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Chapter Text

Cleo lost herself in the rhythmic thuds of the horse’s hooves against the dirt, sighing. Today was her last day of freedom. She had been married last week to the Earl of Essex, and she didn’t even know the man’s name. Cleo and her father were on their way there now, so she could fulfil her duties as his wife, bear him children, and stand by his side for many years and…

The mere thought made Cleo want to vomit.

But this marriage had been arranged since she was a child, and she couldn’t let down her father.

She shook herself out of her thoughts as the enormous house suddenly came into view: the architecture seemed slightly out-of-date to Cleo, maybe 14th or 15th century, but it was beautiful all the same.

The light greyish bricks match nicely with the dark slate tiles of the roof. The arched windows were gilded in sunlight, staining the white grilles golden. Cleo was in awe, she tried to imagine the kind of things kept in a huge house like that. Maybe exploring this immense house would be her saving grace.

She kept her eyes trailing over the house as she slid out of her saddle. She tore her eyes away and looked herself over. Cleo smoothed out the creases in her petticoats and adjusted her dark shamrock green corset. She wasn’t ready for married life, but she was 25 now, and her father insisted he could delay it no longer.

She sighed, goodbye freedom.

Her father dismounted and they walked in a tense silence toward Cleo’s new house. It seemed as though her father wanted to say something to her, but he couldn’t find the words. His face kept making this weird expression, some sort of mix between constipation and uncertainty.

Their relationship had never been a particularly close one, but she was leaving him. Moving out. It wouldn’t kill him to say something to her, would it?

The large, ornate door stood before them. Her father had taken time off from his accounting job to bring her here, but had insisted he would have to leave her at the door. The tension in the air could be cut with a cleaver, and the silence between them hung heavy and awkward.

“I suppose this is goodbye, Father?”

Her father looked at her. His expression made it look like he wished to say something, but he didn’t.
With a nod, he turned on his heel to leave. Cleo couldn’t bear to watch him go, to leave her so readily without so much as a proper goodbye. She faced the door and braced herself for the challenges that came with married life.

This new life of hers would have to become the norm, whether she liked it or not.

She knocked gently on the door, hoping that the Earl wasn’t in. She knew for a fact he was, but a girl can dream.

The door was pulled open by her new husband, a bright smile on his face. She tried her best to offer an equally wide grin, but she had a feeling it didn’t work.

*

She escaped from her husband’s enthusiastic yet uncomfortable presence as soon as possible, asking if it was okay if she acquainted herself with the building. This is what she was really excited for. Cleo had a passion for [architecture/interior design], and she was eager to explore this vast house.

The interior of the house was clearly more modern than the facade.

She made her way through the high-ceilinged hallways of her new house. Every few steps, there were oil portraits of people Cleo assumed to be the Earl's family. These portraits were covered with gorgeous, sweeping maroon drapes. One portrait, however, made her stop in her tracks. The man depicted looked oddly familiar, and Cleo wracked her brain to place him. Suddenly, it clicked. It was the King—King Charles II. Cleo's hand flew to her forehead in disbelief, and she couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation before continuing her adventure.

She next came to a large room. It seemed to be some sort of lounge room, designed for relaxing after dinner. This room was high-ceilinged too and had massive bay windows. There were a few small tables dotted here and there and three uncomfortable-looking sofas facing a large fireplace with a portrait of the Earl of Essex himself hung above it. There were a lot of plain wooden chairs littered around the room - oh. Someone was sitting on one.

Cleo was taken aback.

“Hello? I’m Cleo, Countess of Cheshire. Who might you be?”

The figure turned from their hunched over position at the table. It was a woman, Cleo was shocked to realise, a woman with stunning warm brown skin and shocking white hair. Her eyes were shielded by thick goggles.

This woman was a scientist. A real life, proper, woman scientist.

“I’m Saira. Saira Bellum.”

Cleo couldn’t stop the smile that broke out across her face. Saira Bellum. Cerebellum.
It was as if Saira read her mind.

