Chapter Text
Immediately following her arrival in Edgaria, Leonie received a formal welcome letter bearing the wax seal of Gloucester’s sigil. Leonie supposed it had been written at the sight of the Gloucesters’ fine carriage upon the well-kept highways leading into Edgaria. Lorenz had insisted upon conveying her in an elegant and comfortable coupé, that was so finely decorated with the vivid Gloucester coat of arms—Leonie was certain that the crimson and violet colours were visible from half a mile away. She was dutifully delivered to Victor Parsonage and there the letter lay in the hands of her dear Ignatz. Bearing her name in an elegant script, it demanded her presence at the Gloucesters’ ancestral home of Rosedale on the morrow, which Leonie—after being schooled by Ignatz—could not refuse.
In the short weeks between returning from Enbarr, settling back into Sauin and the Sauin Harvest Festival that reunited the newly-graced Count Gloucester and she, Leonie had much time to think about the actions of her gracious host. He had footed the bill to transport not only her but also Ignatz from varying places in the county to Enbarr, waited on her for much of the time in the city, and acted curiously toward her during last days in Enbarr, especially towards a likeness that Bernadetta had taken of her… All his actions had been most compelling and curious… Not enough to raise the alarm on Leonie’s behalf, but enough to make her regard the new Count of Gloucester with a more honed eye and scrupulous thought.
But Leonie chose to begin this visit to her dear friend Ignatz with good intentions, and earnestly hoped that good would follow her through it.
Since his returning to Gloucester County, Ignatz had taken orders and become parson of the small rectory on the ancient grounds of Rosedale Estate. After receiving Leonie into his home, with all the warmth and felicitations that befitted friends so intimately connected as they, Ignatz gave Leonie a tour of his new abode, beginning with the fair outdoors.
Rosedale Estate was a great parcel of property, rich in flora and fauna, and perhaps regarded as some of the most fertile lands in the Alliance. From the edge of Ignatz’s small garden of medicinal herbs, peaches and dying daisies and through the thick treescape, Leonie caught her first glimpse of Rosedale.
Well, she saw the rose garden they were well-known for… More so, she saw all the red petals of the roses they were associated with. Ignatz followed her eye and promised her that she would see the grounds of Rosedale at some point during her stay with him. His countenance had been marked by worry and his manners of a tired sort, which Leonie quickly took notice. He insisted that his exhaustion was simply growing pains with his new career—writing sermons was tiresome and delivering them to the parish was exhausting—and other smaller matters like organizing his home. He had mentioned that the dowager countess had been kind enough to employ some improvements to it before Ignatz took possession.
Upon his claim of the little homestead, it was christened with the new name of Victor Parsonage, which he had told Leonie with a pride she likened to a new father. To have his own home, his own land, his own small, delightful garden: it must be pure felicity. One that Leonie, who deeply loved her grandmother and father, would probably never know. Her own room in the Pinelli Farmhouse was barely her own, overrun with her grandmother’s quilts and various furs that her father kept meaning to sell.
The changing clouds and the dew of coming rain pushed Miss Pinelli and Parson Victor inside. Leonie smiled a little when she saw her suitcase, bow and quiver and other goods still in the hallway.
Ignatz looked embarrassed and quickly hurried to pick them up. “The housekeeper is… A little forgetful.” He said apologetically.
Unable to resist teasing her old friend, Leonie said, “Well, should you marry Mr Victor, which I suppose a clergyman like yourself should do to set the example for your flock. After all, you’d have a wife to assist you in keeping this house.” She smirked. “Pick right and she’d be able to keep your forgetful housekeeper in line and manage your home well.”
Ignatz blushed furiously and admonished her. “Leonie!”
She could not help but smile. “Don’t mind me, Ignatz, just teasing.” She said, then added in a quieter tone as they collected Leonie’s belongings and treaded up to her room. “I’m sure you get enough of the marriage suggestions from the Old Lady Gloucester. She seems like the overbearing type, from the letter at least.”
He surrendered a look, a glimpse of the eye which gave her the silent confirmation that Leonie desired. At last the housekeeper returned, whom Ignatz kindly sent away to prepare tea. He and Leonie ascended the staircase, installed her in the guest room which overlooked the little garden and out towards the shrouded, rose-petal covered mystery that was Rosedale.
Taking in the room, Leonie untied her bonnet. “This is a sweet little home. All yours too…” Her eyes took in the very bare surroundings, save for a painting, which Leonie surmised was his own creation and smiled. “It’s beautiful here, Ignatz. You should be proud, doing this all on your own.”
