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Ignatz entreated Miss Marguerite to an answer when they returned to the drawing room. Camellia was quite unsettled and annoyed by the speedy removal of Leonie and then Lorenz in quick succession.
“I assure you,” Marguerite promised him, “I know not what my brother has done.”
Ignatz did not buy it. Just as quickly as she was serious, she was smirking and haughty once more, and asked if he would indulge her in a game of cards. He did and was rather pleased when Marguerite lost and he won the gold marks that she’d bet.
Priscilla proved no better, only asking where Leonie had gone off to when she stopped paying her attentions to the dowager and drew closer to their table.
“I wish I knew.” He said softly.
When Lorenz returned—as Countess Camellia loathed having to wait for her meals—his hair was wet and he had changed clothes. Ignatz scrutinized him from afar. Lorenz kept his distance, sat on his lonesome at the other end of the drawing room, taking the pose of reading though his eyes flickered here and there.
Priscilla asked where Leonie was, and Lorenz, in a low, defeated voice, said she was unwell and had returned to the parsonage.
“How unlucky.” Said Camellia.
“Shall I go and tend to her?” Priscilla asked. “My white magic has vastly improved. I promise I will not giggle too much, though I find her delightful.”
“No.” Lorenz said sharply. Quietly, he added, “Mr Victor employs fine staff. If she has need of anything, she knows where to go.”
“Your white magic is not so well-developed, Priscilla.” Said the dowager. “And Miss Pinelli was rather impertinent and odd. Never before have I behold such a woman.”
The table went silent. Ignatz closely the middle and youngest Gloucester children: Priscilla stared at her plate, Lorenz looked away.
Marguerite, the cruel sort of woman, was eager to agree with her mother. “So odd. Her skirts were shorter than appropriate and she did not have dining gloves. How very odd. I suppose she put on her best, but it was not enough for me.”
“Indeed. Sauin, was that where she hails from?” Asked Camellia.
“It must be an awful place. I pity the people there.”
“It is a constant reminder,” Camellia advised her children and guest, “that those inferior in birth and life live in pitiable conditions and we must be ever-kind to them.”
Ignatz became increasingly aware of his own tiny rank in the midst of the countess and her children. Suddenly, the fine meal was no longer so appetizing.
He longed to go see Leonie, but could not excuse himself from dinner for the impertinence. While Leonie was akin to family to him, she did not outweigh the unsteady affection of patroness.
He noticed that no one in particular had much of an appetite. Not even Camellia, who was a self-admitted gourmand; a trait which had brought her close to her late husband. Three courses came and went, all which Ignatz mourned as favourites of Leonie.
As dinner was finished and the indulgences of the evening were settling, Priscilla offered to play her harp. Lorenz, rising to depart, was caught off guard when Ignatz rose too. “Excuse me, ladies, but I wish to speak to Count Gloucester regarding improvements to the parsonage.”
Lorenz looked exhausted. “Can this not wait until the morning, Victor?” He asked tiredly.
“Indeed,” cried Camellia. “I have already been deprived of company. I had hoped you’d read Saint Seiros’s sermons to us.”
“Apologies, your excellency. I promise I will read to you and your daughters another time.” Ignatz said with a bow. He was now fuelled with a deep curiosity and a newfound confidence stoked with anger. “But this is a matter of importance. Miss Pinelli noticed an issue with the hearth and wished to consult Count Gloucester for his opinion, and to see if he could recommend a craftsman.”
Upon hearing Leonie’s name, Lorenz’s countenance grew taut. He nodded his head.
“Excuse us, Mother. The hearth is of great importance, as winter is coming and we all want for Mr Victor and his company to be comfortable.”
As quickly as he spoke, he hastened out of the room. Ignatz excused himself politely and followed Lorenz up the grand staircase and to the eastern wing of the great house. A faint sunset was obscured by the lingering dark storm clouds outside.
Ignatz followed Lorenz inside his private study. The last time he had seen it, it was messy, but it looked like a disaster had rampaged through.
Lorenz turned away, into the faint beams of the sunset and dark clouds. His head high, he did not look down. It was a favourite of his, Ignatz had observed, to look down and gaze at the rose garden whenever Lorenz had invited him inside his study.
The artist in Ignatz took over. He studied his handsome subject with a fierce gaze, watching as he looked up at the grey clouds outside the window. He scrutinized how tightly-wound Lorenz seemed, how his hair had tangled from the rain, how upset and disappointment followed him like a shadow.
He went after Leonie. He knew that Lorenz disappeared at the same time she did. Only she did not return and the phaeton—which had been visible from his view in the parlour which faced the stables and meadows—was missing for a half hour.