“I know.”

Chapter Text

Cleo kept finding herself in Saira’s company. It was perfectly enjoyable, Cleo was finding out. It wasn’t awkward, like trying to talk to the Earl, or boring, like trying to be around most other women she knew.

They could talk about anything, or they could sit in a pleasant, comfortable silence and not say a word.

It was during one of these silences that Saira got a particularly far off look in her eyes, as if she’d left this world somehow.

“Saira?”

She snapped back into existence, jolting slightly.

“Cleo. Yes, what is it?”

“You look like you’re in a world of your own, a penny for your thoughts?”

Cleo raised an eyebrow, knowing it was probably something scientific which she wouldn’t understand. Weirdly, she wanted to hear about it anyway.

“Well, there’s this Dutch man. Van Leeuwenhoek, or something, and allegedly, he’s *improved* Robert Hooke’s design - that microscope I told you about a few days ago - and he’s apparently using it to look at ‘animalcules’. They’re these little mini animals he saw inside some kelp, apparently. I think the man must be drunk. He’s apparently writing to the Royal Society about it too!”

Cleo nodded hesitantly. She didn’t understand a lot of that, but she was pleased to hear it anyway. Listening to Saira talk was one of her favourite pastimes, and it didn’t even matter about what. She would be delighted to hear Saira talk about food, or her home in India, or even science. It was all fine by her.

“That’s… fascinating.”

“Thank you, Cleo. I know you don’t usually care for these sorts of things.”

“Somehow it’s better hearing it from you,” Cleo smiled.

They fell back into their comfortable silence for a moment, and Cleo was pondering a question.

“What’s your favourite thing to have for breakfast?”

They had fallen into the habit of doing this. Random questions sparked lively conversation, and they learned more about each other. These random questions are the reason they’ve become so close in such a short while.

“Good one Cleo,” Saira paused to think. She always took these questions so seriously. “I think… Deviled eggs. What about you?”

“..Ambergris and eggs. I’ve heard His Majesty King Charles II is quite partial to it as well.”

Saira nodded.

“And, what exactly do you enjoy about eating whale phlegm?”

Saira quirked an eyebrow. Cleo loved how she challenged her, even if it did get slightly annoying sometimes.

*

Cleo usually preferred to take her dinner with Saira in the parlour. She had to be married to the Earl of Essex, but it didn’t necessarily mean she had to spend time with the man.

When the maid that usually brought her food entered the room empty handed, Cleo couldn’t help the quiet noise of disappointment that slipped from her lips. Saira snorted and the maid looked taken aback.

“Milord has… requested your presence at the dinner table, Countess Essex.”

Cleo looked at the girl.

“Alright.”

She rose, graceful as ever, and gave Saira a nod, who wished Cleo good luck with her eyes.

Cleo followed the maid into a large, ornate dining hall. A long table that could easily seat twelve covered most of the room with an exquisite crystal chandelier hung above it. The walls were painted a gorgeous red, complimented by a bearskin rug beneath Cleo’s heels.

Her eyes finally fell on the Earl himself. He was a large man, pot-bellied and squat. He was almost twice her age, and he looked it, too. He had a crop of coarse blonde hair and grey-blue eyes that showed he’d seen things in his time. The Earl grinned broadly from his place at the head of the table.

“My wife.”

Cleo tried to swallow the worst of her disgust.

“Your Lordship.”

She dropped into a shallow curtsy, and the Earl scoffed light-heartedly.
“Please, my dear, there is no need for such formalities. We are married, for Christ’s sake.”

Cleo suppressed a shudder and took her seat. She subtly adjusted herself and her plate away from her husband in the most polite way she could manage. Cleo cleared her throat and indicated for the Earl to begin eating.

He did so, without hesitation and without complaint. He began shovelling great mountains of food into his mouth, and Cleo took this as an invitation.

They ate in relative silence, the only sounds being the smacking of the Earl’s lips (honestly, you’d think a man with such status would have better manners, Cleo tutted internally) and the ticking of the great grandfather clock that sat in the corner of the room.

