by Glint, Chloe
An Unsuitable Match
By Chloe Glint
Chapter One
Sir Kale of York stood gazing out the window into the grounds below. Tingles of excitement traveled through his heart out to his limbs. In one week's time, he would be taking the woman of his dreams, Lady Gabrielle, to be his bride and his whole world would change. Lady Gabrielle was the type of woman that men sung songs about, the type of woman who the word siren was invented for. The first time Kale had seen Gabrielle stride across a ballroom in a gown of ivy green, he swore his heart had stopped. No other woman had hair of honey or eyes that gleamed like the bluest skies. She was the only woman in the world who he could imagine spending the rest of his life with. Even after their small second of meeting, he knew she was the woman he was supposed to wed.
With a grin, Kale walked over to his desk and took a seat in a chair of mahogany. The piece of furniture was full of crumbled papers and overused quills. He should have had one of his servants clean up the mess, but if he did that, then he would never find anything. Right now, he knew exactly where every letter from Lady Gabrielle's father, Douglas, was. He could read through the messages and pick a part the words upon the pages as if Lady Gabrielle had spun her own song into them behind her father's back. He reached out and grabbed the most recent letter, the last before he would meet Douglas and his bride himself.
Dear Sir Kale of York,
I am eager to meet you on the morn of September 22nd to witness you marrying my daughter. The woman has waited a long time for a man such as you, and I am glad you have taken such an interest in her. The dowry will be sent promptly two days before the wedding.
Sincerely yours,
Sir Douglas of Charleston
Kale gripped the letter harder in his hand. With a great smile, he pressed the page to his nose as if he could catch Gabrielle's scent upon it. Strangely enough, it did smell of perfume. In his excitement, he contemplated whether his bride-to-be had kissed it for good luck before sending it. The thought of it had his heart stirring. Even after his twenty-two years of life, he had never been as excited as he was now. He caressed the page and felt the frail flesh of the paper. For just a fleeting moment, he imagined it was Gabrielle's skin instead. It aroused him, causing his body to stir. He was not even in his wedding bed yet and such a thing was happening. He fought down his urges and leapt to his feet. With the wedding so near, he should send a surprise to his sweetheart. Flowers, perhaps. Every bride deserved to be showered with roses. Likely the woman was nervous. He had not spoken to her the night of the ball and had only seen his portrait. A great romantic gesture would ease her woes. He was certain of it.
****
Lady Camille of Charleston stood before a great mirror in her wedding dress. It was the color of milk and as soft as down feathers. Lace covered her skin from shoulder to wrist. A veil, far too long for her taste but still acceptable, streamed down her back. Her dark brown hairy, as bushy as untrimmed shrubbery, curled around her face. Her eyes, the color of a leaf turned auburn right before winter, stared out at her beneath dark brows. She knew she was not what a man would call a beautiful woman. She was small in height and weight. Her sister, Gabrielle, often jested that she could hide behind a twig and never be found. Still she was the one who Sir Kale of York had written his letter to. Her father had passed it to her and her heart had been sent aflutter. She could hardly believe that a man enjoyed her presence and found her as "beautiful as a rosebud during spring." She turned from the mirror and gazed down at her hands, alight with happiness. Her sister opened the door to her right and stepped into the room.
Once upon a time, Camille had been jealous of her sister's beauty. Gabrielle had a wedding proposal twice a week and wit as sharp as a tack. The girl's golden hair shown like rays of sun. Her blue eyes held a hint of mystery, even though she was far too innocent to have anything to conceal. But Camille loved her sister greatly. As much as her sibling appeared to have everything—grace and marvelous intelligence—her sweetness was as great as her looks.
"You look beautiful, Camille," Gabrielle said, breaking through her thoughts.
"If it were you in this dress, you would look more so," Camille said.
Her sister reached out and thoughtfully ran her fingers over the lace.
"It was not me Sir Kale has asked to marry." Gabrielle frowned. "It was you."
"I suppose so," Gabrielle said. Her sister's words made her glow.
"Can I please braid your hair for your wedding?" Gabrielle asked. "Can you imagine it?"
With a grin, Camille nodded and touched her hair. It would be fine in a braid. More fine than it would when it was a massive nest of curls upon her head. She was so lucky she had her sister. As she tangled her fingers in the strands, there was a soft knock on her door. She and her sister both looked up.
"Come in," Camille said.
Her father stepped into the room. The man held a large bushel of red roses in his arms.
"Flowers?" Camille paused in shock.
Her father was not a romantic man in the slightest, so the fact he brought flowers had her jaw drop. Ever since she was born, her father had the lithe ways of a hunter. He spent many afternoons in the woods, rushing through the foliage and getting his fine suits amuck. Her mother had always yelled at him when he came back, face so red with rage that she looked like a great turnip.
With a frown, her father placed the flowers on her bedside table and passed her a small note that had cleverly been folded into a rose.
"Now I know you didn't do this," Camille said. "You have a hard enough time folding your own handkerchiefs."
Her sister sniggered into her hand.
"It's from you husband to be." Her father rolled her eyes, but he grinned. "He will take grand care of you."
