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Malicious tongues would say that Lady Philippa Gildenbroch is a quarrelsome woman who interferes mostly and primarily in the affairs of other people, especially young, unmarried women, for no better reason than her own boredom. And although this statement would be perfectly correct in itself and nothing but the truth, it is a widely accepted fact that it would not be advisable to say this directly to Lady Gildenbroch's face. On the one hand, doing so would constitute an offence of an obscenity unbecoming of a noble that could hardly be surpassed and, on the other hand, it would be the single most damning and downright moronic thing that a young debutante looking to secure herself a good match, or a single unwed man of noble upbringing seeking a suitable bride, could do.
For among the matrons of Flevance, Lady Gildenbroch was one of the few women so well-connected within its high society that no match of relevance in Lord Trafalgar's province had been made without her approval for the past twenty seasons. It was therefore an unavoidable duty for young, single debutantes to pay their respects to Lady Gildenbroch in the hopes of winning her favour and advocacy. Naturally, Lady Gildenbroch, for her part, quite enjoyed her position, which she perceived as being Flevance's most important and most influential matchmaker, and she relished in the attention she received because of it.
That is to say: when a courier delivered an invitation for the Trafalgar's Winter Ball to her estate, there was not even a shadow of a doubt in Lady Gildenbroch's mind that His Lordship had taken notice of her supreme and unrivalled matchmaking skills and was subtly hinting his desire to enlisting her aide in securing a suitable spouse for either himself or his younger sister, despite there being no indicator to this anywhere on her invitation or contained within the envelope it was delivered with. In fact, she was so certain of it, that the lack of a personal audience to discuss such matters hardly bothered her. The Lord did not need to spell it out, for Lady Gildenbroch was a clever woman. There certainly was no need to muddy the waters, so to speak, by granting her a private audience and giving her instructions. Obviously, she knew what was expected of her. Although the prospect of finding a proper bride for a man as private and dedicated to his work as Lord Trafalgar was a daunting one, Lady Gildenbroch knew that she alone was up to the challenge. After all, her work during the past two seasons alone spoke for itself.
It made sense, that His Lordship would seek assistance at this point. He was approaching thirty years of age, meaning it was high time for him to settle down and provide heirs to the Trafalgar line, pending, of course, rumours that he was planning to pass the title and the burden of stewardship to his sister, Lady Lami, eventually. And it made sense that he would turn to Lady Gildenbroch in particular, for even though she was not very close with the Lord himself, she happened to be also one of the few nobles who had had the distinct honour of knowing the Lord's parents and enjoying a friendly relationship with them when they had been alive: from the moment they had taken stewardship of Flevance until their untimely and tragic deaths. She could not imagine the young Lord desiring a wife who could be anything less but his match in every aspect of the word, because in Lady Gildenbroch's opinion (and that was the only opinion she could and would rely upon), the late Lady Trafalgar had been exactly that to the Lord's father: his equal in intellect, loyalty and dedication.
And love—to this day, Philippa would never forget how much the late Lord and Lady had loved each other, or how much they had adored their children. The memory alone would bring a tear to her eye and a sad smile to her face.
There were, of course, downsides to being entrusted with finding a suitable bride for His Lordship. For one, Lady Gildenbroch would owe it to the province and His Lordship to choose the best possible bride, which meant that as much as she wanted to, she could not put her beloved granddaughter, Cecilia, forward as a suitable candidate. Darling as she was, Lady Philippa knew that Cecilia was very much a beautiful spirit and took too much of an interest in the arts and too little of anything else. She was, regrettably, also not gifted with an excess of common sense and prone to spells of gullibility, making her an unsuitable candidate for a man as diligent and well-learned as Lord Trafalgar. Should, however, the Lord be taken in by Cecilia's beauty, grace and lovely singing voice, well, who was Lady Gildenbroch to tell him 'no'? At least, dearest Cecilia was a proper lady, who knew to guard her reputation and not tarnish the name of her family. But that could, of course, be said of most of the unwed women that would be found on the Lord's guest list.
Thus, in the weeks leading up to what was going to be the most sparkling and memorable event of the year, Lady Philippa Gildenbroch spent every waking moment trying to work out which young woman currently residing in the capital could spark the Lord's interest—and hold it for longer than an evening. She soon came to realize, that not many of them would. Lady Gildenbroch expected a woman who would wish to stand aside the Lord of Flevance to have an understanding of more than just current fashions and the arts: knowledge of what kind of goods and services constituted Flevance's wealth, for instance, would be appreciated; in-depth knowledge of the province's history and guilds was unlikely, but a more than passing interest in such matters could be helpful; a solid education was a must. Any potential bride of the Lord would need to be healthy, too. And of course, she had to be a refined lady: beauty, intelligence, grace and dignity personified. Nothing less would do.
Very few, if any, girls that presented themselves to Lady Philippa, wholly unawares, of course, of the important mission she had been entrusted with, could offer any of the virtues Philippa deemed the late Lady Trafalgar to have had in spades: Tryphena Whitestone had excruciatingly bad breath that, apparently, no one had ever informed her off (Lady Gildenbroch maintained that she had done the girl a favour by pointing it out). Baron Stillfleet's daughter Rosamond could barely maintain a conversation on the best of days, let alone an intellectual one, however far one might attempt to stretch that term. Evelin Belvedere was lovely and quite witty but also quite flirtatious and enjoyed the attentions of altogether too many gentlemen, whereas her sister Isadora was barely noticeable due to being so quiet and having a face that could charitably only be described as equine, though regrettably the same could not be said about her gracefulness. Really, if there ever was an equine trait a young lady should aspire to claim, it was grace and health. On that note, Miss Emily Hawthorne would, in theory, be a good match if she weren't so burdened with a weak constitution and, much to Philippa's dismay, her parents had decided that she was to be a spinster, as it was unlikely that she would find a decent husband or bear him children.
