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Miss Leonie Pinelli, aged seven and twenty years, was never once referred to as a beauty in her village of Sauin. As a child, she had been described as very athletic, outgoing, friendly and most often, blunt to a fault. As the only grandchild of one of the village elders, she was well-known in the country society. Every festival, holiday, and gathering—no matter how small—was not complete without the young Miss Pinelli in accordance, her jack-o-lantern grin a consistent sight amongst other young rabble-rousers and ankle-biters. It seemed, even at the tender age of seven, that she was destined to be a cornerstone of the sleepy hollow.

Leonie, naive and stubborn and knowing no more than the rickety tree-branch fence that acted as the border of the village, desired a little more than what Sauin offered. Despite the 100-mile hike to the capital of the country, Edgaria, and an even greater distance from the Leicester capital of Derdriu, social mores remained. The opportunities afforded to Leonie’s future were scarce and slim: teacher, governess, lady-in-waiting, nun, town oddity—for each community, no matter how small must have one—or of course, a gentleman’s wife. 

If her grandmother had any say in it, she would have seen Leonie as a gentleman’s wife, well-distinguished and comfortable. And while Leonie didn’t have anything against the freedoms of being a wife, especially that of a nobleman, she knew how deeply her deficiencies would affect her.

In all the books her grandmother had given her—brooding romances and comedies of manners—the heroine was always well-to-do and beautiful, and there was never any question about her appropriateness. And when Leonie was seven, she became increasingly aware of another issue: her beauty, or lack thereof.

While the sun-kissed skin, freckled face and rough hands of a hunter’s daughter—and the economies and goods that came with it—were pleasing to a butcher or an apothecary, such features would be wholly inappropriate for a gentleman’s wife. And while her father taught her well of the meadows around Sauin, how to hunt and trap and the difference between certain plants, her grandmother trained her just as hard in the arts of housekeeping, polite conversation and feminine accomplishments. 

Miss Bernadetta von Varley, of the Adrestian north, was the charge of her uncle, Sir Francois von Varley, during the winter of her seventh year. Up until that point, Leonie had known she was not as winsome as the tailor’s son, or as beautiful as the village elder’s daughter, but Miss Varley’s presence informed Leonie that she was barely passable in regards of handsomeness and lack thereof.

Miss Varley arrived on a dull winter afternoon to the sleepy hamlet of Sauin. Upon first laying eyes on her, Leonie realized that they were not the same. True, they shared the same sex, but past that, nothing about them was similar. Where Leonie’s hands were developing callouses, Bernadetta’s hadn’t seen a day of hard labour. Bernadetta was exactly the type of character from Leonie’s book: demure, pretty and utterly perfect like a porcelain doll. Even as her brow furrowed in a nervous expression and she hid behind her uncle’s pant leg, she was the ideals of beauty. 

She had wide grey eyes, similar to a sky Leonie had seen before a heavy storm. And her lips were soft pink, her cheeks dusted with rouge. Her dress, a lavender-coloured frock with frills and lace, was free of patches or tears, and she wore silk slippers. 

Leonie had only ever had canvas shoes or thick fur boots in the winter; and all her outfits had been patched over multiple times after playing outside or getting into trouble.

Bernadetta’s uncle and Leonie’s father had business to conduct as adults; something about furs from the animals that Leonie’s father trapped, or the weapons that Varley produced. Thus, they left the girls alone in the care of Leonie’s grandmother, Radia.

“Go on, Bernadetta. I’m sure Miss Leonie would love your company.” Said Mr Varley in a gentle tone of voice.

“Yes, Leonie would love to entertain Miss Varley. Go along dear.” Leonie’s father said.

Snow had just fallen and made both her frock and hair wet. After sufficient time quivering before the fireplace, wherein Bernadetta scarcely moved, let alone spoke, the girls moved into Leonie’s tiny little room. It was a quarter of the size of Bernadetta’s, which she remarked upon entry, then promptly found the tightest corner—between the second-hand dresser and the wall—and hid. 

Leonie, growing weary with such shyness, prompted her: “You don’t want to play dolls or anything?”

Bernadetta had shaken her head furiously, and continued to tremble in the corner. She remained there until Leonie took one of her books about beautiful princesses and ladies and asked if she liked reading.

Bernadetta’s head snapped up fast. Her hair, which styled into decorative little ringlets and frizzed with the snow, bounced with the movement. “Iloveit.” She said, her words combining into a single sound.

“Oh, me too.” Leonie managed as gently as she could. “Here, let’s read.” 

For the afternoon they read and read and read until Leonie’s grandmother happened upon them. After the fourth fable, which was about a bear and a hornet, Bernadetta pointed them out and said, “Thatisus.”

“It is?” Asked Leonie.

“Yes.” Bernadetta said quickly. “B-Because it zips out from the trees and strikes. L-Like you!”

“I sting like a hornet, do I?” Leonie thought in wonder. Any other girl would have been upset for being compared to an insect. Leonie, good-natured, took it as it ought to have been: a compliment. “Actually, I like that!”

Bernadetta huddled close to Leonie as the girls read. “That’s you.” Said Leonie, pointing out a large bear. “Because you’re quite lovely. You just get a bad rap.”

“B-Bad rap?” Winced Bernadetta. Fresh tears flooded her eyes and she began to cry once more, sending Leonie scrambling. 

“Well it’s just that you…” She stumbled. “You seem so frightened and scary! But you’re really kind.”

Bernadetta glanced up. “R-Really?”

“Yes. You really ought to be more confident, Bernie-Bear.” She playfully nudged her shoulder and gave her a bright smile.

Not long after, Leonie’s grandmother, Radia, happened upon the girls, tucked beneath a fur blanket reading. With a self-assured smile on her face, Radia took the girls back to the men and said their farewells. At the sight of her granddaughter seated so politely and patiently with a young lady, Radia’s heart softened, and thus began her new quest: Leonie would be accomplished like a gentlewoman.

The village had not the accommodations or infrastructure for accomplished young ladies of rank and good breeding: it lacked a conservatory for music, the schoolhouse was constantly in need or repairs, and in the place of luncheon parlours there was a public house. But Radia, a stubborn woman by all rights, was not keen on giving up, two traits instilled in her granddaughter. While her mother had passed and took with her more common social mores, Radia took to an older measure of education to teach her granddaughter. 

She taught the girl how to curtsey and bow, how to speak properly—though her country accent and somewhat blunt, borderline vulgar speech stopped any true improvement—how to serve a proper tea and hold conversation. Bernadetta was a good influence upon her and spent the winter calling on the Pinelli house as a ward of her uncle for the season. The girls tempered a deep friendship that lasted until the dawn of the dawn of the new year.

Before Bernadetta left, the girls promised to write each other, which they did often. As they said a bittersweet farewell, Bernadetta confided gently: “I can never be afraid when by your side.”

Thus, the education of Leonie Pinelli began in earnest.

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By the time Leonie turned two and ten, she had blossomed into a young lady, though scarcely acted the part. Radia pulled her kicking and screaming to her harpsichord lessons offered by a neighbour, pleaded with the girl to sit and pay attention to how to pour tea, and how to sing her bars despite her thin voice.

Leonie had shown an earnest interest and talent in painting, but the cost of supplies were too high, and her room scarcely had enough space for a bed let alone an easel. Though, her milk sibling, Ignatz Victor, had gone on to become a great proficient. 

But what she lacked in one distinguishing, she gained in another; while her pseudo-sibling was an artist, he lacked confidence in speaking. Leonie, by a large contrast, was a great speaker, so her grandmother hoped that she could read fiction, poetry and more well to suitors. Her voice was loud, clear and firm, but no matter how hard she tried, Leonie’s grandmother could not dispel the girl’s stubborn and brash nature: every thought that came into her mind left by the way of her mouth and shocked many, even those who had known her all her life.

And while her hands were used to making arrowheads—she had been taught at a young age to hunt and trap by her survivalist father—they failed in the arts of filigree, needlework and sewing. Minor repairs, including the patches on her dresses, were all that Leonie could do. Bernadetta, as Leonie learnt during the winter they’d first met, was a great embroiderer and envied her it.

She had few accomplishments. Reading and writing of course, and Leonie excelled in arithmetic thanks to being taken to towns near Sauin to hock and barter furs and meat a few times as a young girl, but otherwise she lacked the typical feminine accomplishments needed to attract wealthy suitors. She loved to tend horses, and was fortunate that the Pinelli home was built near a farm, where the horses were but a short walk away.

It was around this age that Leonie fully realized that she would not be admired like other girls were. Certainly not like her dear friend Bernadetta, who had grown lovelier with the passing of years and had the employ of a governess to bring her up proper. The preacher’s daughter was the prettiest girl in town, only three years her senior, and Leonie knew it. At the spring festival, the girl had been asked to dance at every opportunity, and was never without a partner.

She had spent the entire afternoon being primped and prepared by her grandmother, who scrubbed the dirt from beneath her nails and pulled a comb through her hair until it was pin-straight. They even splurged for a new-to-her frock, purchased from a neighbour with two elder daughters; she had been only slightly embarrassed when it was too short and showed off her bad knee, which she had hurt falling from a tree years ago and never healed right.

Leonie had been asked to dance a few times, and happily consented to each one. Dancing was an accomplishment she excelled in, and despite the old pain in her knee, she was light on her feet and graceful. Her partners all complimented her skills, but none remarked on her beauty. 

Part way through the night, the festival had gone silent with the sound of hooves. Upon the village square came a dark carriage, which no one knew who it belonged to until a voice piped up with a single name: Gloucester.

Erwin Fritz Gloucester was the new count of the territory of Gloucester, his father having died scarcely a month before. He was a haughty man of seven and forty years and close to 75,000 gold marks a year, not including the additional income made off other business ventures outside of landholding.

He had married a gentlewoman from Derdriu and was blessed with three children: his eldest and only son, Lorenz, and his two daughters, Marguerite and Priscilla. The daughters, too young and not yet out in society and not appeared, but his son had. 

Lorenz was a boy of about ten, just as haughty and self-righteous as his father. His features were quite handsome and beautiful, but he was spoiled, rude and cold.

The village elders greeted the lord and his son, entreated them to drink and food which the Gloucesters raised a brow and scoffed at. The atmosphere of the festival iced over with a chill so frosty that Leonie thought to run back home and get her shawl.

Upon the way past, her grandmother grabbed her arm. “Come dearest,” she motioned sweetly. “we’ll meet our new liege.”

“But I’m cold, Grandmother.”

Radia pulled off her own shawl, ratty and much too big, and tied it around Leonie’s shoulders. She looked less a lady in the making and more a tramp in progress. Spinning the girl around, Radia took her hand and led Leonie towards the line to greet the Gloucesters. 

It was a slow-going shuffle, their feet dragged as each villager tempted to meet the lord in earnest hopes of betterment. Rubbing elbows with a gentleman—especially the landowner to which they paid taxes to and most were indebted to—was never a bad choice. And if it meant that Radia could plant the seeds of admiration in a young mind, then all the better.

By the time the Pinelli family came up to the Gloucesters, Leonie’s feet were throbbing. She met the face of the boy-king who would own her home. He looked positively bored with the whole endeavour and Leonie’s opinion of him almost immediately soured.

“Valentin Pinelli.” Greeted her father with a stoop that was supposed to be a bow. “My mother-in-law, Radia, and my daughter, Leonie.”

At the gentle push on her shoulder, Leonie finally curtseyed, though it was more a stumble.

Count Erwin looked perplexed. “Where is your wife? Home, indisposed, ill?”

Valentin forced a bittersweet smile. “She is passed, my lord. The Faerghan plague passed through our village and took her with it.”

“Ah. My condolences.” Erwin turned his attention on Leonie. “Your daughter is quite the… child. How old are you girl, scarcely older than two and ten years, I do declare.”

Leonie was aghast at such manners. She glared up at the count and said: “Isn’t it rude to guess a lady’s age? And my name is Leonie. If I can remember yours, you can remember mine.”

Radia gasped and Valentin gave a hearty laugh. The surprised count blinked twice before nodding. “A fair judgment.” He observed. “Though, Miss Leonie, you must forgive my mind, it is beleaguered with many thoughts, so names slip through quite easily.” He heartily slapped his son’s back and the poor boy tripped forwards a few steps. “I forget my own boy’s name many a-time! Isn’t that right, Lorenz?”

“Yes, sir.” Answered the boy in a hushed tone.

“Indeed, a young lady as yourself must be well accomplished.” Erwin observed. 

Leonie coloured at the thought, then directed her attention to her feet. 

Radia spoke thus: “Miss Leonie will be going to the Derdriu Finishing Academy for Young Ladies for a proper education!” She insisted.

Leonie glanced up at her grandmother. “I will?” She asked, with Valentin echoing a similar sentiment.

“Yes!” Exclaimed Radia, before curtseying as best an arthritic old woman could. “She will, if your excellency can help spare the expenses. There are so few prospects for a lady here in Sauin. It was her mother’s fondest wish to see her happy and established in a good house.”

Erwin gave a thin smile. “Indeed. Please, write to me and we shall discuss the details on paper.” He said. Quickly, the Pinellis were shooed by the family behind them. As Leonie turned away, she caught the eyes of the young lad, Lorenz, staring at her in contempt.

“I’m going to finishing school?” Asked Leonie to Radia.

Her grandmother tugged her hand, pulling the girl away from the others. Valentin spoke quickly, “Radia, we do not have the finances. Even with the dowry, she wouldn’t have anything.” He said. “It’s a waste of time.”

A waste of time? Thought Leonie crossly. How could it be a waste of time? Leonie loved learning. She adored studying botany and which plants were safe to forage for the winter. She loved learning about far off places, about people who’d died long ago, about history. She loved exploring in the only way she knew, across maps and through the tiny borders of her village.

What she hated was being told what to do, especially what was and wasn’t good for her. And a finishing school being a waste of time? She’d be the judge of that. 

“It is her best chance at finding a husband and becoming accomplished!” Radia responded in a low voice. “Marriage is her only option. She must go to the school.”

“But we don’t have any extra income.”

“Sir Erwin will do whatever he can, I’m sure of it! His father, Fritz, was a good man, he must be too!”

“Leonie doesn’t even want to go.” said Valentin.

Leonie spoke up. “Nuh-uh! Leonie does want to go!” She objected. 

Her guardians looked at her with incredulity and surprise. The same girl who hated her harpsichord lessons, who couldn’t prepare and pour tea, who lacked in all feminine accomplishments, wanted to go to the place that would explicitly force them upon her, would grade her upon them.

And perhaps it was a testament to her stubbornness, that Leonie convinced her father to consent.

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It occurred to Leonie, in the six years it took for her to make up the funds for finishing school, that not only did she lack accomplishment and beauty, she was also deficient in being a lady. She was too used to hard work, to struggle and strife, to be relaxed and without use or need.

She was constantly up at dawn, helping her father with caring for the house. She helped their housekeeper with preparing breakfast, fed the hens and gathered their eggs, did the mending, and was often at the well getting water. 

During the day, she undertook other chores to supplement her income. She read to the wealthy blind lady who paid her a silver mark for every page; she watched the candlestick-maker’s three boys when she left for the next town to deliver her wares; she cleaned the cobwebs from the rafters in the local church when the nuns were too afraid to climb up; she wrote down letters as busy businessman verbalized them. 

Despite Radia’s complaints that her time should be spent in accomplishments—reading, writing, arithmetic, filigree work, music and the arts—Leonie persisted. Her dream, her purpose, had become to attend the school and prove not only her father wrong, but to show everyone that she could be a true lady… Regardless of her vulgar manners, her callous responses and her overall most ungentle conduct.

Count Gloucester did not come back to Sauin after that day. In fact, on her walks to other towns to help her father peddle his wares or fetch something, none had been paid a visit by Erwin since his ascension. In fact, each letter Radia sent went unanswered until the fourth year, when Erwin’s son, Lorenz, answered most curtly:

Rosedale Estate, Gloucester
4th of the Great Tree Moon, Imperial Year 1177

To whom it may concern:
Count Gloucester regrets to inform Mrs Radia Hamlette that her request for a loan to sponsor Miss Leonie Pinelli has been rejected. The count is unable to spare any excess income for her wish. He extends his most heartfelt and sincere regrets toward such upset. 

Yours &c.,
L. H. Gloucester

Thus began Radia’s intense hatred for the Gloucesters. Valentin’s had begun not long after the introduction, when the woods had begun to be plagued by poachers. The former count had ensured that the woods would not be poached or bothered by any hunters outside the village by hiring a mercenary brigade to deal with the trespassers. With Fritz’s death and Erwin’s ascension, such vow had been annulled and the brigade disappeared as soon as the final paycheque had been cashed. It seemed in the midst of the pleas and begs for it to reinstated for the safety of the village and continued commerce and prosperity, Erwin had become deaf. 

The woods became dangerous. Leonie had used to walk the exteriors—outside of hunting season and during the daylight hours of course—as a young girl. But ever since Erwin’s ascension, it had been impossible without risking her safety. She’d seen both massive monsters with red eyes and hooting poachers, calling out for her to come across the Pinelli property line.

Erwin, however, had no problem writing orders for meats and the finest cuts from the hunters. Many remarked that he was either blind, or quite stupid as to not notice vicious words when his servants came to retrieve the orders.

It seemed that no one in Sauin much cared for the Gloucesters, specifically Erwin. Taxes rose, infrastructure that needed repairs went neglected, the poachers increased fivefold under his hand. It was rumoured that the tax money sent not only Lorenz to a private university for education, but also hired the finest governess in Leicester to teach Erwin’s daughters, Marguerite and Priscilla, and padded their already-plump dowries. 

Sauin was a tight-knit community. When someone was hurt, or in need, they came together. The blind lady that Leonie read to had been a teacher for many years, and her former pupils often came to her aid, caring for her when she could no longer. When the church’s roof caved in, a former military man came to the prioress’s aid, trading his bow for a hammer. The children left their shabby desks during the late days of the Horsebow Moon to tend to the fields, taking the ache from their mothers’ backs.

And when the village found out that Erwin had denied the loan, Leonie became the next person they assisted. 

Despite rising taxes, already steep costs and individual loans to pay, they gathered the money to reserve her a spot at the finishing school. She attended with Bernadetta, who had once again been put under her uncle’s care.

It was only a twelve-month away, but Leonie missed her home deeply. While she was overjoyed to be reunited with Bernadetta, who had grown ever more reclusive and shy of strangers. 

Struggles and strife were plenty: Leonie had not the proper dresses or a new sewing kit, she lacked the proper manners, which at age sixteen could not be taught and held without the strictest reinforcement. Still, Leonie persevered, meeting talented and accomplished young ladies like herself. Many were astonished with her ability to barter and her conviction in herself.

Upon reflection, Leonie realized that marriage was her best way to repay the kindness her village had shown her. Her father scarcely made enough to support them, pay the housekeeper, afford goods. Their dilapidated house was in desperate need of repairs, for which there never seemed to be a budget for. And work was limited for women like her, save for the oldest profession, which she was not inclined towards doing.

To marry well would make certain that the debt would be cleared to the people of Sauin. And until then, Leonie would do all she could to clear it.

During her free time at the school, she took on extra work and chores in exchange for coin… As it turns out, being an escort for the idle rich, or covering for ladies who wished to see their lovers was a good business to be in. For once, she’d managed to tame her blunt tongue into telling half-truths to the superiors of the academy.

The twelve-month period of her study passed quickly, and soon the academy judged Leonie as a suitable suitress and sent her home, distinguished in reading, writing, arithmetic, social studies, speech—though they failed to rid her of the common accent and phrases she used—painting, and even managed to improve her work on the harpsichord. 

To be short: the finishing school did as it ought.

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Leonie had not been allotted a carriage, not even a chaise to convey her to the finishing school. In the meantime, to busy herself, she bartered some unmentionables for an old brown mare that was too old to be of much use. It would do to carry her light goods, and of course Miss Pinelli, with ease. 

The school had encouraged her lifelong love of horses, training her to ride sidesaddle as her tutor had gasped when she got up on a horse to ride like a man would. It allowed her the greatest felicity of equine care, something that she and Bernadetta shared. 

She graduated and finished her term in the late days of the Horsebow Moon, marking the beginning of the hunting and harvesting season in Sauin. Because of this, her father could not leave and the village could not spare anyone to come retrieve her. Never one to be a fan of being helpless, Leonie wrote to Ignatz who resided in Derdriu, asking for his aid. His response, like he, was prompt and amiable.

What was not amiable, however, was crossing paths with a certain gentleman. All the lovely young ladies had fluttered from the school like butterflies; the school had become quiet and Leonie found herself once more doing odd jobs around the area to hack away at her debts. That day, she had resigned herself to caring for the academy’s stables. In the morning, she had indulged in a ride around the grounds, neglecting to don a bonnet or wear riding gloves. 

The ride was most enjoyable, bringing a smile to her face. It remained, until she saw the visage of Lorenz Gloucester standing in the stables. Despite growing taller, his face shedding the chubbiness of youth and donning finer clothes, Leonie recognized him instantly and immediately thought of his letter.

At the time, Leonie had been so desperate for money she’d cut her hair. She heard word that noblewomen would pay high and heavy for fine hair to be made into a wig. Often, in Sauin, the locals remarked that her shade was the most peculiar colour, one that made her a little less plain and ever more odd. So, one evening, she had braided it down her back, brought the scissors to Bernadetta and asked her to crop it short. After a much unneeded tizzy which resulted in Leonie becoming cross and Bernadetta sobbing like a young girl, she sported uneven locks. A short time later—after she had sold the braid and came away with a little bag of coins—with a pair of shears and a bit of patience, Leonie took off the uneven edges and cropped it close to her head.

The frown faded from her face as he eyed her. He noticed the hem of her skirt shorter than appropriate, due to it being a secondhand purchase from a much shorter girl. As a result, her stockings and boots were muddy thanks to the recent rain and made her look most dishevelled. His eyes roved up to see her lack of riding—or any for the matter—gloves and her short hair, not bothered to be hidden beneath a bonnet. 

“Lorenz Gloucester.” She greeted coolly.

His brow crinkled, trying to place her face. “Surely we’ve met for you to address me so casually.” He said, unimpressed. “But forgive me, I lack the memory. You are?”

“Leonie Pinelli.” She said sharply as she dismounted from her horse. Lorenz belatedly offered his hand, which she ignored, walked past him and guided her horse to the stable. “Of Sauin Village.”

“Sauin. Ah yes, a small town in my family’s territory.” He said. “Allow me to help. It is a noble’s duty—”

“Isn’t it also a noble’s duty to help the common folk?” She snipped.

Lorenz raised a brow. “I beg your pardon ma’am, but I do not know what you speak of.”

“My grandmother wrote to your father requesting a loan.”

He looked blankly at her. 

“And you wrote back denying us.”

“Forgive me, but House Gloucester receives many letters requesting financial aid per day. One letter in a stack of many is quite literally nothing. It is like a tiny current in a great wave.”

The words wounded Leonie. She glared up at him. “Then I guess it’s a good thing that it wasn’t anything important.”

“But it seems you have done well for yourself, Leonie.” Lorenz cooed patronizingly. “You’ve a job here as a… what are you? Riding instructor? Stable maid? Farmhand?”

She shut the stall behind her. “It’s Miss Pinelli.” She sharply corrected. “And I was a student here, no thanks to you, I graduated.”

His expression turned to something akin to shock and wonder, as if to say, ‘Really? You? A graduate?’

“My hearty congratulations, Miss Pinelli.” Said Lorenz before he cleared his throat. “Why did you go here?”

“Because,” Leonie drawled as if bored with him. “isn’t it the only thing women can do? Marry well? I’ve debts to pay.”

He frowned. “Perhaps it is.” He said. “So you are to find a husband?”

“What else?”

“I wish you luck in the endeavour. You will need it.” He mused. “Your features are rather plain, comparatively speaking. Though you possess very… captivating eyes.”

A compliment inlaid between cutting criticism is still a critique. Leonie scoffed. “And what brings you here?”

“I was given a tour of the academy in preparation for my sister’s arrival. She shall go here soon.”

Leonie frowned. “I suppose those tax dollars are well-spent.”

“That is the last comment you will make upon myself or my family.” Lorenz admonished sharply. “I have endured enough trifling and resentment from a commoner like you, Miss Pinelli.”

Tension filled the air. With her pride wounded, Leonie curtseyed and left the stables. She returned to her old room and did not leave until Ignatz arrived that afternoon. While Ignatz rested from his tiring journey, she watched Mr Gloucester leave and cursed his ride.

Chapter Text

Leonie was welcomed home in time for the fall harvest. After the first payment was made—she had taken her pitiful dowry and put it towards the payment—Leonie began looking for work. She took up a post as a governess a few towns over to a daughter of a wealthy merchant. She taught all the skills she learnt at the academy. The girl took to her easily, liking her brash tone which she mostly held back for the sake of her charge.

Being with a young pseudo-lady, keeping her toilette and helping her engage in society was welcome for Leonie. It allowed her to connect with many single, and frankly too old for her, bachelors. Many of which falsely complimented her beauty in attempt to woo her. 

As such, she had been invited to a harvest dance in Edgaria, as the chaperone and guardian of the girl. Leonie, never one to resist a good time, joined and prepared the girl accordingly. While not outfitted with such as a nice gown or an extravagant hairstyle like her charge, Leonie had made herself as pretty as a rather plain woman could be. 

The assembly proceeded accordingly, with the allemande and other lively dances. However, towards the mid of the night, Leonie noticed the arrival of two gentlemen. Unlike in Sauin, there was no awed hush, simply a greeting from one of Edgaria’s most forward and wealthy gentlemen and the approval given from the welcomed.

Leonie recognized her old childhood friend, Ignatz Victor, with the visitors. Ignatz, as briefly mentioned before but in minor detail, was the second son of a wealthy merchant in Derdriu. He had been sent to Sauin under the care of Leonie’s mother, who, after having her daughter had been relegated from the circles of hunting to the home. 

Together, they had been raised as milk siblings and kept close correspondence. Upon recognizing her, Ignatz hurried around the dancers. He greeted her with a happy smile and flushed cheeks from exercise. 

“Leonie!” Cried Ignatz happily. “Come, come, I’d like to introduce you and your charge to meet my patron’s son and my dear friend.”

Leonie frowned. “I’ve already met him, and don’t care much for him.”

Ignatz’s expression darkened. “You don’t like Mr Kirsten?”

Leonie frowned and shook her head. “Not him,” she said sharply, then looked at Lorenz. “Him.”

“Mr Gloucester?” Ignatz leaned close. “How do you know of Mr Gloucester?”

“I’d rather forget that I knew him.” Leonie frowned. 

“That is upsetting.” Said Ignatz. “What did he do to draw your sword?”

“He wounded my pride.” Said Leonie with an pained smile. “And you know that’s a mistake beyond forgiveness.”

Ignatz’s countenance turned from shocked to grave. 

“Shall we?” Said Leonie thinly, calling the attention of her charge before the next dance and took Ignatz’s arm. 

They waded through the crowd towards the gentlemen. All the while, a smile had been pasted on Leonie’s face. Upon arrival, the gentlemen ceased speaking. Lorenz looked as if someone had served him cold tea and stale biscuits, while his companion—a massive boulder of a man—wore a jovial smile. Beside him was a young lady of similar features: straw-blonde hair, a bright smile, larger-than-average proportions. 

They stood in awkward silence for a moment. With a taut tug on Ignatz’s cuff, he spoke thus: “My lords,” his voice quaked. “may I present my dear friend, Miss Leonie Pinelli, and her charge.”

The ladies curtseyed. Lorenz glanced away after a moment. 

“It’s great to meet you!” Boomed the gentleman. “I’m Raphael Kirsten, this is my little sister Maya.”

The girl must have been no older than one and ten years, about seven less than Leonie. She wore a precocious smile and said not a single word. Lorenz sent his gaze elsewhere. Ignatz remained blushing and silent. Leonie’s charge had eyes for the floor and her shoes.

“You’re a friend of Ignatz, right?” Asked Raphael. 

Leonie nodded. “Yes. We were raised together.” She smiled. “I am quite glad he opted to commit to the clergy, rather than support the vicious Victor business.”

Ignatz coloured as Raphael smiled. “It is kinda sad. My parents and his parents used to do business.”

“Surely the Victors chased your family out.” Leonie joked.

With a smile still pasted onto his face, Raphael responded: “They are passed actually.” 

Leonie felt her face colour with embarrassment, a sentiment shared by Ignatz. “Forgive me, Mr Kirsten.” She said breathlessly. “I didn’t know.”

Raphael still smiled and so did Maya. “It’s yours if you want it, but don’t worry. I closed the accounts and business. Mr Gloucester’s parents and mine did business often.”

“So…” Leonie paused. “What are you doing here?”

Raphael turned his sunbeam smile, undeservingly, onto Lorenz. “Gloucester invited Maya and I. He said we’d like Edgaria.” 

“Do you?” Asked Leonie, eyeing Lorenz.

Raphael nodded. “It’s prettier than Derdriu or my hometown of Verona.” 

Just as he spoke, the music began once more. A fiddle graced the air, a jolly tune which made Leonie tap a foot beneath her gown and glow with a smile. 

Ignatz asked Miss Kirsten to dance, and spun her about the room. Leonie granted her charge a dance with a young nobleman, and Raphael had gone off in search of refreshment.

“Miss Pinelli.” Lorenz greeted at last.

Leonie fashioned on a smile of iron, determined not to be bothered by him. “Mr Gloucester.”

“Quite the blunder.” He admired with scorn and amusement. “On the parents of Mr Kirsten and Miss Kirsten.”

Leonie’s smile stretched. “It was a common mistake. And I doubt you’ve seen the elder Mr Victor’s true nature? The man is cruel and hard-hearted, and more vicious than a viper when a deal comes to him.” She murmured. “He never pays my father what he ought to for furs.”

“Perhaps the furs aren’t worth the price.”

“Maybe the man lacks sight for what is truly important.” 

“And that is?”

Leonie smiled harder and narrowed her gaze upon him. “The hell if I know.” She said, nodding towards Ignatz and Maya. “I spent my youngest years with Ignatz and look upon him like a brother. I think those years, the years with us, made him kind… His father doesn’t know how kind of a son he has and I doubt he ever will.”

“You speak your mind most decidedly.” Lorenz admired.

Leonie balked a little, surprised to receive a compliment from a most foul man. She met his gaze, and once more—although this time it was privately—he admired her eyes, their shape and colour and wideness. To himself, Lorenz thought of how similar they were to jasper stones mined from Goneril that he once saw as a young boy. He’d never seen such a pair of eyes anywhere else before, and would think of them often after that night. 

“Is there anyway else to speak it?” She asked, shattering his reverie. “Without conviction, there is no consequence.”

“And you like consequences?” Pressed the gentleman.

“Not particularly, but they do make the mundane interesting. And you, Mr Gloucester?”

“A nobleman would never disgrace himself with the follies of a chase. It would not do.”

Leonie glanced away and rolled her eyes. Soon, Raphael rejoined them, heartily cajoling the two. “Lorenz, you look as if you’ve swallowed a lemon! And Miss Pinelli, I’m sorry, but you look just as worse!  Did you two quarrel?”

“No.” Both answered with the utmost haste and no hesitance. 

“Certainly not.” Added Lorenz with pride. 

“What would we have to quarrel over?” Leonie replied with prejudice. 

Raphael raised his brows, unconvinced. Ignatz returned to the two of them with Maya in tow, their faces flushed from the exercise. Leonie’s charge returned once more, her suitor asking for another dance upon her card. Leonie consented and off they went, taking their places as the musicians prepared their instruments. 

“Come on Gloucester, dance with someone.” Insisted Raphael. “There’s so many pretty ladies here.” He turned to Leonie with his sunshine smile and earnestly asked, “Miss Pinelli, would you like to dance with Mr Gloucester? He’s a great dancer.”

Lorenz radiated an aura of displeasure which Leonie took joy in. He looked dreadfully uncomfortable at the prospect of dancing with her.

Surely it’s the thought of holding the hand of a commoner. Thought Leonie smugly. 

“I would consider it, if only Mr Gloucester asked himself.” Leonie said. She smiled, satisfied with her cunning. The gentleman would be too taciturn and self-absorbed to ask her to dance. Teasingly, she added: “I have been told I’m rather light on my feet.”

Expecting that he would not engage, Leonie grinned. Mr Gloucester then turned to the table nearest him, took her dance card from her wrist and wrote his name down, which would be the sole title on her card for the entirety of the night.

