It had been the unusually fine day in autumn that mimicked summer. The sun was high in the pure blue sky and unmercifully beat down upon those that wandered through the flower garden. But summer was gone and along with it the young lady’s chances for success in becoming her country’s princess. Bide your time, Elizabeth. Someone thinks you ought to be queen or they would not have sent you such a fine gown. The mysterious package she had received at her townhouse had an accompanying note she had immediately reduced to cinders, to prevent the servants from reading and then gossiping about it. The words still echoed through her pretty blonde head: To one who should be queen. Or was it ‘who should be a queen.’ Since she had burned the paper, it was hard for her to remember. Either were statements the highly ambitious young lady agreed with wholeheartedly. Yet the first was almost treason but the second was the sort of over-blown sentiment most would forgive a suitor or fond family member for making. But it is best that the document was reduced to ashes.
She had told the idiotic, simpering servants that the white and gold dress contained in the parcel was a gift from her mother, Lady Mary, and they were not at all suspicious of her remark. Elizabeth certainly believed her assumption to be the truth, unless her brother Constantine had been victim of a particularly generous impulse. Though the young lady possessed friends and suitors in abundance, few could afford such a sumptuous gown and even fewer were able to get away with making such statements as were written on the paper without being charged with treason. However, it would be amusing to watch people’s reactions when she wore the beautiful confection to the next ball as such a dress would suit her eyes and hair perfectly. It might even provide her with a way to needle Octavia by insinuating that Edward had sent the gown, for perhaps he had done so.
Smoothing her change-color gown, the girl had smiled beautifully, despite the fact that she was walking a gravel pathway lined with dying flowers. The roses had become a mass of thorny vines and stunted bushes, yet the leaves on the trees were a riot of reds, yellows, oranges and golden browns. The gown that the seamstress Lena had made for her months ago and the young lady had long anticipated wearing, was fortunately still fashionable. Even though the dress was designed for much warmer weather, the young lady was willing to suffer a slight chill from the occasional breeze for the sake of beauty. The court beauty did not see why she should have been forced to suffer the unflattering black clothes that had graced her lithe frame for several months, even if her darling younger sister had been murdered by barbarians. That one of their sort was set up to be future queen of Liston was an abomination.
It seemed that on the excitement caused by the Royal Wedding and the festivities that followed a great many members of the court had gotten betrothed or, in a few cases, married. For her part, Lady Elizabeth was disdainful of the barbarian princess whose lady-in-waiting she happened to be and those courtiers that had rushed headlong into betrothals. Several she had seen kissing in the shadows, undoubtedly, found a need to marry before scandal caught up to them. It seemed to Lady Elizabeth that the unhealthy rash of weddings would soon abate, given that the fetes were traditionally were held in the warmer months of the year. For the girl did not want her mother to take into her head the ridiculous notion that her only living daughter must be married. It was especially laughable since her brother, Constantine, was not betrothed and, in theory, he was a count. Yet everyone knew her mother, Mary Hart, was the true ruler of their lands.
The wedding had only been a few weeks ago and Elizabeth wondered to what task she would be set as lady-in-waiting. Rumors abounded that one of the Beaumont women was to be the Sundarialian woman’s mistresses of maids. It made the conniving girl smile for she rather liked and admired her grandmother, Lady Rose, and her newly acquired aunt, Thomasin, was so naïve she would be an easy one to manage. Few women in the kingdom outranked that pair, except her mother. Ophelia was surely not foolish enough to ask favors of her greatest rival, was she?
At the appearance of the stone bench carved with scenes from the biblical story of the Garden of Good and Evil, the girl sat down. A frown appeared on her fashionably pale face when some of the intricate carvings snagged the lace on her gown. Reaching swiftly to free it, her dainty, elegant hand scraped against the strangely sharp carving of the serpent. Blood blossomed from the cut and fell upon the gravel surrounding the bench.
Sistine still pondered over the note her father had sent her. Court Sir Thomas Seymour and stop being scandalous. Hmpf. The thought of even being ordered to do so managed to send a surge of anger within her. She was a lady, she was free and she was a Beaumont. She was better left to her own vices and to do as she pleased. But she was also a daughter, a daughter in a world that dictated that she do as her father bid her. The necklace he had sent was around her neck- perhaps a token to bribe her. Either way she had put it on, the colors of the house of Beaumont and made with pearl. Sistine had to admit that her father had exquisite taste at times- he managed to always give her something she had wanted.
The day had been particularly warmer, a slight tease that the colder weather was settling in but yet still clinging to the last bits of warmth the summer had provided. Sistine had loved autumn. Even if the fashions were to become atrocious, it symbolized change. That things were to die, only to be renewed again. She wondered if this year would bring any excitement. The fact was the arrival of that heathen woman from Sundaril now to sit upon their throne, whom she was a lady in waiting for, certainly disgusted her. She was a Beaumont, she should have had the world at her feet- it was by a mere circumstance of birth that she did not have this. This should have been her dominion, but Octavia was the rightful queen, at least according to her family and Sistine would follow those beliefs, for now.
