by Jeff Wheeler
“Your Highness, welcome,” she said.
Sera recognized her voice, having heard it once before on that fateful afternoon.
“Sewell, if you would introduce us to the gathering please.”
“As you will, mistress,” Sewell replied with a bow, and quickly walked ahead.
Lady Corinne came and took Sera by the arm, not in a possessive way, but so she could speak to her in a confidential tone and be heard.
“I’m grateful you came, Miss Fitzempress.”
“Thank you for the invitation,” Sera replied.
“We may not have another moment to speak privately,” Lady Corinne then said, dropping her voice even lower. They had just passed the gaze of two servants, and now no one stood between them and the rich maple-colored doors that Sewell was preparing to open.
Sera’s unease grew even keener.
“Would you be so kind,” Lady Corinne asked in a whisper, “as to return these letters to your father? I have not opened them. I do not want to know what is written in them. If he wishes to communicate with me, please inform him to send a note through my husband.”
From beneath her vest, she carefully slipped out three folded letters and handed them to Sera. The scrawled directives on the envelopes were indeed in his handwriting. The seals were all still intact.
As Sera took them, Lady Corinne gave her an imploring look. “We have been an ally of your father’s for many years. But this . . . these signs of familiarity must end. If you please, Miss Fitzempress. I would appreciate you returning them to him with my message.”
“I-I will,” Sera stammered. The letters were burning in her fingers.
Mr. Sewell pulled open the doors.
CHAPTER TWENTY−THREE
DEED OF SERVITUDE
It was almost impossible for Sera to focus on the conversations happening that afternoon in Lady Corinne’s sitting room. She had tucked the letters away, but she quivered with indecision about what to do with them. Yes, she had said she would return them to her father. But she was keenly interested in opening them and learning their secrets. Was her father trying to instigate something untoward with the lady of Pavenham Sky? And if he was disrespecting her in such a way, would his behavior disqualify him for the throne?
Sera felt little loyalty to the man now, so she was primarily concerned with her own self-interest. He had tried to convince the world that Sera wasn’t his true offspring. This could be an opportunity to get revenge, to humiliate him. That alone was tempting enough. But Lady Lawton had clearly intended for the indiscretion to be concealed. Making an enemy of such a powerful woman would be fraught with its own risks. Was Lady Corinne testing her? Sera’s instincts were so knotted up and twisted that she couldn’t begin to unravel them. Cettie would have known what to do. She was always so clearheaded. How she missed her friend . . .
Then there was the strangeness of this invitation to Pavenham Sky. Why gather together the rivals for the Prince of Kingfountain’s affections? What did the lady stand to gain or lose from the arrangement?
Lady Corinne led the conversation, directing questions toward each of the young ladies present. Some of the questions were political. Which ministry would rule next? How did they feel about the trade disputes between such and such realms? What speculations were they involving themselves in? Others were more personal, like amounts they would inherit, other lands they had traveled to, their choice of study in school.
Sera waited for a question to be directed at her, but so far Lady Corinne had exempted her from the conversation. The mistress of Pavenham Sky never revealed what she thought on any of the subjects, and Sera believed this was done on purpose. It helped the lady of the house maintain her privacy and superiority.
Each of the young ladies was very wealthy and established. Most had finished their schooling the previous year and had passed the Test. One or two were on the cusp of finishing, though Sera was easily the youngest of them all. And the smallest.
While she listened to the questions, she observed the servants coming in and carefully and quietly replacing trays of food and drink. They were all uncommonly handsome young men dressed in uniforms that matched the chief butler’s. Mr. Sewell remained in attendance for the entire event, giving directions with discreet gestures of his hands and fingers, sometimes just a nod. He was always attuned to Lady Corinne, watching her closely, as if trying to anticipate what she might desire.