Cleo and the Earl finished eating roundabout the same time, and Cleo hesitated before standing.

“I don’t have the appetite for dessert currently, may I be excused?”

The Earl paused to let out a great belch before obliging.

“Yes, alright.”

Cleo walked as quickly as she could without seeming rude, finding a strange comfort in the loud tapping of her heels on the sumptuous wooden panelling.

The hallway between the dining room and parlour was as extravagant as the rest of them, but Cleo had no time for that now.

She needed to get back to Saira.

Chapter Text

The awkwardness of the dinner with the Earl was still fresh in Cleo’s mind when she retired to bed that night. She had refused Saira’s offer to talk about it, mostly because she didn’t know what there was to talk about.

Why was she so repulsed by the man she was married to? Was it the fact that their marriage was arranged? Or the fact that he was 23 years older than her?

Cleo sighed and paced back and forth. Mercifully, she and the Earl slept separately, so she had no worry of waking anyone.

Was it the Earl himself she was disgusted by?

She didn’t think so. He was an alright man. Not someone she would willingly associate with, but he certainly wasn’t bad enough to spark the kind of revulsion she felt.

Cleo deflated and sat back down on her grand bed. These thoughts were too deep for how late it was.

As deep as Cleo’s discomfort in a married state was, she had to admit her surroundings were certainly pleasurable.

The Earl had clearly done his research on her because the whole room was coated in shades of green, which miraculously never clashed. She would need to speak to whoever designed this room, she was sure they’d be fast friends.

Her favourite part of the room was her bed. It was queen sized and lavish, with olive green sheets.The canopy was slightly lighter in colour, but it felt like a protective curtain to shield Cleo from all her unpleasant feelings.

She settled beneath the cosy sheets. She could revisit her internal interrogation later. Now was the time for rest in the most comfortable bed imaginable.

*

It struck her the next morning that although she had been here for nearly a week, the only interactions she’d had had been with Saira and the Earl. Saira had informed her that she would be working on sciencey stuff today, so it was Cleo’s choice whether or not she joined her.

Science wasn’t Cleo’s scene, so she decided that today she would visit the kitchens and acquaint herself with the servants. Cleo could smell the baking bread and eggs from down the hall.

Everyone dipped into curtsies and bows upon her entrance.

“Oh, please, no. There’s no need for that!”

She assured them, gesturing them all to stand.

Cleo smiled warmly at the kitchen staff, noting the nervousness in their eyes as they straightened their collars and smoothed down their aprons. She could sense their apprehension and their uncertainty about how to act in her presence.

“Please, go on with your work. I’m here to learn, not to be waited on.”

The servants resumed their various tasks with minimal noise. Cleo observed for a few moments before scoping out which of them was head cook.

“Good morning,” Cleo greeted her hesitantly. “I’m Cleo, the new Countess of Essex. I thought I might lend a hand in the kitchen today?”

The woman’s eyes widened in surprise for a moment, but she quickly recovered.

“Well, ain’t that a surprise.” She chuckled, giving Cleo a warm smile. “Name’s Martha. We’re always grateful for an extra pair of hands ‘round here. Get yourself an apron then, I’ll put you to work.”

Cleo had no experience cooking or being in a kitchen at all. Back home, she had had people who cooked for her. Still, she was willing to try.

Martha put her to work making bread dough with another girl called Bethan. They engaged in pleasant conversation whilst they worked, but more than once Bethan had to reach over to correct Cleo in what she was doing.

“Oh, Cleo,” She said gently. “You don’t want too much flour, because it tends to dry out the dough.”

Cleo nodded and scraped some floor off their worktop back into the pot.

After adding some dried fruit for flavour, everyone put all their various things into the oven, and they pulled some stools into a circle. The women of the kitchen were wonderful, different from many of the pompous and uptight aristocratic women her father associated with. They spoke of men whilst they laughed and a few of them drank.