As she passed yet another courtier within the castle walls, she couldn’t help but smile at the woman and then curtsy. “My lady.” Came her soft response, the well mannered courtier. Harlot. She did not like this woman at all…what…what was her name? Yes, the one who had recently stolen one of Sistine’s casual flirts away. She would have to find some way to tarnish her- although Sistine was certain her bed could use a visit from a certain kind of furry visitor, if she could have found a servant to place it there. Or even better yet…a dead one. There was also the option of flaunting in her face the man at another event- but of course that was too ostentatious. She would have to think of something later.
Taking an afternoon walk, she chose to wear a dress that would keep her warmer, of course still in fashion but of heavier cloth. The deep royal blue of the dress contrasted sharply with Sistine’s already paler skin. She was already starting to loose her color since the warmer months were passed and she did not have as much time outside as she did before. The dress hid her somewhat enlarging stomach now- from weight gain. Sistine wondered if she could pass with starving herself or eating less- gaining such weight was not tolerable for her figure. She wondered how hideous she would look now that it was getting near the winter- perhaps she could have gotten away with her enlarging figure but she was vain and it did not please her so.
Her walk along the path was pleasant for the most part, until her thoughts turned to the words in the note her father had sent. She did not wish this- and yet marriage! He could not have been serious! Courting the man was something she did not want and Thomas Seymour was certainly not a man she found attractive in the least bit. She did not know if this was because she had been told to do so, or if the prospect of it was unsettling to her. Either way her attentions were wavered when she saw a familiar face. Her niece? Yes, it appeared so and she squinted, hoping to get a better look. Of course family was family and although her sister Mary had long since left the household, the age gap between Mary and Sistine at least being ten years, Sistine did not remember her sister much nor had she much cared for Mary. Her feud with Helen was such child’s play- she did not wish to be involved or squandered with it. It was why she did not take a liking to those of her own sex. Women were often twisted and the worst sort. She however put on a smile upon glimpsing her niece, merely offering a look. “Lady Elizabeth! My I did not expect to see- oh you are bleeding!” Surely she would have known her Aunt’s voice? Sistine wondered how the girl could have done such a thing…she must have been clumsy.
Barely suppressing an unladylike oath, Elizabeth struggled to free her handkerchief from her reticule with her undamaged hand, so as not to bespatter her dress with blood. Once, one of the servants had remarked to the little girl she once was, that some stains, such as blood, would utterly ruin gowns. It was true that the young lady could order a new dress made, but the weather would be turning cold before the garment was completed. As a result, the gown would be put away for next season and it might not still be the fashion when warmer weather returned.
Being highly practical, Elizabeth usually carried two handkerchiefs, one for show and the other for practical purposes. The show one was snow white silk with Venice lace edging and her name embroidered in golden threads. It’s purpose was to daintily dab awake fake, showy tears when circumstances called for them and as tokens of favor should Edward or his cousin ask such a thing of her. Unless Royal sympathy was to be garnered; she would no soon consider bleeding on the fine, imported fabric than parade around the palace in her undergarments. For the practical purposes such as a constantly running nose or the current bleeding hand, the dark flannel one worked wonders and did not show whatever grime had previously besmirched it.
After wadding the dark grey fabric around her hand to absorb and staunch the blood flow, Elizabeth realized she was not alone in the dying fall garden. The elder lady in the dark blue gown and almost black hair was none other than her aunt, Sistine Beaumont, one of the fellow ladies-in-waiting to the barbarian princess. It seemed the other young lady had not only possessed an uncommonly fine necklace, but a growing gut as well. What a delicious scandal if she were to be pregnant. Rumors of Sistine’s improper doings had been filling the court for years and many often wondered why the girl had not yet been shunted into a nunnery…
“Aunt Sistine, what a pleasure to see you.” Elizabeth said. Her tone that was both friendly and polite but also guarded. She had very few interactions with this aunt and did not know how the woman was best handled. “What a lovely necklace.” The emotions in her voice were genuine, not the well-rehearsed and oft feigned ones that spilled forth from her delicate mouth. For the most part the young lady liked the company of her extended family, excepting Octavia, whom she viewed as the only real threat to her status and power in the courts. The blonde damsel had always been fiercely loyal to her siblings, even if the lady did not generally understand their actions. Witness poor dear Jane’s foolish actions.
“The blood is nothing serious.” She laughed in response to her aunt’s remarks, “I merely scratched myself on the carving of the serpent’s tooth…Poetic, I suppose, if one enjoys that sort of thing. Many of my friends do, but I have not the taste for it.” Elizabeth minded to herself that while Carey might be considered handsome by some, he was lacking in title, power, estates and money. In short, the gentleman was not of her class and would never be. “How have you been faring these days?” She continued, gesturing for Sistine to take a seat beside her on the bench.