After an hour or so passed thusly, Lord Lawton entered the study and was announced. Lady Corinne gave him a private smile and joined him before introducing him to each of the young ladies assembled. He was kind and gracious, and Sera noticed how Lady Corinne doted on him, watching his every move, just like the butler did for her. She clung to his arm, smiled when she spoke to him, and caressed his sleeve. It was plain for all to see that Lady Corinne admired her husband, and he treated her with respect and tenderness in return. It was an unfamiliar sight for Sera, a sharp contrast to her own parents’ dynamic.
A sudden clattering sound jarred the tranquility. One of the servants had fumbled a tray. It didn’t fall, but the contents had rattled and drawn attention. Mr. Sewell rubbed the bridge of his nose, clearly displeased by the disturbance. The servant was a young man, probably no more than twenty. He was the only one who wore his hair in a queue, tied in the back with a black piece of ribbon. Like the other servants, he was exceptionally well built and handsome, and he looked chagrined by his mistake. Sera felt a throb of pity. He wasn’t reprimanded, but the mood in the room altered slightly at his gaffe—the only imperfection that had infiltrated the event—and Sera noticed some of the other young ladies smirking in derision. Mr. Sewell approached the young man and whispered something in his ear. The young man nodded and hastily lifted the tray to carry it out.
“And this is Miss Seraphin Fitzempress, of course,” Lady Corinne said, startling her. She hadn’t realized she’d been so distracted by that little scene.
Lord Lawton stood before her. This was not the first time they had been introduced. Although he was not a member of the privy council, his presence at court was not uncommon.
Sera rose and bowed to him while he did the same. “Lord Lawton, it’s a pleasure to see you again. I think it has been a year, has it not?”
“It was the twenty-seventh to be exact, one year ago,” he replied smoothly. He was one of the most mild-mannered men she knew, rivaling Lord Fitzroy in his gallantry. “My condolences about your grandfather, young lady. He was an honorable man.”
“Thank you, Lord Lawton,” she replied. “This is my first visit to Pavenham Sky. It does you credit, sir. I hope we have an opportunity to explore the grounds this afternoon.”
“Most of our visitors desire that,” he answered with another bow. “I would recommend seeing the cliffs at sunset. The view is quite stunning. There have been no portents of a storm either. It should be quite safe.”
“That would be delightful,” Sera answered, pleased.
“Miss Fitzempress,” Lady Corinne said with a sly air, “has always wanted to visit the poor, have you not? Why, I believe your companion at school was from the Fells. What did you learn from that experience?”
Sera suddenly found herself the focus of everyone’s attention. Was the question innocent? There was something in Lady Corinne’s tone that suggested it wasn’t. No, her host had excluded her from the previous questions to put her at ease, to put her off her guard. Now she would strike and see how Sera reacted.
Sera’s courage rose to the occasion.
“I adore her completely,” Sera said effusively. “She is probably the best student at the school. What do you think, Lord Lawton? Should knowledge of the Mysteries be kept secret except for those of privilege? Or should they be opened to all who have the aptitude to master them?”
She shifted her focus to him and saw Lady Corinne’s eyes narrow just a little in her peripheral vision.
“It is a complex issue surely,” he replied evasively. “What do you think?”
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It would be easy to state her own opinions on the subject. She held strong ones. But she recognized this game they were playing. She would let them win if she revealed her own position before requiring them to reveal theirs. So often people spurted their own ideas without learning from others. Asking good questions was the key to wisdom.
“I am only sixteen, Lord Lawton,” Sera replied with a sad shake of her head. “You have lived longer and have seen much more of the world. I would value hearing your insights on the subject. If you please?”
Lady Corinne’s eyes narrowed a little more.
Lord Lawton was nonplussed. “It has been my experience that the prejudices of those living below preclude them from having the clarity of mind necessary for the rigors of mastery of thought.”
She was grateful to have had Mr. Durrant as her advisor for so many years. She was used to language that concealed. The Law had always been something she’d excelled at.
