“That won’t be necessary,” I said stiffly.
He frowned, clearly perplexed. “As you wish.” He glanced at the rose. “I suggest you put that in water to make it last longer.”
“Do enchanted roses really die?” I asked tartly.
“When they’re plucked rather than given, then yes. It’ll take several months, but eventually it’ll begin to wilt, its petals will fall off one by one, and then…” Saying nothing more, he bowed crisply and departed.
I lingered in the doorway to watch him until he’d disappeared down the corridor before closing the door and leaning against it to slowly take in my new accommodations. As lovely as they were, it was still a prison. When I’d run away last night, I’d believed I was finally free, but my freedom had been fleeting considering fate had cruelly snatched it away again.
I sank onto the bed, exhausted from walking all night and from the suffocating emotions rising in my chest. The room seemed to be closing in around me. I took several steadying breaths, but it did little to lessen the rising despair, reminiscent of what I’d felt when Father had told me what he’d done.
I didn’t want to remember it, but the memory returned unbidden—the one that had acted as the catalyst for my escaping in the dead of night…and leading me to the palace and my new prison.
“Miss Maren, what on earth have you done to your hem?”
I froze in my stealthy creeping down the hall at my governess’s shriek and sighed. All hope vanished that I could sneak into my room and change without detection; luck had never been kind to me whenever I attempted to hide the evidence of my exploits.
I bit my lip to suppress another sigh as my governess hurried over, her horrified gaze riveted to the torn and muddy hem of my gown. “What happened?”
“I got it dirty.” Obviously. Was any other explanation really needed?
She seized my arm to escort me not-so-gently back to my room to change. “Doing what?” By her darkening tone it was clear she didn’t really want to know.
I filtered out some of my more wild afternoon activities and settled on the less condemning ones. “I climbed a tree, raced the boys next door, visited the horses in the stable…” None of which had been too scandalous.
She closed her eyes, as if praying for patience. “You know those activities aren’t appropriate for a lady.”
“Perhaps not, but they’re appropriate for me.”
She pursed her lips to keep her usual arguments at bay, ones she undoubtedly realized by now were a waste of breath. I’d seen that familiar look of hers enough to know that with my frequent mischief and lack of etiquette, she considered me a difficult charge.
It wasn’t as if I were trying to be difficult…or perhaps I was. A little. It was an act of defiance for the years she’d spent trying to counteract my apparently unfortunate appearance by attempting to mold me into a proper lady.
But I didn’t want to be molded into anything. This was who I was, and if I had to be a lady to make up for something I didn’t consider to be an inadequacy, I wanted no part of it. But I’d been rebelling for so long that I was no longer sure whether I was still trying to fight against her expectations or if this was who I really was. It bothered me that I didn’t know the difference.
The moment my bedroom door clicked shut behind us, she wasted no time in tugging the offending garment off and helping me dress in a clean one. I peered at my reflection and wrinkled my nose at the dress—one far too elegant for everyday wear, especially for someone like me who couldn’t seem to keep out of mischief.
“Why are you dressing me in this?”
She yanked a brush through my hair. “Your father wants a word with you.”
My stomach lurched. Oh dear…he never had anything pleasant to say, considering I’d always been a fierce disappointment to him. First I’d had the gall to have been born a girl rather than a boy, and despite my having been rambunctious enough to serve as a surrogate son, it hadn’t been enough.
Then when mother had died without giving him any heirs, what had previously been indifference towards me had twisted into what I was convinced was actual hatred, which had only grown over the years as it became clear that with my lack of beauty I couldn’t even be useful to him by securing an advantageous match that would increase his wealth and prestige.
As such, he treated me with cold disdain…when he didn’t ignore me altogether. He only summoned me when he had something to tell me, and experience had taught me that whatever it was, I wasn’t in for a pleasant conversation.
I gave a dramatic groan and my governess gave me a scolding tap with the hairbrush. “Keep your emotions in check, and don’t slouch.”
“Isn’t it better for me to show my emotions now rather than later when I’m with him?”
She sighed but didn’t argue against my logic, as I knew she wouldn’t.
“Do you know why he’s summoned me?”
“I’m not privy to the master’s wants.” She finished arranging my hair and set aside the brush to study me with a critical air, slowly turning me in order to observe the full effect of my appearance. Although I was dressed in a fine gown, it never made any difference to her.
She sighed wearily. “The dress is lovely and your posture is passable, but everything else…it’s really such a pity.”
There was no need to ask her to clarify—I knew what she was referring to. I stared into the mirror, trying to see the flaws in my appearance that everyone else seemed to notice, but I simply couldn’t. My thick black hair had a wave I found quite lovely, and my light brown eyes were a unique and quite striking color. I also saw nothing wrong with my features, which everyone else deemed to be plain. It was simply a face, my face. Why did everyone else seem to think there was something wrong with it?
“I’m lovely,” I said confidently.
She pursed her lips and said nothing, but it didn’t matter what she thought. I gave myself a shaky smile, one that betrayed the nerves knotting my stomach at the thought of facing Father.
The anxious knots only tightened with each hesitant step I took towards his study. What could he want with me? Had he heard about the prank I’d played on the stablehand? Or about yesterday’s mud fight with some of the younger male servants? Or—
I stopped in front of the study door. For a moment I remained frozen before I managed to lift a shaking hand. Keep control of your temper, I scolded myself fiercely. With a final wavering breath, I knocked softly on the door.
“Enter.” Father’s brisk tone was an order, one I didn’t dare disobey. I entered his study, where Father sat at his desk, his fingers steepled and his dark eyes fixed on me. He jerked his chin towards the seat across from him, his wordless command to sit. I did with as much grace as if I were sitting in front of a king—or in this case a tyrant, one who’d ruled my entire life with an iron fist.
“I’ve finally found a husband for you,” he said without preamble.
My breath caught. “A…husband?” Impossible. The only men I was well acquainted with were all lower class. Surely Father wouldn’t condone a match with any of them.
Which meant this match was arranged, meaning I wouldn’t like it. Although we’d spent little time together over the years, I knew enough about Father to know that whatever man he approved of would be one I’d detest.