“Miss Pinelli,” he said lowly and sullenly. “would you do me of the honour of this dance?” 

Leonie coloured and frowned. Her lips motioned to say ‘No, never, you’ve no sense of humour and no sense of heart. I desire a partner with both.’

Instead she said, “You may.”

The two took to the floor, lining the assembly hall on opposite sides. Leonie held the gaze of the man she’d sworn to hate forever. A violin happily sung out, thus beginning the dance.

She took his hand, then let go, moving past, then encircling around him like a temperamental thread through the eye of a sewing needle. Lorenz’s eyes remained fastened upon Leonie, not once moving away even as he traced around her in the self-same way. After a moment, Leonie prodded him.

“I’ve only ever been to country assemblies, but I’m pretty sure that they’re the same as the finer ones.” Said Leonie. “It’s normal to talk, right?”

“Yes, indeed, it is.” Lorenz said. 

Silence returned. 

“You can remark on any choice of topic, Mr Gloucester. I’ve broken the ice, so to speak.”

He paused. “You are as you claimed: very light of feet.” He admired quietly. “A good dancer.”

“Despite my country upbringing?” Shot Leonie.

Lorenz frowned. “Must every observation you make be based upon class?”

“It’s as you dictate.” 

“Then I shall restrict my comments to the weather.”

Leonie, unable to resist, murmured, “And is it as plain and unremarkable as my looks?”

The count’s son blushed and frowned. “I hope you do not keep grudges, Miss Pinelli.”

“I’m afraid I do.” Said the lady. “And I pride myself on my pretty great judgement of character.”

The two stopped dancing, the couples around them continually moving. “Pride,” Lorenz said thinly. “is a trait you do not lack, Miss Pinelli.”

“And I could say the same to you.” Leonie said just as dangerously. “Your prejudices to those unlike you rob you of life’s greatest pleasures.”

“Which are?”

“Friends.” Leonie said quickly. “I think you lack friends, Mr Gloucester. And a sense of humour, a jovial countenance, and any sense of felicity that may be permissible to you.” She added, lower and more teasingly, “Don’t furrow your brow so, I hear it gives you wrinkles.”

The two completed their dance in silence and returned to their party, gratified with such a dance, the exercise of both the body and mind. 

Chapter Text

Ignatz saw the ladies to the home in Edgaria. As her charge went upstairs, Leonie lingered in the hall, expecting to see Ignatz off. Instead, he had questions as he walked her to her room down the main hall, close to the kitchens and scullery.

“So, how do you know Mr Gloucester?” Asked Ignatz. 

Leonie grumbled. “You really won’t let it go?”

“Please tell me, Leonie.”

She sighed and told him everything: about his visit to Sauin, his father’s denial of the loan, meeting him once more at the academy and hearing that he thought so lowly of her look and his general rudeness. Ignatz was at a loss of words for some time.

“Ignatz?” Leonie prompted.

“He’s… He’s never been like that with me.” Ignatz said. “Can he be so two-faced?” 

“I think it comes to nobles like him quite easily.”

Ignatz shook his head. “I’m so sorry for pressuring you to see him again.”

She shook her head. “Don’t worry about it, Ignatz. You didn’t know.” She assured him.

Ignatz’s countenance only turned guiltier. He stared at Leonie. “I… No Leonie.” He said softly, taking her hand. “I’m sorry because of other reasons.”

“Tell me.” She commanded him, taking his hands and patting them gently, encouragingly. “I promise I won’t be mad.”

Ignatz cleared his throat and stared at his feet. “I… I r-received an offer to act as rector of the parsonage on the Rosedale Estate. They’ll pay for my education and taking orders as I study under the current parson.” 

“Rosedale being?”

The second Leonie asked it, she knew the answer. Ignatz’s brow had knit, his eyes full with heavy guilt. 

“The Gloucester family estate.”

Leonie had taken a pause to withhold her upset—instead, surprised and blessed her tutor who instructed her to count to three before reacting—and smiled thinly at Ignatz. 

“I’m happy for you.” She’d said.

He blinked twice behind his large spectacles. “Really?”

“Yeah. The income will allow you to pursue your own interests. And finally get you away from your parents.”

Ignatz grimaced. “They’re not that bad, Leonie.”

“Just as a viper isn’t mad, just has a bad reputation.”

“Exactly!” Ignatz said before shaking his head. “No, no, they’re… They want what’s best.”

“Yeah…” Leonie murmured. “But for who?”

“You promise you’re not upset about Rosedale?”

Leonie shook her head. “No. Only sorry that you’ll have to endure preaching sermons for Lorenz Gloucester and his haughty family.” She laughed, gaining a chuckle from her dear friend. The two retired to their respective rooms, and Leonie, meaning to cast her card to the fire, set it upon her writing desk, beneath a letter from her dear Bernadetta.

Chapter Text

Over the next few years, Leonie was thankfully spared from seeing Lorenz. Between being sent to the Faerghan capital of Fhirdiad and later Derdriu for a proper education and his duties to his sisters, Lorenz was mostly absent from the county. Leonie had been busy with educating charges in an attempt to chip away at her mountainous debt. Though with Leonie’s close kinship with the almost-parson Ignatz, and Lorenz’s devoutness to the church and faith, the two heard of each other often through Ignatz.

In the first mucky weeks of spring in Leonie’s 22nd year, her charge entered an engagement. Just as quickly as she had been hired to bring up and chaperone the girl, she was dismissed. With nothing more to do, and no one willing to pay for her as a governess at the moment, Leonie retuned to Sauin on the back of her brown mare. Rumours had spread that her charge had learnt the most foul language a young lady could ever think, let alone say. Such a rumour did less good for Leonie’s reputation, and combined with her own singleness and lack of suitors, her work as a governess grew dry rather quickly. None would take a chance on a vulgar-mouthed single woman. 

She assisted, though her grandmother vehemently argued against it, with the busy planting season in Sauin. Just the spring’s hold on Sauin eased and the heady, hot days of summer came closer, Ignatz paid a visit to the Pinelli home. 

Upon seeing his white horse, Radia hurried to set out the chipped tea set and find the least-stale biscuits for the two. Ignatz watched as the old woman briskly arranged days-old ginger molasses cookies between malt biscuits and Morfis plum jam. 

“Come in, come in!” She urged as he stood stiffly in the hall, taking up the doorway. Ignatz removed his clerical hat and pressed it to his chest. “How good to see you again, Mr Victor! You are well, I assume?”

Ignatz forced a smile and opened his mouth to respond, just as Radia threw her head back and screamed her granddaughter’s name for the twelfth time that day.

“LEONIE!” She hollered loudly, hurrying towards the kitchen where her granddaughter was leaving the wet laundry. Radia turned back and smiled at Ignatz just as Leonie mocked her grandmother’s words: “Mr Victor is here and wishes to speak to you!”

Ignatz smiled at her cajole, cleared his throat when Radia’s brow furrowed and bowed politely. Seeing him at the other end of their pokey little hallway, she smiled her lovely crooked smile and greeted him with a hug.

“No letter beforehand? This must be serious.” Leonie joked as she traded her apron for his hand and pulled him inside to the tiny sitting room. 

“Watch your tongue, girl.” Said Radia with a scoff. She brought out the warm teapot, the smell of a fruity Dagdan blend filling the little sitting room.

“It is. But it’s good news.” Insisted Ignatz. He began to decline tea, but was silenced as soon as Leonie sugared a cup and pressed it into his open hands. “I have been invited to Enbarr for the social season.”

Leonie raised a brow. The Adrestian social season was no small matter. While the Faerghan and even Alliance seasons were respectable, the Adrestian social season paid tribute to the ancient customs, activities and meetings traditionally held in the imperial capital. Where the Leicester season may have one grand ball for the entirety of the season, there was certainly one every week in Adrestia.

“Congrats Ignatz! That’s pretty exciting!” Leonie cheered.

“That’s only part of why I’m here.” He confessed before looking gravely at Radia, who openly eavesdropped nearby. “Ma’am, might I pass the entreaty onto Mr Pinelli to take Leonie with me?”

Leonie’s brows raised and Radia gasped happily, practically pushing her granddaughter out of the day to embrace Ignatz. The poor parson almost fell over with the unexpected hug. 

“Oh my son-in-law will happily consent! Such an opportunity!” Radia assured him before turning to Leonie with gravity and weight. “It is great chance to be distinguished! Have you been playing your harpsichord? What about your oratory practice? Please tell me you remember how to speak like a lady!” 

“You want me to go with you?” Leonie paused. “Wait… Are you…”

“I go,” he confessed guiltily. “at the behest of my mistress’s son, Lorenz. He’s asked me to paint the likeness of the viscountess Nuvelle.”

Leonie scoffed. “Of course.”

“He’s my master by proxy, Leonie.”

“I know, I know… I don’t blame you Ignatz.” Leonie insisted and frowned. “I just hate how everyone’s at his disposal.”

“Please, just think about it.” Ignatz pleaded genuinely. “You could even see Miss Varley.”

Leonie brightened at the thought. It had been a little over a year since she’d seen Bernadetta; it would bring her great joy to see her friend. 

Ignatz remained the night as an ever-gracious guest. At the end of the day when he took to the spare room, Radia commented woefully: “If he were not the second son, and if my Juliette had not nursed him as a child… He might have made a suitable match…”

In the morning, Leonie packed her bags long enough for a month and a half, arrived at the breakfast table and gave her consent to go.

Chapter Text

The ride had been long and arduous. The two had been allotted an old carriage from the Gloucesters to convey them to Enbarr, which took a total of two weeks, with pauses for the horses to rest and breaks for food. With the early white blooms of the Garland Moon, they arrived in Enbarr.

Mr Gloucester had not the room to accommodate them in the Enbarr Great House, as his guesthouse was in use by the Kirsten siblings. They had also made the journey down for the prospects of the season and were happy to once again see Leonie. Graciously, Lorenz set Leonie and Ignatz up in a small house, rented of course, from a family that were out of town for the season. As they arrived, Lorenz was there to greet them with a most cordial bow and lingering gaze upon Leonie.

It was a modest residence with a nice garden for planting and a small sitting room for entertaining guests. There was two members of staff—an old housekeeper and a young servant boy—to which Leonie and Ignatz insisted their akin-to-siblings relationship to them. They made the home comfortable for Ignatz and Leonie.

After a short walk to stretch her legs from the journey in, Leonie returned to the sitting room and composed a letter to her dear friend, Bernadetta, alerting her that she had arrived in Enbarr for the social season.

The entire time, Lorenz stole gazes at her between discussing possible engagements and opportunities he had commitments to, and which Ignatz and she might join in. Leonie grew weary with his constant glances and was only relieved when Lorenz left and the servant returned with a happy reply from Bernadetta. 

Leonie had not the proper bonnet or gloves for tea time, but soon acquired them in town by way of haggling in the most unladylike fashion. Understanding that this season was her greatest chance to be wed, Leonie resolved to make a good effort of it. The following day, she resolved to enter society as properly as she could.

The following day, she met Bernadetta for a tea. She watched the crowds of Enbarr residents move past—the elite and rich against beggars and urchins. Twice, she opened her coin purse and dropped a silver piece each before two children who looked much too thin, and a man who was quite obviously blind.

Bernadetta materialized out of thin air. Leonie must have looked away for a moment, for when she turned back, Bernadetta was crossing the street before her. She was dressed in a fine bonnet, an elegant dress, a fine overcoat though she did not need it in the fine weather, and of course, delicate satin gloves. In the time parted, Bernadetta had become even more beautiful. Her complexion brighter, her eyes darker, her lips and cheeks faintly red. Leonie found herself wondering if her nerves contributed to such beauty and if she should take up worrying.

The tea shop was warm and crowded. The smell of spiced teas from far off places outweighed the noise. Swiftly finding a seat in the corner for the two of them, the ladies ordered their pots of tea, some sweets, the usual teatime goodies and settled in.

“What are you doing here?” Bernadetta asked as soon as the server appeared with their pots. She waited only a moment for the server to turn their back and then turned her grey eyes on Leonie.

Leonie melted beneath such a sight and rolled her eyes to seem cool and collected. “Well, I was accompanying Ignatz. He accepted a commission to paint a woman’s portrait… The former viscountess of Nuvelle? Heard of her?”

Bernadetta nodded, but did not expand. 

“I came along on his insistence.” Leonie said as Bernadetta sipped her tea and kept her eyes trained on Leonie. The country girl cleared her throat and added, “And I was excited to see you, it’s been too long since we last spent time together, Bernie.” A frown crossed her lips. “But….”

“But?”

Leonie huffed. “There’s this terrible man in the county who I became acquainted with, and he’s here for the Adrestian social season. He’s paying for this whole diversion, and every time I turn around, he’s there. He had organized the portrait painting for the viscountess, in an attempt to get her back on her feet.”

“Ah.” Bernadetta murmured, as if lost in thoughts. She treaded carefully adding, “You’ve had to deal with him a lot?”

Her eyes fixed on the plate of Noa fruit tarts that Bernadetta insisted on getting. Before Leonie could censor herself, her thoughts fluidly came out: “He came back to Gloucester after an extended absence for education, and now he’s carrying out some of his father’s business. He’s just like the count, vain and cruel and only interested in taxing us to the gills.” Leonie grumbled, reaching for a painted cookie in the shape of a flower. She threw it into her mouth without the slightest hesitation, then another and a third. 

Bernadetta’s gaze, trained on her, made Leonie realize that probably wasn’t the proper thing to do. Though it made demure Bernadetta reach for another, which brought a little joy to Leonie’s heart.

“Incorrigible, selfish bastard!”

Bernadetta paled at such harsh language. “I’m sorry you have to see him often. Maybe it’s only a temporary thing.”

Leonie swallowed and then sighed. “He’s apparently here for the entire season. Ignatz and I will be headed home in a short time, after the portrait is complete.” 

“Oh.” Bernadetta’s face fell.

Realizing the pain she’d caused her friend, Leonie quickly spoke. “But don’t worry! I’ll be here for a while! And maybe I can steal you away from that terrible house a few times without your father noticing.”

Bernadetta sighed shakily. “I don’t think so…” her hands encircled her teacup. “My father is set on getting me engaged this season.”

Engaged? Thought Leonie. Bernadetta was a year younger than her. To be engaged already was…

Normal. Quite normal for a very pretty girl with a large dowry, fine lands, a good family name; it was all quite normal and proper. Leonie felt a pang of jealousy and upset at such a thought, but promptly pushed it out of her head. 

“Why?” She asked. “You’re barely twenty years. You’ll be twenty this Ethereal moon, right?”

Bernadetta nodded. “He just…” she paused, her voice unconvincing. It felt as if she was censoring herself. “He wants to see me settled. I still have two younger sisters and my brother. It wouldn’t be right if they married before me.”

Leonie shook her head. “Not a day goes past where I’m glad I’m an only child.”

“You are quite lucky. And your family doesn’t really care if you marry, right?”

Leonie nodded. “My father would rather me be happy than hitched… And my Grandmother wants me distinguished… But I think they’d rather see me as both.” She said. “Because, of course, work for our sex is so little, and I don’t look good in a nun’s habit.”

Bernadetta snorted, quite loud and hard, which made Leonie laugh along with her for a moment. 

“So…” Bernadetta said, her face flush with embarrassment and joy. “What’s the name of this terrible man?” She asked and quickly added. “S-So I can throw the most hateful glares that I can manage while out in the ton?”

Leonie’s face twisted into a frown. Her gaze drifted, beyond Bernadetta, settling outside to the hustle and bustle of the city. She saw a gilded carriage pass by the children she’d donated to. Once more reminded by her indebted home in Gloucester, she spoke his name:

“Lorenz Gloucester, son of the count.” She said, her voice dripping with disdain. “Apparently he’s been seen often with another man of Leicester… Mr Raphael Kirsten?”

Leonie was too focused on her anger to notice how Bernadetta blushed a deep crimson. She stared into her tea as Leonie cursed the carriage and it’s gold and it’s riders.

“H-Have you met Mr Kirsten?” Quietly asked Bernadetta.

Leonie nodded, pulled from her thoughts. “Once or twice.” She murmured, then recalled on the scraps she’d heard about in him Sauin and Edgaria. “His family was better off. Wealthy for a while, but no title. I think his father was a merchant?”

Bernadetta paused. This time, Leonie noticed how red her face got and couldn’t resist a little jest. She smirked and leaned closer, over her tea, and asked: “Why? Do I have to worry about you being swept off your feet and carried away from me?”

“N-No!” She squeaked loudly, attracting the attention of other diners. Leonie laughed as Bernadetta blushed deep red. The two enjoyed the rest of their tea and then said their farewells, and went their separate ways. 

On her way home, another gilded carriage passed her. Leonie’s stomach filled with secondhand guilt and upset at it.

Chapter Text

The following days were marked with quiet reflection and the sounds of settling. Mr Kirsten called to welcome Leonie to Enbarr, and brought along his sister, Maya. She got along quite well with them and even invited Leonie to dine at the guesthouse, though she politely declined, not wanting to run into Lorenz. The two ladies shared similar temperaments and became good friends in a short amount of time.

One afternoon, as Leonie and Raphael walked out on the grounds, she asked about Bernadetta.

“Oh, you mean Miss Varley?” He brightened. “She’s a wonderful young lady. Very kind, very talented. I actually…”

He stopped himself. Leonie glanced at him. “Don’t silence yourself for me. I’ve known Bernadetta for most of my life. She’s almost like a sister.”

Raphael acquiesced with the giddiness only found in a young lover. “I found her reading in the Aegir greenhouse a few weeks back.” He confessed as a smile crossed his lips. “She was so… so amazing.” He sighed. “Her voice, you know how it is, it got so strong and firm and she had the biggest smile on her face as she read.”

“What was she reading?”

“Poetry. She dropped her book and I returned it a while ago.” 

The gears started to turn in Leonie’s mind, and the county girl began to align the stars. “Mr Kirsten,” she said quietly, hiding the utmost pleasure. “do you like my friend?” 

He coloured and glanced away at some fine shrubs. “I’m... Not sure Miss Pinelli.”

“You can call me Leonie, it’s okay.”

Raphael glanced at her. “Leonie, I know my rank.” He said softly. “And I’m worried with Miss Varley’s nerves that I’ve just scared her more and more. She already warned me once.”

“Oh don’t be stupid.” Said Leonie. She bumped her arm against his playfully. “If she gave you a piece of her mind, it’s a good sign. She only does that with people she’s comfortable with. Believe me, she’s stripped me of my skin a few times.” Lower, and more teasingly, she added: “She mentioned you when I saw her for tea time.”

He coloured again. “She did?”

Leonie nodded. “She got as red as you are now.” Said Leonie. “Come on, Kirsten,” she coaxed. “let me help you both. It would make me really happy.”

There was only a moment’s pause before Raphael earnestly smiled at Leonie and nodded. “I’d really like that, Miss Leonie.”

“Come on, what’d I tell you?” She asked before reminding him, “Leonie. Just Leonie.”

“Thanks, Leonie.”

Ignatz spent a lot of time at the viscountess’s estate. Long hours of sketching and painting and sketching and starting over. He constantly returned to the house late, his outfit messy and wrinkled from work, and his brow smudged with charcoal or paint.

“You sure you’re not bored?” Ignatz asked.

Leonie shook her head. “I’m fine. Though, it is a bit weird to have all this time to myself.” She said. “I’m too used to working back home. Going a little cabin-crazy, but nothing that can’t be cured by a walk. Wish there was more room to ride, I’d take my horse out and all boredom would be gone then.”

Ignatz added an apology for his tardiness and lack of attention to his companion. Leonie advised him to save such apologies for another time.

After another hefty and flittering apology for a late arrival to dinner, Leonie forgave him and spoke as they began their first course of Gautier gratin soup.

“Though,” Leonie said somewhat politely. “you could do me a favour…”

“Anything.” Said Ignatz, breathlessly.

The following day, Ignatz wrote a letter, inviting one Miss Bernadetta von Varley to a picnic, namely with one Raphael Kirsten. There was a hearty consent from her mother, and a day later, along came Bernadetta in a bonnet and carrying a tray of pastel sweet buns across the memorial park’s expansive green. She crossed the park to the little nook where Leonie had taken care to set up a blanket in the shade of the trees. 

Upon seeing her, Leonie hurried to her and threw her arms around Bernadetta’s shoulders. “Bernie! You made it! I knew paying the serving boy would be the best option.” In a playful voice she added, “The disguise was good too, huh? I borrowed one of Ignatz’s cravats for a complete look.”

“You sh-shouldn’t have.” Said Bernadetta. She paused, finally raising her gaze to see Raphael sitting on the blanket, looking through the provisions. She blushed feverishly and raised her voice in a pitched whisper. “L-Leonie, I w-will certainly f-faint! H-H-He’s here!”

Leonie took her arm to give her support and smiled, leaning close. “That’s why I invited you and it’s why you said yes. Come along.”

Leonie introduced the two once more, then immediately left the two to their own conversation. She engaged in polite tête-à-tête with Ignatz, though she often bent her ear to listen to what Miss Varley and Mr Kirsten discussed. And partway through the meal, she insisted she needed a turn about the park to ease her digestion.

Ignatz had taken to sketching the park’s landscape and was not to be disturbed. Leonie observed that Raphael and Bernadetta were deep in conversation—the latter had even brought out a tiny book and was reading from it to him—and politely excused herself.

Her walk was quite enjoyable, the sights of summer and it’s beautiful flowers were evident. Many other young couples, parties of pretty young things and even children were out in the warmth. Leonie found herself so well exercised that her bad knee began to ache. Never one to quit, she remedied to push through and to call the housekeeper for a cold compress and a fresh poultice of cure-alls that had always been relieving to her back home in Sauin. She stopped to take in the sight of a bush beautiful white roses, which the Garland Moon was named for, and when she looked up, was met with the fine countenance of Lorenz Gloucester.

“Miss Pinelli.” He greeted with a thin smile and kind regard.

“Mr Gloucester.” Leonie responded with cold civility. 

The two regarded each other with respective curtseys and bows. Lorenz was the first to speak. “Are you out on a walk by yourself?” He said. “It is quite far from where you are staying.”

“My party’s just resting. I’m here for a picnic.” 

Lorenz craned his neck slightly past her to see Bernadetta and Raphael most cozily seated. Quietly, he rumbled, “Mr Kirsten is amongst your party I see.”

“Yes.” 

“Is that Miss Varley with him?” Lorenz said with a trace of alarm.

Leonie nodded, proud of herself. “Yes. That is her. They’re acquainted. Did you not know that?” She asked with mock concern.

Lorenz glowered. “No. I was not aware.” 

“That’s unfortunate.” Said Leonie as she bowed. “If you’ll excuse me…”

“Alas, I cannot let you do that.”

“Hey, didn’t you hear me? I’ve got a party waiting for me.”

“Which I noticed you left only moments ago.” He coloured. “And with all of my other observations, of which I noticed most immediately upon conversing with you is that you’ve injured yourself.”

Leonie coloured in embarrassment. “What?”

“There is distress upon your face.” He explained. “And your gait was changed: you favour one leg more than the other.”

“It’s nothing.” 

“Please,” he said with a solemnity that only nobles bore. “permit me to examine it.”

“Sir!” Leonie said, aghast. “I’m a lady and you’re a gentleman! Isn’t that improper?”

“It is not improper if one is wounded.” He countered. “Besides, I am well-versed in white magic.”

Leonie frowned. “It’ll look like something else!” She insisted as he began to lower himself to his knees. Leonie’s voice raised in pitch. “Hey! It’s fine, leave it! It’s an old wound!”

“Easing the burdens of the common folk is a natural obligation of the nobility. Now hold still and keep quiet for a moment,” lowly and teasingly he added: “if you would be so kind.”

“You know, you may have paid for Ignatz and Raphael and Maya’s stay, and even mine, but don’t forget where the funds come from. Villages and towns just like mine.” She complained. “And let me tell you, everyone is so grateful to be taxed up to the eyeballs.” 

A harsh wince stalled her train of thought. Lorenz’s hand, though over the muslin of her dress, grazed against her aching knee. 

“Oh,” he sighed. “it is quite inflamed and swollen. It is an old wound, you said?”

Leonie winced thinly and nodded. “I’ve had it as long as I could remember.”

“Then white magic won’t do anything.” He tutted. “It is only suitable to new wounds and injuries.” He inclined his head. “My apologies, Miss Pinelli.”

“It’s fine,” she winced, now fully limping. “it’s usually better with some pressure on it, but I forgot my wrappings back home.”

Lorenz’s eyes lit with revelation. He drew into his pocket and produced a satin handkerchief, embroidered with small red roses and the initials LHG.

“Will this suffice?” He asked.

Leonie glanced at it doubtingly. “That fancy thing? It’s a waste.” She caught herself and shook her head. “Hey, no thanks; I don’t need a noble’s pity!”

His countenance softened. “What about the help of a friend?”

Leonie drew back. She attempted to blunt her surprise with a momentary pause, however it turned into suspended disbelief. 

“We’re friends?”

“I consider myself much of that as a noble to you.”

Holding his gaze, she shook her head. “I don’t get you, Gloucester.” She breathed. 

“You need not have to.” He said, gingerly taking her hand to support her. “Put your pride aside and accept my help.”

Leonie tensed and after a moment, acquiesced. He guided her to a nearby bench, where with the most unbefitting conduct of a noble, he attempted to wrap her injury.

She snatched the handkerchief from him. “I can do this part, thanks.”

The gentleman looked away. “So… How did you sustain such an injury?”

Leonie, self-conscious of the fact that she was about to show off her calf in the middle of a park in the social season, which was worsened because Lorenz Gloucester was standing before her as to shield her from passersby, coloured again. 

“It happened when I was a little girl.”

“Indulge me?”

She looked up and stared at him as he looked away. She knotted the handkerchief, and felt a small bit of relief from the pain with the pressure. “I was six and I had climbed a tree. I fell from it, landed on my knee and broke it.” She said. “I was bed-ridden for over a month and hated it. While it made me better, I still get aches right where I hit the ground.” Quickly, she added, “You can stop looking away.”

“What were you trying to get?”

Leonie smirked. “You’ll love this one.” She said. “Bird eggs.”

“Does Sauin not have farms? I certainly remember a few when I…” He paused. “When I first came to the village.”

“No, we did. My family couldn’t afford to pay the farmer for any and our flock had recently passed. So I went out into the woods behind our home, where I knew a flock of Derdriu pheasants roosted, I climbed up and tried to snag a few eggs but didn’t take into account that my arms weren’t that long.” She said with a small laugh at the memory. “Next thing I know, I’m on my knee and screaming. I scared away all the birds. They never nested there again.”

Leonie laughed, and expected Lorenz to join in. But when she turned her head, she was greeted with a thin frown and a stony look. She cleared her throat but could not help but continue to smile. 

“I apologize for that.”

“What?” Her brow furrowed. “It’s not your fault.”

“But it is.” Lorenz confessed. “It is the duty of the nobility to protect and provide for the common folk. We failed; I failed. Please, accept my apology.”

“Keep it.” She said. “Friends don’t apologize.”

She tensed, realizing the word that had left her lips. She cursed herself internally as Lorenz smiled softly. 

“Thank you, Miss Pinelli. You are more gracious than expected.”

Right back to it. She rolled her eyes. “Thank you for the handkerchief.” She said.

For a pleasant moment, the two sat side-by-side. They enjoyed the quiet of each other’s company, for they got along much better when Lorenz was not able to voice his pride and Leonie, her prejudices. Or vice versa. However you interpret it, dear reader.

Leonie then rose, shakily. “I should walk it off.” She said. “Worst thing I can do is let it best me.”

He turned his attention back to her and quickly stood. He offered his elbow for support once more. “Allow me to accompany you once around the park.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Nonsense.” He said firmly. “You are still injured and I will brook no such refusal, Miss Pinelli.” Lower, he added, “Perhaps you can tell me about Miss Varley.”

Leonie kept her lips shut about such a matter, but nonetheless, took his arm. They began their leisurely walk, in which Lorenz matched her pace and supported her as best as he could. Such polite conversations that Leonie was taught to be appropriate at the finishing academy, were spoken of: the weather, the state of the roads, the latest social events and the theatrical arts which Enbarr was known for and which Leonie held little interest in. Soon, they dried up, and when Lorenz prodded not once but twice regarding Bernadetta, Leonie snapped at him.

“Mr Gloucester.” She warned sharply. “I will not go so far as to betray my friend’s confidence in me. It would be against my own principles.”

“Which are?” He challenged.

“To treat my friends with conduct and consideration.” She assured him.

“Well,” he’d said lowly. “I would question what constitutes conduct and consideration to you, Miss Pinelli.”

Leonie held his gaze for a moment. “And how do you treat them?”

Lorenz remained silent before clearing his throat. “Aside from the walk, and subsequent pains, are you enjoying the picnic?” 

She nodded. “We had a good meal.”

“What was on the menu?”

“Mushroom egg tarts, cold roast pheasant with berry sauce and a vegetable pasta salad. Of course, with fresh bread and Morfis plum jam.” Leonie said. “Mr Kirsten provided the meals. Bernadetta brought sweet buns for dessert from her home.”

“You do not sound pleased.” He observed.

Leonie’s brow knit. She pulled her eyes from the park’s lovely sights and looked at Lorenz. “What?”

“Did you not like the menu?”

Leonie had known the pangs of hunger well as a child, and as a result, appreciated each meal she was given despite her tastes. She would never turn away a plate; though, like any other creature, she did have her favourites. 

The menu had been planned to appeal to Miss Varley, which Leonie had been all too eager to help with, knowing the lady’s palate and favoured foods well. The smile and delight on Bernadetta’s face had outweighed her own indifference—and at parts, displeasure—with the meal.

Leonie held his gaze for a moment before confessing, “Not particularly.” She looked away. “But it wasn’t for me, so it doesn’t matter. After all, why do you care?”

“Mr Kirsten and his sister are staying on my estate in the guesthouse. If the cook employed there is is not up to standards, I will amend it with speed and care.” Lowly, as if to not upset the far-off gentleman, he added: “Raphael is quite easy to please when it comes to meals; his sister is too. They are grateful for the smallest of things, but I value an unbiased point of view.”

Leonie raised a brow. “You call me unbiased?”

“Indeed,” with a simper he added, “if I recall, you give your opinion quite decidedly. You exemplified such earlier.”

Leonie coloured and forced a frown. “I suppose I do.”

“Then tell me,” he said, adjusting his supportive grip upon her arm. “what meals do you prefer, Miss Pinelli?”

She hesitated, watching their steps fall into line with each other. For a brief second, she felt a smile coming to her face. A pride, in having perplexed Lorenz Gloucester. If she were to have a resume for her accomplishments, she would replace can complete delicate filigree work, and has the loveliest singing voice in Sauin with clever and intelligent, and confused Lorenz Gloucester once to the point of ungentlemanly conduct as to simpering. Surely such a feat was a worthy of the highest compliments and praise.

She smiled. “I’d prefer for you guess, Mr Gloucester.” 

They had completed their turn about the park. As soon as the picnic spot came into view, Leonie caught sight of Ignatz’s confused expression.

 “I must go.” Said Lorenz. “I’ve a commission to attend to on behalf of a friend.”

She curtseyed as best she could and smiled to herself before turning back to her party. She was welcomed back heartily, with concerns as to her wobbly gait. Despite the pride she had taken in besting Lorenz, frustration lingered in her veins. He had still been so prideful, so rude as usual. However, Leonie pasted on a smile, answered the queries about her walk with “oh it’s just my bad knee”. She admired Bernadetta’s oratory improvement as she read and reached for one of the buns brought for dessert.

Chapter Text

Ignatz had the kindness to introduce Leonie to a few gentlemen and well-off merchants during their stay in Enbarr. Amongst them were the tradesman with several carpenters beneath his employ, the merchant importing Brigidian spices and goods, the weapons artisan who worked for the emperor himself, and even two gentlemen (second and third born from different families). All had met country wildflower Leonie, enjoyed her company and called upon the little house which she rented with Ignatz. 

One—the third-born gentleman—had proposed within two days of knowing her. Leonie, aghast, declined his offer and turned the flowers he’d brought her in his face when he persisted, callously observing, “Ladies often refuse upon the first proposal… They desire to be chased, and so I shall chase you Miss Pinelli, as a fox chases a rabbit.”

Leonie had hauled back and let her flattened palm fly before dragging him from her home. As the gentleman laid out on the stoop, she remarked, “Too bad I’m a hornet and not a shy little rabbit. I zip out from the trees and strike.”