After waiting for the obligatory response from Sistine, her niece spoke once more. “I hear that the Duke Greystone is to wed Lady Blackstone,” Elizabeth added, conversationally. She had not really considered the matter to be of vital importance, since it would not affect the inheritance of his heir. After Prince Edward had married, the girl had taken a slight, if not regretful, interest in the doings of his cousin’s family. If Elizabeth could not actually be queen, at least she might be in line for the position. “But as for family news. I assume Grandmother must be busy and Grandfather only ever sends anyone brief notes.” concluded the young lady.
Sistine was not used to seeing many of her nieces and nephews. Her siblings were older than her, at least Mary and Helen were and she didn’t have much, if any interaction with them. Granted Sistine did like her sisters to a degree, but they had been older, had their children and their feud and before she was even old enough to realize it, she had already seen the destruction and devastation left in its wake. Helen…Helen had always been the sister she may have looked up to slightly but Mary..Mary was Mary. She was the King’s mistress and had always been in a seat of power. Sistine could say she was jealous- she had always wished for power. She had always been ignored- she would have to do with her own amusements.
It was these amusements that had cost her family much to cover up. For wherever Sistine went one was certain scandal was sure to follow. She loved the art of making love..at least pleasure. That was all she had sought, and of course the court provided this. Tugging nervously at her necklace her father had given her, she knew she had to at least enrapture some attention from the younger Seymour brother. Like that would be hard to do. Sistine snorted at the thought. He was male, she was a Beaumont…where did the obvious conclusion lie? Of course her father would pin this on her, and that did make him less attractive. Thomas Seymour! The man had no titles, status, merely a brother of a Baron and a Knight. She deserved better. She needed better. There had to be someway to achieve her father’s will and still do what she pleased.
It was of no matter now, she was going to have a pleasant conversation with..her..niece. It was not the first time Sistine realized she hardly knew the girl. She was not much younger than herself and although when Sistine had been that age…well…she had already had many discretions. She had always been one to cause some sort of scandal and Sistine was probably as experienced as many men were in the bedroom. She was surprised that she was not already with child- but she had been careful. She had to be. She didn’t need a bastard child on her hands and not to mention the fact she was unmarried. Marriage. She hated that word. It would mean the end of all her freedom and quite literally, be the death of her.
She smiled sweetly at Elizabeth. “Tis a pleasure to see you too, Lady Elizabeth. My goodness, you have grown up too fast." She added with a smile, genuine words as well. She was not playing a game of seduction, feigning innocence or anything of the sort. Sistine hardly was with her family in the game of deception- she did care for them, and would only deceive if it was to spare their feelings from being hurt. She looked down at the necklace and then smiled. “Oh! That…yes, well thank you! I suppose my father wished to…use it as a distraction from elsewhere. A gift to earn my attention so to speak. I must wear it once at least…but if you wish to borrow it, I would not mind lending it to you. It would look very complimentary being donned by a woman of your beauty.” Why yes, Elizabeth was beautiful, she was after all of the Beaumont family and was the child of her sister Mary, why would she have not been beautiful?
She let out a laugh, airy at her response as to why she had cut herself. “One must always watch oneself around a serpent, they are mere tricky creatures. Vicious upon their prey. I am sorry to see that it was your finger. The carvings upon that bench are lovely…but I see they are also have their faults. I have cut myself upon that bench plenty of times unknowingly. I hope the prick was not too painful.” Sistine smiled and then approached the lady closer. She would be alright, it was naught but a cut anyway. “I have been well, but distracted it seems. I think I have been far more lonely at court this season than most. There are naught but a few who wish to converse with me, which really is of no matter. I have family here, it makes it much more tolerable, would you not agree?” Well, this she could say was maybe her longest interaction with her niece. She too did not know how to handle the woman, but pleasantries were always civil, and at least, proper.
“I would have not thought the Duke would marry again, considering how much it is said he loved his previous wife. But I suppose that is what all must do, we are bound to duty.” She spoke. “The wedding must be lovely then. Are you going to attend?” She asked, if she had been invited of course. She nodded at the mention of her mother and father. “Your grandmother is much preoccupied with the new arrival of Lady Thomasin, as well as adjusting your Aunt Marie to court. She has not had much interaction here, I suppose much of it is traumatic for her, but she has your aunt Octavia after all. How are you faring? I hope dear Grandfather is not ignoring you, or you can always get his attentions as I have, find a way to add more beautiful jewels to enhance your already blossoming looks. My, to think you would have grown into such a fine woman.” And with that Sistine was not joking or lying, in fact, her words were genuine. She could not say the same for her own looks, which were diminishing with her own weight gain.