Although everyone and their mother knew, that Lord Hawthorne was simply too stingy with both his time and money to find the reason for Emily's continued illness and someone capable of treating her. At least he had set the girl up with a decent town house, where she lived with her best friend, Lydia, who kept her company and looked after her. And really, young Lydia had to be doing something right, as Miss Hawthorne's health had begun to improve during the last summer, and she could occasionally be seen out and about on a stroll. It was heartwearming to see the dedication with which Lydia kept house for Miss Hawthorne, and to see the latter blossom under gentle care.
There was, of course, no reason to consider Miss Jacqueline Daine for the position of the Lord's future bride. Although the Daine family were next in line for Flevance's throne, and Miss Jacqueline certainly would possess the necessary qualities to become Lady of the Province, Lady Gildenbroch refused to assist anyone who had a relation to Lord Daine or his son Philip to sit upon it. It was a matter of principle and pride, but also a matter of loyalty. But mostly, it was spite, which Lord Daine had earned, fair and square.
As the Winter Ball drew ever closer, Lady Gildenbroch found herself contemplating how she could avoid disappointing the trust the Lord had placed in her person. She could, of course, send a message and inform him of her troubles, but such a missive could be easily construed as her surrendering her task to another—or, even worse, abandoning Lord Trafalgar when he so clearly had need of her expertise.
And then the Winter Ball came and it was, for the most part, as horrible and dreadful as Lady Gildenbroch had feared it would be. Young women threw themselves at the Lord, left and right, abandoning all the elegance and demureness that should have been ingrained into them from birth, for a mere chance to dance with him. And the Lord, naturally, rebuked every single one of them.
Lady Gildenbroch could hardly disguise her displeasure at seeing members of the nobility acting within Trafalgar Castle’s hallowed halls like uncultured street urchins at a carnival. The crowning disgrace of the evening was a bout of fisticuffs between nobles. About a woman, of all things. Lady Gildenbroch was not surprised to learn that Philip Daine was involved.
As the ball came to a close, Lady Gildenbroch found herself unwillingly having to consider admitting defeat. Once the Lord would call on her, she would have to beg his forgiveness for her failure. But perhaps—if she had more time? The summer season always brought young debutantes, and there was still hope! Surely, she would be able to find a suitable bride for him at the start of next season; perhaps someone like Miss Farrington, but unwed and slightly more pleasant to look at?
And that was when out of the corner of her eye, Lady Gildenbroch became aware of a sight most peculiar.
It was Lord Trafalgar. And he was dancing.
In his arms, he held a charmed-looking young woman. Her dress was wholly appropriate for the occasion, but much more subtly decorated than that of other attendants and thus stood out to Lady Gildenbroch. The dress’ pale blue colour brought to mind Flevance's freshly fallen snow on cold yet bright winter mornings. The cut was clearly last season’s, but the bodice’s beading was exquisite and Lady Philippa rather approved of the foresight not to distract from it with copious amounts of lace.
The woman had not done her hair up in the currently so popular ringlets, but instead had gathered only a part of it at the crown of her head, allowing the rest of it to cascade down her back in a curtain of golden-red silk. Lady Gildenbroch found herself quite agreeing with the young lady's choices: she looked beautiful without trying to grab one’s attention, the simplicity and demureness of her outfit highlighting her natural loveliness.
And as the Lord expertly waltzed the young lady past Lady Gildenbroch's table, it occurred to her, that she had no idea who this beautiful stranger was.
She was not a visiting noble or diplomatic guest—that much Lady Gildenbroch was certain—for such an arrival would not have gone unannounced.
Lady Philippa returned her attentions to Lord Trafalgar and the stumbling fawn he was currently leading through the elegant steps of the dance. It was quite obvious, Lady Gildenbroch thought, that the young woman was acutely aware of the great honour being bestowed upon her. Considering the Lord had eschewed the dance floor throughout the entirety of the festivities, the fact that he had chosen her for the last dance of the night was of greater importance than most guests in attendance could rightfully grasp. Had the Lord decided to dance all evening, things would have been different. And the girl, the poor child, was smart enough to do her best to prove herself worthy.
It was apparent, however, that formal instruction in dancing had not featured prominently in the young woman’s education.
Taking a closer look the second time the couple swept past her, Lady Philippa decided that the young woman wasn’t the daughter, niece or granddaughter of any noble family in attendance. She would have known if she was. Which meant, she had to be a merchant’s daughter.
Briefly, Lady Gildenbroch grimaced.
On the upside, that meant she would be able to take a closer look at the young woman. Surely, her parents or a chaperone were around, only waiting for the girl’s return. All Lady Philippa had to do was wait and see who would be waiting to receive the Lord’s dance partner once she stepped off the dance floor. A proud parent or maybe a benevolent chaperone?
Lady Philippa ruthlessly silenced the tiny voice in her head that suggested the possibility of a fiancé awaiting a woman that lovely. Surely, the unknown woman was not so churlish to dance with the Lord when she was already spoken for?
As the music ended among polite applause and the dancers bowed to each other, Lady Gildenbroch’s alert gaze followed the young woman in pale blue off the dance floor. And then, one moment, she was there—and a jostle from the side, a sharp glare in retort—the next, she was gone.
Lost in a sea of elegant coats and furry cloaks...