The hourglass they had set when they put the bread into the oven ran out, so Cleo and Bethan moved to retrieve it. It looked delicious. It was the first thing Cleo had ever made, and she honestly felt a little bit like crying. Bethan offered her the knife to slice it, and she tried her best to keep it straight.

Once it was sliced, she plated some for herself and Saira.

“I’m going to take this up to my friend, she’s probably forgotten to eat.”

She smiled and nodded at Bethan and Martha. She’d properly meet everyone else later.

“Oh, right. That bread is for all of you, too. Take a break, eat.”

She smiled and left the room.

*

Cleo found Saira in her makeshift lab, a corner of the library Saira had commandeered.

She knocked on a bookshelf to alert Saira to her presence.

“Knock knock,” She waited for her to turn around. “I brought bread.”

Saira smiled and walked towards her.

“Thank you, Cleo.”

She handed the scientist her plate and started on her own. It was as delicious as it looked.

They ate in silence (Cleo was glad of it after the revolting way the Earl ate) and Saira had a smile on her face.

“Thank you, Cleo, that was amazing.”

Cleo felt heat rush to her cheeks and she gave a bashful thank you.

“No, seriously,” Saira put a hand on Cleo’s shoulder and suddenly Cleo couldn’t swallow. “It was brilliant, thank you.”

They stood in silence for a moment before Saira cleared her throat and backed away.

“Uh, I have quite a bit of-” She stumbled over her own feet. “Um, work to do.. And-and I’m sure you have more wonderful bread to make-”

Saira cut herself off and Cleo smirked.

“Yes, quite. I’ll see you this evening for dinner?”

Saira gave her a nod and smiled.

Good, things were back to normal, Cleo thought to herself as she made her way back to the kitchen. She wasn’t sure why she felt the way she did when Saira complimented her, or what that awkward silence was when Saira touched her.

But she assured herself she could think about that later. For now, the kitchens.

Chapter Text

When dinner was served later that day, it wasn’t the usual maid who brought it - Annie, Cleo had learned - but Cleo herself.

Roast pheasant, quail and a fine cut of beef. She threw together a small salad of fresh vegetables from the garden, too. Cleo herself wasn’t partial to vegetables, but she knew Saira enjoyed them.

She carried the plates laden with food into the parlour and gave Saira a smile.

They ate together, engaging in lazy conversation between bites.

When they had finished, Saira sat back, thoroughly satisfied.

“Thank you, Cleo.”

She smiled graciously in response as she felt her face flush.

Something caught her eye on Saira’s face.

The pheasant had been coated in a rather exquisite sauce, and Saira had caught some of it at the corner of her mouth.

Cleo giggled.

“Saira, you have some sauce just there.” Cleo indicated on her own face.

Saira swiped at her lips with her thumb, but missed horribly.

After five more fruitless attempts, Cleo took pity on her.

“Come here, I’ll get it.”

Saira leaned forwards over the cluttered coffee table and Cleo did the same.

She reached out and time seemed to stop. Saira was so close to her, she could just-

No!

What was that? Cleo asked herself. That was no way to think about your friends - especially not the female ones. That was strange.

Anyway, back to Saira.

She gently brushed her handkerchief over Saira’s cheek, before setting it down on the table.

Saira didn’t move.

Nor did Cleo.

They were almost nose to nose, faces inches apart. They looked into each other’s eyes, and Saira opened her mouth to say something, but Cleo cut her off by clearing her throat and sitting back.

Saira quickly did the same.

They sat in a tense, uncomfortable silence, agonisingly different to their usually pleasant ones.

Both avoided the other’s eyes; Cleo feigning interest in a mundane wooden end table, and Saira staring down at her hands.

It was far earlier than Cleo usually retired to bed, but she couldn’t bear this awkward and anxious environment any longer.

“Goodnight, Saira.”

She said as she rose, her voice more acrimonious than she had intended.

Saira’s gaze finally lifted to meet hers, and they stared at each other for a moment before Cleo cleared her throat and turned on her heel.

