Her paintings were delicate and beautiful watercolours of the countryside of her birth; she played the harp, pianoforte and even a strange little instrument called the trumpet with a proficiency found in few. Her etchings and stitchings were precise, masterful, and you would find no better writer than her in all of Fodlan, even to this day dear reader.
However, regardless of her accomplishments and their depth, she lacked social skills, namely in the art of conversation. Many a ball had passed where her dance card was empty—usually by her own volition. She was often seen skittering, like a flash between hiding spots: hiding under arches, behind statues and even in closets during the promenade and allemande when many a gentleman searched for a pretty, idle lady. Those who could catch her for a dance were usually met with the sight of her curled bangs, or the sight of her neck, as her eyes fastened to her feet.
Dinners with Miss Varley were usually silent, awkward affairs, if they ever even occured. After desserts of petits fours and powdered Noa fruit tarts and stuffing spares into her mouth, she would promptly excuse herself with a single rushed breath and hide in the sanctuary of her room.
In Imperial Year 1182, at the beginning of social season wherein the most ancient customs and communal obligations would be upheld, Miss Bernadetta von Varley, who was making her debut on the marriage market, was cited as the most eligible bachelorette in the ton. Scuttlebutt said she had inheritance of over 10,000 gold marks, access to great resources and connections—rumoured to even be close with the Emperor’s daughter—and accomplished to the point of exhaustion, Bernadetta was quite easily described as the ton’s most eligible lady.
But to begin this story properly, we must begin five years ago and tell the story of the dangerous powers of persuasion.