A few days later, at a luncheon with Bernadetta and two of her society friends, she learnt the gentleman was indebted for 50,000 gold marks to gambling houses and thought Leonie to have a handsome dowry.

Such a thought made Leonie laugh to the confusion and shock of her dining partners. Leonie excused herself and smiled privately on the ludicrous matter. She scarcely had enough to purchase beef and sugar, and here was a man thinking he could clear him of his debts!

But upon her walk home, she thought further of the gentleman, of his debts and need to marry. They were not unlike her own, true, but he had thought Leonie—who was closer to a hardy sunflower than a delicate rose—a true, rich noble lady. She had rarely had company, kept a modest home, had no carriage, a single horse who was much too old to be of value; her gowns were all of the prior season and some were ill-fitting in length, her shoes were well-worn and always suited towards versatility and strength for long walks, and most importantly, she was not winsome.

She had been rarely admired. In childhood, none of the village boys had chased her or teased her with the usual idiocy that young boys in love do; instead, she’d been beside them, chasing and teasing. They saw her akin to a sister, rather than a girl to be admired. As she grew, her own plainness had grown more prevalent, and despite her social-climbing, none of the village boys saw her any differently. 

Even her time in Edgaria as a governess had done her little in the way of garnering suitors and attracting eyes. She’d had one caller, who had only been interested in getting discounted furs and meat from her father due to knowing her. Leonie had quickly dismissed him—though not as meanly as her suitor—and advised the house staff to not allow him to call.

This brought Leonie to the upsetting conclusion: she was out in society, she was available, and no men admired her. Some might have called such an upset shallow, but to a young woman it was quite distressing. Especially when one’s financial future hung in the balance and depended upon an advantageous marriage.

Upon her father’s death, the family home would pass to her, as well the incurred debts it carried to the Gloucesters. It had become no secret that loans had to be taken out in order for Valentin Pinelli to accommodate his daughter and mother-in-law. Most everyone in Sauin had requested a loan from the count, cursing the exorbitant rate of interest their liege charged. Jovial comments of ‘I now owe that rat Erwin 75,000 gold marks’ became commonplace words exchanged in the tavern over a pint. 

The occupations for a woman in this time were limited. Despite being a good hunter—her father had taught her how to handle a bow before she could properly introduce herself—she would fetch less than a man could, and if she had an agent handling her affairs, he would surely take a hefty commission.

So, once more, Leonie was reminded that marriage was the only way out of such debts. Her father’s and now her own. The cruelty of society and her reality only furthered in upsetting Leonie, and thus she entered the house and shut the door with such fierceness that made the paintings on the wall shake.

From the scullery, the housekeeper called, “A parcel for you, ma’am.” 

Leonie’s brow knit in confusion. “From who?” She asked as she untied the ribbon on her bonnet and pulled it off her head.

“It’s in the kitchen.” The housekeeper informed her eagerly. There was a smile on her face. 

Upon entering the tiny kitchen, Leonie was greeted with the salty smell of fish. She paused, then saw a large wooden crate that swallowed up the surface of the table. Inside the crate were two fishy-smelling parcels, which upon opening, Leonie identified as the hollow faces of a Caledonian Gar and an Albinean Herring. She sifted through, seeing a brick of goat’s milk butter, the bright greenery of fresh herbs and earthy shades of dried Brigidian spices, a sizeable lemon and a sack each of grains and flour.

“When did this arrive, Elinor?” Leonie asked her housekeeper. 

“About ten minutes before you came home, ma’am.” She explained. “It was delivered by a handsome-looking servant. He would not give the name of his master, only his compliments.”

At the bottom of the crate, Leonie found a letter. She pulled it out as Elinor spoke: “Shall I prepare dinner ma’am? Mr Victor should return from the Viscountess’s estate soon.”

Leonie stared once more at the ingredients. Certainly they were needed for two-fish sauté, one of her favourite dishes. She had had it a few times as a child, and it was Bernadetta who had been the one to introduce her to the dish properly. During one of her stays in Gloucester territory, she and her uncle had the ingredients sent in and had the leftovers brought to the Pinelli home. Despite the coldness, the smell and the fact that it had been made the day before, Leonie loved it. Mr Varley had been so inclined to bring in the fish—though not the exact kinds needed for the dish—for Radia to make the family for dinner. Despite the improper fish and not having the proper spices, Leonie loved it even more. 

With burning curiosity, Leonie opened the letter.

Gloucester Enbarr Great House, Enbarr
12th of the Garland Moon, Imperial Year 1182

Miss Pinelli,

I send to you the ingredients which can be made into two-fish sauté, a traditional dish from Enbarr. While I still know not of your favoured dish, this is one of my favourites. My cook has been amiable enough to record his preferred methodology upon a card within this envelope. Please pass it forward to your housekeeper; it has been written in the simplest language for the ease and convenience of cooking.

I hope this meal satisfies and amends the displeasure of the picnic you had to endure.

Yours &c.
L. H. Gloucester

PS
I do hope your knee is feeling better. If you have need of anything—be it a pheasant’s egg or a priest’s white magic—call upon me.

“Might I inquire who it is from, ma’am?” Asked Elinor. 

Leonie coloured slightly, and growing upset with herself and embarrassed on what she could only assume was the attack on her pride and low station, frowned. “No one of importance.” She said promptly, then excused herself to her room.

Surely that was a joke. She thought angrily. As he joked that we were friends.

She had designed to throw the letter in the fire, however, Leonie was so distressed and angry that she left it on her night table. Later, when she was out, Elinor came around cleaning the rooms and placed the letter with the dance card Leonie had brought with her. Together, they both adorned only one name: L. H. Gloucester.

Chapter Text

The Blue Sea Star returned to the sky and the painting was complete. It was a handsome thing, and once more, Leonie envied Ignatz, though this emotion quickly warmed to pride. It sat with pride and elegance in the sitting room upon completion. Elinor, the housekeeper, fretted about paint ending up on the rather expensive furnishings, to which Ignatz assured her that the painting had dried at the viscountess’s estate and had only been brought to the house for touch ups and final additions.

Leonie clapped his shoulder as she gazed at the portrait. “It looks great, Ignatz.”

He glowed with a warm smile. “You think so?”

“I know so.” She winked at him. “And I don’t lie.”

“I’m glad you said that.” Ignatz murmured as he wrapped the painting in muslin for protection. “Viscountess Nuvelle is to come pick it up, and Mr Gloucester has asked me to host her for tea.”

Leonie rolled her eyes. “Of course he has.”

“It’s just one afternoon, Leonie…”

“That’s fine, I’m sure I’ll find something to laugh about.” She said as Ignatz tied a string in a knot around the muslin. She smirked. “Or at least, she’ll tell some fun stories about the nobility which we can roll our eyes at.”

Under his breath, Ignatz commented, “Oh, I’m sure you’ll get a kick out of her.”

The following afternoon, the Viscountess Nuvelle called for tea. She was a woman of two faces. When Leonie greeted her at the gate as Ignatz helped her from her chaise, she was a dour, depressive creature. She’d scarcely said three words to Leonie without admonishing herself over and over for her shortsightedness and impertinence. Her coachman promptly produced a parasol for her, which brightened her mood. And upon entering the home, she burst forth with newfound energy.

“My! What a home indeed.” Constance said, upon entering. She glanced, rather rudely through the halls. “A small thing, for certain, but very handsome despite it’s pokey hallway and narrow stairs!”

Leonie shot Ignatz a glance. The tea was equal in such odd comments, and to Leonie’s vexation, had been complete with talk of Lorenz Gloucester.

“Oh, he is such an amiable man.” Constance laughed. “Though, I am certain he only aims to restore House Nuvelle to marry into it! I mean little offence and you must forgive me, as I am not well educated in the political affiliations of Leicester, but I fear the greatness of House Gloucester is quite nothing compared to House Nuvelle! Money is one thing, for I hear they are quite wealthy, but character and tradition only come with the years!”

Leonie smirked at such a proclamation. “I can say the same for the Empire,” she said with snark. “and I can assure you that the Gloucesters are not well-liked in Leicester…”

A prompt distressed look from Ignatz changed Leonie’s tune. “From my village, at least.” She added.

“And which is that, Miss Pinelli?”

“Sauin, located in the northwest. A hundred miles from Edgaria, the capital, where your Mr Gloucester lives.”

Constance smiled at such notations. “I have heard tale of the Aquatic Capital’s beauty, though I do not expect that it’s glory can be even a modicum of Enbarr’s character and influence!” She cried happily. “No, not at all. I suppose that I will have some getting used to.”

Ignatz lowered his teacup with a subdued clink! He awkwardly stared at the floor, his eyes avoiding Leonie’s and tracing the patterns of the carpets.

Leonie noticed his aversion. Her brow knit as she spoke up. “I beg your pardon?”

Ignatz gave Leonie another look, but the lady did not back off. Constance only beamed. “Ah, it is a great secret, but I feel as if you are the sort I can trust, Miss Pinelli,” she threw a glance at Ignatz. “and of course, you too Mr Victor, as you painted my likeness so well! It is a great secret but before… tragic events, there was a marriage contact plotted by my mother and Countess Gloucester.” 

Leonie could barely withhold the gasping laughter from her mouth. Lorenz? To be married to this foolish noble lady? How delicious! Yes, now this was a most-prudent match, for his haughtiness matched her deranged attitude! For once, Leonie longed for an invitation to such a wedding. The two would be at each other’s throats before the wedding breakfast was served! By the best man’s speech they’d be screaming, and before they could load into the carriage and take off to Sothis-knows where for their honeymoon they’d be arguing about whether to settle in Nuvelle or Gloucester!

“It is why Mr Gloucester had commissioned your Mr Victor.” Said Constance as she sipped her tea. “And once more, Mr Victor, your work was unparalleled. Such talent!”

Ignatz mumbled a soft, ‘thank you, my lady’ before resigning himself to another sip of tea. 

The rest of the visit went by with the same decadence and crazed delusion that Leonie had so delighted. As soon as her carriage took off and was beyond the gates, Leonie burst peals of laughter that threatened to turn her over.

“Leonie!” Hissed Ignatz as she giggled away. 

“It’s just…” Leonie said between giggles. “So funny! They’re both so haughty, so self-absorbed! I doubt they’ll have an unused mirror in their home! Goddess above, this is so hilarious!”

Ignatz, ever sensitive, found no comedy in the match. He began his way up to the house,  exhausted and annoyed from his dearest friend. “Tell me, do you think she’ll take his last name?” Laughed Leonie, mocking Mr Gloucester’s way of speech. “Or shall he abandon his noble name and take up the esteemed title as Viscount Nuvelle?! Oh, I’m sorry,” her voice deepened to match his, “Viscount Lorenz Hellman Gloucester Nuvelle!”

“You forget Leonie,” Ignatz warned tiredly. “that am I under his employ and am not permitted to say such negative things.”

Leonie rolled her eyes, once more displeased by Mr Gloucester’s ever-present hold upon everyone around him. She hurried up beside Ignatz as they returned to the drawing room and assisted Elinor with tidying up the tea set and dessert tray. 

“Was she like that the entire time?” Asked Leonie, carrying the half-finished tray of sweet buns.  

Ignatz carried the tea set, and with a plain expression and subdued voice, he responded: “I will not disclose that.”

“Oh Seiros and her saints she was!” Cried Leonie with another peal of laughter.  

Chapter Text

In the following days, Leonie and Ignatz packed up their residence. Despite Lorenz’s borderline pleads for them to stay the remainder of the season ‘and taste it’s delights’, the two resolved to return. Leonie had received a few anxious letters from her grandmother, concerned about her health and wellbeing, citing the polluted Enbarr air. Ignatz himself was requested by Countess Gloucester back at the parsonage, who missed his reverent sermons and spot at her supper table.

With the portrait’s completion and Viscountess Nuvelle’s approval, they set out, hoping to make the journey back before Leonie’s twenty-third birthday, though the time would be tight.

Mr Gloucester had called for a finer carriage for the comfort of the rector and the lady to travel in. He also insisted, that before they leave, to dine at the Enbarr Great House with him and the Kirstens.

Leonie was given a tour before dinner. The grounds were as handsome and haughty as it’s master, with several acres stretching out into the heart of Enbarr. ‘The only handsomer grounds,’ he had proclaimed with an air of undue pride, ‘are the emperor’s himself!’

Dinner was four courses, complete with dessert and coffee afterwards. Bernadetta had been absent, though invited; in a letter she’d written to Leonie she confessed that she declined due to her father’s sudden interest in her engagements and feared repercussions. The man had never liked commoners, similar to how Leonie assumed Lorenz did. As they ate, Leonie briefly thought of Erwin Gloucester and Gregoire von Varley sharing similar sentiments.

And more frightfully, she thought of a marriage contract between Bernie and Lorenz. Such a thought made her stomach churn, having been filled with a hearty meal. Such amusing thoughts of Viscountess Nuvelle and Lorenz at each other’s throats were long-gone and replaced with the unhappiness of her dearest friend and most loathed...

Gentleman. Gentleman was the only descriptor she could address Lorenz with. She did not like him, that was for certain, but she had—mistakenly—called him a friend once. And while his manners ranged from impertinent to quite amiable, they fluctuated too frequently for Leonie to pin him down and decide whether she could like him or not.

In between Maya pestering Leonie with questions about her time at finishing school, working as a governess and the elusive Miss Varley—whom she seemed most fascinated with—the lady was pressured to the play the pianoforte. She pleaded that she was not a musician, that she could barely be called passable at the harpsichord, but the gentlemen and Maya brooked no refusal. 

Leonie sat before the pianoforte and attempted—terribly—to play a little jaunt that Bernadetta had played a few times and showed her during her stay. Her fingers fumbled over the keys as she attempted to keep time and tune and failed quite miserably.

Soon, her light was obscured. She stole a glance at the feet of her assailant and saw the ever-shined leather boots she knew too expensive for a man of Mr Kirsten’s income. 

“If you’re trying to frighten me Mr Gloucester, you’re going to have to try harder.” Leonie said, her eyes fastened upon her fumbling fingers.

“I have no wish of that sort.” Said the gentleman. “I only wish to compliment your playing.”

Leonie laughed. “So I was wrong! I guess you meant to make fun of me.”

“Not in the slightest. I presume,” He saw, drawing so close that Leonie could feel the heat radiate off his body. “that you do not have the instrument at your home?”

“No.” Her voice wavered and Leonie filled with annoyance at such weakness. “We didn’t—don’t—have the spare income or room for an instrument of any size. I learnt the harpsichord by the way of a neighbour who my grandmother did favours for.” 

“A pity. I own a harp and a piano, even a guitar and lute, but not a spinet.”

A silence fell between the two as Leonie fumbled across a key. She tried again and again but was either too slow or hit the wrong keys. His hand came over hers gently. Leonie felt all breath leave her. 

“This hand stays.” He instructed in a soft whisper. His other hand rested over her other. “This one plays.”

Leonie followed his instruction and the song came out beautifully.

“I trust,” his voice was weak and soft. “that the parcel was amenable to your tastes?”

Still without breath, Leonie nodded. She responded in an equally low voice. “I hadn’t had a better meal in a long time.”

“That pleases me.” He murmured, clearing his throat and removing his hands from hers. His voice raised in tone and volume. “Two-fish sauté is one of my favourite dishes. I always enjoy it in the social season when all the ingredients are available. It is best when the fish is freshly-caught and butchered and the herbs are ripe.” He inclined his head in a decorous bow. “I am glad you were afforded the opportunity to try it proper.”

Leonie sat up straighter and continued playing. Annoyed by his pity for her, she turned cold. “Yes, for good food is nowhere to be found in Sauin.” She said hastily. “We eat shoots and berries and feast on wild boars. No banquets or balls for us lowly villagers.” 

“I did not mean that.” Lorenz quickly insisted.

“Sure you didn’t…” Leonie turned back to her sheet music. “I need to focus.” She said thinly.

Lorenz stood to full height and turned away, softly murmuring a chilly approval. He turned across the room, then took a seat and began composing many letters of busy-nothings and prompt well-wishes that would be responded with the same sentiments. Maya entreated her to play again, and to teach her the song, which Leonie granted. All the while, she threw glares in the direction of Lorenz.

After a half hour later, the party retired for the night. The Kirsten siblings were sent across the park to the guesthouse by way of the chaise and Ignatz and Leonie were shown to their rooms.

Leonie had never slept in such a luxurious room. Hers back in Sauin and the rooms she’d been given when teaching had all been small with scarcely enough room for a writing desk and a bed. Here, there was more than enough room for both and the walls were lined with books. There was a sofa and chair for entertaining privately, a vanity for primping and a fireplace that glowed with warmth, though it was unneeded in the summer heat.

Despite the comforts afforded her, Leonie did not get any rest. She tossed and turned, enthralled with conflicting emotions—hatred and annoyance, confusion and curiosity, even admiration—towards her host. In the morning, she did not look well. Leonie dismissed such concerns at the breakfast table with nerves on the journey home.

Bernadetta had been invited and joined the party for breakfast. All the while, Raphael paid special attentions to her, asking her questions and complimenting her outfit, her manners, everything about her. Only a blind fool or a heartless man could not see the affections and attachment they shared. 

Such a sight made Leonie quite happy, as Bernadetta responded with an affable and polite nature. She smiled at Raphael, indulged his rather-silly questions, was kind and confident. It was a manner that Bernadetta scarcely showed to people she did not know well.

After breakfast, the coach was loaded and it was time to leave. She said farewell to Raphael and Maya first, then to Bernadetta, whom she embraced tightly.

“Write me.” Leonie insisted, not accepting any answer other than yes.

Bernadetta nodded. “Of course.” She promised softly. She hugged Leonie tightly. “Y-You’ll come back soon, right?”

“Hopefully in the winter for Saint Cichol day. I’ll be needed in the village to tend to the hunt in the fall.” Leonie said, though she doubted the truthfulness of her words. 

All hinged on marriage and her prospects. Travel was expensive, and she had only been able to come to Enbarr as Ignatz’s companion and guest, which was regrettably on Lorenz’s bill. But Leonie could not deny Bernadetta even a tiny dream, so she bent the truth to her whims.

The party exited the manor, walking down the path to the driveway. Lorenz emerged after all of them, descended the steps and watched from afar as Leonie checked the bags, ensuring Ignatz’s easel and paints were all accounted for. 

“Hey,” Bernadetta said softly. Leonie turned back to her.  The komtesse stood a little taller, summoning all her confidence and promised her, “I… I’ll make sure he doesn’t push anyone around.”

Leonie couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of frightened little Bernadetta von Varley telling Lorenz Hellman Gloucester of all people off. 

Leonie laughed heartily. “I wouldn’t want to get you mad.” 

Unable to say anymore farewells, the ladies embraced once more. Leaning close, Leonie couldn’t help but whisper in Bernadetta’s ear, “Take good care of his heart.”

Bernadetta’s cheeks turned bright red. Satisfied, Leonie bid her final farewells to the rest of their friends. 

As a recurring matter of defiance—and a symbol of her near-poverty—Leonie never wore gloves unless they were absolutely necessary. Thus occasions being in church, at rare balls she was invited to as governess, and while riding her horse.

Leonie approached the carriage, prepared to step in and found her hand taken as she stepped up. Glancing back, she saw Lorenz assist her inside the carriage. Having also neglected to put his own gloves back on, Leonie admired the softness of his hands and how his nails were manicured to the perfection befitting a nobleman like he. 

His gaze lingered for a moment too long, his cool hand letting go of hers belatedly. Leonie felt her face colour and heat with the glow of a warm blush, and watched as Lorenz promptly turned away without a word, retreating back into his gilded great house.

Ignatz followed her inside the carriage and the coachman shut the door tightly. The party called gentle farewells as Leonie and Ignatz obliged with waves and smiles. The coachman mounted the carriage seat and drove off, with Maya running after the carriage to the gates, calling after them, “be well, be well”. 

“Well,” said Ignatz, once quiet was restored to them. “that was an eventful trip.”

Leonie stared out the carriage at the disappearing manor. Quietly, and more so to herself, she murmured, “Yes. Yes it was.”

Chapter Text

Scarcely two weeks after Leonie’s return, with no prospects as a governess, she took to working odd jobs once more. Though it was all joyous work to her: she’d found employ taking care of horses at a nearby stable, only a short ride into the next town. There, she taught young ladies how to ride properly and was able to keep her father’s house.

Her grandmother grew anxious for a proposal, as did Leonie. However, grave news arrived and descended upon Sauin with subdued jubilation.

Erwin Gloucester had taken ill. It was suspected that white magic nor physician alive could save him. As a result, his son, Lorenz would ascend to title of count upon his death. Scarcely two weeks later, as the days grew shorter and the great hunt began, the man died.

There was a silent, and short-lived, celebration in the death of the man who taxed Sauin to the gills. In the same ceremony that occurred before, an assembly was held in which the new Count Gloucester attended. 

Leonie found it hard to be hateful towards a man who had just lost his father. She knew the feeling all too well, having lost her mother before she was even five years old. 

As her grandmother murmured vile things about Erwin Gloucester, Leonie found the propriety to tell her to be silent. Radia looked wide-eyed at her granddaughter before remarking, “I’d rather rot than meet that bastard’s spawn again.” She snarled. “He wounded me, and you, so.”

Radia turned on her heel and left Mr Pinelli and his daughter. The line moved most affectedly, greeting Lorenz—and who Leonie realized was Ignatz keeping notes and reminding him of names—promptly.

After offering him a curtsey, Leonie raised her eyes to meet Lorenz’s. His gaze, while still proud, held the tell-tale sodden gaze of a child who had buried a parent. 

“I am sorry for your loss, Count Gloucester.” Said Leonie.

Lorenz held her gaze reverently and inclined his head. “Thank you, Miss Pinelli.”

Valentin offered his own condolences, which Lorenz accepted. Then, he offered hearty approval. “I am sure that you will be twice the ruler your father was.” He said quietly. “My Leonie spoke well of you in Derdriu during her academy days and then again when she saw you in Enbarr.”

Leonie coloured.

Lorenz’s eyes moved from Valentin to her and softened. “Is that right?” 

Leonie forced a flustered smile. “You had been good host to Mr Kirsten and a kind patron to Mr Victor.” She nodded towards Ignatz. “I trust he’ll be in your employ for a long time. A few kind words from a commoner like me are nothing.”

Lorenz then smiled. “To some, perhaps. Though, I…” He caught himself. “And others, I’m certain, have begun to think of you as something more.” He quickly tuned his attention to Valentin and smiled at him. “I am certain you’re aware of your daughter’s pride? Her good opinion once gone, is lost forever.”

Quietly, to herself, Leonie questioned if it were true.

While Valentin boomed a hearty laugh, Leonie blushed again and wished the interaction were over. As father and daughter began to move away, Lorenz spoke up: “Mr Pinelli, may I request Miss Pinelli’s attendance at Rosedale?”

Leonie froze and stared at him with wide eyes.

Valentin paled. “In Edgaria?” He asked. “What for?”

“Indeed.” Said Lorenz. “I spoke of Miss Pinelli quite often upon my return home. My mother and younger sisters wish to meet her.”

Leonie paled now too. She swallowed hard. 

“The countess…” Valentin corrected himself. “The dowager countess wishes meet my Leonie?”

Lorenz nodded once and then turned his attention to Leonie. “You’d stay with Mr Victor again.” He gestured towards Ignatz. “I would give you your own coach for travel.”

“Of course she would.” Said Valentin, looking to his daughter. “That is alright with you, right, Leonie?”

The lady paused, then met Lorenz’s gaze. She nodded once. “I’ll join you.” She said quietly.

He gave the date, then another comment regarding the kindness and heart of the Pinellis. The line moved once more and as she walked away, and Leonie found herself never more conflicted in her resolution to hate him.

Chapter Text

Leonie left Sauin a few days after Count Gloucester made his rounds through the county as it’s new ruler. She received a letter from his butler, advising her that his master had returned to the great house and invited her to come at her leisure.

Another letter followed, in the delicate cursive of Ignatz, entreating her in a less formal—and frankly—more inviting tone. He’d asked her to come promptly, offered to ride on horseback to convey her himself and spoke of the comforts of his little parsonage. Ignatz had even promised a day trip into the wilds of Gloucester, where he could paint and she could admire nature and perhaps—if he turned away and ignored the gruesome sights—trap dinner.

Despite her rampant hatred for the Gloucesters, Radia quickly packed Leonie’s bags and sent her on her way. She repeated the rumoured number that Lorenz was to receive as Count Gloucester yearly twice a day, then commented on the wild speculations of the estate grounds and it’s beauty, and finally mentioned how Leonie ought to act before the dowager countess Gloucester and young ladies.

Gloucester took on a beautiful array of sunset colours in the fall months. The leaves turned and the meadows gleamed with emerald, flecked with amber, ruby and earth. Her eyes took in all the sights with subdued wonder and marvel. It was a hunter’s wonderland and something deep in her bones longed her to explore it.

She broke her journey in a provincial city for one night. She was welcomed to take a quiet supper with other ever-eager travellers, none of whom she knew. Gossip steamed over warm crocks of Daphnel stew. Leonie half-listened with a daze of exhaustion only travellers were privy to; her ears perked up and her attention piqued when she heard the mention of Mr Kirsten.

Her brow raised and she murmured to the woman on her right, “Raphael Kirsten, right?” She asked.

The lady nodded. “Of the former House Kirsten. He is supposedly attempting to set up a series of inns throughout Leicester. Count Gloucester is set to assist.”

“Only for a percentage of the income.” Leonie jokingly prodded as she drew her spoon through the stew. “Or some other cut, I’m sure.”

“I don’t see why he should need that. He’s got a title, three houses—one in Edgaria, another in Derdriu and the last in Enbarr—and is set to receive close to 150,000 gold marks a year.”

Such a number almost made Leonie drop her spoon. It was greater than what his father had supposedly received, ensuring the rising taxes and bills they were to pay. She’d never see so much wealth, and yet the man made it in one year from people like her alone. This probably included other endeavours, like the Faerghan Royal School of Sorcery—which the Gloucesters held stock in and most attended—the Church of Seiros, or any of the agricultural products and exports which Gloucester county had become so well-known for.

“Greed becomes him.” Said Leonie. For the first time—and not the last—regret rolled in her belly for agreeing to come. 

“You speak gravelly of Count Gloucester.” Said the woman. Her voice dropped in volume. “He is much different than his father, and quite loyal to Mr Kirsten. He’s said to be his chief confidante and dear friend.”

Leonie made no more mentions of Lorenz. Instead more trying questions came to mind. “Is there a mention of any engagements?” She asked.

“To Count Gloucester?” The lady laughed loudly. “The county would know if he had a bride by now! Her likeness would have been painted and there would have been an engagement tour!”

“No.” Said Leonie. “I meant Mr Kirsten.”

The woman shrugged indifferently. “If there is one, I know not of it. Though his house has fallen and is not as prevalent as it once were. He is supported by Count Gloucester, that is until his inn business takes off.” She said. “I suppose it will do well, as Count Gloucester’s noble connections could influence his political allies and friends to stay in the inns.” 

Leonie tensed. She spent the rest of the meal quietly listening, took a cup of ale, and retired to her room. Leonie had heard nothing of an engagement between Bernadetta and Raphael, which she anticipated upon leaving Enbarr, given how close they seemed there. In fact, she had heard nothing at all from her friend. And when she sent letters to the Varley home in the imperial capital, they were only returned to Leonie.

With nerves running from her mind and to her hands, she took pen to paper and wrote a final letter to Bernadetta, addressing it this time to the house in Varley.

The Rose and Thorn Inn, Borders of Edgaria
21st of the Horsebow Moon, Imperial Year 1182 

My dear Bernie-Bear,

You haven’t answered of any my letters and I’m beginning to worry more than I should. You know me too well: I don’t suffer fools. If it is your nerves just say so, otherwise, I’ll be inclined to think that you don’t like me anymore. 

I’ve stopped in Edgaria while en route to Victor Parsonage. No sign of your Mr Kirsten… I don’t think he’s been put up at Gloucester Manor, not with the count’s recent passing. Although, there’s been rumours that Lorenz, his prideful, arrogant, son-of-cow offspring is using his income to assist Mr Kirsten in keeping a respectable house and business. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about, that right? Last time I saw you, Mr Kirsten had been giving you very special attention…

Which leads me to believe that something occurred between the two of you and that it wasn’t good. I’ll only ask once, as you know I’ve got little patience: what happened?

I hope that your next letter arrives quickly and with the answers I hope for.

Your zipping hornet,
Leonie

Chapter Text

After a day of rest following her arrival to Gloucester, Leonie received a formal invitation from the dowager countess Gloucester and Lorenz. 

In the time since returning to Gloucester County, Ignatz had taken his orders and become parson of the small rectory. His countenance had been worried and his manner tired, which Leonie quickly caught onto. He insisted that his tiredness was simply growing pains with his new vocation and organizing his home—now called Victor Parsonage—to his pleasure and enjoyment. Leonie had jokingly mentioned that a wife would assist very well in keeping his house, which he blushed at and admonished her for, before insisting that the walk across the grounds and to Rosedale would refresh him amply. 

The autumn colours lit the world in a different glow as Leonie and Ignatz walked across the park towards Rosedale. Drinking in the beauty, Leonie thought of all the animals lingering in the forests that surrounded the estate. Surely, like all other gentlemen of rank, Lorenz took to hunting a few times, though Leonie found it hard to conjure the image of Lorenz processing his kills. Respect in hunting not only came from shooting and shooting well, but more importantly, processing the kill with care and pride. It was a feat that many noblemen lacked, for fear for staining their ivory gloves. 

She looked up and saw a family of birds, crossing the early afternoon sky in a V formation. The thought of such a proud and appearance-oriented nobleman taking a bow and arrow to hunt pheasants and fish made Leonie laugh under her breath from incredulity as they walked.

Ignatz remained nervous and silent. The dowager had advised him to bring his sketchbook upon learning he excelled in the arts. “Gloucester had said something about that.” He murmured over lunch. Aloud, he wondered what to bring: sketches of what he thought the saints looked like, landscape paintings in progress, still life pencils?

Leonie was unsurprised—her friend was deeply talented with the brush, in a way which she both adored and envied. Somedays she thought, if it were only me who learnt to paint, maybe I’d be more accomplished.

She often pushed such thoughts out of her mind. She carried his burlap roll of pencils, paintbrushes and other tools along with his disc of watercolour paints. Ignatz, meanwhile, lugged his large sketchbook and table-side easel with skillful ease only achieved after many years of travelling and painting. He had insisted on being prepared, should the dowager call upon him to sketch her or one of the daughters.

In all their time in Edgaria, Leonie had never seen the Gloucester girls. They had been kept under lock and key, not yet out in society until Leonie had been away at the academy. Then, of course, the eldest, Marguerite, had become engaged and the second entered as proper society dictated.

There was a thin greeting as the two entered the Rosedale Estate. A butler guided them through velvet-covered halls and past portraits and busts to the drawing room. There, seated like a stiff family portrait, were the Gloucesters. 

The two girls were similar in features, though the younger wore the healthy complexion of joy and wonder only found in a young girl of fifteen. The elder was decidedly more reserved, her face painted with a red-lipped smile. Both girls looked at Leonie admiringly, despite her plain dress and still-short hair. It had begun to grow out and she had been taking careful measures in trimming her fringe so that it did not fall in her eyes. 

They’d stopped in a one of the territories of the empire on the way home. While Ignatz had picked up new watercolours, Leonie had splurged on an amber dress that was stiff and deeply discounted at a clothier. Newly-purchased, it was the only item of clothing that wasn’t a skirt, pinafore or a loose fitting tunic and gave the tiniest air of respectability. 

Her eyes wandered to a woman close to sixty, a frown on her face and dressed in the traditional black mourning clothes of a widow. Her hair was almost completely grey, though Leonie caught streaks of light purple here and there. She struggled to see the resemblance between the lady and Lorenz; conversely, she recalled quite easily how close Erwin and his son looked. 

Finally, she glimpsed Lorenz, who had looked less mournful with the passing of his father. A second glance, which Leonie stole, showed the marked—and frankly wondrous—expression of pleasure.

They all regarded each other with respective bows and curtseys. “Mr Ignatz Victor.” Said the butler. Leonie felt a pang of annoyance, having been glossed over by the servant.

She was already firmly aware that she had no proper place in the dowager’s sitting room. The walls were papered with such pretty designs that made her eye—trained in youth to scan for small animals—jump between painted flowers. The air was thick with the smell of roses and fine teas, soon to be served. 