“What you are saying then is that they lack the rigid self-discipline required or attained by patient study and determination?”
“Quite so,” he answered.
“But if they do not lack rigid self-discipline or determination, should they be precluded from harnessing the gifts they possess and enlarging them as we do?” Sera was going out of her way to use the fanciest words she could summon to mind.
A wry smile came to Lord Lawton’s face. “Every person is capable of enlargement. Most decide against it.”
“What is your reason for thinking so?” She was beginning to enjoy herself despite the silent pressure of Lady Corinne’s cold, assessing gaze.
“Because effort is anathema to them. Most people stay at a task longing for it to end. A man will work twelve hours at a factory each day because he knows when the whistle blows that his labors will no longer be required. They do as little as possible and nothing more. They endure the toil only because it is fixed, and they shirk and slouch and wait until their overseer’s eyes are turned away before halting their efforts entirely. A reprimand is preferable to arduous work. That is my experience, Miss Fitzempress, with those who dwell below.”
Almost timed to his words, the servant who had been surreptitiously trying to exit the room with his tray collided with the door. The tray, the goblets, and the dirty dishes all came smashing down at once with a dreadful clamor. Everyone turned their heads at once, and the young man, who now bore a smear of white sauce across his black-and-gold jacket, went instantly scarlet with humiliation. Lord Lawton’s eyes became like flint, but he said nothing. Mr. Sewell rushed to the scene and scolded the young man in sharp undertones, his nostrils flaring. The young women in the room began to titter and laugh, and some of the other servants broke their composure as well.
Soon the room was in an uproar.
“I don’t recognize him,” Lord Lawton said to his wife. “Is he new?”
“Very new, Husband,” she sighed. “My apologies.”
He shook his head curtly. “He will learn. Don’t let Mr. Sewell dismiss him. It’s just a mistake.”
The poor young man’s embarrassment was evident. He knelt on the floor, trying to pick up the broken pieces with his white gloves as the butler continued to chastise him for causing a scene. Sera was not laughing. She glanced around at the other young women, taking in their looks of disdain and mockery. They had never carried a heavy tray in their lives. Sera could not imagine doing so herself without fumbling. The injustice of their behavior made her blood seethe.
She was impulsive. Probably too impulsive. But she could not sit quietly and abide their laughter. It grated on her and made her rage inside.
“Excuse me,” Sera said to the Lawtons. She quickly strode up to the young man kneeling in disgrace and bent down and started collecting the broken pieces.
“I’m so sorry this happened,” she said to him in a kindly way. The laughter in the room ceased immediately as if the surf from the cliffs below had suddenly risen and drowned everyone. She would probably be shunned from Lady Corinne’s inner circle forever because of her bold act. She didn’t care.
The young man looked at her in startled surprise. He probably knew who she was. She picked up a few more pieces and hurriedly set them on the tray.
“It was just a little mistake,” she said, trying to laugh. Everyone was staring at her now. Her fingers felt like they belonged to someone else. She could imagine the looks coming her way, but she refused to glance backward. She was shaming them all by helping him. Suddenly there were three more servants crouching nearby, their eyes wide with shock as they quickly collected the broken fragments together.
A stab of pain in her index finger told her that she’d cut herself on one of the slivers. She bit her lip and clenched her fist. The glove was made of silk. Of course it hadn’t protected her from the shard.
“Did you cut yourself?” Mr. Sewell asked in her ear. “Let me see it.”
“It’s nothing,” she replied, coming to her feet. The scraps were all collected on the tray, and another servant carried it swiftly from the room.
Mr. Sewell shot a look of daggers at the young victim who had caused the scene. “Go change at once,” he hissed.
The young man bobbed his head. “Yes, Mr. Sewell. Of course.” He was much taller than Sera. He had warm brown eyes and an embarrassed smile. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sewell.”
“Just . . . go,” said the butler, straining to be civil.