Cleo deflated when she got to her room.

She collapsed into the plush light grey armchair by the fire, massaging her temples.

What just happened?

Cleo had never been particularly close to anyone. Were desires similar to these typical between close friends?

She doubted it.

Cleo groaned frustratedly. She wished there was someone she could talk to about this.

She needed to clear her mind somehow, and sitting around thinking about Saira wasn’t going to cut it.

She decided a walk would be best. A familiar route would be preferable, but she would settle for the enormous amounts of land and gardens her new husband owned.

*

Cleo was feeling sufficiently relaxed as she strolled aimlessly through the large field she presumed the Earl kept for riding.

There was not much to see in this field, just long stretches of grass - for the most part uninterrupted. Wildflowers had sprung up here and there, making an otherwise mostly boring field just that little bit more colourful. Near the corner stood a tall beech tree, its wide branches looking down at Cleo. She abandoned her walk, taking a seat beneath it to watch the sunset over the horizon.

She began thinking about how beautiful a picnic spot this would make. The grass was not completely unruly, and the wildflowers would make fine additions to the scenery. Perhaps, she thought, she and Saira could come out here and eat breakfast together.

She wondered if Saira enjoyed crepes. Cleo had always admired French food. So delicate, so delicious. She thought about getting Saira to try falafel. She thought she would enjoy it. Cleo also wondered if there were any Indian recipes that Saira knew. It would be nice to trade food from their cultures.

Lost in her thoughts and daydreams about Saira, Cleo was oblivious to the quickly descending Sun and rapid approach of nightfall. She was shaken out of her musings by a cool breeze that ruffled her skirts and made her shiver. She was taken aback to find the grounds dark and most of the manor's candles and lamps extinguished. She dusted herself off and hurried back to her rooms.

*

The next morning, Cleo awoke feeling conflicted. She wanted to talk to Saira - as she always did - but could she trust herself to do so after last night? She had acted strangely, and she had no doubt that Saira had noticed. Cleo decided that calming breaths and some breakfast would do her some good.

She decided to have breakfast without Saira, thinking that some time away from her would make her feel more normal. She brought her pancakes into the drawing room, choosing to sit at the end of a long, engraved wooden table in the centre of the room. As she looked around, she realised this was the first time she'd been inside this room. The pale peach walls were painted ornately with plants and flowers, and the cushioned chairs were patterned in the same way. The designs were so intricate that Cleo wondered how long they must have taken to do by hand.

She looked down to her pancakes, which were now cold. She cut into them and finally began to eat. She thought about how much better these pancakes would taste if she were eating them with Saira. Cleo also thought about how much better everything seemed with Saira around. She had been apart from Saira for less than 18 hours, and yet she still felt as though she needed her presence like a fish needed water. Cleo was so lonely without Saira around. Maybe she needed more friends. Maybe then she wouldn't feel as though she needed Saira by her side.

This must be about wanting someone, Cleo thought, not wanting Saira specifically. Yes, she reassured herself, definitely.

*

Chapter Text

After dressing and pulling a comb through her hair, Cleo carried herself down the stairs with the newfound confidence that she wasn't in love with her female best friend. She immediately went to find Saira, but naturally, that doesn't mean anything. It was during her search for Saira that she realised just how big her new home was.

Cleo checked the usual places she found Saira, the parlour and Saira's library nook. When she found nothing but servants and maids, she opened her search to the rest of the house. There were rooms similar to what she had back home, multiple dining and drawing rooms, and a lot of rooms she was unsure of the function of. Still no Saira. By the time she reached the conservatory, she was very annoyed and completely ready to give up. As she huffed and took a seat in a delicate wooden chair, a glint of sunlight caught her eye through one of the huge windows. Of course! The grounds.

She pulled the glass doors towards her, and she stopped to admire the Essex landscape. It really was beautiful. Cleo came from wealth, but their land was nothing compared to the size and grandeur of the Earl's acres upon acres of stretching orchards and rolling fields. She realised with a sinking heart that this immense amount of land - beautiful or not - meant it would take forever to find Saira. She squinted over the grounds that must be at least eight miles across, and sighed heavily.