As she glimpsed the amethyst pendants and petticoats and perky bosoms of the Gloucester girls, Leonie became more aware that her stiff amber gown did not meet the requirements for a fashionable teatime. And of course, she realized that she had forgotten her gloves; Leonie had scarcely got the mud from beneath her fingernails before Ignatz insisted they needed to leave and practically dragged off to the castle across the park. Thankfully she had been able to wrap her knee, which had been causing her problems for the last week, agitated by the arrival of cooler weather and the impending winter.

Still, Ignatz, ever kind and somewhat naive, insisted on the walk over that the dowager was quite amiable after acquaintance. He furthered such compliments by adding that her daughters were quite beautiful and accomplished; and added that Lorenz was not a man to be refused or delayed, despite his generosity. And as she stood in the drawing room, Leonie began to regret ever believing that Lorenz was to be pitied. 

But, she told herself, Ignatz promised me a day trip out into the hinterlands of Gloucester.  

Yes, lugging Ignatz’s painting tools and Leonie’s own bow and marksman gear would come soon. All she had to do was survive this overly formal and unnecessarily-stiff teatime and possible dinner.

Ignatz stepped forth into the drawing room and deeply bowed before the dowager and young ladies. The ladies did not get up, but simply inclined their heads with minimal respect; Lorenz returned the measure with grace and practiced poise. Ignatz glanced over his shoulder for a moment, and his wide, panicked eyes begged Leonie to come closer.

“Your excellency, may I introduce Miss Leonie Pinelli.” Ignatz said softly. “A lady of Sauin village.”

Leonie moved as if she was tracking an especially-skittish rabbit. She took in the splendour of the room for a moment longer,  while fighting off the feeling of displacement that sunk into her mind and the embarrassment in being so easily glossed over by a servant. 

“She’s taller than you said.” The dowager remarked. “Taller than you, Mr Victor!”

You’ve gotta be kidding me. Thought Leonie contemptibly. She curtseyed politely before meeting the dowager’s gaze. In a thin voice, she replied, “It’s a trait from my father’s side; he is rather tall.”

The dowager blinked twice in surprise at such a response. Surely, as Leonie acknowledged in hindsight, her response was impertinent and not expected. As the dowager eyed her like a wild animal, Leonie fell back quietly to stand by Ignatz, watching as his hands trembled. 

Scarcely a moment in and Leonie already disliked the dowager. Such rudeness, such impertinence. She understood where Lorenz got it from; but, she quickly found herself conflicted. After seeing him at the assembly, how broken and wounded he looked, could she still hate him?

Moreover, could she ever like him?

Leonie threw a thin smile at the dowager. “It is an honour to finally meet you, your excellency. My friend speaks highly of you.”

The dowager lowered her brow. “His sermons are indeed fine.” She admired. “As is his art. I only wish he focused more on his paintings of the saints, I do enjoy those.”

“You could have not bestowed your kindness on a more grateful subject, ma’am.”

The dowager held her eyes a moment longer. Leonie saw an overwhelming sense of pride and pleasure looming in that old gaze. Seeming pleased with such words—though Leonie could still feel the lingering ache of her deeply wounded pride—the dowager called for tea. Leonie braced for the worst, certain that there would be many more arrows to her iron-clad pride before the tea cooled enough for sipping.

“Never would there be a more grateful person than Mr Victor.” Echoed the dowager. “He is of the finest conduct and manners. It is a shame he was not the eldest son. I would have seen him married to my Priscilla if he were.”

Leonie knew that both parties would be blushing, however she did not expect the youngest Miss Gloucester to giggle. Her sister grabbed her hand and silenced her, but not before all eyes fell upon her. Such lack of manners were ignored by the dowager.

“I trust your journey was safe and smooth.” Said Lorenz. 

Leonie turned her attention to him and nodded. 

His countenance was marked with a narrow, searching gaze and the softest of smiles. If it were a smile of contempt, sarcasm or genuine pleasure, Leonie did not know. In his hair, growing in length and cut asymmetrically, was a soft red ribbon. The usual dark purple overcoat Leonie saw him in often with was done away with, and he wore a fine velvet tailcoat, embroidered carefully with roses.

Briefly, Leonie thought of Bernadetta and her unanswered letters. Something nagged at her, something suggesting that proud Count Gloucester had was linked to Bernadetta’s lack of letter writing. 

“Yes. Thank you for the coach.” Leonie replied lately.

“It was my pleasure.” Lorenz said, inclining his head. 

Ignatz looked a little brighter as Lorenz joined the two. Her stomach bubbled with anxiety: had she made the proper choice, coming here to Rosedale? In her first five minutes she had been judged harshly by a woman she scarcely knew, saw an alarming show of rudeness for the so-called noble protectors of the common folk and was certain that she would have found finer manners in a pig pen. 

Quickly, she found herself turning on Lorenz. She bit back such annoyances, such disgraces, and forced on a look of neutrality. She settled on one such thought: how would Bernadetta react?

Bernadetta wouldn’t be admonished or so rudely treated—for the obvious reasons that she too was apart of the nobility—but she would bear it all in amiable quiet, restricting her tongue. And so, Leonie strove to do the same, even if it meant enduring another frightful evening with Lorenz Gloucester.

The dowager’s voice rang clear through the room as a servant came with the tea set on a trolley. The girls rose and began preparing tea for the party. “Lorenz, remind me, how are you acquainted with Mr Victor and Miss Pinelli?”

Leonie’s brow knit. Hadn’t the invitation originated from the dowager? Lorenz had said she wanted to meet Leonie.

Unless she hadn’t.

“Yes ma’am—” Leonie began to answer, but silenced herself as soon as Ignatz reached for her hand.  She directed her attention to the floor, at the swirling carpets that resembled blackened ivy and grey thorns.

“Indeed. Upon learning that our reputable parson was also an artist, I had the honour of commissioning Mr Victor for a portrait of a dear friend, Viscountess Nuvelle.” His strong voice filled the drawing room. Leonie only felt herself growing more cross with each word. “And we met Miss Pinelli many years ago, when Father first took charge of Gloucester.”

“Ah, yes, yes.” Said the dowager. Her vision clouded for a moment as she sneezed violently and frowned. “Priscilla! What is that smell?”

Priscilla nervously tore her eyes from the tea set and set the pot down. “Four-spice blend, ma’am.”

My favourite? I didn’t think they could get it here… Leonie thought quietly. 

“Who selected that?” The dowager grimaced. “I shall tell Jane to be rid of the entire batch. I hate the blend. That merchant must have brought more as a gift to compensate for her subpar coffee beans.”

“That was my choosing, Mother.” Said Lorenz. “I selected it. I have developed something of a taste for it, ma’am.”

The dowager produced a handkerchief and blew her nose. “Call for another pot for me. And nothing so spiced! Rose tea with honey will do my throat well, the spices will only irritate my esophagus.”

“Of course, apologies.” Lorenz said before turning out of the room to call for an attendant. 

The dowager recovered from her sneezing fit and turned her gaze upon Leonie as she gratefully took a teacup from Priscilla. 

“She was in Enbarr too, correct?” She mused to no one but herself. Her eyes lit up once more. “Yes, you were Miss Pinelli! I remember the letters my son sent! Tell me child, was my son an appropriate ambassador of Gloucester?”

The drawing room well silent, all attentions fastened upon Miss Pinelli with a gravity of importance and consternation. She hesitated a moment, carefully chose her words and then spoke thus: “Well ma’am, he was well-behaved, but I fear his manners could use some fine-tuning.”

Ignatz’s eyes grew wide as the words slip from her mouth. The dowager’s brow crinkled once more and Leonie turned her eyes back to the ground. Lorenz returned to the room just as she spoke and once more wore that odd little smile.

“Do you mean to tell me you know of finer gentlemen? How preposterous. Lorenz had the finest education.” The dowager proclaimed. “He studied beneath a private tutor, at the Royal School of Sorcery in the Kingdom and at the university of Derdriu! Do not tell me you know of finer gentlemen.”

“I simply meant that he can be a little shy, just like anyone else.” Leonie added as Lorenz returned. As she spoke, Leonie noticed how the dowager grew more curious and subsequently, annoyed with how coy she was. 

“My guard,” began Lorenz with an air of collected and subdued defiance. “had been erected for fear of sycophants. Miss Pinelli speaks the truth, Mother.”

The dowager’s brow raised higher. Leonie could already hear the words coming from her thin painted lips—“does this girl dare challenge our noble line?”

Instead, she turned her eyes from Leonie and onto Ignatz. “Do you have your most recent portraits of the Goddess or her saints, Mr Victor?”

Ignatz scrambled to retrieve his sketchbook from the satchel upon his shoulder and sat down upon the sofa with the dowager and her nervous-looking daughters. Unable to watch her friend make a fool of himself for a woman’s approval, Leonie turned herself toward the manor’s windows. 

Rose bushes surrounded the castle, the greenery and early autumn blooms proudly manicured and displayed to those who, by some wrong turn on the way to Edgaria, ended up on the grounds of Rosedale Estate. Carefully tended roses appeared before the glass, plump and deep red in colour; beyond the beauties lay the green meadows and colourful trees of the land. 

Leonie pretended that she was outside alone; nay, she allowed herself a very indulgent fantasy. That she owned these lands, that she had the fortunes to own all of Gloucester and be free of poachers. She would take her horse, since she could afford one in this fantasy, donned proper riding clothes and took a bow out. She would ride and ride until she found a fair fox, plump and perfect for Gronder stew. Lowering herself to her knees, she would stalk the creature, readying her bow. She would focus on the orange coat of the creature, admiring it’s speed and grace. Then, when it slowly, she would take a deep breath in, loosen her fingers on the edge of the arrow, and let it fly—

“Miss Pinelli.”

Leonie felt a fantastical new arrow wedge between her shoulders. A frown crossed her lips and she fought it bitterly from taking full shape. She thought of the trip into the wilderness, where Ignatz would paint while she would restring her bow; of Bernadetta who she would see in a few short months with good luck and fortune; of her father and grandmother back in Sauin; she even thought of kind Raphael Kirsten and his little sister Maya to bring her joy and quell such annoyances. 

“It gladdens me that you came.” Lorenz said softly.

“You asked me. Who am I to refuse the man who owns my home?”

“I wish you would not only think of me.”

“So what should I think of you?” Asked Leonie. “It was how we first met.”

Lorenz could not answer the question and bit back a dour look. “You never did tell me how you and Victor were related.”

“Milk siblings.” She said. “My mother nursed him until she could not.”

“Ah.” He said quietly. “The bond must be deep.”

“We’re close friends, we go back to our early youth.” Leonie said, keeping her gaze from him. “I would do anything for Ignatz, if he only asked.”

She saw Lorenz raise a brow from her peripheral vision. “I was not aware.”

Because you are little aware of anyone else besides yourself. She thought bitterly. Instead, she said, “Your sisters are quite pretty.”

He nodded, satisfied with her approval. “Marguerite is to be married this winter, Priscilla will hopefully follow shortly after.” 

Leonie focused on a patch of roses, which barely hid the briars that came along with its beauty. She should have never agreed to afternoon tea, or to even leave Sauin. She marked it as a momentary lapse of reason; Lorenz would not, could not, change.  

The dowager squabbled over some other minor inconvenience. Leonie paid no attention if it was an over-sugared cup of tea or a burnt pastry or if her hair had somehow caught on fire on a nearby candle.

“I did not realize she was your mother.” Leonie murmured under her breath as the dowager carried on. Marguerite soothed her and called for a maid to fix the offence.

Lorenz raised a brow before following her gaze outside. “You are not the first to think that.” He admitted quietly. “We bear little resemblance in more ways than one.”

“Really?”

“Indeed. Many do not realize that I am the heir to the Rosedale Estate… And Camellia Manor in Derdriu.” He explained quietly. “The Enbarr Great House is my mother’s and will pass to the girls.”

“Two properties all to yourself.”

“They are entailed from father to son.” He said.

“Then I should hope that you take care of your sisters.” She pressed. “And not leave them destitute, without shelter and food should their marriages fall through.”

Lorenz turned to face her, his countenance displeased. “You truly think I would leave my sisters without anything.” She at last looked at him, watching as he dramatically drew a hand to his chest. “You wound me, Miss Pinelli. Do think I have no heart?”

For a moment she thought of responding, “yes, sir, I would suggest a visit to the local physician to confirm the location of such a muscle in your body.”  But she used her better judgement and simply shook her head. “No. Though I wonder if other noblemen truly understand the purpose of their power.” 

“And that is?”

“To help those less fortunate, and give them a chance at a better life.”

“Is that not how the nobility is to perform?” Lorenz asked. “The nobility protect the common folk, and the commoner need only give respect.”

“I suppose it is.” Leonie said, her voice dripping disdain. “But many seem to forget that; they demand more and give little.”

She turned back to glance at Ignatz and the dowager. The lady looked unimpressed as Ignatz hurried flipped through his drawings, looking for something to please her.

“Is the nobility also in the position to strike fear into the common-folk?” Leonie asked under her breath.

“No.” Lorenz replied, in just a quiet tone. “Never.”

She stole a look at him, his expression, both defeated and displeased, was thrown towards his mother. Conflict within Leonie once more arose: she had resolved on hating him, then not, once more did and now she found it hard to hate him when he spoke such brittle truths. 

Teatime came and went. The girls took turns playing an expensive harp, the other singing softly whilst Mr Victor was ordered to sketch them. Without an occupation, Leonie sat silent and pretended not to see Lorenz’s gaze fixed on her. 

The dowager asked Leonie who her benefactor was—which she replied with, “No one ma’am.”

The dowager raised a brow. “Is that so? But you are a lady, yes? What does your father do?”

“He is a hunter.”

“And your mother?”

Leonie’s silence was to serve as an answer, but the dowager looked at her impatiently awaiting one. In a quiet voice, Leonie replied, “She has passed, ma’am.”

“How pitiful for a girl to lose her mother.” She said. “When did she pass? How old were you?”

“Five summers old.”

The dowager forced a morose look. “How sad.” Then callously, she added, “I am quite overjoyed to have seen my Marguerite this far, she shall make an excellent wife. Your mother, Goddess rest her soul, must have been a decent woman.”

Ignatz glanced up from his work with wide eyes. Lorenz paled at such a comment. Leonie turned her gaze away.

The conversation turned, of course, to frivolity. The dowager demanded to hear all about Enbarr and the social season, and regretted that her husband’s health had been so frail and stopped her from going. And soon, as Leonie surmised, there had been talk of engagements and marriages. Miss Marguerite discussed her own—the calico and muslin she were to wear, the jewels she would inherit and the location at Victor Parsonage—before talk of a close friend to Miss Pinelli began.

“I believe,” said Marguerite as she lowered her teacup. “Miss Bernadetta von Varley made her debut this season.”

“Ah, yes. I saw her a few times.” Said Ignatz.

Leonie shot daggers at him.

“The eldest Varley daughter? My, that’s quite ambitious.” The dowager says. “I hear that Miss Varley is reclusive.”

“Indeed.” Lorenz says. “But upon my viewing of her, she was capable of great civility despite her nerves.”

“And her fortune... I also have heard tale that Count Varley is scrupulous when it comes to her suitors.” Dowager Countess Gloucester mused as if discussion of a couple’s possible matrimony was nothing more than talk of the weather or another woman’s dress at a ball. “He is adamant that she marries well in order to keep her inheritance... Though, I have cause to doubt there’s even enough for a dowry! Duchess Goneril’s daughter heard rumours that Varley is financially destitute, so Miss Varley must marry well for herself and for her family.”

Leonie glanced up. Her heart stuttered in her chest and her stomach rolled with white-hot anger.

“That changes things.” Murmured Lorenz. “Will her husband receive anything?”

“No.” Said the dowager. “Apparently it is entailed to the lady herself, not her husband.”

“Well, I would hope that Mr Kirsten wouldn’t want to marry for that.” Lorenz said. 

Unable to bear anymore, Leonie turned her frustration onto Lorenz. “Do you doubt your friend, Count Gloucester?” Leonie asked sharply. 

The drawing room fell silent. The young ladies glanced at each other, astonished that someone would speak so to him. The dowager countess looked equally as surprised, but wore an explicit visage of rage. Ignatz, poor fellow, looked as if he wanted to be swallowed up by the sofa. Leonie held his gaze, waiting her answer.

Lorenz was appalled. “I’d never do him the dishonour—”

“Then why do you insinuate his marriage is for advantage?” Leonie pressed.

The horror was apparent on Lorenz’s face as his mouth fell agape. For once, he floundered for words. He lowered his teacup, the bottom gently met in the saucer with a gentle clink! 

“I misspoke.” He said thinly. “Forgive me, Miss Pinelli.”

She felt the dowager’s gaze fall hard on her, as if drawing an arrow and lighting it afire. For a moment, Leonie remained perfectly still, her hands shaking with rage in her lap.

A sudden sickness washed over her, her heart stuttering, her stomach rolling. Talking about Raphael and Bernadetta behind their backs, let alone listening to someone think ill of them or their possible union. 

If such a union were still… 

No, it had never been possible. A common man and a highborn woman marrying? It only happened in the fairytales and comedies of manners that Leonie had read as a young girl.

“Please excuse me.” She said before getting up. 

Not waiting another second or for any approval to be excused, Leonie left the drawing room, teacup still in hand. She shut the door behind her, and in a sudden moment of weakness collapsed against the door. Rising too quickly made her knee ache. 

“What was that about Lorenz? Why would you ever apologize to a commoner?” 

She turned against the door and heard the dowager and Lorenz talk. Her grip tightened around the teacup.

Ignatz, still inside, must have become a still, struck statue—he was a noble, only by his father’s worn title as a baronet and fine wares merchant to the Duke Riegan. 

The dowager trilled again: “She was more than impertinent, especially to yourself! Does she forget her place as a low-born woman?”

There was a quiet mumble exchanged and Leonie struggled to hear what was spoken. A moment later, she heard the sound of the drawing room door go.

The room was silent once more, and Leonie leaned all her weight against the door, straining to listen.  China teacups clinked gently together and the sofas sighed with people moving. Then, Lorenz’s voice rumbled through the oak as she pressed her ear against the cool wood.

“Mother, Miss Pinelli is not wrong in her judgments upon Mr Kirsten.”

“In his marrying Miss Varley for money?”

“No.” He confessed quietly. 

The shut door felt like a wall that she could not climb or leap over, only able to stare up at it’s intimating height. Gripping the handle of the teacup with frightening strength, she pressed her ear to the door. 

“His intentions were true, yet...” Lorenz trailed off.

“Lorenz, what did you do?”

“I believed I was going to his aid.” She heard him say through the oak. “In truth, Miss Varley and Mr Kirsten had met in Enbarr where they had a flirtation. His attachment proved deeper than hers—the lady had oft run away even when he called—and I had stepped in.”

“You stopped their engagement?”

The teacup slipped from her hand. It fell into the ornate carpet, shattering into a million pieces and coating her boots in tea and shards. Hearing the dowager and Lorenz startle inside at the noise, Leonie stalled like a deer in a hunter’s gaze. The door opened and she came face-to-face with Lorenz.

He regarded her with a guilty gaze and pained expression, and all she could do was stare for a long moment. But as the dowager made another impertinent comment on Leonie’s lack of everything, the village lady ignored her aching knee, hitched up her skirts and made a break for the grounds outside.

Chapter Text

“She’ll never be happy again.” 

It was the only words Leonie could form. Coming out in a gasping whisper, Leonie spoke them over and over as she ran out of the labyrinthine manor and broke out onto the grounds. Her eyes burned with tears for Bernadetta, for Raphael, for her own short-sightedness. 

Lorenz Hellman Gloucester was a liar. Like a sheep in wolf’s clothing, he had lured her here and Leonie had followed him under the guise of pity and pain she so easily understood. Her mind, wild with rage she’d never before tasted and a sorrow as deep as the sea, tipped back and forth between the two emotions. Anger at Lorenz; anguish on Bernadetta’s behalf. 

Bernadetta’s fragile happiness would be ruined forever. The girl had always been a delicate of nature and temperament, prone to fits of anxiety and nerves that would confine her to her room for days at a time. When Bernadetta had come to Sauin that first time, she’d been barely five, perhaps six. Leonie easily recalled her crying fits at being left alone in a stranger’s home while her uncle conducted business. The slow to warm friendship they both engaged in, and the delights of sharing secrets not meant for adults in their letters had tempered such a deep friendship between the two.  

“I can never be afraid when by your side,” confided Bernadetta with warmth and candour. 

Such words only served to make Leonie even more angry and upset. The tears came readily and blurred her vision. She knew not of where she was going, if she were anywhere near the forests she’d fantasized of.

As her boots beat against the patio tiles of the rose garden, Leonie thought of how she’d been a selfish fool. A cruel, single-minded fool. She should have refused when Lorenz invited her to Rosedale. She should have asked her guardians for consent to go to Varley and comfort her friend for her loss.

No. She should have never engaged with Lorenz Hellman Gloucester. Not when they were children, not at the academy, not in the park in Enbarr or during any time there, and definitely not upon returning to Sauin. 

He was a vile snake of a man. A wretched, foul beast of a creature. How could someone be so cruel? Was it because Bernadetta was shy? Was it because House Kirsten was not as affluent as it had once been? Did it all boil down to finances, or lack thereof? Or was he on another level of wicked—did he take joy out of separating two young lovers, most aptly matched?

Fire burned in her chest as she breathed in. Her legs screamed at her to stop, her bum knee wobbly and sore with each movement. The sky opened up and began to pelt down with cold autumnal rain. She darted beneath a canopy of red roses that grew over an old marble sitting bench. 

The wet seeped through her dress, freezing her to the bone. She doubled over, gripping her knees for support as she struggled for a breath. As her hand met her bad knee, she let out a hiss and a cuss; water ran down the curve of her neck, along her cheeks, down her nose and into her salty eyes.

“Miss Pinelli!”

She snapped up. Wrath filled her veins, but exhaustion crippled her from acting upon it. Standing before her, equally wet and spent from running, was Lorenz. 

He was dishevelled, his hair wet with the rain, his clothes soaked and the legs of his trousers and boots mucked up and muddy. And his eyes… they carried a complex look of guilt and longing, marked with dark circles beneath his eyes that came with a lack of sleep. How did she not notice those back in the manor? Leonie had never seen him so unkempt, and for a moment, was taken aback by his appearance.

Then she was properly appalled by his presence: he followed her.

In a wispy, breathless voice he said, “I must speak with you.”

She could not speak for a moment, only watching him as he watched her intently. She took a deep breath, moved to her full height and narrowed her eyes. “Have you come to admonish me for berating you before your mother?”

“No. In fact I wish to apologize for her impropriety.”

Leonie laughed bitterly. “No, don’t. Like my height, it must be a family trait.”

Lorenz did not breathe a word. 

Leonie pressed again, “If not for your mother, have you come to tell me not return to Rosedale?”

“I have not, no.” He said, his voice wavering with exhaustion.

“Then what do you want with me?!” She cried out.

“I want you.” He blurted out. He held her gaze with firm intent before standing a little taller. “Miss Pinelli, I have tried to live with the pain but I cannot bear it any longer. I have fought with demons—your lack of fortune and connections, your inferior birth, my prospects, my family’s expectations of me and my place in good society. I have struggled to no avail, and bow to the depth of my emotions.”

Leonie held his gaze, still as if hit by lightning. The rain came down harder, water running in rivulets along the white marble bench and down her spine.

“I fear I don’t follow your thoughts, Count Gloucester. I’m sorry for ruining a fine afternoon.” She said thinly. She turned on her heel, drew a deep breath and prepared herself to run all the way to Victor Parsonage despite her knee’s vehement disapproval.

He caught her hand and clutched it in his tightly, bringing it to his chest. Such an act made her turn around to face him, with fire burning in her eyes. Beneath layers of sodden fabric she could feel his faithless heart flutter like a young bird. 

“I love you, Leonie.” He pleaded lowly, pitifully. “Please, end my pain and sorrow and take me as your husband.”

Silence fell between the two for a moment as he gazed at her pleadingly. Leonie’s lip curled, and lowly, dangerously, she asked: “Do you really expect me to accept such an insulting proposal?”

“Insulting?”

“Yes!” She ripped herself from his grasp. “After destroying the only chance at happiness for my dearest friend, do you honestly believe I would marry you?”

Lorenz looked stunned. His hands dropped from his chest.

“Especially after learning of your betrothal to Viscountess Constance von Nuvelle!”

Lorenz looked aghast and quickly insisted, “The viscountess is of delicate disposition; she would no sooner take my hand than I would offer it.” He corrected. “Indeed, I feel obligated to her as an ally and fellow noble, but I will marry where I choose.” He raised his voice. “Are those your only objections?”

Leonie frowned further. “No! You humiliated me.” She scorned. “You admitted that you like me in spite of my lack of connections and fortune… And, oh wow, my birth and station as a poor commoner! You must think marriage is a means of only bettering yourself, rather than sharing a life with someone.”

“You made that clear in your search for a husband.” He countered angrily. “Years ago, you told me yourself you were looking for a wealthy beau!”

“People change!” Leonie cried out in newfound rage. 

“So they do!”

“Did you forget,” Leonie began. “that I am a woman from a small village indebted to you; I have no prospects aside from marrying well to repay such a heavy debt I incurred, because of your father’s negligence!” She added, angrily, “Should I take a husband, I will take his hand with love in my heart, not greed!” 

He remained quiet for a moment. Then, he spoke quietly. “Not all of your sex see marriage as you do.”

“You should watch yourself, Gloucester.” She rumbled in warning. Her feet brought her closer to him, stalking the gentleman like her prey.

“Some see is as a social-climbing activity.”

“Watch. It.”

“Like your friend, Bernadetta von Varley.”

“How dare you say her name!” She snarled. “What have you to say about her now?”

“That Raphael’s attachment to her was deeper than hers. She ran away from him and turned away his calls often!” He countered, closing the distance between the two. “She was stringing him along!”

“Because she’s shy!” She cried out. 

“And the bachelor himself—” Lorenz caught himself for a second. With renewed confidence and thin composure, he spoke again. “Mr Kirsten’s House had fell on hard times, there was reasonable doubt that his pursuing of Miss Varley was not in self-interest. With my giving hand in supporting him, he could have been using her to social-climb and broke her heart.”

“You speak of your friends that way?

“I speak of my friends with concern and criticism!” Lorenz barked back. 

The two looked at each other with renewed tension. Thunder rolled in the distance as the rain continued. Leonie swallowed back her rage, studying how taut his face had grown in anger.

Lorenz regained his composure once more and continued thus, in a low and warning tone: “I know of Mr Kirsten’s precarious situation and that when pushed, people will do unsavoury things. And I know that Miss Varley will inherit a sizeable sum from her father when she matures. I made the judgement based upon their separate situations.”

“It was not your judgement to make!” 

“It is a noble’s duty—no, the duty of a friend—to protect him against a bad decision.”

“You call yourself a friend, but I still don’t think you know the meaning of it.” Leonie felt her heart thunder in her ribcage. “A friend would have the sensitivity to put their friends before their own interests. You…” she laughed bitterly, making her voice weak and thin. “Have done what you have always done: put yourself before others.” 

He gave nothing more than a stony look. Leonie took a step forwards, closing the distance between the two of them. She looked up at him from just inches below, but forced a presence that was as large as his.

“They were in love.” She said plainly and coldly. “Bernadetta spoke no other name to me. She asked about him every time I was within fifty yards of Mr Kirsten.” She blinked quickly to dispel her frustrated tears. “She really loved him and he loved her. And now their separate situations are as miserable as their shared one.” 

Lorenz’s face softened with understanding for a second.

Leonie, drawing a thin breath, responded to his proposal: “And I appreciate your own struggles. Believe me, I never wished to make you feel such things. But you forgot that there is no absolute yes in a proposal of marriage.”

The air between them grew still. The hammering rain fell upon deaf ears. The droplets of water froze against Leonie’s skin which erupted in gooseflesh. Holding her unflinching gaze, Lorenz whispered in an astonished tone: “Is this your response? A rejection?” 

Such a reply made Leonie more annoyed. “Yes. You poured your selfish heart out to me and assumed I would take your hand, but you are the last man on this earth I would ever marry.”

Silence returned to the two once more. Lorenz took a stumbling step backwards, shaking his head. His gaze dropped to his feet, then moved back up to hold Leonie’s in rapture and rage once more.

“What a fool I have been,” scoffed Lorenz achingly. “to plant such deep affections and attachment in infertile grounds. Forgive me, Miss Pinelli, for offending you so.”

His eyes filled with scorn and disappointment as he gave her a curt bow. He turned away quickly, following the path back to Rosedale Estate. As soon as he disappeared into the heavy rain, Leonie let out an anguished sob. She felt the adrenaline leave her body all at once, and her remaining strength gave out in her bad knee. She collapsed against the wall of the marble canopy, the thorny bush of overgrown roses poked through her dress.

After collecting herself for a few moments and drying the tears, she began limping back towards Rosedale Estate to call for a carriage, uncaring towards proper conduct and good manners. While she waited for the horses to be tacked up and for the driver to arrive, Leonie nursed silent tears and a broken heart for her dearest friend.

Chapter Text

Leonie arrived back at Victor Parsonage in a shivering mess. She had left a wet mark from where she’d been seated in the carriage, much to the ire of the driver. She collected herself, having cried during the ride, stepped out of the carriage and was greeted by the groundskeeper. Upon seeing her state, he summoned the housekeeper who quickly brought her to her room. A fire was speedily built; warm blankets and furs were fetched and brought to her, and Leonie was undressed quickly, while she silently nursed her wounded pride. 

The armchair was pulled close to the hearth and Leonie was deposited into it without as much as a word. A glass of brandy was shoved into her hands by the housekeeper with the foolish hope that it would dispel the chill from her bones. Despite knowing that it was only an old wives tale, and the furs and fire would do more for the chill than alcohol, Leonie accepted the glass, drank it and asked for another. 

“Oh,” said a young maid who had smoothed a warm poultice on her knee. “Miss Pinelli, a letter was delivered to you while you were at Rosedale.”

The housekeeper admonished her. “Shush Fanny! Miss Pinelli obviously isn’t feeling well. Any correspondence can wait until she is better.”

Leonie’s stomach lurched. “I want to see it.” She said in a thin voice. The staff glanced at each other. She repeated herself, firmer this time. “Give me the letter.”

The maid paused momentarily, crossed the room and then took up a thick envelope left on the desk and handed it to Leonie. She stopped, stared at it for a moment and then dismissed the staff quietly. 

Leonie agonized over the letter in quiet for almost half an hour, sipping her brandy quietly. Once it ran out, and not wanting to be bothered by the priggish housekeeper and ditzy maid—she dragged herself to her packs and found the bottle of whiskey she’d purchased along with the now-ripped and soggy dress. She shivered as she finally turned over the letter and immediately recognized the handwriting. 

Fresh tears sprung to her eyes. She set the bottle down, lifted her arm from her cocoon of blankets, and popped the wax seal, which of course, was etched with the Crest of Indech. Before her, several pages slipped from the package and into her lap.

West Wing of Varley Manor, Varley County
22nd of the Horsebow Moon, Imperial Year 1182

My dear zippy, striking hornet Leonie,

What a terrible, horrible, awful friend I have been! If I were before you I would fall to my knees and beg your forgiveness. The servant, who attended me at the Varley Estate in Enbarr, arrived this morning with a letter. He informed me that several messages from Sauin Village had been addressed to me and most had been returned to the sender.

Please accept my deepest apologies, but know that I know I am not worthy for your forgiveness. However, I have fallen upon much harder times you see… and I know my complaints are really nothing in comparison to your struggles. It is like a bear comparing woes with a hornet.

I owe you an explanation and will resolve to do so in as few words as I can. 

This season, I was to enter the marriage market and come out into society. My father insisted I find a rich husband this season to marry well. Not long into the season, I realized that it was to prevent my family from falling into poverty. Such rumours, as I’m sure, have become truths now. 

Unsurprisingly, my father has overextended our living for many years and we have consistently lived beyond our income. The combined lack of piety in Varley, the descent of the Saint Indech Seminary into disrepair, the universal peace that no longer requires weapons-making—Varley’s speciality—has sent the economy in Varley into a spiral. People are upset, yes, but my father has such a high standard of living that he cannot bear to take economies for the greater good. It sickens me so, and only turns my stomach further, upon the realization that I was to be the saving grace of the family—namely my three younger siblings, Francois, Heloise and Colette.