He brightened at these kind words, and awkwardly setting Leonie’s bow and quiver on a small table where she set her bonnet, eased. “I am. Though, it’s not all by myself. Mr… I mean, Count Gloucester was adamant on my coming here. He protested it, to the point where the living was to go to a much younger cousin who will not inherit until he is much older. That was the only way I’d take it, and I must admit, I still feel guilty about it.”
Leonie smiled and rolled her eyes at such civility, such kindness that bordered on sycophantic. “You’ll have to show me the house in full. No stone left unturned.”
“Of course! After you’re rested, we can walk the grounds at our leisure.” Then glancing to Leonie’s bow, added, “And we must go out into the wilds, I’ll sketch and you may hunt.”
Leonie delighted in the prospect. “I’d love that.” She said. “From what I saw, Rosedale has the finest woods... I’d love to ravage them.”
“The Gloucesters are not sportspeople, they often employ hunters to cull the land. Therefore, I imagine the creatures that live here are fat and ready for…” He could not finish the sentence, and instead gave her a thoughtful look as she shucked off her gloves. “But we… will have to let the Gloucesters know you’ve arrived. Properly. The Count was adamant that he know when you arrive.”
“Yes…” Leonie disparaged then teasingly said, “Tell him I’m ill, then he’ll stay far away from the property.”
“You know I couldn’t do that! Besides, the only way we’ve been able to see each other again so soon is because of his generosity.”
“Yes, yes.” Leonie sighed as they quitted her room.
The housekeeper reappeared and took Leonie’s cardinal cloak, gloves and bonnet, and the old friends parted: Ignatz, across the properties to announce the arrival of Miss Pinelli, and Leonie to rest in her apartments.
When she settled in, and in place of taking a short rest, Leonie reread the letter that the dowager had sent her. In precise, careful script she demanded Leonie’s presence, her time and her accomplishments for the following afternoon; Leonie knew only the most basic of stitches, minimal songs on the harpsichord and only played whist when there was good money on the table. Glancing out the window of the guest room, Leonie saw the lawns and groves of Rosedale.
It was lovely to see Ignatz again, but she thought of another friend: Bernadetta von Varley. Autumn’s approach, with it’s splendourous leaves and bountiful harvest marked the end of the Adrestian social season. She had sent several letters to Varley Maison in Enbarr, but all had been left unanswered.
Surely Bernadetta should have written already, sharing stories of the decadent ton, foolish ladies and lords and activities she was engaged in. But more urgently, Leonie wished to know of Raphael Kirsten, the kind gentleman who Bernadetta had taken a fancy to. A passing mention of him would please her, in it she would know that Bernadetta was happy and content… But no letter, not even a note passing through farmhands and delivery people from Enbarr to Sauin had arrived in Leonie’s hands, and thus she began to worry.
She tried to justify it in her mind: Bernadetta was the most accomplished lady in the ton and she was supposed to marry soon. And Leonie had heard rumours, and seen herself, of a certain Mr Aegir paying her attention… Leonie herself had taken a long time to return home and perhaps Bernadetta, overthinker as she was, understood that and was biding her time before giving Leonie the happy news of her newfound love and engagement.
Still, Leonie could not resist at least prodding her dearest friend, thus prepared her pen and seized a sheet of paper.
Victor Parsonage, Edgaria, County of Gloucester
24th of the Horsebow Moon, Imperial Year 1182
My dear Bernie-Bear,
You haven’t answered of any my letters and I’m beginning to worry more than I should. You know me too well: I don’t suffer fools. If it is your nerves just say so, otherwise, I’ll be inclined to think that you don’t like me anymore.
I have left Sauin for Edgaria and write to you from Victor Parsonage, the home of my dear friend Mr Ignatz Victor, and the homeland of your Mr Kirsten… I depend on learning the day in which our mutual happiness will be secured and look forward to it more than you can ever know, Bernie.
Although, there’s been rumours that Count Gloucester—prideful, arrogant, son-of-cow—was close with Mr Kirsten. I think both you and Gloucester have a say in his matters… Some pull, if you will. Last time I saw you, Mr Kirsten had been giving you very special attention…
But now my mind runs away with me… I keep thinking and waiting for your good news, I’m falling prey to rogue thoughts that occurred between the two of you and that it wasn’t good. I’ll only ask once, as you know I’ve got little patience: what happened?
I hope that your next letter arrives quickly and with the answers I hope for. All my love…
Your zipping hornet,
Leonie