Although she still desperately wanted to speak with her best friend, she returned to her little patch of grass beneath the beech tree. Instead of just untamed, yellowing grass and sprigs of wildflowers, she found… Saira.

“Saira,” The word escaped from her lips in a breathless whisper. They held silent eye contact for a long moment, until Cleo noticed a small collection of off-white canvases and small jars of paint. “What are you doing?” She gestured to the objects littering the ground.

“You seemed.. well, upset, last night. At dinner.” Saira explained, fiddling with the hem of her long, white scientist's coat. Cleo felt a flush of shame and guilt spread up onto her cheeks. She opened her mouth to explain, but Saira held up a hand.
“You don't have to explain, but I've heard that painting can be relaxing.” It was the shorter woman's turn to gesture. “I was going to ask you at breakfast, but when you didn't come to eat with me, I didn't know what to do.”

Cleo felt guilty again. She had had some very confusing feelings about her best (and only) friend, but her actions had been selfish. The taller woman was brainstorming ways to apologise, when she suddenly felt the weight of Saira's smaller hand on her own.
“Are you okay?”

I was, Cleo thought. Just when she became sure that her feelings had nothing to do with Saira herself, Saira confused her all over again. Was this the way of female friendships?

“You mean a great deal to me, Saira Bellum.” The grin that spread across her friend’s face was worth the ache her heart gave. She wondered why it did that.

“Likewise. Now, shall we get to painting, Countess?” Saira laughed, and the pair spent the next two hours doing little else. Truly, Cleo did feel better. Laughing and painting with Saira felt like a healing salve for the worries weighing on her heart and mind. In that moment, they were just two young women having fun. She was not a Countess, worried that she felt romantically for a humble-

That train of thought came to a screeching halt. Come to think of it, why did Saira live at the Earl's Manor?

"Saira?” Cleo voiced, interrupting the other woman mid-way through cleaning her goggles. She hummed in acknowledgement. “Why do you live here? You aren't employed by the Earl.”

The shorter woman stopped, placing her goggles on her face with a thoughtful expression, she seemed to be contemplating her next words. “My mother, father and I used to live in a small, lackluster cottage just outside of the Earl's lands. It was all we could afford, even years after we came over from India, but it was enough for us. My father would walk to work every day, and my mother would teach me. She taught me to read, write, and experiment.” Saira’s eyes glittered with excitement at this last word. “When we lost my mother, my father didn’t know what to do. Our little cottage felt too big, too empty. Without her.”

Cleo paused, unsure what to say. ‘I'm sorry’ felt like too little. Before Cleo had the chance to decide on something to say, Saira continued. “Luckily, the Earl had taken a liking to my father. My father and I just live here now. In a way, my mother's death made this all possible. My father no longer has to walk two miles everyday. Us.” Saira stopped.

They locked eyes, and neither of them said anything for a moment. Then Cleo cleared her throat and looked behind her, back towards her husband's large manor house at the same time Saira averted her eyes down to her lap. There was another strained silence between them again, and Cleo mentally cursed her brain as it immediately started over analyzing Saira's demeanour and actions. The scientist had stopped talking after the conversation had turned onto their relationship. Did that mean something?
Cleo shook her head. She was being ridiculous. Wasn't she?

Just because Cleo had been feeling strangely about Saira, doesn't mean Saira was suffering through the same issues. She was fine. This situation was fine.

Cleo rose, brushing her hands down the green folds of her dress to smooth out the creases. She then extended her hand to Saira to help her up.

As soon as their hands touched, Cleo knew it was a bad idea. The sensation of Saira's hand in her own was one Cleo could get lost in. She wanted to feel the shorter woman's smooth skin under hers forever. However, just as quickly as their hands had come into contact, she felt Saira's palm slipping away from hers.