"How romantic." Gabrielle sighed and fanned herself.
"You could do with getting married yourself, young lady." Her father gave Gabrielle a dark look. "You're just a little younger than Camille, but you've declined every proposal you've been given."
Since Gabrielle and her father fought about this often, Camille decided to defuse the situation before it got out of hand. She didn't want them arguing. Not today.
"Gabrielle is waiting for the prince of England." Camille winked at her sister. "I think they would be a fine match."
"Oh, yes." Gabrielle fanned herself with her hand. "If you thinking Camille getting a bouquet of flowers is grand, just wait until you see what he will send me."
"You girls." Her father shook his head. "I swear it was a curse to have only daughters, and not even sensible ones. The both of you live with your heads in the clouds. It's a wonder anybody wants you."
Though the words sounded harsh, Camille knew her father too well to realize he did not mean them. Both she and her sister had gotten their whimsy from somewhere, and it was not from their mother.
"Enough with talking about my future prince husband." Gabrielle nudged Camille. "Open the note. I want to read what your fiancé said."
With a grin, Camille nodded. She took the fine paper between her fingers and slowly opened the note. When she had it spread out, she noticed there were two creases, as if somebody had folded the paper but made a mistake in the petals and had to try again. Well, it's still beautiful. She eagerly tore her eyes away from the folding and looked at the beautiful, elegant writing of Sir Kale.
To my lovely sweetheart,
I pray that these flowers will excite you for all that is to come. I cannot wait to marry you. I will not spend a day without thanking God that you are my wife.
With love,
Sir Kale of York
Beside her, Gabrielle let out small, girlish gasps as she bobbed on her feet in excitement. Camille was giddy after reading the w
ords. It was still too much to believe that it was she who was getting these letters, she who was marrying Sir Kale of York. She had always imagined herself marrying a plump man twice her age who had wished for a younger second wife. But she had gotten young Kale who was quite attractive judging by his portrait. She was stunned he would choose a plain girl like her to be his bride.
"Isn't this just grand, Father?" Camille stared into her father's eyes.
Her father averted his gaze but nodded. Camille shrugged her shoulders at his strange, non-verbal answer and hugged her sister.
"You two should calm down and get some sleep." Her father's voice was tense. "You know that we begin traveling tomorrow. If we want to make it to York in time, we'll have to get up early. Six days of carriage riding will make you weary."
Both Camille and Gabrielle exchanged looks and began bouncing up and down again. Her father grunted and left the room, shutting the door behind him with a click.
****
Camille lay in bed beside her sister. Though the manor she lived in had enough rooms for both of them to have a wing of their own, she preferred to sleep with Gabrielle and vice versa. Now, as she lay in bed at her sister's side, she could not help but feel a twinge of sadness at the thought of leaving the girl behind. York was far away from Cambridge. Soon, everything would change. She frowned at the canopy.
"Gabrielle, do you think I really will be alright with Sir Kale?" Camille asked.
Her sister rolled over onto her side. "Of course you'll be alright. The man sends you notes folded into roses, for heaven's sake. And I saw his portrait. He appears fine enough. Not perfect, but acceptable."
"He is something, isn't he?" Camille paused, trying to fight down the bitter taste of fear in her mouth. "I just can't help but feel it may be too good to be true. Maybe if he was approaching you, it would make sense. It's so odd. I got the note, but I don't even remember attending a ball in Kent."
"It doesn't matter." Gabrielle reached out and touched her arm. "Everything is going to be alright. If anything happens, then I'm naught but a letter away. York is not at the world's end."
"I will miss you," Camille said.
"I'll miss you too," Gabrielle whispered. "But this is good. Maybe next time I see you after the wedding, you will be with child. You'll have to tell me all of the joys and woes of married life."
It was hard to imagine herself pregnant. Her stomach had been flat for as long as she could remember. She was all edges and angles. Her two sharp hip bones were prominent in comparison to her small stomach. But it's highly possibly that I could be pregnant in some time, she reminded herself. After all, she knew what being married meant. Unfortunately, that brought on a whole new topic, one she feared almost as much as leaving home.
"What do you think it will be like, being married?" she asked. "Do you think that…that…the wedding night will hurt? Mary said it hurt her. She said she hated the way it felt."
"Mary should not have talked about such matters when you were merely fourteen and I twelve." Gabrielle's nostrils flared. "I am the least likely to know how that feels like."
Mary had been drunk on sherry and half out of her wits when she had spilled the story of her wedding night to the two of them. It had been a horrible experience that Camille knew she would never forget. Still she longed to know more than that. She wanted to know what it really felt like, whether she had to have great fears of what was to come. Maybe it was painful all the time, which was why no gentlewoman was supposed to speak of it. No wonder Gabrielle had vowed that she would never marry.
"Do you think Mother would share with me what it's really like?" Camille asked.
At first Gabrielle froze, then she shook her head adamantly. "Now, Camille, don't you ever think of asking Mother such a question. She'd make you walk the entire ride to York, bride or not. You know what she's like. No improper questions from a lady."
"How can you be so sure she would not answer the question?" Camille asked.