My brothers—Louis and Emmanuel—have both married. Louis, who is a barrister, to a noble lady of some wealth—but will not inherit until her father dies—and Emmanuel, who disobeyed my father to become a clergyman and married poorly. Both brothers where advised to choose wealthy, fruitful brides to assist the family’s economic woes, and chose wrong (by my father’s standards).

From the moment the season began, I had done nothing but upset him. At the season’s commencement ball, I tripped before the entire court and was caught by a common man. The display enraged my father, and he pushed me to make acquaintances and good connections with the emperor’s daughter, a foreign princess and the prime minister’s son. I did so, but with an overwhelming sense of guilt as connections were forged under false pretences.

It was that common man, Mr Raphael Kirsten, whom I met multiple times again throughout the season. Once, in the quiet of the Aegir greenhouse, where he frightened me, again at the picnic Mr Victor plotted. I confess, Leonie, that my feelings towards him were not of a single nature. They bounded between anxiety, fear, suspicion, but soon turned to admiration, regard and even attachment. 

As I began writing this, I was half agony and half hope; now I am resigned to the prior, as I have been assured that I will never see him again, lest I want to incur… Oh I cannot write such a terrible word! My mind runs wild with possibilities _{that it triggers my nerves so.}

…

A few nights after you returned to Leicester, I was invited to the opera by the emperor’s daughter and her entourage, which included the prime minister’s son. I learned, quite soon, that my father and Duke Aegir had drafted a marriage contract, tying Mr Aegir and I together in matrimony. Mr Aegir soon proposed and I accepted, hesitatingly and momentarily, but soon realized the depth of my feelings for Mr Kirsten. I broke the engagement to Mr Aegir within a week.

My father soon found out and ordered me to break such attachment with Mr Kirsten. I vehemently refused to until he threatened to hurt him. My father is not a man to be trifled with, and seeing it as the only way to keep Mr Kirsten safe, went forth and broke his heart. Soon after, he, his sister and MrCount Gloucester returned to Leicester. My father sent me home to Varley, where I write to you now.

However, before my departure, and in a state of most unhappiness, I received a letter from MrCount Gloucester. I will attach below. I keep writing his name incorrectly, and frequently forget that he is a count… Insufferable man!

You know, dear Leonie, that I suffer from a condition of nerves and a persecution complex. However, I feel just and righteous in sharing the assumption that L. H. Gloucester—the same man you detest so—was the cause of my ruination. I ask that you refrain from taking such delight in hating him further.

I spent the remainder of the season in seclusion in Varley territory, as to not further disgrace my family. They will return in the coming days and a cloud of nerves is my shadow and faithful companion me until they do. My father has laid out a careful plot for upon my comeback during the next social season. As he has told me and my siblings many times: image is everything and can thus be morphed as need be. 

I have tried in vain to write to Mr Kirsten, but fail to do so each time. This letter to you, my dearest companion, has taken me a day’s intense reflection, hours of mediation, hundreds of tears and several drafts sent to the fire. 

Leonie, I ask not for your pity, but for your forgiveness… If you could ever find it in your stoic, kind, proud heart to forgive me, let me know. Unlike you, I do suffer fools, for I am one hopelessly in love. Write to me as soon as your indignation is quelled and the words find you. I will wait as long as it takes, my sweet hornet. 

Yours fondly,
Bernie-Bear

Fresh tears met Leonie’s eyes. She looked down the page, and read the contents of Lorenz’s letter.

Gloucester Enbarr Great House, Enbarr
10th of the Verdant Rain Moon, Imperial Year 1182

Dear Miss Varley,

I write, belatedly, to congratulate and mourn with you upon your engagement to Mr F. Aegir. May you live many happy and prosperous years together.

Yours &c.,
L. H. Gloucester

PS
I had warned you. And such reproach—even from a place of genuine remorse—is lost upon me. You’ve curdled the happiness of a most dear ally, and dare I say a friend, and have lost my good opinion forevermore.

New anger and resentment filled Leonie, and thus, with her whole heart, resolved on hating Lorenz Hellman Gloucester until her last breath.

Chapter Text

A letter arrived late in the night after Ignatz returned from Rosedale. It was delivered by Count Gloucester himself and said thus:

Rosedale Estate, Edgaria
23rd of the Horsebow Moon, Imperial Year 1182

Dear Miss Pinelli,

I apologize for sharing the thoughts and feelings that disgusted you so. It is my sincere wish prayer hope that you will accept my earnest and unworthy apologies with the grace and kindness that befits a lady of your refinement, accomplishments and esteem.

But you must know that it was all done for you. Every minuscule task was carefully completed with you in mind and heart. Even the selection of tea this afternoon and the juniper biscuits were picked for you and you alone.

_{I 
I will not lie to save face and say that my feelings are less deep than I stated
I lo
My regard for you goes much deeper than just admirat
I love}

I love you most ardently, Leonie. 

I only wish that I could have proved it to you proper, as a gentleman and lover should have.

Please, to spare my pitiful ego and abominable pride, cast this letter to the fire as soon as you are finished reading; but carry the knowledge in your heart that you alone hold such a bewitching power over me, as to reduce me to my current state of heartache and melancholy.

Accept my wishes for the best health and unending happiness to you and your family.

_{Yours &c.,
L.H. Gloucester}

Only ever yours,
Lorenz

Chapter Text

The following five years passed with staggering hopes and ever-disappearing joy.

Due to her lack of suitors, diminishing prospects and little rank, Leonie had been unable to find continued work as a governess. It was fuelled by Camellia Gloucester—Lorenz’s mother—gossiping about a “most impertinent young hussy” who was reticent and rude in her very home, and had untoward intentions aimed at her beloved son.

Which, of course spread like a golden wildfire before the ton of Leicester and everywhere in between. 

Radia had been the quickest to react upon hearing the news in her sewing circles. She practically ran home—as fast as an old woman with arthritis could—yelled at Leonie. 

“Tell me it’s not true!” She demanded from her granddaughter.

Leonie had been pruning and harvesting the remaining vegetables from their garden. The soil had been terrible, thanks to a lack of rain and little snow. The earth refused to grow anything.

“What’s not true?” She asked from low on her knees.

“That you had… had…” Radia grimaced. “Feelings for that boy.”

Leonie’s stomach soured with bile. She let out a harsh laugh. “Which boy, Grandmother? The village is full of ‘em.”

“You-know-who, girl!” Hissed Radia.

Leonie wiped her hands on her apron, then looked up at her grandmother. “Like I said, the village has many young men…”

“Lorenz Gloucester!”

Leonie tensed for a moment at the mention of his name. She frowned, wiped her hands a second and third time before getting up. Her knee ached at the movement and she remedied for a poultice that evening.  “Why would I have feelings for a guy like that?” She asked her grandmother. 

“You know as well as I that one cannot choose these things.” Radia took her hand. 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t catch them.” Leonie murmured, pulling away from her grasp. Picking up their meagre and ugly harvest of carrots and squash, she walked past her grandmother. A new upset, a mixture of anger and regret, had washed over her.

“Leonie, my love.”

Leonie turned around. Her grandmother took a step towards her and took Leonie’s face in her knobby hands. “Do not,” her voice was low and her eyes glittered with tears. “Do not ever light yourself on fire to keep another warm. Never do that to yourself, Leonie.”

Leonie gave her a weak half-smile. “Not in my nature.” She lied.

Funds had gotten so tight that they had to dismiss the housekeeper and Leonie had taken to working labourious odd jobs around the village. One snowy afternoon, as she and her father processed a kill and tanned the hides, he spoke:

“Any… calls from anyone?” He asked. 

Valentin, along with other hunters from the village, had to leave for better hunting grounds. The woods around Sauin had become poached thin, and with the lack of game and excess of bandits, the ruffians had taken to pillaging travellers. He had been gone almost three days and only had a few rabbits to show for it.

“No.” Leonie said quietly. Her blade flashed in the fading sun.

The two worked in quiet, the only sound was the blades through the skin and the crackle of fire. 

“You know, Sunflower,” Leonie’s ears perked up as he said her childhood nickname. Her grip tightened on her knife. “you don’t have to marry for wealth.”

“I know.”

“Your old man will be fine.” He smiled weakly. “I’ve been fine all these years. I’ll continue to be fine.”

“But the debt…”

“It’s not like Erwin Gloucester is going to come clawin’ outta his grave for it.” He laughed. “The rat’s six feet under. No way he’ll get out.”

Leonie set down her knife.

“To be honest.” She said quietly. “I’ve thought more about it.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t…” her mind flashed back to the rose garden in the rain. She frowned. “I’m not going to marry where I don’t love, Papa.”

After a moment of quiet, Valentin responded: “Good, Sunflower.” The unspoken depth of his approval lingered in the air as they processed.

Chapter Text

After the work dried up in the first year—along with the remaining game—people began to leave Sauin. A community, once so tight-knit and eager to aid, began to disintegrate. 

Leonie watched as the candlestick maker and her children left for a nearby provincial city, where they could find work and clientele. Soon, the clothier and cobbler took their humble wares left too. The grocer shuttered his shop in half—reducing his goods to the essentials—and families, hunting families, left in droves.

Leonie half-expected her father to pack up too. The long periods of going away to hunt and coming back to rest for a day before repeating the actions took a toll on Valentin. But quietly, as the three of them sat before a pitiful fire in the hearth, Leonie realized that both her grandmother and father would rather die in an abandoned village than leave it.

As the villagers left, something new arrived in Sauin. A sickness worse than the common colds and fevers they’d faced before ravaged the village as winter came. The white mages and nuns employed in the church were worked to the point of exhaustion, and the apothecary had left at the beginning of winter due to the excess of clientele and lack of funds. No country doctor was available, as the illness had not only hit Sauin but the surrounding areas too. Those who dared to leave the village in search of medical supplies or a doctor, were refused service for fear of contamination. 

Leonie had caught the illness while working in her grandmother’s stead. She had insisted she was fine, that it was only a cough, but quickly it descended into fever that crippled her to delusions.

For three days, she was relegated to her bed and woke in a delirious state. Her grandmother tended to her in tears, reminded of the same hell she’d lived through years before with her daughter, Juliette.

On the fourth day, during a hellish snowstorm, there was a knock at the door. Valentin and Radia hurried to the door, the latter looking through the small peephole drilled in the knotty wood.

“Who is it?” She whispered as her son-in-law opened the door a small amount.

Valentin said quietly and gravely, “There’s an ill patient here. We can’t spare a bed.”

After a moment longer, Radia gasped and cried out blessings. “Valentin, it’s a doctor’s gig!”

She wrenched the door open and insisted the physician come inside. 

Upon removing her coat and hood, the Pinellis were astonished to realize that their physician was a woman, an occupation that had been largely guarded from the other sex.

She introduced herself as Manuela Casagranda, gave her host a flirtatious look and proclaimed: “I’m a songstress, physician, and available.”

Valentin hurried took her coat, shaking off the winter that had accumulated on it. “The patient is where?” Asked the physician, carrying a leather bag of tools upon her arm.

Radia led her into drawing room, where she and Valentin had moved Leonie when she fell ill. Quickly, she took to work, checking temperatures, writing notes, giving Radia and Valentin tasks to busy them and administering medicine. 

Once she had completed her duties, Valentin scrounged the last of his wealth with a heavy heart. From around his neck, he pulled the chain that held his wife’s wedding band, and held it out to the doctor.

She raised an elegant hand and politely insisted, “No payment will be needed.” 

Valentin stared in disbelief as the lady packed her bag.

“Why?” Demanded Radia as she thundered in from the kitchen. She pushed the tea she’d prepared for the doctor into her hands, almost burning her.

“My commissioner insisted I take nothing.”

“Who is your commissioner?” Demanded Radia.

Manuela sipped her tea before deeming it too sweet and said, “Count Lorenz Gloucester.”

“Count Gloucester…” Valentin breathed.

“Count Gloucester?” Radia echoed in disbelief.

The doctor nodded. “I am a physician from the Empire. I actually taught his excellency etiquette and a poetry when he was but a boy!” She cleared her throat. “When he learnt of the illness, he called upon all physicians, mages and anyone who was inclined towards healing to Edgaria.” She lowered her voice. “I won’t lie, he paid handsomely, but he insisted that his people were to be cared for.”

“Fritz and Erwin would never have…” Valentin murmured. 

Radia glanced back at her sleeping granddaughter in disbelief. “Lorenz Gloucester did this?” Asked Radia again. 

“Indeed, it was him.” She set her tea on the dining table and inclined her head in gratitude. Asking for her coat, she said: “I’ll be in the village until it is deemed clear of the illness. If her fever does not break by morning, send for me.”

The two stood in disbelief as the physician left the house and continued her work at the next residence.

As day broke, Leonie woke with the fever broken and her delirium nothing more than wild dreams. A sheen of sweat covered her face from brow to chin.

“Grandmother?” She whispered as her family gathered around her, embracing her tightly with happy tears. “Papa, what… What’s going on?”

Fog collected against the windows as Radia gingerly took her hand, and Valentin slowly told her of what had happened and who had come to her aid.

Chapter Text

As the second year drew to a close, Leonie reflected long about the sickness she had endured. 

Surely, I would’ve died if it weren’t for him. She thought.

She pushed it out of her mind often, but found it creeping back in. No matter what Leonie did, she found herself thinking of such a kindness and worried if a hidden debt lingered behind it.

Once she was recovered and when winter’s grip had loosened upon Sauin, Leonie soon set out for a nearby city, where she was to be the master and riding instructor for a stable. There, she taught young people how to ride and care for horses, even a bit of tracking and hunting which she emphasized was just as great an importance as dancing or conversation for any young person, for it gave them independence. As spring arrived and shook off the snow and cold, Leonie left the ambitions of marrying well and becoming a lady behind.

She found joy in her work. The horses gave her such a deep affection which she’d rarely felt, and her students—or “apprentices” as she preferred to call them—all enjoyed her teaching and somewhat-wild sense of education. She taught them jumping just as easily as she taught them how to control their horses and shoot an arrow at the same time. The parents didn’t like that one, but she made her students vow to remain quiet when she took them out to the nearby wood.

The money, however, was slow-going. Leonie took up side jobs in addition to her work in the stables. Some of her governess work—like reading and writing—made her into a tutor for some children, but it was the hunting and processing skills she’d learnt as a child that were truly valued.

In the autumn, she took a short leave from work and returned to Sauin with a hefty paycheque and open hands ready to assist with the harvest. After a happy reunion with her family, she arrived at the house of one of the elders. She wore a bright smile, asked him how he was, and then held out the bag.

He wouldn’t take it.

“Come on, my arm’s getting heavy!” She joked. When his smiling expression didn’t change and his arm did not extend to take the money, she spoke again: “Why are you smiling like that?”

“You don’t have a debt anymore, Leonie.”

“Yes I do.” She insisted, more annoyed. Quickly, she added: “I don’t want any loan forgiveness, this is my—”

“Leonie,” interrupted the elder with a kind voice and overjoyed smile. “the debt’s been paid.”

“Paid?” She’d asked the village elder. “How? When? Don’t get me wrong, I’m over the moon, but wasn’t it deeper? Like six-feet deep-deep?”

The elder simply smiled. “It has just been paid, Leonie.”

And, finally shedding the ties of marrying for wealth, Leonie went to the dilapidated public house and used her first paycheque that was all her own for an ale.

She departed after the week, a bright but confused smile on her face. And, that winter, her father wrote her thus:

Sauin Village, Gloucester County
10th of the Wyvern Moon, Imperial Year 1184

Dear Sunflower,

Our debt’s been repaid. The house is ours fully, and with a little extra income, Radia and I are going to make some improvements, like adding a better stable for your horse and a new chicken coop. Improvements start in the spring. Be home by then, kid.

Yours,
Papa

The next three years, Leonie worked as she pleased. And at the end of her fifth year, she received a letter from Ignatz.

She had remained in faithful contact with him and Bernadetta often. Ignatz remained the rector at Victor Parsonage—though his letters had often mentioned that Camellia Gloucester had insisted he marry and complete “the moral duties of a parson and set an example for his parish”. That and similar sentiments always gave Leonie a laugh when he wrote of it; and Camellia, now old and feeble-minded, was often found repeating herself.

Bernadetta, in accordance with her disinheritance, had been sent to the Kingdom of Faerghus to live with her uncle. Thankfully, she and her uncle shared similar tempers and opinions, and thus got along well: Bernadetta was ascribed to keeping his house and assisting with his business, especially with balancing the books and ensuring that bills were paid. Despite this good fortune, most of her letters had been written with the veneer of forced happiness, which Leonie easily understood as longing for a certain man.

Ignatz’s latest letter however, usually consisted of grateful reflection of the week, informed her that he would return to Sauin on the unhappy remarks that his patroness, dowager countess Gloucester had passed. 

Leonie began to worry slightly. There was no certainty that Ignatz would continue to be employed by the Gloucesters. As such, she left once more for Sauin.

When she entered the village, she was greeted with something she’d never seen before: prosperity.

All her life, her village had been in a position of constant exigency, but the village before her gleamed with a hope, a prayer of goodness. She noticed that the church that had often needed roof repairs was being painted. The schoolhouse that had shut down was up and running and repaired. Even her home, which had always been a little too small and a little too draughty, was now reinforced with better insulation and extended out into the large yard that bordered on the woods.

The streets bustled with people, some who recognized her, others who did not. Out, beyond the old village square and westward toward Goneril and Fódlan’s locket, an extension of Sauin began. New people had come to settle in the sleepy little village, bringing with them their talents, skills, families and fragile hopes. 

When Leonie came in she found her grandmother in the sitting room, which while sported the same tired furniture, emanated a new warmth, a new pride. It could not be the heady excitement of spring that painted the world in a sense of hope: it could only be overdue and happily-welcomed change.

Radia pleasingly informed Leonie that her father was hunting in Sauin Woods. 

“What? There’s bandits! Poachers!”

“Not anymore!” Radia exclaimed happily as she poured angelica tea for the two of them. It was from a new tea set, not the old chipped one. And there were even ginger molasses cookies, and not stale ones; these were soft, still fresh from the baker.

“The count paid a mercenary band to drive off the hunters and granted Sauin exclusive hunting rights across Gloucester!” 

Leonie almost dropped her teacup. “You’re shitting me.”

“Leonie!” Hissed her grandmother. 

“No, no…” She shook her head, murmuring under her breath. “That’s why my ride was so quick and easy. No road blocks from any bandits.”

Radia spoke breathlessly. “But he didn’t stop there.” She said, desperate to relay all the events which had unfolded upon her granddaughter. “When the elders wrote him, he came quickly to Sauin and on the back of a black charge! No coach, no banners, just the count. He rode in without an entourage and asked to see the elders. After a short remediation, he left and returned with a mercenary band to drive off the poachers and bandits! Afterward, he produced an agreement granting exclusive hunting rights to the village and brought supplies from Goneril!” She exclaimed. “He noticed Sauin’s disrepair and gave the village a large benefaction to improve the infrastructure.”

“But…” Leonie said in disbelief. “What… Why would he do that?” She scrambled for words. “He’s… He’s just… He’s so rich.”

“You don’t have to remind me, child!” Radia exclaimed. “Though, I still have my reservations, he’s quite amiable. You know me, I do not hold my tongue—and that is where you get your brashness from, it was me, not my Juliette—I walked up and asked what he meant by such false generosity. And you know what he said, Leonie?”

She stared on in anticipation.

“He cited the failure of the previous counts and said it was duty of the nobility to protect and provide for the common folk.” She laughed so heartily. “He said something too… Oh what was it.” 

Radia snapped her fingers and smiled. “That ‘for too long the nobility demanded more and gave little.’” She said. 

Leonie’s blood ran cold at her repeated words. “There had to be catch.” She insisted anxiously. “There’s gotta be one, Grandmother.”

“Not that I can see.” She said, before quickly adding. “And you know how much I hate that boy.”

She tensed and half-listened to her grandmother—and later when her father returned home, he embraced her warmly and remarked upon how the sun and outdoors had given her more freckles and done wonders for her complexion. She passed the rest of that day in a blur, her thoughts all muddled with one question: could he truly have changed?

Chapter Text

Despite all that the new Count Gloucester had done, Leonie wondered if it was enough.

She laid tangled in her bedsheets and wondered over and over about the possibility of change, thus beginning a big think.

What made a person change? Was it an inherent desire to? Was it a gradual shift in the modes of communication and social mores? Had standards changed quickly while she was knee-deep in horsehair and hay and busy teaching young ones how to draw a bowstring?

She had thought he could change before, and true, Leonie had let… underdeveloped feelings get the better of her. 

Not being able to succumb to sleep, she got up, shrugged a shawl over her nightgown and left for the kitchen. She stood in the doorway and looked for the spots where the brick that held the house up had been cracking; she saw that they were reinforced and plastered. The cabinet door which had never hung right had been fixed and the cookstove which had smoked more than burned happily blazed away. It too had been fixed. She set the kettle on its top and waited until it came to a low boil. 

She opened that once-crooked cupboard and took out a chipped teacup, smiling at the memory of how it happened. She was seven, it was just after Sir Erwin had come to Sauin, and Radia had insisted Leonie learn proper tea time procedures. She set her cup down in it’s saucer a little too quickly and off came it’s bottom lip. It was still sort of useable, with a little wobble that needed to be steadied by the drinker’s hand when it was set on a table; otherwise, it was just a little more… charming than the others in the set.

Up above, she rummaged through for tea, and in banging about, hit a package of four-spice blend. The smell of star anise, cardamom, cinnamon and ginger burst forth.

“I selected it. I have developed something of a taste for it, ma’am.”

She winced at the memory and pulled down a box of angelica tea sachets.

Not caring much about appearances any longer—no longer forced by her grandmother either, who had given in to the fact that her only grandchild was going to die a spinster—she took her cup of tea and walked out to the back porch. 

Outside, she listened for the sleeping clucks and coos of the hens. Beyond the new coop was a larger garden, which thanks to new water supplies brought into Sauin from the Airmid River, would bloom and provide for the Pinellis all season long.

Her eyes followed the old oak and the worn swing that hung from it. It had been a favourite of her youth, but had to be abandoned once the poachers and bandits worsened. For, just a few steps beyond it, was the darkened forest that had been unsafe for so long. 

Playfully, the thought to herself that the monsters inside had turned out to be just trees and they had all been feeble-minded fools. Her eyes followed the trunks and branches upwards to the sky which was painted with the colours of a beautiful dawn: soft pink, ripe peach and deep cerulean.

“Could he change?” She asked the morning. She mused over the thought for what seemed like an eternity. “Can I change?”

True, she had changed. And Leonie knew she was one of the most hard-headed, stubborn, brash fools in all of Leicester, perhaps even Fódlan.

But her friendships with Bernadetta and Ignatz tempered a kinder side of her. They helped put the no-nonsense attitude to rest and let the supportive friend burst forth happily. And her work in everything from a liar-for-hire, to governess and stable master forced her to be adaptable, to be open to others.

Leonie Pinelli had changed. And, as she realized that her tea had turned stone cold in her hands and cussed, Lorenz Gloucester could have changed too.

But, there would be no way to tell. For after this week, she’d go back to her stables in the nearby city and he would remain in Edgaria in his castle; and whatever deep affections and underdeveloped feelings would remain stunted, never to grow again.

She heard a bang at the front door and hopped down from the porch. Walking barefoot through the grass and around the home, she saw a messenger, just a young boy in good clothes. He blushed at the sight of her, though Leonie paid no mind.

“Can I help you?” She asked.

“L-Letter for Miss Leonie Pinelli.” He exclaimed, averting his gaze. He shoved an envelope at her and turned away before she could tip him.

She scoffed a soft laugh as she turned over the letter. “Guess I better show up in my nightclothes more often. Maybe the tavern would clear my tab if I did...” Leonie joked to no one but herself. She chuckled softly, drew her shawl closer around arms and returned to the back porch.

She recognized the penmanship on the front. It belonged to Bernadetta; she’d know that quick but delicate handwriting anywhere. And the wax seal was the same one she’d been using for the last five years under the care of her uncle: a little venus fly trap which she had etched out of rubber herself.

Leonie hopped back up on the porch, the boards sighing in disapproval. She made herself comfortable against the rotted wood and then popped the seal.

Promptly, her teacup fell over. The angelica tide seeped through the boards and soaked the wood. A steady drip, drip, drip was the only sound she could hear as she let out an awed cry that woke the neighbourhood.

Chapter Text

Rosedale Estate, Edgaria
14th of the Great Tree Moon, Imperial Year 1188

My dearest hornet Leonie,

Pray, forgive my lack of letter writing. While I am certain you have been busy with the new year and all it’s prosperity, it is no excuse on my end for my ignorance. I know you will admonish me kindly as you always do, but I write not only for pleasure; I write to pass on genuine news!

I write to you, this last time as Bernadetta von Varley. In the coming summer, I will be Mrs Kirsten, wife to the kindest and best of men, Raphael. Please, withhold your excitement and do not break an arrowhead. And conceal your beleaguered spirits—and rightful upset—at my telling you through a letter. 

Please come see me. I am not in the Kingdom or even Derdriu. The address, as I’m sure you’ve read and gaped at, is quite familiar to you. 

All my love,
Bernie-Bear

Leonie read the letter over and over and over, trying to make sense of it. She gripped it, crinkled it, read it aloud trying to comprehend the impossible truth: Bernadetta and Raphael had reunited and become engaged.

Her father found her shortly after she screamed. He was still dressed in his bedclothes and wore the disgruntled mask of disturbed sleep. “Leonie, what happened?”

She stared blankly at the letter. “I… Bernie’s getting married.”

From the house thundered her grandmother. “It is scarcely dawn, Leonie!” She cried. “And you’re screaming! Have no one respect for sleep anymore, child?”

Valentin glanced to his mother-in-law. “She’s gotten news, Mother.” He said gingerly. “Be easy with her.”

“How can I be easy when I was woken just as I got to sleep!” Radia cried out tiredly. She grimaced loudly and pinched the bridge of her nose. “And Mr Victor has called too. He’s inside.”

Leonie’s head snapped up. “Ignatz is here?” She asked.

Radia nodded. “Now what happened—” She could barely finish her sentence before Leonie pushed past her and hurried in the house. Leonie heard a dismayed, “Another chip? Damn that careless child!”

Ignatz stood in the kitchen. A pot of tea had been prepared and he had helped himself to a cup. He scarcely had time to set his cup down before Leonie barrelled in.

“Ignatz!” She gasped, almost flying into his arms. 

He steadied her and blushed. “L-Leonie, you look… You looked like you didn’t sleep.”

“Never mind that. Tell me it’s real.” Leonie begged him. “Please, don’t tell me I’m dreaming.”

Tension filled the air as Ignatz produced another letter. It had been rumpled from being shoved in his coat pocket. He handed it to her. “See for yourself.”

Leonie snatched the letter from him and almost tore it in half while unfolding it.

Shrew’s Gate Pass, Gloucester County
13th of the Great Tree Moon, Imperial Year 1188

Dear Ignatz,

I’m writing today with the best news. Two, actually! Not only am I returning from Derdriu to the Gloucester countryside, but I’m bringing someone special with me. And no, before you guess, it’s not Maya… She’s busy at the Derdriu Academy of Art.

She’s a lady I met a long time ago. About five years back? 

Do you need more clues? It’s hard to write when I’m so excited… She’s also 24, very pretty, amazing and was once the most accomplished lady in all of Fódlan.

It’s Bernadetta von Varley. We’re engaged and set to be married in the summer! We’re on our way from Derdriu—oh I already wrote that—to Rosedale Estate in Edgaria, to visit Count Gloucester at his insistence. You’ll be my best man, won’t you? Please?

We’ll be only a few more hours at this rate. This letter should arrive before then! I can’t wait to see you!

Yours &c., 
Raphael

Leonie could barely breathe. She looked up at Ignatz. “It’s true?” She whispered.

He smiled happily before Leonie threw her arms around his shoulders and practically danced around the kitchen with him. Their thundering footsteps shook the pots hung against the wall and the plates in the cupboard. Together, they laughed with great joy and raucousness before Ignatz broke their embrace. Leonie gripped the letter and reread it over and over, drinking in the happy confirmation like the finest wine she’d ever taste.

“Wait…” she paused, her joy burning away like a dying candle. “Where in the goddess’s name are they?” She asked foolishly. 

Ignatz remained quiet. She narrowed her eyes on him, then looked at the address in Raphael’s slanted handwriting.

“The Gloucester estate?” She demanded. 

“They arrived late last night. I barely got time to read the letter before I saw the coach travelling up towards the estate!” Ignatz insisted. “I was just as shocked as you were. Count Gloucester called for me immediately and I saw them myself.”

Leonie stopped and swallowed back her conflicted feelings.

“Do you know how this happened?” Leonie demanded with the utmost urgency. “I mean… Gloucester was the one to break them up in the first place! He did it, I knew it!”

“He’s…” Ignatz’s voice dropped in volume and became tender. “Leonie, he’s a changed man. He’s been doing a lot of good.”

She scoffed, gesturing towards the window that hung over the sink. “He’s put a ton of infrastructure in Sauin. As you saw, I’m sure, it’s not like the village we grew up in.”

“He’s been doing more too.” Ignatz said. “My father wrote to me. Apparently he culled the titles of baronets. My father lost his title for…reasons.”

Leonie softened. “Like his treatment toward you?” The church had not been Ignatz’s calling. He longed to become an artist, and as such painted in his spare time; but beneath his father’s hand, he was forced into becoming a clergyman with the certainty that there would be money and connections in it for the family at large.

“I can only assume.” 

“When did he…” Leonie paused and met Ignatz’s gaze. “You’ve been around him more, Ignatz. When did you think he started to change?”

He paused and thought carefully. “There were a few changes he started making after…” He lowered his voice. “After our tea time at the estate all those years ago. But when the dowager fell ill and passed, he really became outward about it. His youngest sister, Priscilla, has resolved to go into politics.”

Leonie’s brow raised. “A woman politician?”

Ignatz nodded. “Though, her work will be behind the scenes. I believe she’s been holed up in Derdriu observing the roundtable conversations and… er… bickerings.”

Leonie tensed. 

“Rosedale has changed too. I’m sure I told you when I came for visits.” He insisted.

Leonie felt a guilty pit form in the bottom of her stomach for so blindly ignoring Ignatz. For sometime, ignorance became Leonie’s natural response when anyone mentioned Lorenz Gloucester. Certainly now, it was the incorrect one.

“How else?” She asked. “Raphael could’ve tore him a new one.”

“Raphael made no such remarks. You know he’s too kind for cruelties.” 

Leonie shook her head. 

“Leonie, I was sent here to get you.” Ignatz clarified. “Not for Count Gloucester, but because Miss Varley requested it.”

Right. Bernie’s in Gloucester now. She thought, then quickly moved down the hall toward her room. “That… That does change things.” She called out.  “Let me get dressed and tell my family where I’m going.”

“I doubt that they’d object.” Ignatz smiled amiably.

Leonie’s father and grandmother were naturally shocked when she emerged from her bedroom dressed in a pinafore and blouse with her hair braided and pinned up in a bun. She’d been moving so quickly that she barely had enough breath to proclaim that she was headed to the Gloucester estate. The questions flew, ‘what does he want with you?’ and ‘I thought you both hated each other!’

Such reactions were quite understandable, given the prior counts’ disinterest with any place outside Edgaria or Rosedale. Despite the recent support, the villagers were still cautious around the new count. Lorenz’s name was still spoken following curses and cusses, with rancid disapproval and annoyance, despite his mounting good deeds.

But to Leonie—in hindsight and with dangerous fluttering feelings—they did not seem so hasty. Sauin, like many other villages, helped to provide the nobility with food for their festivals and fine parties. To have them well-protected and supported was a strategic move. And if her grandmother hadn’t embellished too much, a step towards newfound trust and respect. 

True, Leonie expected such kindnesses only to extend to the ends of game deliveries. But along with the new infrastructure and water deliveries, she saw the arrival extra hands and horses to help with the harvest, then extra blankets and firewood in the winter months, even interest-free coin loaned to the needy for desperate improvements to farmhouses and stables. It quickly occurred to Leonie that Count Gloucester had indeed changed for the better.

Such a thought roused the conflicted emotions in her. He hasn’t changed. He’s still a good-for-nothing bastard. She forced herself to think as she answered her father’s question about the importance of her going.

