Five months pregnant, she glowed. My father looked haggard beside her.
Puffy bags hung beneath Daddy’s glazed eyes, and his black suit drowned his thin frame. I bit my lip, trying to remember when he’d lost more weight.
Not for the first time, I wondered what Peter and the court thought when they looked at my father next to Alessandra—at both of us next to her. My smother, the perfect, ice-cold center of the room.
It wasn’t kind, to speak that way of family. My godmother, one of the nuns at Saint Christopher’s, usually scolded me when I did. Better pray the Hail, Holy Queen, sweet girl, and ask Mary to correct your wayward path.
But I’d never had to speculate on how Alessandra thought I compared to her. She’d made her opinion of me perfectly clear.
I drew in a breath as Daddy and my stepmother reached the center of the hall and stepped out from beneath the oak, feeling people draw back from me as they noticed my presence. I swallowed, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Countrymen,” Alessandra intoned, perfect face earnest. “Women of Potomac. Welcome to Arbor Hall, and happy Arbor Day. We are glad to have you beside us, as we are every spring. Together,” she called to the assembly, “we remember our roots.”
“Together,” rumbled the crowd, “we stretch ever upward.” Their response was a wind at my back, whispering through the trees.
Alessandra beamed. “As every year, the seneschal and I honor the old custom. The sun sets tonight on a thousand new saplings in the southeast quarter, beyond the Anacostia River.”
I fisted my hands, feeling the calluses on my palms, and tried to imagine my smother wielding a shovel in her new gown and jeweled bracelet.
She looked beautiful. But the seneschal’s family was supposed to live simply—to take only what they needed, to feed themselves and Arbor Hall from the same common lands that fed the hungry.
I tried not to think of the public fields we wouldn’t be able to seed if Alessandra kept up her extravagance.
“Spring is the heart of our hope.” Alessandra pressed her hands to her chest. “It was on Arbor Day so many years ago that word of our independence came from England. So today, we rejoice, celebrating the peace we hold dear and our work toward Potomac’s prosperity and growth.”
I pressed my lips tightly together. The Council was nowhere to be seen, but they were undoubtedly to blame for this speech. Secretary Moreau, most likely, though Secretary Allen had probably helped. Their glib words—the peace we hold dear—were like bile in my stomach.
Our little country of Potomac was at peace, more or less, if only because her once-upon-a-time colonizers had retreated back across the Atlantic, abandoning her for a lost cause, forsaking a costly connection that brought them little return.
We hadn’t been liberated so much as deserted because we failed to thrive. We weren’t at peace so much as isolated. Occupied with survival, like most every other little kingdom and territory and tribe on this continent.
“And so we welcome you to Arbor Hall, to celebrate the future.” She put a hand on her belly. “Welcome, all, and happy Arbor Day!”
Applause burst out. “Do you think it’ll be a boy or a girl?” the woman in front of me whispered excitedly to her neighbor, who shook her head, grinning.
I blinked a little. Alessandra hadn’t even mentioned my proposal.
A hush fell again as my father stepped forward to speak.
“Happy Arbor Day, everyone.” He smiled faintly, one hand twitching at his side. “Thank you all for coming.” Swallowing hard, I dropped my gaze.
I didn’t want to watch the crowd cock their heads, strain to hear his words. To see them see how thin Daddy had gotten, how his limbs shook like leaves in the wind.
I couldn’t watch them watch him. Barely over forty, my father looked like an old man, voice weak as water as he spoke.
I wished Peter could stand beside me right now. I wished I already had my answers, written out like a story in a book, black and white and certain.
But then Daddy called for Selah, Seneschal-elect of Potomac, voice creaky as a brittle old oak, and panic filled me. I wasn’t ready. I suddenly wished I could slip back through the trees and hide from his answers and the waiting court.
Instead, I uncrossed my arms and walked to the Arbor, feeling exposed in front of the entire court.
They all knew what I was about to ask.
I sifted through their faces as I passed, ignoring everyone as I searched for Peter.
I’d feel stronger once he stood beside me. I knew it.
When I found him at the edge of the crowd, it was all I could do not to reach for his hand as I passed. But Peter wouldn’t look at my face.
His long fingers were twined together, his earnest gaze trained on them.
My pulse sped.
“Captain Matthew Janesley, I’ve extended a marriage proposal to your son on behalf of our daughter, Selah, the Seneschal-elect,” Daddy said. “Will Peter accept?”
The moments between the question and its answer hung like smoke in the air, burning my lungs.
I willed Peter to meet my eyes. I knew I’d see his answer there. But no sooner could I catch his gaze than he’d glance away again.
Yes, I prayed, squeezing my fingers so hard I feared they’d snap like twigs. Say yes.
Captain Janesley stared at his broad hands, at his feet, anywhere but at my father. Or at me. “No, my Lord Seneschal. Peter respectfully declines your proposal.”
3
I couldn’t hold my silence.
“What?” The word was a breath, a whimper. But not a single person in the noiseless room missed that small sound of hurt.
I didn’t care that all of Arbor Hall could see as I stared. I couldn’t look away from Peter. As the room filled with hissing whispers like water boiling over the rim of a pot, I heard nothing but my own keening heart, was aware of nothing but my own humiliation.
I felt well and truly naked, stripped bare before them all.
I’d never cared for anyone but Peter. He’d been my first and only choice.
But Peter hadn’t picked me.
He knew me—he was my friend—and he didn’t want me. And all of Potomac was here to bear witness to my rejection.
I’d never have to wonder again what Peter thought of me when I stood beside my family.
I turned toward Daddy, panicked. His eyes darted between Peter and me, confusion and disappointment in the lines of his weary face.
My heart sank into my stomach. He hadn’t reckoned on this. He didn’t need this kind of worry right now.
How could I have made such a huge mistake?
In the scene I’d envisioned, Peter said yes. Daddy would’ve been jubilant. He would’ve given me a kiss, hugged Peter tightly, welcomed him into the family, worn the kind of smile I remembered.
I hadn’t prepared for this, either. I hadn’t imagined what would happen if Peter said no.
My father studied me, asking me silently what he should do. I gave him the tiniest shake of my head, the feeblest shrug of my shoulders.
“Very well,” he managed to say. And Daddy cleared his throat and said nothing else.
The rest of the ball passed in a blur. I sat with my would-have-been in-laws through dinner, hollowed out with embarrassment, flat and thin as a paper doll, like a child disabused of foolish illusions.