Sera watched him leave, noticing again the black ribbon tying back his queue. The room was no longer silent. She heard the murmurs and whispers from the young ladies gathered there. Sera felt the sting on her finger still, and when she looked at it, she saw her glove was stained with a splotch of red, right at the knuckle. She looked back at the young man who had reached the door. He’d opened it but paused at the threshold to look back at her. The embarrassed smile was gone. He was grinning at her, positively grinning. The sheepish look was gone. She saw keen intelligence in his eyes. He gave her a small nod and then left.
It was then she heard a whisper in her mind. It was so faint she wondered at first if she’d imagined it. It was like a flash of insight, a nudge to her thoughts.
The Prince of Kingfountain.
Of course he was. What other servant would be allowed to make such a fumble at Lady Corinne’s notoriously perfect manor? As the idea bloomed in her mind, she realized that their arrival at Pavenham Sky was more than just a social call. They were all on display for him.
CHAPTER TWENTY−FOUR
THE CLIFFS
After the experience in Lady Corinne’s sitting room, Sera immediately began to doubt the premonition she had received. Did she simply have an overactive imagination? None of the other young ladies seemed the least aware that the bumbling servant was anything out of the ordinary. None of the ladies behaved in a very friendly way with one another. They were rivals, after all, and that put them all on insecure footing.
After the refreshments and discussion ended, Lady Corinne announced that they would be visiting the lavish gardens of the estate together, culminating in a walk along the beach at low tide. Everyone seemed eager to participate.
The manor had a fleet of zephyrs, and the girls were to be sent to the lower gardens in groups of five or six. Sera shared a bench with Lady Wilkins’s daughter, Penelope, whom she greeted warmly.
“If you don’t mind my asking, Miss Fitzempress,” Penelope said, “why did you stoop to help that clumsy servant? It wasn’t your fault he spilled the tray.”
“Does it matter whose fault it was?” Sera answered, not caring for the girl’s reproachful tone. “He was made into an object of ridicule.”
“Yes, but he is only a deeded servant. I should think you wouldn’t have done that in the prince regent’s household.”
“Perhaps. But I haven’t lived in my father’s household in quite a few years,” Sera answered.
“Oh,” said the other girl in an obnoxious tone. “I’d quite forgotten. He tried to disown you. Really, Miss Fitz
empress. Let the servants alone. Your attention to their station does them no good. It does you no good either.”
“What do you mean?” Sera asked, trying to control her temper.
Another girl sitting across the aisle spoke up. “You would make them equal to us?” she said. It was Lord Mortenson’s daughter, who had vast wealth and high connections.
“Your assumption is,” Sera countered, “that because of the privilege of your birth they are not already equal.”
“There is no chance or coincidence,” she answered haughtily. “We were born in our station and they to theirs.”
“But is it not possible for even your family to fall, Miss Mortenson? Is there not a chance of that happening?”
The girl gave her a sulky look. “For every speculation to succeed, someone must fail. There is a winning side and a losing side of every bet. My parents are betting that your father will be chosen as the new emperor. I think they are right.”
Sera felt her cheeks begin to flush with heat. “If they are wrong, you’ve chosen your words unwisely.”
“I don’t really care,” Miss Mortenson replied stiffly. “Soon I’ll be living at the court of Kingfountain. I think it will suit me better.”
“You are so vainglorious, Ingithe,” teased another girl. “The prince will not choose you. He will choose me.”
Sera thought about the young man who had dropped all the dishes. She kept her feelings to herself.
The gardens of Pavenham Sky were wondrous, and each had a different style and variety of vegetation. From one level, Sera could look over and see the next, farther below. Some were even joined together with floating boulders connected by iron railings or bridges so that guests could walk from one to another. The variety of flower breeds was astonishing, and they were distinguished by painted placards identifying them. It was whispered that the gardens were Lady Corinne’s legacy, that she painstakingly directed the gardeners on how to arrange them.