Shortly after discerning that this dilemma did not concern Count Gloucester—that it only took place at his estate—and focused upon the belo ed Bernadettat, they gave their acquiesces to go; though, Leonie would have been perfectly happy to run out the front door and ignore their calls and questions after her.

Eschewing all propriety and manners, Leonie made use of new riding boots by hitching up her old brown mare and followed Ignatz on horseback towards Rosedale.

Chapter Text

Rosedale was more handsome under the birth of a new year than it was in the death of autumn leaves. The warm tones of the late afternoon sun enhanced it’s beauty. As the horses followed the long gravel road in, Leonie drank in the impeccable view. The little lake with birds floating against the glassy surface; beneath it was surely stocked full of fish. The fountain out the front at the centre of the drive, the eyes of statuesque Gloucester the first himself on guard for his county, his home. The imposing, ancient castle, built from brick and blood. And of course, the rose garden in the back. 

A servant noticed their arrival down the far end of the drive and called for the master of the house. Leonie and Ignatz slowed their horses to an easy trot.

“This has to be a dream.” Leonie murmured to herself, certain that in a moment she’d wake and be called for gluey oatmeal with mushy bush-berries and burnt tea.

Ignatz did not answer her, nor did she speak to him. They carried on along the drive leading up to the house and halted their horses.

Leonie watched as a figure with a broad, graceful frame exited the house. Not quite as wide or sturdy as Raphael, but still strong and capable. Her stomach rolled with anxiety as their horses drew closer and closer, and she came face-to-face once more with Lorenz Gloucester. The same man who hurt her pride by suggesting she was not beautiful; who foiled Bernadetta’s chance at happiness and ruined her; who drove Raphael away from her.

The man of all her past vexations.

But he was also the man who had sent a doctor to her village when no one could afford medical care. Who ensured that the villagers could peacefully hunt and hired mercenaries to drive off the bandits and poachers. Who helped to repair the hovels and turned them back into homes, and in turn, brought the population back to Sauin. Who cleared her, her father’s and perhaps the entire village’s debts to the government of Gloucester.

Who remembered her favourite tea, though Leonie was quite certain that she’d never told him it.

“Miss Pinelli.” Lorenz greeted with a gentle incline of his head and a soft lilt in his voice. As if to say, ‘you did come, this is not my imagination.’

The years had been kind to him. His hair had grown to a longer length and was tied to one side with an orange silk ribbon. His tail coat still sported the rosebuds and ornate detail work, but seemed worn and well-loved rather than new. And his eyes—which Leonie might have regarded as lovely, though would never admit to it—bore the dark circles of tiredness that only hard work brought. 

“Count Gloucester.” She regarded him. Servants helped Ignatz from his horse and took it away, tending to his needs as they saw fit.

He smiled and she fought very hard to make herself angry or even displeased, but found it quite difficult to. “I am not surprised that you rode in. I should have sent a coach or the like for you and Mr Victor.” He said with belated regret. “I trust the roads where dry and favourable? You made excellent time.”

Was that a jest? She thought and then nodded. “They were fine.” 

“That pleases me.” He held out his hand to support her as she descended from her horse. 

His hand firmly grasped hers, cold and smooth like marble beneath her rough fingertips. Like so many years before, his touch lingered a moment too long, then swiftly pulled away as a servant took the reins of her horse. They led the creature off toward the stables.

As Leonie glanced down at her hand and slowly closed it into a fist, Lorenz regarded Ignatz with a similar flurry of warmth and grace. The northwestern location of Sauin drew in cold weather from Daphnel and Faerghus and made it so that skin dried easily in it’s chill. And being a hunter’s daughter, Leonie knew her way around weaponry and was used to hard work, much to the pearl-clutching awe of many a lady and lord. Knowing her hands were not that of a noblewoman’s, what had conspired within him to hold it for so long and so tenderly?

Her cheeks warmed with colour momentarily. Silently, Leonie was thankfully for the cool weather, the windy chill disguised the rosy blush on her cheeks as exercise. She followed Lorenz and Ignatz into the great house. Once again she was awed by the size and extravagance: silk curtains and fine furniture and portraits galore. Though, she noticed pieces missing, things sparser, as if Lorenz had cleaned house. 

The party turned down a hall to the drawing room. It remained mostly unchanged from the last time Leonie stood in it—saved from the great clean—pardoning a few new portraits or a handsome new needle-point. 

Seated beside each other were Raphael and Bernadetta, wearing the rosy-cheeks of reunited lovers. Time—as it had been to Lorenz—had been most kind to Raphael. New lines formed around his mouth and at his eyes from smiling and laughing. And even though Leonie thought it impossible, he had somehow become larger: though, thankfully, his clothes were ample in size and tailored to a larger man like him. 

Though Bernadetta and Leonie had been writing to each other for years, the girls had not seen each other since five years before, during the Adrestian social season of Imperial Year 1182. Since then, Bernadetta’s hair had grown out in length, no longer oddly cut from trying to do it herself. She’d become a little taller—or perhaps she wore heeled boots—and radiated with the glow that only a person in love had. 

Leonie held in the desire to bound across the room and ask if it was true, if this was all a cruel joke, a ploy at her own happiness. Instead, she settled on watching Bernadetta’s face as she spoke to Raphael quietly. Her dear friend positively glowed with the warmth of rekindled love. 

Then, Lorenz cleared his throat. The two looked up, saw the visitors, and with one smile and Leonie was certain that this is not a dream.

Bernadetta’s lips fell into a sharp gasp. Leonie practically tripped into the coffee table, though she did twist the wrong way, aggravating her bad knee, and bit down on a wince. She swiped up Bernadetta in a tight embrace, booming with laughter as her friend sobbed. 

Leonie let Bernadetta down, giving the sobbing bride-to-be her hearty blessings and congratulations. Bernadetta cried happy tears for nearly a quarter of an hour and it took constant reassurance and care to stop her sobs. 

“She’s been like this for the last few days.” Raphael confessed sweetly. “Ever since we came here.”

“It’s not my nerves for once!” Bernadetta insisted as Leonie comforted her with a soothing hand on her shoulder. “I’m just so happy. I never thought such felicity could be possible.” Lower and hurriedly to Leonie she asked, “Can you die of happiness?”

After almost an hour of discussion regarding the impending wedding—understanding the incredulous truth that a man of new wealth and a disinherited noblewoman were to marry—tea came with new conversations. Polite how-do-you-dos, discussion of the state of the roads, hopes of fine weather, the celebration of Ignatz’s birth as he had just turned five and twenty years. Soon, Raphael turned his attention to Bernadetta who coloured and smiled at such notice. Ignatz took to sketching in his little book which he had brought along and the space between Leonie and Lorenz grew still.

She winced under her breath as she tucked her legs beneath her chair. As she did, Lorenz left and returned with a cold compress and handed it to her. Softly, he said, “For your knee.”

Leonie glanced from his hand and up to his eyes before she gratefully took it. “Thank you.” She said quietly. 

Leonie turned her attention toward the great windows of the manor. She studied the ornate circles and carefully-selected threads on the rugs and sofa beneath her. The oak tables. The chandelier. The lovely pianoforte tucked in the corner, which after a moment, Bernadetta took a seat behind and played a lively Adrestian tune for them.

The rooms are lovely, yes. She thought as she recalled hearing about them before. The gallery’s proud, handsome portraits of him and his sisters and former Gloucesters of the land. But it was the grounds that held Leonie’s attention. Expansive and wide and roaming, the largest in the Alliance at the time. Rolling hills and verdant meadows, abundant with game and flora and beauty. The forests that surrounded the park and protected it, the little lake at the front of the estate and the rose garden in behind. It is what captivated Leonie’s undivided attention and sparked envy.

If she had have agreed to his proposal five years ago, she would have been mistress today. Of Rosedale, of Camellia Manor in Derdriu. Countess Leonie Gloucester. Jokingly, she thought that such a title—and how she’d rather keep her own surname, for Pinelli was so whimsical sounding and Gloucester was so huffy—would be agreeable only thanks to the pretty grounds and property she’d gain by marriage.

Though, as she stole a glance at the master in question—who turned his attention to read the society columns of a newspaper—Miss Pinelli had also come to think of Lorenz as handsome as well. Once, long ago, she had thought him a proud, vain, impudent boy inside a man’s body and doubted if he had a heart.

Such a cruel thing to think, she reproached herself for such a hasty judgement. She thought of Lorenz making good on his late father—and his grandfather’s for that matter—shortcomings to the common villages and towns of Gloucester County. The protection of the borders and the hiring of the mercenaries to chase out the poachers were acts not done just for Sauin, Leonie was certain of that. And upon recollection, Leonie realized that they were not stopped once on the ride in by poorly-kept roads, or saw a single bandit or predators. 

But still, she wondered, are a few deeds enough to make amends? She attempted to embitter herself. Her true emotions had restored his name to good meaning and promise sometime before, but Miss Leonie Pinelli had forever reserved to hate him for as long as she lived. 

(Or, at this rate, dislike him until she left Rosedale.)

Even as she sat in his drawing room, drank his tea and admired his grounds outside… And perhaps, even the gentleman who owned it all, seated only a few feet from her, reading a newspaper. 

“I trust that you are well, Miss Pinelli?” His voice was loud enough only for her to hear. “Aside from your troublesome knee, of course.”

“Yes, I am. Thanks for asking.” Leonie said, not daring to look his way. Doing so would have admitted defeat to herself. That she was perhaps, just a little bit, in love with him. Ever resolved and cool with her manners, she asked, “And yourself and your family?”

“We are all very well, thank you.” He said, folding the papers and resting them on the nearby table. “My sisters are in Derdriu.”

“I heard that Miss Gloucester is in politics now.”

His brow raised and he nodded. “Yes. Priscilla is going to act as my liaison in Derdriu and speaker for Gloucester, as clerical work keeps me here mostly.”

Leonie caved and glanced his way. “You… She’s allowed to do that?”

Lorenz smiled a little. “Yes. I trust my sister to do as she pleases.” He said, lowering his papers. “Just as Marguerite chose to have children.”

“Ah. So you’re an uncle. Congrats.”

“I do dote upon my niece and nephew.” He said. “Though, I miss them. It has been sometime since they brightened the estate.”

“Where are they?”

“I entailed Camellia Manor to Marguerite and her children.”

“You changed the inheritance?”

“It needed to be rebalanced.”

“So, a home for each child.” Leonie turned her gaze back to the view outside. “And a place all to yourself.”

He smiled softly. “Yes. Quite so.”

“That must be lonely.”

“Only slightly.”

Silence fell between the two. “I’ve noticed your gaze is fixed on the grounds. Would you like to go for a walk?” He asked, before quickly adding, “I can easily procure you a parasol if you’d like. I am certain one of my sisters have left one behind, lovely forgetful creatures they are.”

“I’d like that, but I don’t need a parasol.” She said, rising slowly. “Would anyone like to go out for a bit of exercise?”

Bernadetta met Leonie with wide eyes, her face red. “I-I’ve no proper shoes for walking.” She confessed.

Raphael agreed, not citing lack of proper walking shoes, but instead not wanting to leave his fiancée alone. Bernadetta blushed at this and turned redder when Ignatz proclaimed that his friends are seated so pleasingly that he wished to sketch them.

“Then I shall come with you for support.” Said Lorenz, before reverently adding, “Only if you approve.”

She put on the airs of indifference. “As you like.” 

Leonie donned her coat, Lorenz brandished a walking stick and a hat against the cooling afternoon. He insisted that she take a violet bonnet that belonged to his younger sister, citing her health and the chill, and Leonie reluctantly tied it beneath her chin. And as they stepped out from the patio entrance, Lorenz offered his arm for support which she took without hesitation. 

The sun shone down upon the grounds, but the air was cool and still. Brandy or another cup of tea would be in order upon returning to the drawing room. 

As they walked, rather leisurely and quite closely for two people who were rumoured to hate each other, Lorenz stole glances at her. The face that was not so handsome as to tempt him was now the only one he could think of, the only one he has eyes for. Her plain features—her too-round face and skin that was tanned and freckled from working outdoors—became striking. And the amber eyes that he had always thought as her saving grace from ordinariness were more beautiful than he could recall.

Leonie did the same; the haughty, proud nobleman that offered her his arm had showed a side of caring, a side of genuine interest in her and that had increasingly mystifying to Leonie. And his profile—the sharp slope of his defined nose, high cheek bones and long-lashed violet eyes—was more handsome than she remembered. 

They ran out topics to discuss long before leaving the drawing room. Awkward “how do you dos”, the offerings of tea, the weather and state of the roads are all gone. All that was left were the hard topics.

Or so she thought, as they walked towards the rose garden. It budded, not yet blooming. A sea of green buds and marble, of hope for a pleasant spring. They traced it slowly, the path beaten down and preferable to her troublesome knee.

“And I appreciate your own struggles. Believe me, I never wished to make you feel such things. But you forgot that there is no absolute yes in a proposal.”

“Is this your response? A rejection?” 

“Yes. You poured your selfish heart out to me and assumed I would take your hand, but you are the last man on this earth I would ever marry.”

“What a fool I have been… To plant such deep affections and attachment in infertile grounds. Forgive me, Miss Pinelli, for offending you so.”

Her throat tightened at the memory, her face straining upon recollection. It was there that she refused his hand. It was there where she judged him too harshly. It was there that her prejudice to a man of noble rank, name and birth, cost her the greatest chance at happiness. 

She caught herself at the latter thought; could she have truly been happy as the wife of such an abhorrent man? Surely not. But no longer was he abhorrent and cruel.

“The first man to bear the name Gloucester planted this garden.” He said, breaking the uneasy silence.

Leonie raised a brow as they stop and admire the gardens. “He did?”

“Indeed.”

“A nobleman, right?”

“Yes.”

Really? On his hands and knees? Did he have golden knee pads and a diamond-handled trowel? 

“Ah.” Leonie murmured beneath her breath. “On his hands and knees.”

“Indeed.”

A smirk played at her lips as she gave voice to the snide thought that sprung in her mind. “Did he have gold-plated knee pads and a diamond-handled trowel?”

Lorenz, surprisingly smirked a little and then insisted, “I know not of your jest, Miss Pinelli.” She smiled, pleased that she got him, and listened as he continued: “It was a present to his beloved. She had loved roses so much he commissioned the building of a garden on the ancient estate, then planted the first plot.”

“No marriage?”

“They did not have such unions back in his time.” Lorenz said. “Instead, they tied themselves together by earthly devotions.”

Leonie glanced to him as he was illuminated in a stray beam of sunlight. “That’s pretty intense.”

He laughed softly, reaching out to let his gloved hand touch a single rosebud. “Her gift to him was not recorded and was lost to the sands of time.” He said ruefully. “However, Gloucester’s proof of love did. He would go on to plant the first buds at the beginning of each year for his lover. He did it until he died.”

She did not say a word, turning her eyes back on the soon-to-be flowers. 

“His son, his son’s son and so forth would do the same.” Lorenz murmured.

“But obviously you don’t.” Leonie mumbled under her breath.

“I most certainly do.” Lorenz said, taken aback. He gestured to the small—and as she realized upon looking at it—fabric red rose tucked into his lapel hole. “It is the same reason why I pin this to my breast. It is a symbol of devotion to my county and my flowers.”

Leonie gave him a look. Lorenz coloured slightly and turned his face away from her. “Perhaps I did not plant all of them, but most certainly the first patch.” He loosened his grasp on her arm and took a step forwards, leading into the garden’s newly-erected gazebo. Behind the marble bench was a small patch of budding roses. He gestured to them. “I’ve the dirt stains to prove it. Er, or had.”

The spot where he proposed. She tensed.

Leonie regarded it with cold reservation and guilt for a moment, then turned back to him. “That’s quite devoted of you.” She said before smirking a little. “And here I thought you’d never held shears or gardening gloves in your life.”

To her surprise, he laughed. His face took on the most lovely expression, the hard lines of his mouth and eyes softening. Her heart stuttered. “No,” he said with a little smirk. “I know the feeling of such tools all too well.”

“So you are a devoted gardener and a gentleman?”

“The occupations are not so different.” He said passively with good humour. “Both have little to do but wait for pretty blooms and then tend to them. The patient gardener is not unlike the gracious gentleman.”

After a moment of quiet, she looked out at the garden again. “This is a pretty place.”

“Thank you.” He inclined his head.

“Though I’ve always preferred wildflowers.”

“Country blooms for a country girl.” He flushed as soon as he said it. An apology came fumbling out of the nobleman.

Leonie gave him a look before nudging his shoulder and gave a smile. “I jested at you.” She joined him in a hearty laugh.

Intense hatred or even dislike was not a sustainable emotion for either of them. In once such a disagreeable man, she found—

She did not know what she had found. Just that this Lorenz Hellman Gloucester was much different than the one she’d known. The two made a silent agreement to an odd version of friends—perhaps something more—and continued their walk along the park. They began to talk of the grounds, until easy conversation ran dry. 

There was one topic that burned at Leonie’s core and scorched her with a wildfire’s fury. It rested in her coat pocket, just above her hip; wrinkled and read over by the Pinelli family and Ignatz in disbelief. It plagued her mind so much that the ride from Sauin to Rosedale had reduced her attentions to the roads that she had almost steered her horse into danger twice en route into the estate.

How had Bernadetta and Raphael found each other once again after five years? And what burned more was how did they come to an understanding in a form of an engagement?

She knew that it was Lorenz who had driven Bernadetta and Raphael apart in Enbarr those five years ago. Surely, for the same amount of time they’d been parted, it had been at his behest. It was his vanity, his cruelty, his sheer-lack of concern and vicious criticism towards his friend and a woman he scarcely knew. 

Could she still commit to disliking him if he had been the result of this union?

But to ask him… it was well known that Miss Leonie Pinelli lacked propriety, was as stubborn as an old mule and threw care to the wind at her leisure. And in working for her own pay and enjoyment had finally put to bed any chances of marrying well. But in asking him, it might besmirch his reputation too—

Wait a second… Why do I care? She thought. Then, as quickly as she thought it, she spoke.

“I almost screamed when I got the letter.”

Lorenz raised a brow. 

“The letter,” she clarified, looking down at her feet. “where Bernadetta told me she was engaged.”

He remained silent.

“It was… really weird given that they hadn’t seen each other for five years.” Leonie explained. “She hadn’t ever told me that they were even reunited. They only met in Enbarr those five years ago, and now…”

“Fate has a way of making it’s plan known.”

She eyed him as they moved towards the back field, which had the pegs for croquet set up along the green and mallets left out. 

“You best speak to Miss Varley about it.” He said. “For I have little clues.”

“And yet, they’re at your estate and, I’m assuming, to be married at your parsonage.” Leonie said quietly. She stopped walking and her arm slipped from his. Lorenz belatedly stopped a few steps after her and turned back to look at Leonie. “If you had any hand in it, tell me now, Gloucester.”

He tensed as she said his name. He held her gaze and cleared his throat.

“Miss Pinelli, I am a gentleman.” He demurred quietly. “And I will not speak of unfounded rumours behind a friend’s back for the sake of his reputation. I would not betray a confidence of that measure.”

She watched him for a moment, her jaw settling. Lorenz took a step closer and extended his arm to her. “Shall we?”

Chapter Text

There were four courses for supper. Afterwards, the party retired to the drawing room, where Lorenz played the pianoforte for the party. His fingers glided across the piano, almost putting the ever-accomplished Bernadetta to shame. Ignatz and Leonie engaged in cards, where she won most hands and happily pocketed the betting money for herself. 

Across the room, Bernadetta had taken up reading her favourite poems from her saintly ancestor to Raphael. He looked on with a sweet countenance, admiring his fiancée; Leonie found the expression so honeyed that she nearly rolled her eyes in happy exhaustion.

Over dinner it was decided that Ignatz and Leonie would stay at Rosedale for a few days. A servant had been dispatched to gather appropriate clothes from Sauin and would return in the morning before it was time to dress. He insisted that they remain as guests in the castle for a few days’ time, even though Ignatz insisted he was only a short walk across the park from the estate. Lorenz would hear nothing of it and told Ignatz that he would be set up in the comforts of the eastern wing of the castle.

Leonie glanced at the lovers from over her winning hand. She wore a perfectly neutral expression, though she was most overjoyed at their mutual affection, and dare say, love... Not to mention her cards that hand were pretty great.

“Begging your pardons.” Said a servant. “A letter for you, Mr Kirsten.” 

Raphael broke his starry-eyed gaze from his fiancée. He rose, his hand leaving Bernadetta’s. “Oh, that’s probably Maya.” He said and took the letter with a smile. “She’s at the Derdriu School of Art.”

Bernadetta set a worn ribbon as her marker in the book and waited as he relayed the information to the party, as all knew her well. Nothing of consequence, aside from her fingers being smudged with charcoal, her latest assignments, gossip about her classmates at the school and other idle frivolities. Then, with a gentle squeeze of her hand, Raphael left Bernadetta to respond to his sister.

“Do give her my l-love.” Bernadetta called. Raphael responded with the most hearty compliance; though he made a comment about not being able to do Bernadetta’s warmth justice and urging her to write Maya herself.

For the first time since arriving to Gloucester, Bernadetta sat alone and unattended. Leonie won the round, and before Ignatz could shuffle the cards in preparation for another hand, she left the table and approached Bernadetta. 

“Oh, Leonie.” She jolted then calmed herself, her complexion bright and smile easy. “S-Sorry, that sounded rude.”

“Can I sit with you, Bernie?” She asked. 

Bernadetta nodded.

“I wanted to tell you congrats again. I’m really happy for you.” Leonie said with a smile. “I thought I was dreaming when I read your letter. Ignatz had to pinch me twice.”

Bernadetta laughed joyfully. “I have to admit,” she leaned closer. “I keep doing the same.”

Leonie raised a brow. “Oh yeah?”

“I c-can’t believe it. I pinch myself almost hourly. It’s like a dream, Leonie, a wonderful dream.”

Leonie nodded. “I kept saying the same to myself back in Sauin. Hell, I almost dunked my head in a barrel of water to wake up.”

Bernadetta snorted softly and coloured in embarrassment. “That does sound like you.”

“So what…” Leonie lowered her voice and leaned closer. “What happened?”

Bernadetta turned positively red and with an air of confusion asked, “Happened?”

“To bring you guys back together!”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Leonie’s voice dropped in volume. “you were attached five years ago, and then…” she stopped, not wanting to wound Bernadetta further. She sighed. “I just want the truth, Bernie.”

The former countess sighed, then leaned close. “Tonight. In my dressing room.” She whispered softly. “I will tell you then.”

Bernadetta swore to it; Leonie knew that once she made a promise, she would never go back on it. At least, this new version of Bernadetta would not. When they first met, she certainly would have broken small, meaningless promises like going into the yard to play on the old swing, or walking out to the meadow beyond the fences to pick flowers. But big things—like secrets whispered in their girlish frocks and breathlessly spoken in beneath the Guardian Moon—wouldn’t be broken.

As Raphael returned from writing and asked Bernadetta to once again read to him, Leonie pondered, not for the first time, how long does it take to make someone change? What spurs on such a metamorphosis? Change around others is of course a factor. But what else?

She glanced once more at the lovers. She had not the privilege of seeing Raphael in the past five years, but upon looking now he had become calmer, better-spoken. His compassion and patience had taken on a new level; and even his voice, the lilt, the volume, had been revised to tone that was more like a new gentleman’s. And Bernadetta… She’d changed beyond belief. No longer the mousy, shy child from Leonie’s girlhood; nor the nervous, reclusive debutante. Now she was a demure, polite young woman. Although, she maintained that delicate disposition and those nervous tendencies, they were less prevalent. In short years, which Leonie was not yet privy to, they would disappear to create an outgoing and authoritative proprietor.

Bernadetta directed a small smile at Leonie before she resumed reading. The Bernadetta that Leonie had known all since the tender age of seven had rarely smiled. And in that moment—and throughout the rest of her life with Raphael—she would beam happily, the look scarcely wiped from her face.

She probably sleeps with a smile on. Leonie mused as she listened to Bernadetta read and read, and Lorenz play and play.

Her eyes drifted from the ornate walls and paintings to the handsome pianoforte. Lorenz sat behind it, gracefully playing with pride and poise. His gaze lifted and met hers for a brief second. 

He had changed too.

Once a tempestuous, vile, cruel man, he’d… softened. She noticed it on their walk around the grounds that afternoon. He’d become kinder, gentler, gracious and more vulnerable. Still, of course, proud to a fault, but much more… endearing.

Her face coloured. She ignored the feeling.

But she’d changed too. Her hair, obviously, grew longer, no longer cropped close to her head as it was five years ago. Her clothes had changed too, thanks to her father’s burgeoning trade agreements with both the Victor Trading Company, and Leonie’s own occupation as a stablehand. But her disposition… It had changed. 

Slightly. 

She was still headstrong and stubborn and brash. She did not mind her manners as much; though on occasion and with great strength, held her tongue against impertinent remarks. However, in recent weeks, Leonie had noticed herself become a little kinder, a little gentler, a little more vulnerable—

She blushed hard again, then stood. 

“E-Excuse me.” She said quickly as Bernadetta’s lips parted. “I… I need to rest. It was a hard day.”

Lorenz rose from the pianoforte as Leonie curtseyed to the rest of the party. “Is it your knee?” He asked. “Have you need of a physician, Miss Pinelli?”

She avoided his gaze, her face grew hotter. Not now, not now. She admonished herself. “No, no I’m fine.” She insisted.

Leonie finally met his eyes and saw the concern on Lorenz’s face, as stark as first light at dawn. She turned away from him at the words of Mr Kirsten. 

“You had a long ride today,” Raphael said, breaking the tension. Leonie gratefully regarded him. “You’re probably just tired.”

“Yeah… Yes, it’s that.” Leonie insisted. 

“Would you like someone to escort you to your room?” Lorenz asked with caution and care.

She shook her head. “I can find it on my own.” She insisted, desperate to get away. Her face burned with the excruciating warmth of a blush. “Excuse me.”

She hurried out of the drawing room, not at ease until she had found her room on the second floor of the castle and shut the door. It took over a half hour of meditation before the colour finally left her face. She paced and paced, and was certain she’d made a groove in the hardwood with her boots and pensive gait. Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest and her stomach churned like the salty sea. 

With the fading sun and extinguished candles, Leonie took ease. And though the symptoms had faded, the disease remained: she was in love.

Chapter Text

The halls of Rosedale Estate were cold at night. Leonie partially blamed it on the early spring and how close Edgaria was to the Airmid River, which brought in a chill like none she’d felt before. Then, as she remembered Lorenz’s mention that it was an ancient castle, erected in the days of Gloucester the first, and wearing a thin frilled nightgown, all made sense.

Inside her room it was quite warm, but the moment Leonie stepped out, the cold forced her back with a shove. Shedding all senses of propriety and manners that she’d incurred a hefty debt for, Leonie went back not for a proper dress to keep her warm but a shawl.

Treading carefully down the hall, a candle illuminated her face and the metal holder warmed her hand. The nightgown—left behind by Marguerite—had been folded and set her in room before came in. After tiring herself with pacing and fretting and mediation that only brought one frustrating conclusion, Leonie dressed in the borrowed nightgown and tried to sleep. She laid in the darkness until she heard no more voices through the floorboards and the footsteps quieted in the halls.

The sound of settling overtook the ancient manor. Leonie silently crept towards Bernadetta’s room, thankful both for her hunter’s education which emphasized the lightness of step to track the skittish of creatures and her lady’s learning which insisted that ladies were to be seen and never heard, even whilst walking.

Much earlier, a servant had been sent up with a poultice, another cold compress and proper bandages for wrapping her knee. As she helped Leonie tend her aching knee, Leonie asked her where Bernadetta had been set up. Leonie memorized the directions, repeating them over and focused on them as the servant wrapped her painful knee.

(The poultice, compress and bandages had done the job. Her knee ached less and the pain had been assuaged enough that Leonie could creep along.)

Bernadetta’s face was bathed in firelight as she opened the door. For the first time that day, the smile was gone from her face and she wore an expression of surprise and concern.

“L-Leonie!” Bernadetta cried out. 

Leonie hissed to hush her. 

“Y-You said you were sick. Are you okay?”

“I was just tired.” She lied. “Can I come in?”

“Yes, yes of course.” Bernadetta side stepped and let Leonie in. 

The room was just as well-furnished as the others, with the same fine furniture and linens and pretty decorations. There was enough room for a chaise longue and a chair to privately entertain within. There was more space for books too, shelves stretched as high as the walls climbed up. Miss Varley’s garments were set up in the cupboard, her personal tonics which supposedly cured her nerves sat on the dressing table. There was even some expensive Adrestian makeup by her vanity. Bernadetta had already changed into her sleeping gown, and had clearly prepared herself for sleep. Her hair was loose from it’s top knot and plaited down her back and tied with a ribbon. A few ringlets framed her face.

“Leonie, you’re scaring me.”

“What?” Leonie glanced back at her.

Bernadetta swallowed hard. “Please… Please, just promise me you’re okay?”

Leonie could not promise what she did not know: but she lied for Bernadetta’s sake and nerves. “I’ll be more than okay after you tell me what happened. How did you find Kirsten?”

Bernadetta eyed Leonie for a moment before gesturing to the chaise. Leonie sat down, setting the candle on an end table. “Out with it.” She demanded.

“W-Where do I start?” Bernadetta asked more to herself. She sighed and shut her eyes. “Mr Kirsten was ignorant to my being in the Kingdom for the last few years. And when my uncle took me to Derdriu last year, he did not know of that either.” 

Leonie raised a brow. 

“No one knew, not even his sister, Miss Maya.” Said Bernadetta. “So we simply mi-missed each other.”

“But that doesn’t explain now.”

“I-I’m getting to it.” She promised, opening her eyes. She focused on the floor, the thorn and ivy carpets beneath her feet. “I ran into Count Gloucester in Derdriu instead. He invited me over a few times for tea and meals. I learnt then that he…” she paused. “He meant…”

“Meant what?”

“He had spoken to Miss Maya recently, who had discovered a stack of letters from her brother addressed to a certain lady.” She explained quietly. “She handed them over to him, insisting he find the addressee.”

“Which was you?”

Bernadetta nodded, her face turning red once more. “Count Gloucester aligned the dates, before and after Mr Kirsten and I had met, the contents and the addressee and realized it was me. He confronted Mr Kirsten who confirmed that he had been in love with me, and still was.” Her voice grew softer. “Count Gloucester had realized the depth of his love for me, and then asked, quite plainly, if… if I loved him too.”

“Which you do.”

Bernadetta coloured. “I-I… I do.” She smiled a little, but it faded quickly. “He invited me to tea once more and explained, very bluntly, that he had been the beginning of my ruin in Enbarr.”

“I knew it.” Leonie grimaced with regret.

“D-Don’t be so hasty.” She reached for Leonie’s hand. “He had sent the letter to my father tipping him off about the attachment between Kirsten and I, but that was all the credit he could take. Parting me from Kirsten, threatening him, disinheriting me, that was all my father.” She said quietly. “Count Gloucester allowed me my rage, and I said some pretty terrible things, all which he accepted.”

Bernadetta looked at her hands, then turned her gaze back to Leonie. “He called upon me one afternoon at my uncle’s house and brought the letters and Mr Kirsten.” She explained softly. “He explained that we had been robbed of five years and to not waste time.”

“He… He brought you back together?”

Bernadetta nodded. “Mr Kirsten proposed that afternoon.”

“But why are you at Gloucester Manor?”

“He insisted we use the estate as much we’d like. Mr Kirsten likes grounds and there are some nice… private spots.” Bernadetta coloured. “He said it might allow us to catch up.”

“Has it?” Leonie couldn’t help but smirk. She bumped her shoulder against Bernadetta’s.

She gasped. “N-No! Leonie!”

The laughter was short-lived. Leonie shook her head, once more thoughtful. “I… I can’t wrap my head around it, Bernie...” She murmured. “He sought to tear you two apart five years ago and now he’s practically planning your wedding?”

Bernadetta took Leonie’s hand, a warm smile on her lips. “Silly hornet… Why is it so hard for you to understand?” Her voice pleaded. “People can change.”

Chapter Text

The thought rolled over in Leonie’s mind for the remainder of the night. When she did finally succumb to sleep, it was fitful and restless. 

Her lady’s maid noticed it the following morning. As Leonie sat down to have her hair styled back in a braided chignon, the maid spoke thusly: “You do not look well, ma’am. Did you sleep?”

Leonie stole a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror: her eyes were tired and marked with dark circles from lack of rest. 

She turned her gaze down into her lap. 