While Ignatz had sat in the parlour and ruminated on the events and his lesser station than the wealthy, popular Gloucester ladies, Lorenz and Leonie had been outside and, judging from how Lorenz was behaving, had most certainly quarrelled.
Lorenz in a distracted, quiet tone: “I know a good craftsman whom will come quickly and discount his rate if you mention my name…”
All his life, Ignatz had spent making himself small. Now—and only now—would he make himself known. In a quiet, but firm voice, he replied: “We both know that this isn’t about the hearth, your excellency.”
Silence fell between the lord and his liege. Ignatz murmured quietly. “I noticed,” he said. “that dinner was comprised of someone’s favourites.”
Lorenz remained silent for a moment before humming beneath his breath. “I always neglect how astute you are.”
“Gloucester, why did Leonie leave?”
Lorenz’s head lowered, looking fully at the rose garden. “You have the sharpest eyes of any person I have ever known, Mr Victor. I am certain that you have noticed, for subtlety has never been my forte.” He said quietly, defeatedly. “And if you had not, I am now, and forever, assured that no one on this earth can possibly understand me.”
Ignatz’s stomach twisted into knots. He had been worried about this for ages: it was the thought that kept him up at night, that plagued his hand as he wrote sermons, followed him as he tended to his little garden… All those years, those whisperings of ‘damn Lorenz Gloucester’, terrible man, horrible creature from Leonie’s lips. Her near-constant disapprobation of him as a gentleman, as a lord, as a person.
And Lorenz’s growing acts of service. The handsome little house he’d rented for them with the pretty little garden. Ignatz had assured him he only needed a renting room, but upon hearing that Leonie would come with, Lorenz had wasted no time in finding a good home near the city. The two-fish sauté that Leonie confessed at dinner one night, with an odd little smirk over her steaming plate, came from his home of all places. The confused look that overtook her face after he got into the carriage and witnessed her coloured cheeks and how delicately he held her hand. Ignatz had seen, for a split second in between saying his remorseful farewells to Raphael and Maya, that Lorenz had helped her into the carriage and Leonie had coloured when he took her gloveless hand.
Lorenz’s plea, his pitiful request to come meet his mother: Ignatz knew that Camellia was ignorant to everyone outside the courtiers in Edgaria and nobleman’s wives and daughters. Camellia could barely remember his own sister’s name despite knowing her since she was weeks old.
And when Lorenz turned around and met Ignatz’s gaze, he was assured of such bewildering and painful thoughts. He looked so guilty, so despondent, so completely and utterly crossed in love.
“I… I made a proposal of marriage to Miss Pinelli.” Lorenz confessed quietly. “And she rejected me.”
Ignatz’s blood was burning hot and he closed his fists tightly. “Good.”
Lorenz flinched with an aghast expression. “Excuse me?”
Ignatz held his gaze. “You proposed to the woman whom I see like a sister.” He explained. “And she was so perturbed by such a proposal that she went home in the rain. She catch cold because of that!”
Lorenz studied Ignatz with a shocked and intrigued gaze.
“Can you be really surprised?” Ignatz asked angrily. “She hates you.”
“Yes, Miss Pinelli was so kind as to remind me of her dislike towards me!” Cried Lorenz. “Victor, you forget your station—”
“And you forget that we’re friends!” Ignatz exclaimed before pacing back and forth. “You…” He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Gloucester, you’ve offended her deeply. How could you… How?”
Lorenz sighed. “Yes, I understand that.”
“What were her objections?”
“Objections? Aside from hating me?”
“She’s obviously done a number on you.” Ignatz observed. “You hardly touched your meal. Your dress and hair.”
Lorenz touched the waves in his usually-straight hair and frowned. He turned his eyes to the floor. “You already think so lowly of me, Victor…”
The knots in his stomach tightened. Ignatz held true and pleaded: “Tell me, please, Lorenz.”
At such a plea, Lorenz could do nothing more than confess. Quietly, in a defeated and remorseful tone of voice that Ignatz had never heard him speak in before, he explained thus:
“You are just aware as I of the budding emotions between our dear friend Kirsten and Miss Bernadetta von Varley, are you not?” When Ignatz hesitantly nodded, he assented. “I took Kirsten with me to the opera one night when we were in Enbarr. During the intermission, when I was off in search of wine, he crossed paths with Miss Varley. They were speaking so closely and when her escort for the evening, my acquaintance Mr Aegir returned, Kirsten came back to me. I knew that Mr Aegir was pursuing Miss Varley, and I knew that Kirsten developed feelings for her. He asked for my approval that night in marrying her; I would not give it.”
Ignatz fought off the desire to haul back and deck Lorenz.
“I wrote a letter to her father.” Lorenz continued his confession. “Warning him of the attachment between a common man and his noble daughter. He soon took care to separate them.”