"Because…because I may have asked her a similar question myself when I got a marriage proposal." Gabrielle's face grew paler, even in the dark. "There. I said it. Are you happy now?"
No, not at all. Camille's eyes widened. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you didn't often think of such things." Gabrielle sighed. "It was not for you to hear. I didn't want to frighten you with my thoughts."
"But you had to handle them on your own." Camille touched her sister's hand.
"Oh, come off it." Instead of accepting the touch like she normally did, Gabrielle rolled onto her stomach and lay still. "I don't want to talk about this anymore, alright? Just go to sleep. It's improper for ladies to discuss this, anyway."
Though it was the last thing that Camille wanted, she nodded and settled into the pillows. Her unease grew claws that scratched her brain all night long and kept her from sleeping.
Chapter Two
St. Joseph's Catholic Church had glass windows that allowed colored light to bathe the floor. Kale stood beneath one of the panes. He gazed at the aisle of the church. Already, it was decorated with bows of pink as delicate as a lady's blush. He could not believe it was naught but two days until his wedding, and soon, he would see Lady Gabrielle walking on this very floor. A grin crossed his face as he imagined his honey-haired maiden clad only in white. He was a little nervous, but the majority of what he felt was intense excitement. If he were not in a church, a place of solace and silence, he would have done a jig in his joy. As he let out a happy sigh, his mother walked over and gazed at the room too.
His mother was in every way opposite of what his bride was. She was plump and short with dark brown hair in a tight bun. Her chestnut eyes were sharp and missed little. He owed her a lot, though. His father had wanted to send him away to live with a governess but his mother had put her foot down. Even though it would make her life harder, she had demanded that she raise him herself. A governess was no true replacement for a mother, so he knew that he had to be grateful for what he had been given. He'd most certainly never forget how much his parent cared for him.
"I hope Gabrielle likes this place," Kale said.
"I don't see why she wouldn't." His mother's voice was naturally loud, too loud for a church. It echoed throughout the room. "When your father and I married, nobody decorated anything. There were no ribbons, no flowers. Your bride ought to be pleased."
"I worry because there is no place as beautiful as she is," Kale said.
His mother tightened her grip on his arm. "Kale, you are just like your father in some ways."
The words stung. He loathed his father. The man spent his nights with his mistress named Gertrude who humiliated his mother by tromping around the estate in fine jewelry. Her mother had gotten so enraged by the woman that she had been forced out of the main house. Kale had gone with her.
"Don't take offense, boy." His mother's eyes softened. "You know I have never been as gentle as I should be. It's why your father has his women. What I mean to say is that you are speaking only of Gabrielle's appearance. Your heart can change the way you see a woman. A striking person can become a plain one very quickly."
He did not like to hear the words.
"Mother, you haven't even met Gabrielle yet, but you act as though you've already taken a disliking to her," he said.
"Not so." His mother shrugged. "How I feel about the woman will be decided by how she behaves. I just felt a word of wisdom coming from an old woman's lips might do you good."
The anger faded away as his mother released his arm. His mother was many things, but he would never consider her old. She had more vibrancy than a young, fresh maiden.
"You are not an old woman, Mother." He grinned at her.
"Tell that to your father." His mother winked at him. "Now let's get out of here. I never thought I'd say this, but you have spent far too much time in this church."
With an eager nod, Kale looped his arm through his mother's and left the building.
****
Inside the small carriage, Camille had begun to feel claustrophobic. Her parents' eyes on her made her hot and sweaty, as if they were searing her with their gazes. Even Gabrielle appeared to sense the heat, because she was staring out the window with her lips pursed, as if trying to pretend that she was not there.
"You could sit up straighter," her mother said. "No husband will want you if you stoop like an old woman."
"Yes." Her father nodded approvingly. "And pull back your hair. It's flying everywhere. It is not befitting for a proper lady. I never once saw your mother's hair like that."
That's because Mother doesn't have hair like mine. Camille frowned and smoothed her dress, feeling inadequate. Gabrielle had gotten all of her glamorous features from her mother. Her mother had a small nose, frail skin, and hair that looked flawless whether in a matrimonially bun or free of its confines. Camille, on the other hand, had her father's masculine appearance. She had a heavy jaw, wild hair, and olive skin. Both of her parents were tall, though, leaving her to wonder where she had acquired such a small, mouse-like stature. She lifted her hands to her lips and began to gnaw at her fingernails. Her mother seized her wrist at once.
"No. Don't chew." Her mother glowered, even managing to appear beautiful with her lips puckered.
Gabrielle finally had had enough. She swiveled in her seat and glared at her two parents. "Oh, for heaven's sake. You should be building up her confidence, not dragging her down. If I were her, I would be scared enough about what my husband will think of me without you two adding to it."
"Don't talk to us that way," her father snapped.
"And I don't think we'd have to worry about what your groom would think about your looks," her mother said pointedly.
The words stung, but Camille could tell by the way her mother clamped her mouth shut that she hadn't meant to say them. She longed to mutter something nasty about how she had gotten her looks from them, but she thought better of it. After she reached the church, she would likely not see her parents for a long time. It was best not to make their relationship bitter just before she left.