“I never sleep well in a new place.” She lied.

Why would Lorenz do such things? Leonie had resolved on hating him and he seemed content with his own judgments upon her character. Her pride outweighed any beauty she might have had, and his prejudices to those beneath him robbed him of any good graces… Despite excessive generosity to a man with no parents, a disowned lady, a second son, multiple towns and villages and their inhabitants, and even her.

And yet, there she was, saddled the common and unwelcome pangs of unrequited love. 

The lady’s maid advised Leonie that breakfast would be served in the dining room shortly, then set about to find a powder to conceal the unsightly and concerning dark circles. She clucked softly to herself, “Neither Lady Marguerite nor Councillor Priscilla match your complexion. We shall have to find something though to make you presentable.”

“Does…” Leonie murmured quietly. The maid stopped, turned to Leonie and waited for her to continue. Leonie cleared her throat and sat up straighter.  “Why do you care so much?”

The maid paled, then forced a smile. “Every young lady should want to look her best, yes?”

Leonie gave her a look. “I guess.”

“I know that Count Gloucester—” she stopped herself. 

“No. Go on.” Leonie commanded. “Please, I want to hear what you have to say.”

The maid cleared her throat, her voice lowered. “Count Gloucester wishes for your comfort and happiness. To see you in such spirits would upset him.”

Leonie paused. “Has he spoken of me?”

“Yes.” Quickly correcting herself to assuage any negatives, she added, “And only of the highest praise.”

Leonie out barked a laugh, frightening the maid. “Sure.” She murmured warmly beneath her breath. “I didn’t think sarcasm was his style, but I stand corrected.”

“No, no ma’am.” The maid insisted. “Count Gloucester is never insincere in his compliments. Surely you know that as a friend of his.”

Leonie remained quiet. 

“Moreover, he spoke of you so much that some of his prior guests were certain he was exaggerating your good features. But Count Gloucester was adamant that your character was beyond any reproach.”

Her gaze narrowed. “What do you think of him?”

“Me?”

“Yeah.” Leonie said. “You’ve probably seen the darkest sides of him. How does he treat you?”

The maid paused, collecting her thoughts. She nodded and spoke thus with the kindest words and sincerest of tones: “Very well, ma’am. On every saint’s birth, he orders us a punch and haunches of ham for our families. We are given every Sunday to ourselves, and he ensures to not entertain or bother us on our day of rest.” She lowered her voice. “When Tobin, one of the gardeners, was wounded with the shears, Count Gloucester healed Tobin himself with white magic and then ensured he saw a physician. Rumour is he paid him for the day despite his absence.” The maid smiled. “My lord is the finest and best of men. He may be a little proud, but it is a pride well-earned.”

Leonie held her gaze for a moment, looking for any sense of over-exaggeration, of over-praise, of forced admiration; but instead she found nothing but sincerity and a lack of deceit. 

The maid smiled brightly. “Might I finish assisting you? I know punctuality is important to his excellency.”

Leonie nodded, quietly reflecting on such information as a brush with tan powder danced across her freckled face.

The breakfast table was elegantly set with teacups, oatmeal and rashers of bacon, marmalades and crisps waiting to be smeared with. The china selected was all of the highest quality and timeless fashion. As soon as Leonie sat down, Bernadetta took note of her dark eyes, her tired skin, her sleepy countenance. 

“Leonie, did you even sleep?” Bernadetta asked with concern. 

Eyes and attention were drawn to Miss Pinelli and she coloured. “Just a little. Not as much as I wanted to.” She noticed a butler lean down to Lorenz’s side and listen intently.

“You should p-probably rest and when you’re all awake again, we’ll have a game of cards? Or I could play for you on the pianoforte and you can sing.” Bernadetta suggested.

“You’re already the more accomplished of us two.” Leonie insisted. “Besides, you and everyone here already knows I have a terrible voice.”

“That is a fact well-known.” Said Ignatz under his breath. Leonie shot him a loving, annoyed look. 

“I don’t think Mr Kirsten has been able to suffer your voice.” Count Gloucester jested. “Or myself for the matter.”

Leonie felt a smile cross her lips. “And you wish to torture yourself?”

“Please,” he chided coyly. “I want to be the judge of such a voice.”

Leonie shook her head. “I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you all. I won’t be singing.” She said. “At least, not today or without a stiff drink.”

The table laughed at such a comment, and breakfast passed with the pleasure of such close friends, happily reunited. Towards the end, Bernadetta left to write Margravine Gautier a happy notification of her engagement; Raphael—a large man intent on exercise and athletics—left for the grounds to stretch his legs; and Ignatz left to sharpen his pencils for sketching. Leonie rose from her seat, still tired.

“Have you need of anything, Miss Pinelli?” Lorenz stood from the table, his countenance concerned and eager.

A smile naturally crossed her lips. “No, Count Gloucester, I’m fine.”

“There is nothing too great or small.” He insisted.

“I promise I’m fine. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get some rest.”

“Miss Pinelli,” he said quietly. He closed the distance between the two, coming to her side. “may I see you to your room?”

She stared at him for a moment, the breath escaped her lungs. Slowly, she nodded. “You may.”

He offered her his arm for support in a most gentlemanly way. But Leonie, fighting tirelessly with the beast of unrequited love, saw it with a second meaning. Her fingers curled around his bicep, his hand rested over hers, their steps aligned and the dining room melted away into nothing more than a fleeting memory.

Silence fell between the two as they passed through the great hall, up the stairs and towards the sleeping chambers. Her heart thundered in double time. Feelings, of which she was once unaware, were now quite pertinent. Her eyes drank in every inch of Count Gloucester in a way that was most unladylike and unbecoming.

The face which she only thought cruelly handsome was now soft and beautiful. The sharp mountainous cliff of his defined nose, the arch of perfect brows and high cheekbones were a testament to the Gloucesters’ beautiful name. His hair, since she first met him, had grown out from it’s sharp bob and was carefully tended to and tied with an orange ribbon for ease of work and vain style. His hands—as he had foregone gloves at meal time—were manicured and lacquered with dark purple polish in a show of that well-deserving pride and warm against hers. Pinned to his lapel was an orange rose, freshly plucked from the greenhouse, and upon recognizing it, Leonie attempted to remember her floriography lessons at the finishing school, a class which she languished in. 

She had thought, once long ago, that the beauty he exhibited was like that of a poisonous flower: it’s beautiful petals and succulent berries alluring to it’s victims, the poison fatal. But as they walked in silence, Leonie realized that she had been wrong.

She had been wrong about his beauty, his character, his graciousness. She had been wrong about it all. The realization hit her so hard, a terrible guilt formed like a storm in her stomach. 

They stopped before her room. 

“If you have any need of anything,” he said as he took her hand tenderly. “do not hesitate to call. I shall procure it and deliver it myself to you immediately, my dear… friend.”

“You’re too kind, Count Gloucester.” Leonie said quietly. Unable to resist a jest, she added, “I had thought you spoke of your friends with concern and criticism?”

“Indeed I do, however, I treat my friends with care and civility.” 

She smiled softly.

“Rosedale is at your disposal, Miss Pinelli.” He squeezed her hand gently. “And every creature and thing in it is at your beck and call.”

Leonie coloured and pulled her hand from his. Quickly he turned away and Leonie turned back into her room. Shutting the door, she found it prepared once more for rest—the curtains drawn, the bed freshly made. There was even fresh water in the pitcher, the porcelain still warm to the touch. She undressed from her amber gown and back into the borrowed nightgown. 

“I guess he does treat his friends with care and civility.” She murmured to herself as she began to retire to sleep. 

Slipping beneath the sheets, she thought, But me? I don’t get it.

Chapter Text

Almost a week passed in restless angst and conflicting guilt for poor Leonie. Croquet was played in the fine weather, walks were taken, fine meals were enjoyed and tea was taken beneath the rose-covered gazebo. In the moments of silence and solitude, where Raphael and Bernadetta were permitted to be alone in the drawing room and Ignatz had gone off in search of fine things to sketch and paint, Leonie felt the nagging sense of curiosity lap at her mind. 

Why her? Indeed, it was a question of black depth. She glanced towards Count Gloucester on Sunday morning as they returned to the mansion by foot. They had gone to church to listen to one of Ignatz’s short and reverent sermons, peppered with artistic phrases such as, the goddess’s grace is bountiful and forgiving, and do not fear the sins of judgement; instead ask how you may redeem yourself.

Such a timely sermon clouded Leonie’s mind as she walked. Raphael and Bernadetta walked ahead with Ignatz, the latter two—children of the Seiros faith—had grown up close to the scriptures and discussed both moral and spiritual things. Raphael listened along to his dearest friend and his fiancée, happily content with their mutual interest in such philosophical matters.

Judgement rattled around in her mind like a child’s toy. Her bluntness and brash nature had—perhaps, during the most important time in her life—wronged her. In the harsh judgments she placed upon Count Gloucester, she completely neglected all sense of grace and goodness in him. 

She confirmed, in the days spent at Rosedale, that he was the source of the good fortunes around her and the county. Taking pen to paper, she wrote down all the things he done in his short tenure as Count Gloucester.  

He brought in the mercenaries to deal with the poachers in Sauin. He improved the infrastructure in Sauin and other towns. He sought the employment of Ignatz at the parsonage and patronized his artistic career. He brought Bernadetta and Raphael back together and endured their mutual upset. His selfishness, his snobbery of five years past had changed, quite drastically. He was now a gracious, kind-tempered gentleman.

And, if Leonie is was trusting in her judgments—albeit them carefully and cautiously made now—all these changes, these acts were for someone.

Bernadetta and Raphael were called back in Derdriu, and departed shortly after the service. Bernadetta, to the side of her uncle to settle any remaining duties to his house and business, and Raphael to the many engagements of the Kirsten properties which were doing quite well throughout Leicester. They all bade the happy couple farewell and watched as the coach disappeared into the verdant meadows beyond Rosedale.

“I suppose we should be leaving soon.” Said Ignatz with a sigh.

“On the contrary, Mr Victor, I had wished to speak to you of business matters. I believe you are still occupying the parish, supported by my late mother.”

“Oh, i-indeed I am.” 

Leonie eyed the two and sensing an important discussion of business said: “Excuse me, I wanna go for a walk. I’ll be in the gardens.”

She turned her head too quickly, as to not see Lorenz’s eyes follow her shrinking frame. 

The day was darker, not quite as fine as it had been. It was a gloomy sky, threatened by rain at a later hour. Her shawl was scarcely enough, but the activity would make her cheeks colour and her body warm soon enough. 

The gardens spread before her like a storybook from her childhood. The rolling hills of emerald green. The gardens that were organized by flower genus and size. The small rose garden, planted by a loving ancestor and maintained by his descendants. The iron patio wares were hidden beneath the gazebo for the approaching finer weather.

In a short while, the Gloucesters would away to Enbarr for the social season. Due to his constraints and duties, Lorenz might have not stayed as long as he once did when he was a carefree bachelor and not yet a sleepless count. Yet Leonie was certain that a man of one of the oldest noble families in Fódlan would make his presence known during such an important and high spirited season.

She found herself drawn to the rose garden and took a seat on the marble bench along the exterior of the gazebo. Rosebud blooms greeted her with their green heads and beckoned her to take her rest. Though her knee did not ache—and in fact, felt quite well that day—she took the respite gladly. 

There. It was five years ago there that she was met with his proposal and rejected him. And five years later, she found herself regretting such a brash decision.

She had been too hasty in her judgments, believing only what she saw over a true analysis of character. And, if Leonie knew then what she knew now—his kindness, his grace, his care and civility—perhaps she would not have said no.

“Miss Pinelli?”

She looked up. A young farmhand approached her. A lad, no older than seven and ten years, with neat but economical clothes stood awkwardly before her. 

“Yes?”

Wordlessly, the farmhand held out a small letter.

“Who’s it from?” She asked, glancing down to the wax seal, looking for any symbol as to give away it’s sender. When she looked back up, the farmhand is gone.

Throwing propriety to the wind, she tore open the letter. It was a message from her grandmother, asking how she fared. At the bottom, in the awkward, almost-illiterate scrawl of the re-hired housekeeper, was a impertinent remark: 

… how foul it is to have to wait on Gloucester. If you need of an exit plan, my darling, simply lie and say my arthritis is gout and be off with you. Such a vile rat of a man. I write that with gratitude—I should have called him something much worse if I was not the slightest bit grateful to him!

Her stomach ached with anxiety and her foot began to bounce up and down. Lorenz’s reputation amongst some in Sauin was still that of his father’s: that he was a rich, spoiled young man with terrible manners and lacked kindness and was in excess of wealth. His kindnesses and generosity, while great, were handled with caution.

That afternoon, they said farewell to Ignatz. As he left, he happily told Leonie that he would be leaving the late Countess Gloucester’s parish, espoused at last to become an artist.

“Lorenz didn’t do that for you.” Leonie insisted, aghast.

Ignatz beamed. “He did!” He insisted. “He’ll cover my expenses. He’s dispatching me to Ordelia to paint his friend’s portrait as a belated birthday gift.”

“What about a home?”

“He’s assured me that he’ll handle it.” Ignatz smiled again. 

His horse was saddled and rode away in a canter, leaving Rosedale, and with it, Count Gloucester and Miss Pinelli behind.

The two stood in silence for a few moments, watching the fading figure of Ignatz and gazing at the countryside. Leonie met Lorenz’s gaze. They regarded each other in humble, aching silence, then both slowly turned towards the castle, their steps leisurely and slow.

“I had once wanted to be a painter.” Confessed Leonie.

The admission caught Lorenz off guard. He raised a brow. “You did?”

“I was okay at it.” Said Leonie, slightly aglow from the attention. “I gave it up to focus on more prestigious accomplishments. Like singing and the harpsichord, a little sewing. Horseback riding was my favourite. Painting is nothing compared to a woman who can ride side-saddle.”

Lorenz inclined his head toward her. “I am blessed with sisters, Miss Pinelli; I know the importance of accomplishments well.” He insisted. “And I dare say you know the finer points of conversation like a parson knows his parish, and have improved since we met.”

She smiled. “The parish, the patronage, the union… You’re more generous than I remember.” She murmured coyly.

Lorenz smiled. Leonie recalled her prior doubts in his ability to. “As I told you, I treat my friends with care and civility.” He said before adding with amusement. “And returning to the topic of music, Miss Varley said you were a singer?”

Leonie barked out a laugh. “I lack the essential ability to carry a tune.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He said. “Come, I wish to hear you.”

“Count Gloucester, I think you’ll be very disappointed.”

“Do not worry, Miss Pinelli.” He assured her as they climbed the steps into the great house. “I shall not make you do something you do not wish for.”

Silently, Leonie wished she acquiesced. 

Chapter Text

In the coming days, Lorenz publicly embraced the marriage of Raphael and Bernadetta, offering his hearty support and even his resources for them to unite. It was in every paper, along every social column and was the talk of Edgaria, which Leonie had gone into one day for a luncheon with Marguerite and Priscilla who quite doted upon her. It had been at their behest upon learning that Leonie had come from Sauin to Rosedale.

Both were delighted with her presence and showered her in the kindest praises and provided ample compliments. While Marguerite’s seemed a little forced and complacent, Priscilla’s was genuine and sincere.

“Are they to be married before Saint Macuil day?” Asked Marguerite, who had welcomed the wifely duties of social life—also known as needing to know everyone’s business.

Leonie had shrugged. She was more interested in what was on the menu for lunch and the type of tea Marguerite had ordered for the table.

“I do recall Lorenz’s rush to Derdriu that night. Oh, the guilt had consumed him whole! The poor man had barely slept for a week upon learning the identity of the addressee.” Marguerite gossiped. 

Leonie turned the conversation to Marguerite’s two children—a set of twins—and inquired after their health. She glowed with maternal pride and told Leonie all about them for a quarter of an hour, and began to talk of how her daughter would attend a finishing school and have her own governess like she. 

Tired of such social matters, Leonie turned to Priscilla and asked how she fared in politics. Priscilla proved more interesting, especially when she let it slip that she had raised her voice to Margrave Edmund after he insinuated something distasteful regarding the Gloucesters. Marguerite looked aghast, Leonie looked impressed, Priscilla just giggled.

Scarcely a day later, Leonie received a letter from Ignatz, announcing his arrival in Ordelia County, and his waiting on the most beautiful and short-tempered Countess Ordelia and her knightly husband. At opposite ends of the drawing room, Lorenz wrote letters of business and Leonie read Ignatz’s letter.

Aside from her somewhat-childish nature, bad temper, short-stature and sharp tongue, Countess Ordelia is not that terrible. In fact, she is quite steadfast. She insisted for her husband to sit with her—he is of lower rank, common born and Almyran—and blushed bright red as her husband told me of how they met. He cited it as a “very bappy” experience, which Countess Ordelia even smiled at!

Then, lower, he added:

Speaking of smiles, you had worn many at Rosedale. Tell me, are you still there? If you are, I’ll have to believe that it is nothing more than Count Gloucester being the most gracious of hosts.

Leonie sat back and thought. Slowly, she raised her eyes from the letter to the man seated a short distance from her. Throughout her visit Lorenz made no moves, no untoward actions, no aching proclamations in the rain. There was no mention of anything, any large, generous action. He called no attention to himself, instead, entertained Miss Pinelli like any other guest, doting upon her every wish from borrowing a chaise to convey her to the city to the indulgence of solitude. However, she did notice his wandering eye and his mouth, ever eager to engage in the tiniest of conversations with her.

Why am I still here?  She thought after realizing it had been almost two weeks since she’d learnt of the engagement and left Sauin. She had written the stable master that she was still away on business, though she had done little business aside from walking in the forests and hiking out to the fields of the estate and basking in the budding spring.

True, she enjoyed the grounds and envied their breadth and beauty, but was it enough to keep her there?

She needed occupation, for her mind was about to run mad with fretful thoughts. 

Folding Ignatz’s letter, she asked, “Do you like billiards?

Lorenz looked up from his letters with a quizzical brow. “I quite enjoy them, yes.”

Leonie smiled a little. “How come I knew you would.”

There was a moment of silence as Lorenz continued to compose and Leonie watched him. There was something beautiful about the effort, the focus he put into the simplest of tasks, like writing a letter or mending his pen.

She wondered if he had put that much care into the letters he’d written her. Just three: the rejection, the ingredients and the apology. It occurred to her, as she sat there and watched him, that she had meant to destroy all of them but never did.

Leonie rose and took a turn about the room, stretching her tired muscles. It was refreshing and filled her with a new appreciation for the drawing room’s light furnishings and openness. Lorenz’s eyes followed behind her, watching the hop of her pinafore’s hem as she walked, showing off her shiny leather riding boots.

“Did you want to have a game?” She asked.

Lorenz coloured and almost bent his quill. “Miss Pinelli, are you suggesting we play alone?” He turned to her.

“There’s no one else here.” She said. “Unless there’s been a mystery guest who I’ve managed to avoid during my stay.”

“There is only you.” He said softly. He cleared his throat, his face still flush with embarrassment and ardour. “But you know as well as I that it is improper for a gentleman and a lady to play alone.”

“I’m no lady. Not anymore at least.”

“Regardless, I would not ruin your reputation, Miss Pinelli.”

“I don’t care much for my reputation nowadays. It was never much anyways…” Leonie confessed then smiled down at him. “So don’t worry about me, your excellency.”

Lorenz looked almost swayed. Leonie came closer and looked down at him with his mound of papers. “You’ve been doing nothing but work all day,” as she said this, she turned her eyes to the wide windows which exhibited a drizzly scene outside. “besides, exercise and the great outdoors are sort of out of reach. I mean, I would go out for a walk, but getting sick doesn’t sound fun.”

“No, it does not.” He agreed.

She cleared her throat, drew her hands together and put on a beseeching, ladylike dulcet. “I, for one, think you deserve a break, your excellency.” He chuckled and she fluttered her lashes teasingly. “What say you, Count Gloucester? One game of billiards between old friends?”

Lorenz pondered for a moment, his brow knit and countenance pensive. He glanced up at her and murmured, “The staff are the soul of discretion.”

Leonie held out her hand and blushed when he took it and placed it upon his elbow.

Chapter Text

It was one thing to convince Lorenz to play billiards, but it became another hazard, another problem, to convince him to speak of matters other than his work.

“I want you to have a break.” She insisted as he showed her the billiard room.

“I fear I know little of breaks.”

Leonie rolled her eyes. “Then I’ll teach you.”

“I am certain you’d be a most agreeable teacher.”

She blushed and spoke, “Hey, we need something. A wager.” She said. “Up the stakes a little.”

“How does a hundred gold marks sound?”

Leonie winced. “That’s almost my salary for two months.”

Lorenz corrected himself: “A favour then?”

How can I ask more of you? She thought. “Fine.” Leonie agreed and pondered what she would demand and then quickly settled upon it.

“Name it and it shall be yours.” He said as he swiped the white ball from her. “Should you prevail against.”

Leonie plucked the ball from his hand and smirked up at him. “I’d like to call you by your name.” She said quietly. “In your home, of course. Not outside before others, I don’t want to damage your reputation.”

“I confess,” he held her gaze with his tired eyes. “that I too have little cares toward my name…” Murmuring lower, “But I would not taint Margie or Cillie’s…”

“It is…” Leonie murmured gently. “A nice name. Strong. Handsome.”

Lorenz coloured and cleared his throat. “I should say the same to yours.” Quickly and nervously adding, “Not handsome. Fetching, beautiful. Winsome.”

Leonie attempted to hide her delight and ludicrous pleasure at being called fetching behind a thin smile; a plain girl like her had never been called fetching before, barely even pretty in the days of her bloom. She reached for the pool cues and handed him one. “And your terms, Count Gloucester?”

He smiled coyly. “I should like to hear you sing.” He proclaimed. “I shall provide the spirits, a whole a distillery if needed, but I do hope it does not come to that. Now, Miss Pinelli, let us strike hands on the bargain.

As much as Leonie did not wish to sing, she did want to call him by his name for once, even if it was only for them to hear. She stuck her hand out and they shook. Quietly, she added, “And it’s Leonie. I fully intend to be calling you by your given name and I consider myself a fair person, so…”

Lorenz coloured again and acquiesced. “Indeed, Miss Leonie.”

“Just Leonie.”

“You may not care about your reputation, Miss Leonie, and I may not regard mine as much either, however I do have a sense of propriety that cannot be subdued. Forgive me.” Louder, as he set up the balls, he asked, “Life Pool?”

“Sure.” 

Quickly, Lorenz set up the balls—amber for him and violet for her—and Leonie chalked her cue. “I thought purple was your colour.” She mused.

“You obviously do not know me.”

She smirked. “Maybe not.”

Lorenz gestured to the table. “Ladies first.”

Leonie lowered herself to the table, guided the cue through her hands and shot the white ball at the triangle of amber balls. They split apart gracefully, splaying across the table like a firework display she’d seen once at the finishing school. She rose to her full height as Lorenz took his shot, the same burst occurring within her set.

Play occurred in quiet contemplation, brows knit in focus, cues threaded cautiously. Leonie, growing distressed with the quiet spoke up, “So, will you go back to Enbarr for the social season?”

“No, I will not.” 

“Really?”

“Yes,” he said as she took a shot, intending to sink one of his balls. It bounced between the corners of the table, then shot back towards the middle. She frowned. “I’ve far too much work to do here for such frivolity, as much as I would like to away.”

“Hm.” Leonie murmured as he sunk one of her balls expertly. She swore beneath her breath. “I would have thought you would’ve gone. Made a grand appearance.”

“Marguerite shall, on behalf of all the Gloucesters. Priscilla will remain in Derdriu, as she is as engaged as I.” He began to list all the problems: the wolves in Verona, a plight of bandits in a nearby forest, rising tensions in a nearby hamlet between two families.

“You know,” Leonie said as she twirled her cue. “I suggested this game as a break.”

“Indeed, I know.”

“Which was sorta code for you to take a load off, to stop thinking about work.”

He scoffed. “I am a count, Miss Leonie.” He insisted. “I do not have the luxury of not thinking about my duties.”

“Well you could at least not speak about it.” 

“Am I boring you?”

“No.” She leaned down close and sunk one of his balls, a smile coming to her face. “In fact, I admire that you’re so engaged with your people.”

Lorenz smiled softly. 

“However, I don’t think it’s good for you… Mentally, I mean. You need a break as much as anyone else.”

He remained quiet.

“If you can’t stop thinking, at least stop talking about it.”

“Then what shall you have me say?” He asked, drawing closer. Leonie grew still, her hands tightening around the cue. Lorenz leaned down and shot the white ball to the centre of the table. “Anything you desire will come from my lips at your request.”

“Well,” Leonie said, lowering herself beside him. She gazed at him without a sense of embarrassment. “What do you like? What makes you happy?”

Lorenz thought deeply as she drew back and sunk one of his balls. He met her triumphant gaze and spoke thusly: “I love to read.” 

“What sorta books?” She asked, rising to her full height.

“I scarcely have time to read…” He paused, as if holding himself back from saying ‘letters of business’ or ‘reports’. “But when I’ve a moment, I find myself returning to romances.”

“Do you have a favourite?”

“Yes.” He said, taking another shot. “Goneril’s Song.”

“Your excellency,” she smirked. “that’s borderline erotica.”

“I enjoy the prose!” He defended adamantly with a furious blush as she laughed at him. “Well, what do you enjoy reading, Miss Leonie?”

She shrugged. “Bernadetta read a lot of poetry to me, but I could never wrap my head around it. Too frilly and flowery…” She paused. “I think my favourite story is the Tale of Sauin.”

“Where might one procure it?”

“It’s a oral folktale.” Leonie explained. “My grandmother used to tell it to me a lot when I was little. Along with…”

He rose and held her gaze. “A what?” He asked earnestly. “Please tell me.”

“A song… Which the leader of Sauin supposedly penned.”

He half smiled. “Then I suppose you shall sing it to me.”

“What is it with you and singing?” She asked at last as she took a shot. The white ball barely tapped one of his two balls, just missing the pocket. She frowned and shook her head, wondering if she needed to practice with her bow and praying that her aim was not that off. 

“I adore music.” He explained. “I grew up with it.”

“Not surprising.”

“I learnt the pianoforte, Marguerite did too and Priscilla sings beautifully. The guitar and lute came naturally to Marguerite, but were not appropriate for a lady of her station to learn fully.” He explained. “I have always loved music. I do enjoy a good opera too.”

“Of course you do.” She leaned against her cue. “The romance, the drama, that is so you…”

“You assume you know me, Miss Leonie?”

“I can read you like a book.” 

He smirked softly, took another shot and then asked her, “I happen to know a former opera star… She was known as Miss Dorothea Arnault?”

“I think she’s Bernie’s friend.”

“She was the one to help me find Miss Varley, in fact.” Lorenz explained. “She is a most agreeable woman. A beauty too.”

Leonie rolled her eyes. “Of course you’d notice that about her.”

“I think it is a sin to not acknowledge such beauty.”

“Sure…” Leonie murmured, thinking once more of how he called her plain. “And what about plainness?”

Lorenz cleared his throat. “Once upon a time, perhaps. Though, my judgement of beauty as certainly changed. Those who were once plain are the most beautiful people to me now.” In a louder voice, he asked, “But I digress. We have spoken only of me. What about you Miss Leonie? I confess that I am not as versed in the mysteries of yourself as you are in me?”

She smirked, shot and missed again. “I like hunting. I had to give it up because my grandmother insisted it wasn’t ladylike.” She said. “But there’s a pride, an accomplishment in processing a hunt. I’ve a fur in my room at home, one of the first ones I shot by myself. It’s too small to be warm, but I… It makes me feel like proud.” Quietly she added, “I don’t think I could ever part with it.”

“I admire you for a such an accomplishment.” He said as he almost sunk another ball. “I do not have the stomach for hunting, though it is considered quite gentlemanly.”

“I figured as much.”

“What else do you like to do?”

Leonie thought. “I like to work.” She said earnestly and then thought of the horses at the stable. “I work as a stable master in a nearby town. It’s hard work and a few people are surprised when they see a woman tending to the stables, but the horses…” She looked up and met his gaze. “They’re so gentle and kind. They give a certain affection that humans can’t.”

Gently, he agreed. “I know exactly what you speak of.”

Leonie coloured and took another shot. Yet another miss. “It’s… It makes me feel accomplished. I love it, even if my hem is half an inch deep in mud and there’s hay in my hair.” She laughed softly and smiled. “I love to work, and work hard. The horses appreciate it at least. Though, some people have commented that it’s not a lady’s position.”

“You put your heart and soul into everything.” He said. She leaned against the table and Lorenz hunkered down, attempting to take his shot. His eyes lingered on her hands, tracing up her exposed forearms for a moment before focusing once more on the shot.

The final violet ball flew into the socket as she cussed and he smiled. Quickly, Leonie drew a gold mark—one she always kept in her left pocket in case of exigency—and set it on the table. “I purchase three more lives.”

“You are intent on winning, Miss Leonie?”

“I’m focused on not losing.” She replied, then added: “And I don’t want to torture your ears. This is as much for you as it is for me.” 

Lorenz smirked, then nodded. She pulled the balls from the pockets and set them up once more. “You are a hard worker, Miss Leonie… Perhaps in all other areas aside from feminine accomplishment.”

She mockingly gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “Sir!”

“Uh-bup-bup.” He said as she shot one of his two remaining balls into one of the pockets. She grinned with pride, and he smirked in vain. “I have seen your filigree work, Miss Leonie. The handkerchief that Miss Varley had left for you to finish? It left much to be desired.”

“My hands are more fit for a bow and arrow than they are for a needle and thread.”

“Which I admire.” He said, before chuckling. “Though, the face Miss Varley made was quite amusing.”

“No matter how many times she sets me up right, I always fumble…”

He drew back his cue and attempted to sink another ball. It flew into the pocket. Leonie teasingly frowned. She sunk one of his amber balls and smirked up at him. “One left.” She warned.

“I best tread carefully.” He said. “So, Miss Leonie, aside from playing the pianoforte rather tragically, and struggling with filigree work, what are you good at?”

“Well you’ve danced with me before.” Leonie insisted.

“Ah yes, your lightness of foot. You are a lovely dancer. I recall that clearly.”

“And I’m great at conversations. Can’t say I’m not.” 

“Indeed, I’ve scarcely thought of work this past half hour.”

Leonie paused. “Maybe those are the only womanly accomplishments I do have.” She murmured.

“Womanly or not, you are quite adroit and skilled.” He said as she drew back her cue. “I hope… I hope this is not the first time I have told you this, Miss Leonie but…”

She took her shot and stared at the green baize of the table. Just as he spoke, she sunk his final ball.

“You are an exceptional individual.”

Leonie froze. Her heart thundered hard in her chest, stuttering as the room went silent. She blushed a deep red and quickly reached for the coin on the lip of the table.

“It’s my game.” She said brightly, as to detract from his comment. 

“So it is.” He quietly acquiesced.  

With a forced laugh, Leonie straightened up and avoided his eyes. “Will you purchase more lives,” she twirled the coin between her index and middle fingers and teasingly asked, “Lorenz?”

“No, for I know when I am beat, Miss Leonie.” He said softly. 

She smirked, expecting him to put away the pool things. Instead, he closed the distance between the two of them. Once more she panicked and swallowed back her fear as best she could.

“I must away to my work, for an extended absence will deprive me of my duties as a host. But…”

He took her hand tenderly, shaking in a mixed courtly way and in a good sportsmanship. “Since you have championed me, perhaps you will do this poor loser a favour?”

Nothing can repay his kindness… She thought. “Depends on what it is.” She said gently.

“I dearly wish to know how you sound when you sing. Mr Victor and Miss Varley made references to it, but I—” He paused, his face adorned with the slightest blush. Still holding her hand reverently, he gave it a gentle squeeze. “I wish to know the sound of your voice for my ears.”

Leonie gently cleared her throat. “Like I said before, I’ll need a drink to get me loosened up…” She said softly. Quickly, she added: “For a concert, I mean.” 

For a moment, she thought he would kiss her hand. In fact, she hoped for such a show of romance and ardour. But instead, he merely lowered their intertwined hands and pulled his away. “I am already engaged with work tonight. But will you be free tomorrow evening?”

Wordlessly, she nodded. The ghost of a smile crossed his face as they left the billiard room.