“You broke off their engagement.”
Lorenz sighed. “I have heard of this twice already, I am well aware that my actions were impertinent and wrong.”
“Lorenz.” Ignatz said in a pleading voice. “You ruined two lives.”
He sighed, “I have.”
“My best friend’s life. He loved Bernadetta.” He said gently. “He speaks only of her. I’ve never seen him so happy with any other young lady.”
“I know that now. But before, when I was trusting unruly thoughts and made hasty judgements, I assumed that she was simply playing with his heart as young ladies often do.”
Ignatz remained silent. “Do they know that it was you?”
Quietly, Lorenz sighed, “No. They do not.”
Ignatz lowered his head, his face warm with anger and upset. “I cannot…”
“I warned Miss Varley to stay away from Kirsten, and assumed she would flee once warned, but…”
“She didn’t.”
“Indeed.” Lorenz agreed. “And then I sent a letter of warning and after, spoke to her father.”
The two men were silent for a long while.
“How long have you loved Leonie?” Ignatz asked at last.
Lorenz coloured and confessed, “Well over a year now.” He said. “I first beheld her true beauty and wit at the harvest festival in 1180 after dancing with her.”
He looked so pitiful, but Ignatz found nothing but hostility within him. He could not pity the man who had pushed for him to take the parsonage, as he realized now that it was to bring Leonie closer to him. No remorse came to Ignatz for Lorenz, whom now he began to analyze every move, every choice, every gift he had received from him and if it were based upon his own merits and deserving grace, or out of affection for his milk sibling.
Quietly, Ignatz began to quit the room. Lorenz’s eyes widened as he neared the door. Ignatz turned back and said: “I suggest you mend your pen and write a long apology letter.”
He hastened down to the drawing room where the ladies were. He greeted them, took a deep bow, apologized for his absence, repeated his promise to the countess to read the sermons and then once more apologized as he had to return to his guest. As he turned to leave, he heard Miss Marguerite and the countess comment on Leonie’s illness and supposed that she were not truly ill, and was simply rude which only served to upset Ignatz more.
He refused the carriage and the horse that had been brought for him from the stables. Certainly, he would have arrived home quicker to Leonie’s aid, but it was a matter of principle to him. His affection and good opinion could not be bought nor swayed by kindness, regardless if it jeopardized his occupation and prospects.
Though he was not infatuated with the church like many of his fellow mates had been at the monastery—where he studied and took orders scarcely two years back—Ignatz was well-suited towards the moral musings that came along with the occupation as a clergyman.
He thought of all the scriptures he’d read, the readings he’d poured over on morality, on lying, on forgiveness. Saint Macuil the vengeful insisted that liars were simply great actors, and those who believed them were fools. Saint Indech the just insisted that liars were to face punishment, regardless of their meaning. Saint Cichol the wise remarked that areas became grey and that in inhospitable moments, lying would be preferable to a worse sin or crime. And Saint Cethleann the kind—his favourite of the saints—had preached forgiveness, regardless of the severity of any trespass.
Was forgiveness in reach for such a grievous error? Raphael was his close family friend and he had literally been raised beside Leonie from birth to three years old. And while he knew little of Miss Varley, save the obvious—her wealth, her mass of accomplishments, her shyness and her talent for portraiture—she was a lovely young woman and made many of his dear friends happy.
The walk allotted Ignatz time to think. Upon re-entering the parsonage, his housekeeper and maid—or actually, the housekeeper and maid that had been shifted from Rosedale to the parsonage to help keep house during Miss Pinelli’s stay at Lorenz’s insistence—greeted him with concern. They took his art supplies, which he had forgotten and had to return, asked a servant to retrieve and embarrassedly stood in the hallway while they did so, and enquired about a cup of tea or refreshment following his walk.
He politely declined. “I had a cup of coffee at Rosedale.” He lied before asking, “Is Miss Pinelli still awake?”
The housekeeper and maid exchanged glances. “I’m afraid she’s in a bad way, Mr Victor. I do not think she’d like guests or visitors.”
Ignatz politely nodded. “I understand that sentiment but I asked if she was awake.” He said before excusing himself. He slaked down the hallway to Leonie’s room and hesitated.
His bravado left him in a great wave. All the courage that he had when speaking to Lorenz was suddenly gone, up in smoke.
But, Leonie is one of my closest friends. He insisted. She’s been with me for ages. She needs me.
He drew a deep breath in, raised his hand to knock at the door.
When she was silent, Ignatz softly called, “Leonie, it’s me. I’ve returned from Rosedale.” He waited a moment. “Are you alright? Can I get you anything?”
From inside he heard her get up and listened to the steady, almost-silent sound of her footsteps across the floor.