*

Having spent the majority of the morning together, the pair decided to go their separate ways before they reunited for lunch. Saira retreated to her library nook and Cleo found her way back to the kitchens to see Martha, Bethan and Annie. Cleo needed more friends, and they would make brilliant company.

Her mother and father would have criticised her for trying to befriend ‘the help’, but the non-aristocrats were much more enjoyable to be around than the usual company her family kept. She wondered if her 48-year old husband would agree with her parents.

When Cleo entered the kitchens, no one curtsied. She smiled to herself at that, happy that they didn't see the Countess of Essex, but they saw Cleo. Just… Cleo.

Chapter Text

Cleo thoroughly enjoyed her time in the kitchens. She had fun cooking and baking with her new friends - that's right! She had more friends now - and pretending that she was an ordinary woman; not a Countess with strange feelings for her female best friend, not a noble lady in a forced marriage, just a normal woman gallivanting with her normal friends in the kitchens. Her jovial mood was ruined when she met Saira for lunch.

They ate thin cuts of lamb, a sprinkling of turnip salad and a slow roasted venison pie. Cleo had helped make the pie, and was excited to recite the experience to Saira - except for the fact that Saira spent the entirety of lunch with her head in a book. Apparently, Saira was working on something important, and was unable to tear her eyes away from her work. They ate in total silence, bar the sound of pages turning from Saira, and Cleo sat tensely on the edge of her sunshine-yellow cushioned chair the whole time, shooting glances over at the other woman and silently pleading with her to look up.

She didn't.

After that frustrating interaction, Cleo was in no mood for the kitchens anymore. She strode out into the gardens, fists clenched at her sides. She was… angry. She should be the one occupying Saira's thoughts and attention. Cleo continued to savagely stomp through the grounds, probably crushing many plants beneath her ill-fitting heels. After a few minutes of her plant massacre, Cleo actually stopped and considered the way she was feeling. She was jealous… of a book. She broke into uncontrollable laughter, probably looking like she belonged in Bedlam, giggling at her own stupidity. Countess Cleo of Essex was jealous of a book for the attention of her best friend. Wow.

She took some deep, calming breaths, having to reassure herself she was better than a book. It was stupid. She was slightly scared by the implications of these feelings, but she ignored that for the time being. If there was anything 17th century noblewomen were good at, it's repression.

Cleo looked up at the sky, inhaling the rural air and feeling her posture and whole body relax. She wandered around the grounds for a while longer, stopping only to admire the neat flower beds of orchids and lilies. They offered beautiful, colourful additions to the otherwise plain green of the rolling fields. She made a mental note to speak to the gardeners, and to compliment their orderly and stunning flowers. She also decided to ask after some flower arrangements, for hers and Saira's parlour. She wondered what kind of colours Saira liked. Butter-yellow, like their chairs? Teal green, like her eyes she so rarely saw?

Cleo physically shook her head to rid herself of these thoughts. She willed herself to think of anything else. It was a nice day for riding, and presumably an Earl would have ample stables. She eventually meandered her way to the large, imposing stables. They were slightly worn, which made the building look homely.

Once inside, Cleo went looking for a stable hand, some riding boots and - most importantly - a horse. She entered an empty stall, searching for someone to aid her (as disgusted as she was by that). However once she entered the dark stall, she saw something that would change the course of her life - and her marriage - forever.

(How I desperately wanted to end the chapter here)

Her husband. The Earl of Essex. Was against the wooden divider of the stall with a scrawny, pale man attached to his face.

Cleo blinked.

She tried to comprehend what she was seeing.

Cleo stood still for a long time, in an odd haze. She was transfixed by the passion and eagerness her husband was displaying, emotions he had never shown in her presence. She took a step backward, intending to help herself to a horse and pretend this never happened.

Unfortunately, the Universe had other plans.

Cleo stepped back into a shovel. Which fell into a bucket. And spooked the horses.
There was suddenly a lot of noise and chaos, and time seemed to slow as her husband and the pale man jumped away from each other and turned to look at her.

Cleo blinked. The two men froze.