Chapter Text

After a night of tossing and turning and thinking upon the billiard game, Leonie woke. The lady’s maid came in to help her hair, then offered her a letter in the gentleman’s handwriting. Leonie took it and read the contents:

Rosedale Estate, Edgaria
29th of the Great Tree Moon, Imperial Year 1188

Miss Leonie,

I regret that I will not be able to host you today. A pressing engagement has called me to Edgaria for the day. Do not fret, as I should not be longer than a few hours, back in time to sup with you, and if you should still be so gracious and willing, sing with you. 

The grounds, house and staff are at your disposal. Walk the rose garden, explore the wood—pray, do not hunt, for I should surely faint if I saw your hands bloodied from processing your prize. Do as you please, no wish is too great. 

Only ever yours,
Lorenz

She focused on his letter, then thought once more of what he said.

He thought her an exceptional individual.

Flattery and honeyed words did not seem his style, so she was inclined to believe him. Leonie took breakfast alone, musing on such matters and driving herself half-mad.

Was he still in love with her? Had his feelings changed? She was inclined to believe it; she wanted to believe it. He had been most attentive towards her, doting and kind. He did not smother her, did not force any unwanted affections upon her, though, as she breakfasted and mediated on such matters over a cup of tea, she found herself wishing he had.

She thought back to the day prior, wishing that he had kissed her hand. 

Leonie coloured and cast the thought out of her mind, then turned back to her room to dress in her tunic and pinafore and riding boots. Donning her coat, she walked outside. It was dreary, the sky painted in grey shades that warned of an impending storm. For the moment, though, the rain had let up and brought the browned grass alive. 

She found the stables quite quickly and was greeted by the master. She introduced herself. “I’m Leonie Pinelli, Lor—” She caught herself. “Count Gloucester’s guest.”

“Ah yes, he’s spoken of you.”

She felt a swell of excitement in her chest but forced it down with a smile. “Of course he has.”

The two walked into the stables, calling out their arrival. The master, who introduced himself as an eager young man named Elias, showed her where they kept the tacks, bridles and saddles. Leonie recognized the crinkled, cured leather from her own saddle. 

Elias spoke, “He said you were a stable master yourself, and that you were an accomplished rider.”

“That I am.” She nodded to her brown mare in the stall closest to the door and smiled when she saw that she was dressed with a brightly woven blanket from Sauin, one that she had not brought herself. The colours ebony, amber, mustard and evergreen, a handsome selection. “There’s my girl there.”

“A beautiful mare.”

Leonie leaned close and playfully told Elias, “I’m sort of going stir-crazy inside. His excellency has left for the day and I’m not much of an indoor person. Do you need a hand out here?”

Elias set her up with clearing the stalls first, then brushing the horses. The repetitive work soothed her racing mind and allowed her to think. 

Before she had realized it, the lunch hour had lapsed and it had begun to rain. Elias had excused himself to take his lunch and Leonie was left alone with the horses.

She heard hooves and stopped plaiting a white stallion’s mane. Her fingers tangled in it’s hairs, she was frozen.

Then, at the end of the stable, she heard the call of a visitor. Instantly, she recognized his voice as he turned the corner and entered. With leather reins in hand, Lorenz guided his horse in. Upon noticing her, he smiled, glowing like the newborn moon. His face was flushed with exercise and the cold, for the ran had brought with it a springtime chill.

“Hello Miss Leonie.” He greeted with an incline of his head. His hat, coat and boots were wet with the rain.

“Hello Lorenz.” He coloured as she said his name.

“How come I knew you would come here.”

Leonie shrugged as she took up plaiting once more. “You can read me like a book?”

He smiled harder as she finished dressing the stallion’s mane and assisted him with towelling off his own steed. Together, they led the horse into the cleaned stall. After, Leonie turned to him, his face still red and afflicted with a slight pallor. 

“You look tired. Are you alright?” She asked with concern.

“Just the ride.” He insisted. Then he quickly added, “I will take a short rest. Some tea too. I have an engagement this afternoon that I will not miss.”

Leonie coloured slightly and nodded. “If you have any needs…” She paused and strengthened herself. “Once you sent a doctor to assist my village. If you’re sick, I’ll do the same for you.”

Lorenz coloured and nodded. “I appreciate the sentiment, Miss Leonie.” He bowed and she curtseyed. “If you’ll excuse me.”

He left rather quickly, and behind him, Leonie swore and threw an errant comb against the wall.

Thankfully, Lorenz was not ill. They supped together—a meagre two courses of soup and then roast pheasant. The meal was lovely. As promised, he provided her with alcohol—a small glass of brandy which he also partook in—which made him rosy with the stimulants and her stone-faced.

They went to the parlour, where a second, smaller pianoforte sat. The room was quiet and cozy, with two sofas facing each other before a slow-burning fireplace and the pianoforte tucked in the corner, closest to the window.

Leonie had retrieved a shawl from her room before the start of supper. Her pinafore, as Lorenz insisted that dressing for supper was unnecessary, was insufficient for warmth and the shawl did little more for her.

Noticing this, Lorenz rose and threw another log upon the fire and glanced back at her for approval. The lady graciously nodded her head before she sipped her brandy, the alcohol running warmly down her throat.

“Are you much of a drinker?” She asked as he sat down. He had drunk less than she, nursing his drink gingerly. Leonie had almost finished her glass.

“Not brandy.” He said. “I prefer wine.”

She snorted softly. “Why am I not surprised.”

“I enjoy a good port or Madeira.” He said, before adding, “When it is completely not frozen over, Gaspard territory produces a lovely ice wine which is not cheap. Upon your leaving, I shall impart you with a bottle to share with your family.”

“Is it sweet?”

“Very.”

Leonie smiled a little. “I think I’ll like it.”

“I am certain you will.” He brought his glass to his lips and tipped it back. “What type of music is there in Sauin?”

Leonie blinked. “Oh…” She pondered for a moment. “Harvest songs. We sing them a lot to make the time pass when taking in the crops.” She said. “Lots of fiddles and lutes, tambourines. My neighbour has a drum.” Quickly, she added, “What am I saying… You’ve been to Sauin and attended an assembly there.”

“But I’d much rather hear you talk about it.”

Leonie took another drink. “I think what you mean is that you’d rather hear me sing.” She pointed a finger at him. “I know you, Lorenz.”

“Indeed,” he said tenderly. “you do.”

Leonie flushed a little, then threw back the rest of her brandy, the alcohol rushing to her face and turned it red. She felt a rush of heat to her face and pressure to her head. “If you don’t like brandy so much, why’d you call for it it?”

“The chill of the evening, and I assumed,” he said quietly. “that you’d enjoy it. You don’t seem the type to enjoy wine, and gin seemed unlike you.”

“And you know me so well?”

“I wish to.”

Leonie coloured again, insisting to herself that it was the alcohol and not such sentiments. She cleared her throat and reached for the pitcher of water, drank a bit and watched as Lorenz wordlessly lifted the decanter of brandy, as if to ask ‘another glass?’

After a nod of her head, he filled it. Lorenz took up his own glass and held his hand out to her. “Now, shall we?”

Leonie sighed and took his hand. “No use delaying it. I keep my word.”

Lorenz graciously inclined his head in gratitude. Her rough hand in his, he guided her towards the pianoforte. Similar to a pianist she’d once seen in Enbarr, he fanned the tails of his coat behind him before sitting down. He stretched his hands, slid up the cover of the keys and began to warm up his hands.

It occurred to Leonie, quite quickly, that Lorenz was much more proficient at music than she. Previously, she would have taken this as an insult, and a week ago she would have shrugged and seen it as an opportunity to laugh. But in that moment, she did not want to be passable or even good; she wanted to be accomplished, to be amazing.

She cleared her throat and attempted to sing her scale as a warm up. Her voice had always been off-key and thin, regardless of the amount of time spent practicing by her grandmother’s insistence. Her voice had always been better suited to discussions as opposed to arias.

“How does it go?” Lorenz asked once properly loose and ready to play. 

“Oh,” Leonie murmured. She leaned closer, over the pianoforte and near him, their faces just inches apart. “Here, follow me.”

Her hands rested gently over his, guiding him to the proper keys. Together, their fingers depressed key after key in a repetitive form. “Just like that,” she advised gently.

“I believe I understand it now.” He replied gently. 

As he played, she sang, her voice not quite as she hoped. And once she had finished, Lorenz glanced up at her. “I confess, Mr Victor and Miss Varley were correct.”

Leonie sighed and rolled her eyes with a smirk on her face. “I warned you.” She gestured to her glass. “The brandy didn’t help much.”

He chuckled softly. “I cannot judge on such matters, I had not heard you without it.”

“I promise you,” she sat down beside him on the bench. “it would have been way worse.”

Lowly, he asked. “What is your favourite song? The one your grandmother sang you?”

Leonie coloured again. “Oh.” She murmured. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” He insisted. “To you, at least. Please sing it to me.”

She met his eyes, his gaze pleading. Leonie swallowed and drew the cover down on the keys. His face fell a little.

Leonie shut her eyes and sang.

“Rest your head my dear
Lay to rest every fear
Close your eyes, do not weep
Close your eyes and submit to sleep

Hm-hm-hm-hm-hmm

Dream my darling of times in spring
Where we laid in a golden ring
Where you loved me and I loved you
Such simple prayers, such simple truths

La-da-da-da-daaah

Listen now to the river
Draw close to me thither
Fall asleep now my sweet
For at dawn, again we shall meet.”

Leonie stared at the pianoforte before her. Her face was warm with embarrassment, her eyes intent to focus on nothing more than the ground until she left the parlour.

“I feel I must echo what I had said yesterday.”

Her eyes dragged up the instrument. She swallowed hard and finally looked at Lorenz, his gaze soft and flickering across her face. “You are an exceptional individual, Leonie.”

She felt herself colour at her name and smiled. “Thank you, Lorenz.” She said softly. “I know you’re not one for flattery, so it’s… I appreciate it. And, if I may tell you this, you are an extraordinary person yourself.”

He smiled genially. “How far we have come…”

Leonie could not but laugh from incredulity. “From strangers to enemies to friends.”

“Indeed.” He concurred and under his breath he added, “Though, I’ve begun to think of you as rather something more.”

“Huh?” Not believing her ears, she asked, “Sorry, what’d you say?”

“I said,” his voice rising higher. “I hope we’ll always give each other support.”

Leonie’s gaze softened as Lorenz cleared his throat and rose. “I for one am quite tired. I hate to be such a rude host, but I must bid you adieu.”

Leonie got to her feet as well and nodded. “I’m pretty tired too.”

“Will you allow me to see you to your room?”

She nodded and took his arm, revelling in how close she was allowed to be next to him, feeling the warmth radiate off his body and the gentle scent of rose cologne that he had recently applied before supper.

They shared a bittersweet goodnight. Leonie shut the door, her heart racing wildly, her stomach rolling like the sea, and her face as red as a rose. She shut her eyes, trying to steady her flittering nerves and began to prepare for bed.

Chapter Text

Leonie found no comfort in the ritualistic recital of preparing for bed. Her mind was yet again consumed with him, with everything he had done for her, his newfound grace and kindness. And of course, the increasing displays of affection and care that he had showed her more and more. 

The silence on these matters—which both of them were sensitive to—drove Leonie mad. Three hours after they had said goodnight, she had still not resigned to sleep despite dressing in her nightgown and taking her hair down from it’s chignon. 

The clocks chimed midnight, the dawn of a new day. She paced, running mad to be without occupation and to be evaded by sleep so mercilessly. 

She loved Lorenz, of that she was sure. As much as a younger, more headstrong and hasty version of her would be loath to admit it, this wiser Leonie—with a heavy heart—could.

It was not the beauty of the grounds, the graciousness of her host, nor the kind deeds he had performed for his county that attracted her to him. Instead, it was a question that burned at her core—not regarding change of character, but change of feelings… Or lack thereof.

Hastily, Leonie pulled herself from the groove she had worked into the hardwood and pulled on her riding boots. She lit a candle, traced the halls until she came to the east wing, the private chambers of the count. She followed the beckoning, faded portraits and busts of former Gloucesters, their likeness forever captured in acrylics and marble. Disregarding her nightclothes and hastily snatched shawl, she knocked on his door.

He answered almost immediately. His face was lit by the glow of her candle. 

“Leonie.” He greeted. His voice was sharp, alert despite the hour.

“You’re not asleep?”

“I found myself unable to.”

“I couldn’t either.”

The two stood stiffly in the hall. Leonie found, as she stared up at him, that her bravado was quickly fading. “Lorenz…” She breathed quietly. “I need to ask you something.”

“Anything.” He promised.

She warned, “It’s not an easy question.”

“I will endeavour to do my best for you.”

In a quiet, nervous voice that was barely a whisper, Leonie asked, “Have your feelings changed?”

The gentleman simply stared at her. He swallowed. His face tensed. His jaw set, then his lips parted. “Please, come with me.”

He donned a dressing gown over his sleeping tunic and trousers. Lighting his own candle, he shut the door to his room, took her hand and led her down the hall to his study. Twin candles followed down the east hall, setting them in a warm amber glow.

The room was lined with shelves and books and smelt of old pages and ink. At the end of the study was a writing desk, piled high with letters of varying concern and importance. With the tall stacks, Leonie assumed that the count had triaged them according to need and resources.

A large window overlooked the rose garden below. On the ledge was a vase of wilted flowers, neglected by the owner of the study. The more Leonie looked, the more untidy the room became, and the more she wondered if this truly was his study.

The door shut behind the two of them. A silence fell between the two like fresh snow with the fading chill of winter. 

Lorenz remained turned away from her, his head lowered. His hand still on the door handle, his voice soft, he replied:

“No. They remain unchanged.”

Leonie remained silent. 

Slowly, he turned to face her. His countenance uneasy, his eyes focused on her own. “But Leonie, if your own feelings are still what they were long ago, then tell me now.”

Slowly, as if she were reaching out to touch a skittish animal, she took his hand back. Leonie held his gaze with marked admiration and regard and for once in her life, remained silent.

“Leonie,” her name rolled off his tongue so naturally. “you must know that everything was done for you. That you have helped to make me a better man; all merits are to you, never to me.”

She half-smirked. “Don’t be so humble… It’s not your look.” She squeezed his hand affectionately. “But… Why do you still… Um…”

Lorenz looked at her earnestly. “Love you?”

She coloured. “You say it so easily.”

He laughed sweetly, his other hand clasping around hers with gentle reverence. “Calculating tax mergers and redirecting funds is difficult… Discovering the feelings that I hold for you was torturous but naming them was simple.”

“Wow…” She blushed. “Then I’m sorry for the wait.”

“It will be worth it,” he said with great caution. “if… if your affections are the same.”

Leonie met his gaze. Closing the distance between the two, she took his hands in hers and brought them to her lips. “They are.” She whispered softly.

“Leonie,” he whispered. “please, allow me the immense privilege of taking your hand in marriage and the immeasurable honour of being your husband.”

She felt her face colour again. She dropped his hand, watched as panic momentarily crossed his face. Her fingertips brushed against his sharp cheeks. Leonie pushed herself on the tips of her toes and brought her lips to his in a breathless, aching kiss.

She smiled and pressed her forehead to his. “Your hand is the only one I’d hold.” She laughed to his overwhelming joy as he swept Leonie up in his arms and kissed her once more.

Chapter Text

It took some convincing to win over Radia, but Valentin welcomed Lorenz happily. 

Lorenz came back to Sauin with Leonie to officially ask for her family’s blessing to marry her. Radia dropped her teacup and Valentin—with least propriety and most joy—proclaimed, ‘I knew it! I just knew it!’

Albeit with a few more cuss words that made Lorenz blush.

He stayed in Sauin for a few days, observed the bounties of the village’s hunt and slowly blooming business in agriculture. The villagers had been shocked at the count’s appearance and were taken aback when he smiled and answered the question as to why he’d arrived:

“I am here with my fiancée, Miss Pinelli.” He’d said with a jovial smile. “We shall be going on a tour to see where and what improvements can be made to the towns and villages of Gloucester.”

Leonie had showed him her favourite spots of the village: the garden where she and Ignatz took their first steps, the meadow at the edge of town where she and Bernadetta had picked flowers as little girls, the village square where she met Lorenz for the first time. 

“But this,” she’d said, walking around the side of the house, “is my favourite spot.”

Lorenz stared at the back porch of the Pinelli home. His eyes fell on the warped and partially rotted boards, where hops and other perennial weeds pushed through the spaces in between. The soft coo of clucks from the chicken coop was heard in the distance. 

His brow furrowed. “This?” He asked with concern and disbelief.

Leonie nodded and hugged his arm, which caused the gentleman to blush. He had much acclimatizing to get used to, as commoners were more physical with affection than nobles. Lorenz would go onto to push himself to hold her hand before court and out in the ton for the next five years, blushing bright red each time he would attempt a display.

She pulled him closer to the porch. “Yeah. I know it doesn’t look like much but I had a big think here.”

“I shall give Mr Pinelli a loan—no interest—to build a better one—”

“You’ll do no such thing!” Cried Leonie. “Nothing will be changed about this awful little porch. Not a weed or rusty nail.” 

Lorenz acquiesced, though murmured under his breath, “Then I shall have a physician near by for your inevitable injury…”

Leonie smirked before quickly gasping. “Oh wait!” She cried out. She hurried up the steps which practically jumped as she climbed them. Lorenz lunged after her, ready to cry out to be careful. She disappeared into the little house by way of the kitchen entrance. 

In her absence, Lorenz admired the verdant garden which bloomed with life and hope. Beyond the garden and green, on the hearty, extended branch of an old oak, hung a small swing. He smiled at the thought of Leonie as a young girl, happily twisting and swinging upon it; her ginger hair fluttering in the wind and a jack-o-lantern smile upon her freckled face.

She hurried back out a moment, slightly breathless. “Here!” Leonie exclaimed, jutting her hands out with a purple silk handkerchief.

Lorenz’s brow furrowed, then his face paled with realization. “My handkerchief.”

“From that day in the park.” She said, taking his palm and opening it. “You gave it to me to wrap my knee.”

“Exactly that: I gave it to you.”

Leonie blushed a little. “You’re seriously not going to take it?”

“What is mine shall be yours very soon, my darling.” He said softly as she blushed. 

Leonie had the same growing pains to get used to: nobles preferred pretty, flowery language over an embrace or a kiss. She would struggle to keep composure when he called her any form of endearment for the first two years of their union.

Leonie, unsatisfied with such an answer, reached for his wrist. Gingerly, she wrapped the silk handkerchief around the spot in between his gloves and the cuff of his jacket. She smiled, pleased with herself. “There. It’s returned. It’s too fancy for my simple tastes.” She said as he went to argue with her again. Such bickering became the fruit of love and a symbol of their admiration. 

Leonie hopped up onto the porch and patted the spot beside her. Lorenz attempted to hop up once and failed, much to his bride’s snorting amusement. He soon climbed the rickety steps up the porch in a manner similar to a frightened cat’s low slink, and sat, cautiously, beside her. Leonie shifted closer, once again making him blush with her closeness to him.

“Why is this your favourite spot?” He asked. “Did you come out here with your mother a lot?”

“I did, but that’s not why. Though, apparently I took my first steps here.” 

Lorenz cringed at the thought of infant Leonie walking on such a dangerous porch. Though, he supposed, it was probably in better condition before now.

“I love the solarium back at Camellia Manor.” He said. “My father and I spent a lot of time there together. He was a… He was not what a noble ought to be, but he was still my father.”

His hand wrapped around hers and Leonie felt herself blush. “But tell me, darling, what is the reason.”

“I had my big think here.” Leonie explained. “I couldn’t sleep one night and I came out here and thought… I thought about what I wanted.”

“And that was?”

Leonie blushed harder, the tips of her ears turning red. “It was you, you fool.” She smiled. 

Lorenz coloured too. “Ah.” He hummed, and lower he added, “What a large think that must have taken.”

She playfully shoved his shoulder. “I sat out here and read Bernadetta’s letter: the one where she told me she was getting married and was coming to Rosedale.” She explained quietly. “I kept thinking about you and how you’d changed, and me, and how I’d changed.”

“So this was the spot you fell in love with me, was it?”

Leonie laughed. “Sort of, I guess.” She added. “It was the spot I realized everything you’d done for me.”

Lorenz smiled softly and looked down at the wildflowers and weeds that grew at their feet.

“Lorenz,” Leonie said softly. “thank you. For everything you’ve done.”

“No, Leonie.” He said looking at her. “It is I who must thank you.”

“Me?” She laughed and raised a hand to check his forehead for a fever. “I think you need to see a doctor.”

“No, Leonie.” He said. “If it were not for your hatred and distaste for me, I would not have opened my eyes and seen the corruption of the nobility… Of Gloucester.”

Leonie gazed at her fiancé. He raised his eyes to hers and then focused upon the lone swing at the edge of the Pinelli property.  His hand tightened around hers. 

“My education, my wealth was made off the backs of the common folk. After much meditation, I realized that Gloucester, my ancestor, had been a proud man, but a fair one. Upon much reading on his actions in books and records and his own journal, I came to the conclusion that while he was a man of finer tastes, he did not sacrifice the wellbeing of the common folk for his own benefit and luxuries.

“Somewhere along the way, his descendants—including me—forgot what the importance of the common folk and the respect and care they are owed as people.” He explained as his eyes scanned the quaint yard. “You alone had the gall to speak up, to force me to examine myself and my family, and to change. Thus, I feel guilt and must decline in taking any of your thanks, dearest.” 

His gaze returned to hers. “It was all because of you. It was for you, Leonie.” 

Leonie blushed. “I refuse to think it was just me.” She challenged. “You had to take those first steps, and you did. And, in truth, you made me re-examine myself and what I wanted.”

“Did I?”

“Yeah, you did.” Leonie said. “I judged you way too harshly… Many times, actually. Once… I realized my many mistakes, it helped me come to the conclusion that changing myself was not an option. Not anymore.”

Lorenz smiled. “How amazing,” he thought aloud, pressing his free hand to his chest and looking skyward. “to know that I assisted the great Leonie Pinelli in self-actualization.”

“Watch it, lover boy.” She teased with a gentle bump of her shoulder against his. “You only played a small role.”

“I will take whatever tiny part in the epic of your life.” He promised her as he kissed her attacking shoulder reverently. 

The village woman laughed softly before she slapped her hands down on the porch. Lorenz jumped as the porch rattled; she laughed harder as he admonished her for the fright. She hopped up, ran inside and swiped the bottle of ice wine he’d insisted on bringing and a mismatched pair of chipped teacups. She poured and offered him a spot of wine.

Together, they rose their teacups of wine as the sun beat down at on them with warmth and promise of a good spring. All around, prosperity graced the village of Sauin and Gloucester County.

“To change.” Lorenz prompted.

“And to new beginnings.” Leonie added.

They clinked their cups and drank their wine, then another and perhaps a third. By the time dinner had been served at the Pinelli household, the count was blushing with a haze of drunkenness over his visage and even Radia had to admit that he was the most amiable fellow. He spoke at lengths of Miss Pinelli’s fine qualities, everything from her sharp tongue to her exceedingly lovely figure to the hearty laughter and delight of all around the table.

Chapter Text

Marguerite’s children grew up to not marry well but for love. Shortly after Leonie and Lorenz’s wedding, she and children departed for the Empire, where they were well-fixed in the ancient traditions and customs of Adrestia. Though she grew to dislike her husband, she did not bear him for long and left him with the support of her brother and sister. Her long letters home to Edgaria often remarked that she was quite happily engaged with a local baroness in the closest of companionships.

Priscilla’s storied political career turned a corner when she spoke to her brother about the possibility of deputy work in Derdriu. The idea was well-received by the newly-ascended Margravine Edmund and her husband, Margrave Hevring, and was proposed before the Alliance Roundtable. It was quickly adopted and Priscilla acted as the first deputy count and soon became the full-time speaker for Gloucester County on behalf of her brother, Lorenz. She never married, instead whole-heartedly in love with bickering with other Alliance nobles. It was rumoured that she lived in the Derdriu administrative building, and the way to find her was to listen for inappropriate giggling. 

Valentin and Radia lived out the rest of their lives in Sauin, watching as it became a prosperous village once more. Radia saw her granddaughter married, and peacefully passed not long after their union, as if finally content to see her granddaughter finally settled. Though Radia had accepted Lorenz as her grandson-in-law long before that. Valentin taught his hunting skills to children all around the county until he passed and was renowned as one of Sauin’s best hunters.

Ignatz went down in history as an acclaimed painter. Supported by Lorenz and Leonie, he travelled all of Leicester and even out into the Empire and Kingdom. He painted portrait and landscape alike, and quickly became patronized by many other nobles, including the Gautiers who had been a great lovers of the arts and the Queen of Brigid who had met him through Mrs Kirsten. With newly-graduated art collegiate Maya Kirsten, he opened the Victor Gallery of Arts, the very first art museum in Leicester. His incredibly industrious career made him a well-known figure in both the artistic world and in society. It was rumoured that Ignatz had enough funds to build a private vacation home off the isles of Brigid, where he retired to during the coldest months of the year.

Bernadetta and Raphael were married, with her uncle’s hearty blessing, under the newborn Verdant Rain Moon, at ages 25 and 26. With Bernadetta’s financial knowledge and Raphael’s eagerness to provide the best for his guests, the Kirsten Cottage Inn chain took off and, like it’s proprietors, flourished. They quickly repaid their loans to Count Gloucester and reentered Alliance society as the most giving of people. 

With such an advantageous marriage and desperate for cash, Bernadetta’s father, Gregoire, welcomed her back into the family. Bernadetta, who was no longer frightened of her controlling father declined each letter with the hearty support of her very muscular husband. Together, they raised a daughter and two sons, who took over the business once their parents happily retired to Raphael’s hometown of Verona.

Sauin became a prosperous village. With additional funding, they were even able to open a school for mercenary work so the villagers could protect themselves against poachers and bandits. And Edgaria, where many nobles and residents had been annoyed by the rerouting of funds outside the city, learnt to be gracious for what it received, especially after the new Countess Gloucester paid a visit.

The wedding of Leonie Pinelli to Lorenz Gloucester, held at Victor Parsonage, held under the late Harpstring Moon, was cited as the beginning of a new era in Gloucester. Leonie insisted on playing an active role in the political affairs of Gloucester. Many villagers and commoners were still hesitant to trust Count Gloucester and often were more open to speaking to his wife, who arrived on horseback and was always ready to find solutions to problems.

As Count Gloucester, Lorenz dedicated his rule to bettering the conditions for the common folk. The work was never ending and hard, but with Leonie’s support, the two managed to improve conditions in Gloucester immeasurably. With the help of Priscilla’s voice and influence at the Roundtable, their reforms spread across the width and breadth of the Alliance and benefitted all. 

They had a large family, comprised of foundling children Leonie had crossed paths with during her work—affectionately entitled her “apprentices”—and children achieved through the act of passionate love. They received their educations not at private academies, but instead in the newly-formed education system, where no loans were necessary to attend. It had been the brainchild of Leonie, affectionately conceived after recovering Lorenz’s first letter to her grandmother.

The couple went down as an extraordinary lord and lady. And while their names were taught of in history books and dramatized in plays and film, they were most well-known for the Wild Rose Festival: a patriotic celebration in honour of the first Gloucester. It is a tradition for one to plant roses—though many these days plant whatever flower they please—for their love with the intention of giving them under the Garland Moon, as Lorenz did each year for Leonie.

Miss F’s Society Papers
31st of the Harpstring Moon, Imperial Year 1188

_________________________

Rosedale Estate has a mistress at last it seems. His excellency, Count Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, aged 26, of esteemed Gloucester County has wedded Miss Leonie Pinelli, aged 27 on Sunday, the 28th day of the Harpstring Moon. The wedding was conducted at the former Victor Parsonage, with dear family and close friends in attendance.

The bride, formerly of Sauin Village, was dressed in rather plainly in a white muslin gown. She wore little jewelry, excusing a rustic-looking necklace. However, her hair was lavishly braided into a top knot and adorned with a single red rose. She radiated a beauty despite her obviousness plainness, and, as this author presumes, will be the envy of noblewoman and common girl alike. The groom was adorned with fine silks and satins, befitting of his style and class. As his bride did, he wore a single red rose pinned to his breast. 

The wedding breakfast was held in a happy occasion, where the bride rose a tankard and made a rowdy toast to her husband to all (including his) blushing surprise. Before the wedding carriage pulled away, the Gloucesters were spotted throwing silver and gold onto the wedding guests and passerbys in the street. Upon settling in their carriage and setting out for Rosedale, one attendant with his hands full of silver remarked that he had not seen a couple more blessed with beauty, graciousness and love than they. 

“Are you almost finished editing that?”

Lorenz glanced up as Leonie came through the door of his study. He rested a finger to mark his spot and smiled at the arrival of his wife.

“Almost.” He replied. 

“What did Bernie call it again?”

“‘First Impressions.’” Lorenz replied as she crossed the study with a tankard of ale and a glass of wine in her hand. “Though, I think it needs a new title.”

“That’s a problem for her.” She proclaimed. “I’m sure I’ll get many anguished letters of Bernie trying to come up with an appropriate title.”

“I do not doubt that she will be writing often to you.” Lorenz said as he took the glass from her. He inclined his head in gratitude before he sipped his wine. “Has Piper been put to bed? They refused to leave the stables this evening, I almost had to carry them away. 

Leonie nodded and a heaved sigh. “After like ten bedtime stories. I’m telling you, Bernie needs to pause this book,” she jutted a finger at the offending manuscript, “and make another storybook. That kid will read through them all by the spring. The thing’s as thick as your ego!” 

He chuckled softly beneath his breath.“If only she could put down the quill for this piece.” He gestured to another two stacks. “This is the third, and I pray, the last of the volumes. I do not know where that woman gets the energy to write with being a proprietress of inn houses.”

“And the three rug-rats. Though, last time I was out there, she was calling the shots and Raphael was out with them.” Leonie shrugged. “I don’t know how she does it.” She said with a smile, then quickly added, “Oh, and the others are out like lights. Nothing like ol’ Pipes.”

“A good day at the stables will do that to them.”

“Nothing quite like good fresh air.” Leonie agreed and sipped her ale. “After all, what are men compared to rocks and mountains?”

Lorenz smiled as he continued down the page, his eyes growing glassy. He had recently become in touch with his emotions, as a noble upbringing had starved him of touch and a regal job deprived him of expression. 

That, and the protagonist’s sister had run off and been supposedly lost to the family. Lorenz thought of such a fate befalling Piper or his other children and it chilled him. 

“Wow, it really turns on the water works, huh?” Leonie joked as she took a swig of her ale. She sat up on the desk and nudged his glass of wine closer to him. “Go on, drink up, lover boy.”

“I’d wish you’d choose more pertinent pet-names to describe me.” Lorenz sniffed with false disdain.

Leonie leaned close. “Oh come on, it’s one of the reasons why you love me.” She smirked before coyly adding, “Mr Pinelli.”

Taking the opportunity, he closed the book and brought his lips to hers. “You’re right, Mrs Gloucester.” He laughed as she looked dazed from such a kiss. “It is one of the many reasons. I fear I could not count them all, or else I would be occupied for the better part of a year.”

Leonie sat back on the desk and with her head tilted to the side. A smile crept across her face as she grazed the page with her eyes. “Wow, Lizzy’s sorta hasty, huh?” Lower she added, “I don’t like her all that much.”

“I doubt Bernadetta would like that comment upon her character.” But quietly, Lorenz murmured, “Though her Darcy is a smear upon the gentry. What a pompous fool. Thank the Goddess that Bernadetta did not write about the nobility.” And even lower he commented on the ridiculousness of his name, Fitzwilliam.

“I do like Jane.” Said Leonie. “She’s hot, nice, minds her business.” Quickly and sheepishly, she added, “From what I’ve read in between work and the little ones.”

“And Bingley is just ought a nobleman should be. Sensible, good-humoured, lively, handsome and…” Lorenz smirked. “conveniently rich.”

Leonie slipped off the desk, moved behind him and rested her head in the crook of his shoulder and read. After a moment, Lorenz heaved a sigh. “Do you wish to read it?” He asked with feigned annoyance. 

She smirked and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “No. Buuuut, I might listen if you read it to me.”

Lorenz smiled and the two got up, collecting their beverages and the volumes. They settled on the chaise longue in the middle of the room by the fireplace, where the flames licked at their legs. Leonie stretched out and staring at the ceiling and Lorenz sat, with her feet in his lap and the first volume of the manuscript in his hands. He flipped all the way back to the first page, took a heady sip of wine and cleared his throat. Smiling at his wife, he read the first words of the manuscript:

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

FINIS.