The door opened a crack. Her head poked out and he quickly took in the evidence of her depression. Her puffy eyes, reddened with tears and her cheeks, freckled and tanned, bore the salty streams of tear-tracks. Her hair, which was also uncharacteristically wavy, framed her face in a fluffed-up mess.
“I’m fine Ignatz.” She forced a smile, though her voice was raw from crying. “Just tired. Probably a headache too. No need to call for a healer though, I’m okay.”
Ignatz studied her for a moment earnestly before she disguised a frown as a smile.
“I know what happened Leonie.” He whispered gently. “You don’t… You do not have to be strong for me.”
Such words broke Leonie. The fake smile dissipated from her face and she drew in a shaky breath. She took his hand and pulled him into her room.
Ignatz, flustered, shut the door and watched as Leonie paced back and forth.
“What did he tell you?” She demanded. A bottle, presumably holding some alcohol, was set on her beside table.
Ignatz watched her and spoke thus: “He told me that he broke up Kirsten and Miss Varley’s relationship.” He said. “And that he contacted her father to alert him of the attachments.”
Leonie made a distressed sound. Her hands tightened into fists and he realized that in her hand was a few pages. Surely letter paper.
“Bernie wrote to me.” She said, holding the papers out to him.
“N-No. I couldn’t ask you to betray her confidence. That letter was written for your eyes only.” Ignatz insisted.
Leonie shook her head. “No, you don’t know the depths of what he has done.” She tore through the papers and pulled out one, cleared her throat and spoke:
“My father is not a man to be trifled with, and seeing it as the only way to keep Mr Kirsten safe, went forth and broke his heart. Soon after, he, his sister and MrCount Gloucester returned to Leicester. My father sent me home to Varley, where I write to you now.
“However, before my departure, and in a state of most unhappiness, I received a letter from MrCount Gloucester. I will attach below. I keep writing his name incorrectly, and frequently forget that he is a count… Insufferable man!
“You know, dear Leonie, that I suffer from a condition of nerves and a persecution complex. However, I feel just and righteous in sharing the assumption that L. H. Gloucester—the same man you detest so—was the cause of my ruination. I ask that you refrain from taking such delight in hating him further.”
Ignatz almost collapsed into a chair. “Bernadetta’s… Miss Varley’s been exiled?”
Leonie, with tears in her eyes nodded. “Her father sent her home to Burgundy in Varley territory shortly after we left. He threatened Mr Kirsten too. Bernie’s in such a state, I… I need to see her Ignatz but I don’t trust her father.”
Poor Ignatz was still attempting to wrap his head around the events of the day.
Leonie paced back and forth, still crying before Ignatz stood up and wrapped his arms around her. Leonie, steadfast and strong all her life finally broke in his arms. Leonie cried for a bit and Ignatz shed his own tears too.
“He wanted to marry me.” She confessed quietly. “But he objected to Raphael marrying Bernie. What a hypocrite. Why would he object to his friend marrying Bernie, but then seek me out?”
“Yes. That does seem very backwards.” He agreed gently.
“I hope he hangs in chains for the rest of this life.”
“Leonie…”
“No! He’s a cad, a terrible person. I can’t believe he would do such a thing and then expect me to say yes.”
“It is rather fantastic that he would think so.” Agreed Ignatz. “Oh Leonie…”
Once Leonie assured him she was well, they shared a sip of the bottle of whiskey Leonie had bought. Soon noticing the time, the two said their farewells and went off to bed. As Ignatz retreated to his room, he was caught by the housekeeper, who gave him a letter, and left one in the hands of Miss Pinelli. He glanced out the door and saw Lorenz’s black stallion and heard it’s hooves carry down the drive.
Ignatz hastened to his room, lit a candle and opened the letter. It stated thus:
Rosedale Estate, Edgaria
23rd of the Horsebow Moon, Imperial Year 1182
Dear Mr Victor,
I realize, belatedly and in the hindsight of wisdom gained after mistakes have been made, that I have used you abominably. My actions, while benefiting you, were committed in a way that was meant to serve Miss Pinelli first.
I do not deserve your forgiveness for such a trespass. You deserve better from a liege—from a friend… If you would ever again call me that. I am a man under the cruel influence of a heavy ego and bewitched by the objects of pride and affluence. I must amend such habits, and hope that in time, I will regain your noble and just favour.
If you ever have need of anything—or desire to berate me as you justly deserve to do—call to me and I shall come with haste.
With my sincerest apologies,
L.H. Gloucester
Ignatz, kind and gentle as he was, could not find it in himself to hate Lorenz, as he was certain Leonie would. Instead, he would keep his distance from his liege lord, the worst possible punishment for a man with such an ego like Lorenz Gloucester.