Her husband looked bashful, and terrified.

Cleo still said nothing.

The scrawny man busied himself with a pitchfork, moving hay around on the stable floor.

Cleo's brain finally seemed to catch up with the situation.

She took in the terror on her husband's face, the forced nonchalance of the stable boy and swallowed.

“I didn't mean to… That is to say, I only wanted to go riding.”

Her husband nodded, looking stricken.

She left the stall in awkward silence.

Cleo found another stable hand and was soon astride a glossy chestnut mare and riding through the emerald fields and large orchards of her husband's grounds.

Cleo lost herself in the soft thumps of her horse's hooves against the grass.

She took this time to think over the events of the day. It had been quite turbulent.

Cleo had relished in the normalcy of her time in the kitchen, then the interaction (or lack thereof) with Saira had knocked her off balance and made her angry and unsure. Then this happened.

She felt oddly… numb about this. She had no strong feelings. She had just caught her husband cheating on her with another man, surely she should be outraged! Or at least… more than indifferent.

As Cleo rode through the well-kept fields of her estate, she watched dandelions get crushed beneath her mare’s hooves. While she rode, she didn't waste the opportunity to admire the fluffy-looking clouds in the cornflower-blue sky. She really did like Essex, apart from Saira, it was the best thing about this marriage. On a clear day like this, if Cleo squinted, she could see the quaint little town about a three quarter mile from here.

She wondered if the fact it was another man with her husband should have bothered her more. In her social circles, homosexuality had been taboo. Anyone who spoke of it was in whispers, spoken softly behind closed doors. It was rumoured about some of her father’s friends, and they had been all but disgraced.

Cleo tugged sharply on the reins, pulling her horse to a sudden stop.

Was Cleo herself a homosexual? Did she feel this way for Saira?

That would be ironic, Cleo laughed to herself, two homosexuals in a marriage together.

Surely not, though. She was just thinking that because of the way the Earl had behaved.

She rode on for a little while, finally having processed the way she felt about this situation - whilst ferociously shoving the thought about herself and Saira to the deep, dark corners of her mind - before turning back.

Maybe she'd invite Saira riding one day.

*

Once back at the manor, Cleo, for the first time, sought out the Earl herself. She asked that her food be brought to the grand dining room she'd eaten in before, and sat down to eat with the Earl. She made sure the servants were dismissed and the heavy doors were shut tightly before broaching the topic.

She felt like she had a lump in her throat. “I feel that we should talk about… what I witnessed.”

The Earl froze, forkful of beef and green beans halfway to his mouth. He cleared his throat, “Listen, Cleo-”

She held up her hand. She also noted that was the first time he'd used her name.

“I don't have a problem with it,” She swallowed. “We are not in love. That is a simple fact of this marriage - it is for financial and social benefit only. You may have your lovers, male or female, but ensure you are not caught.”

The Earl nodded, looking visibly relaxed.

“But,” Cleo added. “I also retain the right to take a lover of my own, if and when I see fit.”

“I could be happy with that. This will be a successful arrangement.”

The Earl smiled, and Cleo found herself returning one.

They ate in silence once more, comfortable this time, and Cleo appreciated her food.

Her friends from the kitchens had outdone themselves. They had thick chunks of beef, cooked well-done and tender. It had been served with fresh green beans and garden peas, once again Cleo made a note to visit the gardens properly to see what was being grown.

Once dessert was served - hesitantly, as Cleo had previously sent away the servants - she and the Earl engaged in some polite, but enjoyable, conversation. A thought struck Cleo suddenly.

“You know, I never did ask your name.”
“Well, I was named after my father…”

*

After dinner, Cleo raced straight to Saira's chambers. Admittedly, she needed someone to show her there, as this was a line her and Saira hadn't crossed yet. Cleo was brimming with information, needing to spill.

She knocked and entered, finding the other woman curled like a cat on a leather armchair, nose buried in a scientific-looking beast of a book.

“Saira, I have so much to tell you.”