“If you will not allow Varley to put up your hair, how do you ever expect to find a husband?” Portia Featherington complained. She had laid herself on the chaise lounge in the Featherington women’s dressing parlor, fanning herself with a pink chiffon fan that had too many ruffles to provide any air circulation. Lae’zel couldn’t blame her for that part - she could feel pools of sweat pooling under her stays. What she could blame her for, though, is forcing her into this ridiculous outfit. Pink ruffles would be of no use should an enemy arise - they would only serve to constrict her and show off her location. And though she’d fought desperately, somehow Portia had managed to win the war between the two.
“I am not intending to find a husband,” hissed Lae’zel, dodging another of Varley’s attacks with a damned hairpin.
“You had best start intending,” Portia said. Lae’zel had never been great with interpreting istik emotions, but if she didn’t know better, she would have said that the woman was far past frustrated and had moved straight to boredom. “We have been hospitable enough to allow you to stay at our house thus far, but that will not continue indefinitely. If you cannot find a husband, we will plan on your return to the country after the marriage market.
Varley tried once again, and Lae’zel snagged her wrist in mid-motion. The old woman froze, clearly unsure of the next steps. “I feel I would rather return to the country regardless. It must be better than pinning yourself up so that you are incapable of succeeding in a fight.” She let Varley’s wrist go, and the woman stayed frozen for a moment before attempting yet again to go for Lae’zel’s hair. This time, Lae’zel let her, and she could feel her hair being pulled up delicately and pinned by a sharp skewer. If nothing else, she thought, at least she could use the pin as a small weapon in an emergency. Since they wouldn’t allow her to bring her sword with her, it was the closest she could get to any sort of protection. Not that she’d most likely need it, of course - if indeed this world was simply full of humans with no magical prowess, she was certain she could fell even the best of opponents in a matter of seconds.
“If you would prefer a simple life as a spinster in the country, then by all means, let me know now and we will stop all of these pretenses. However, I fear that your father may be quite upset about your decision.”
“My father does not control my will,” Lae’zel muttered under her breath, but she knew it did no good. She hadn’t learned much of this world yet, but the little that she had managed to pick up all pointed to the idea that people here assumed that men were the superior sex. Complete insanity, she thought - the reason so many of the githyanki leaders were women was because of their exceptional strength, intelligence, and insight. Any species that couldn’t grasp that couldn’t hold a candle to a single githyanki warrior.
“If he did not control your will, I feel you would not be here in the first place, eating my food and harassing my ladies,” Portia said, gesturing to Varley who, while she was just putting the finishing touches on Lae’zel’s hair, had clearly worked up a bit of a sweat in the effort. “But unfortunately, you live in the real world like the rest of us, and your fate will be controlled by your father until the control is given to your husband. That is why it is best for you to choose wisely. You will need a husband of,” Portia said, pausing slightly to look Lae’zel from top to bottom, “nervous character and forgiving eyes. And if you cannot find that, then you will be relegated back to the country to marry an old farmer, and I highly doubt that he will be so forgiving of your whims.”
Varley picked up a large, pink poof of satin and pinned it to Lae’zel’s head with yet another pin. Lae’zel couldn’t help but think longingly of her battle garb. Maybe Portia had a point, and it would be best to find a husband that would let her strut around town in that. She was sure that it wouldn’t suit the ton, but if the Sword Coast could get used to it, then she was sure they could as well. “So you just expect me to lure in the first halfwit that falls for these decorations?” she said, touching the poof on the top of her head.
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Portia smiled. “Now you’re getting the gist of it! Varley, come, let us finish my hair in the other room. I feel as though Lae’zel could use a moment to prepare herself for the night.”
Portia strode lightly through the room, quickly followed by a scuttling Varley, and Lae’zel took the first full breath that she had in quite a while. Or she would have, had her stays not constricted her chest enough to impede it. The fashions of the ton could really be improved by switching to even a light armor, she thought. She turned to the full-length mirror to examine the pink catastrophe that was the dress that she’d been shoved into. She hadn’t bothered to count the number of frills on it when she was shoved into it, and she didn’t want to get started on that now - she would likely miss the ball because it would take her so long.
“Pink really is a lovely color on you, you know. I do not believe the frills suit you, though.” Lae’zel swung around, her arm immediately reaching behind her to grab her sword. But her sword wasn’t there, she begrudgingly reminded herself as she grabbed a handful of the scratchy fabric. But the moment she saw it was simply the youngest of the Featherington daughters (she couldn’t quite remember her name - but she was sure that it started with a P. Pen, she thought she’d overheard?). She was seated over in the window seat overlooking the street, and it seemed like she’d been there for quite some time. Perhaps, when in the same room with the members of her family, her quiet nature just seemed to fade into the shadows. But now, she could hardly miss her or her bright yellow dress that definitely wasn’t the right color for her face. She wasn’t sure how Portia had missed that - Lae’zel wasn’t even great with fashions and she had managed to pick it up immediately.
“I don’t think frills suit me either,” Lae’zel finally said, plucking lightly at one of the frills. Maybe if she did it swiftly enough, she could tear off some of the excess ruffles without causing an issue with the dress. “Nor do I think yellow suits you.”
Pen blushed slightly, and the rising red color in her cheeks certainly didn’t help matters at all. “I have told Mother several times that I believe I would look better in perhaps a green, but Mother thinks that yellow is a happy color, and men seek out happy women to marry.”
“They may seek out happy women, but they won’t seek out one that looks like she wants to rip her dress off. Or, perhaps they would, but I don’t feel like that is the sort of man that you are looking for.” That might work for Lae’zel, though, she thought. While they may not be able to best her in combat, at least a man who was enchanted with her body might be stupid enough to let her do as she pleased without complaint. Judging by Pen’s further blush, though, Lae’zel knew that she was right in her assumption as to what she was looking for. “You’ve been in the marriage market for a year now, right?” Pen nodded. “Then you must tell your mother what you need, or you’ll end up on a farm with me.”
“A farm wouldn’t be so bad, so long as it was with the right person,” Pen said, and Lae’zel couldn’t help but notice her eyes flicking back toward the window she’d just been sitting at. From where Lae’zel was sitting, she could see mostly grass and a touch of the Bridgerton estate where they’d first found themselves. Of course, that made sense, she thought - she had eyes after all, and all of the Bridgertons were reasonably attractive. Having grown up so close to them, it was only reasonable that she would form an attraction to one.
“Which of the Bridgertons do you fancy, then,” Lae’zel said, nodding her head toward the window, which felt like a very human gesture. The longer she stayed here, the more it seemed like she took them up. But, she realized a bit too late, as Pen’s mouth opened a bit in a surprised gasp, she still wasn’t used to all the intricacies of being a human in a social society.
Pen shook her head slightly to clear it, then plastered what looked like a very fake smile on her face. “I’m sure I do not know what you mean,” she started. “Eloise and I have been friends for years, as have Colin and I. The family has been more of a family to me than my own at times.”
Lae’zel nodded, Pen’s statement as much a confirmation to her as anything. Whoever she chose to make her own, it wouldn’t be one of the Bridgertons.
Lae’zel was about to say something, to assure Pen that she wouldn’t be looking to court the Bridgertons, but as she opened her mouth, the door to the dressing room slammed open again, and Prudence Featherington marched in, orange from head to toe. At least that style of citrus looked good on her, Lae’zel thought.
“Well, are you two coming?” she barked. “If we do not make haste, we will be late for the ball, and it will hurt our chances of finding husbands tonight.”
“Will it,” Lae’zel heard Pen mutter under her breath, but she followed her sister out of the room, and Lae’zel continued behind them.