Chapter 2.
When I returned from the palace, my maid Alice rushed toward me, her eyes red and wide with worry.
“Milady you weren’t chosen, were you?”
I said nothing. Instead, I pointed to the fine fabrics piled on the bench.
“Pack these, I’m going to pay Beatrice a visit_”
Beatrice lived in Rosewood Hall, the finest wing of the estate aside from the main manor itself. It had once been mine, until she–at the age of ten- giggled and said she liked it. That was all it took Mother handed it over, no questions asked.
I hadn’t even approached the great door when voices drifted from within.
“Aunt Margaret,” Beatrice’s saccharine tone floated through the air, “I heard the girls not chosen by the court end up scrubbing floors for years. Aren’t you glad I didn’t go myself?”
“Of course, my darling,” came Lady Margaret’s fond reply. “You were never meant for such hardship. You’ll marry well–your cousin’s clever enough to manage adew months away.”
“You’re right,” Beatrice hummed. “Eleanor’s clever. She’ll manage just fine… and perhaps learn a thing or two.”
“Never mind her,” Mother replied “Look at this velvet–dyed in Tyrian purple. I set it aside just for you.”
“Oh, Aunt, it’s beautiful,” Beatrice purred. “You always spoil me.”
I stared at the closed door, my hands clenched at my sides. Memory returned like a bitter draft: standing outside this very room as a child, listening to lullabies meant for Beatrice, sung by the mother I had to share
Once, I’d found the courage to ask, “Mother, could you sing that song for me too?”
She glanced down at me with thinly velled impatience. “You’re not still fretting over lullabies, are you? You’re nearly grown.”
Beatrice was barely a year younger than me.
I raised my fist and inocked. “Mother.”
The conversation inside halted. Then the door creaked open.
Mother forced a smile. “I thought you preferred the plainer fabrics. So I gave the bright ones to Beatrice.”
I met her gaze. “And how would you know I dislike color?”
Her brow pinched. “Well you always wear such drab shades.
Convenient memory
When we were younger, Beatrice and I often wore matching dresses–until the Harvest banquet, when a guest mistook us for sisters. Beatrice had whined, “Why does Eleanor always dress like me?”
Mother didn’t hesitate. She scolded me in front of the entire household and ordered the maids to stop dressing me in anything similar to Beatrice’s. From then on, my wardrobe dulled to gray and brown–just enough not to offend.
Beatrice pave a soft little sigh. “It’s poly fabric, Eleanor. If you like, take whichever you want.”
Mother gave me a look of warning, then turned to Beatrice with doting pride. “You’re too generous, darling ”
1 smiled coolly. “No need. Beatrice can haer mine as well.
Mother’s expression eased slightly. “At last, some sense from you.”
I didn’t stop. “I came to speak to you about something else. Since Beatrice is here, I’ll say it plainly.”
“What is it now?
Thefore he died, Father promised me the leases on the Eastgate stalls. I’d like them granted to me before I leave for court.”
Her smile faltered. “Those shops were meant for your dowry. You’d divide the estate now, would you?”
Dowry? I nearly laughed. Beatrice would inherit every last thing, I was sure of it. But those shops? My father left those to me. I had letters in his hand. “By the t
Claper 2
e time I return, I may no longer be considered a desirable match,” I said calmly. “Best I depart with something settled in my name.
GoodShort.
Beatrice tilted her head, her voice full of mock concern. “Why so hasty, Eleanor? Aunt Margaret would never deny you your share.”
Mother’s voice turned cold. “Is this truly about the court? You’re holding a grudge over a simple favor for the family?”
I gave her a faint smile. “If Beatrice were so eager to serve her king, I wouldn’t need to worry about any of this.”
Her face stiffened.
After a pause, Mother exhaled sharply. “If you insist on it, I shall have the documents drawn up.”
“Thank you, Mother.” I curtsied, not deeply, then turned to leave.
The door clicked shut behind me.
But not before I caught her voice, low and bitter. “How did I raise such a calculating, grasping girl? She’s nothing like you–not a true lady at all.”
