She entered the room with her head held high, one hand pinching her skirt. It was a rather grand room for an afternoon tea. While not the kind of opulence present at the Royal Palace, it was the epitome of what the nobility enjoyed in their townhouses around the capital, floor and furniture made of hardwood from distant lands, enhanced with a fine lacquer that gave it such a sheen; the furniture was further upholstered with foreign fabrics, neatly sewn, tassels dangling. Numerous landscapes by painters of renown occupied wallpapered walls, the repeating design vivid and intricate. Upon the floor lay fine rugs of exotic design and upon the tables thick cloths with mismatched tea cups, which showed the host had, at a glance, at least seven distinct sets of such quality that they could be served to guests.

Accompanying the furniture was the other guests. Nine of them there, and she made the tenth, with the host for eleven in total. A familiar number from her time living in the capital. Of course, not every event could be attended by every one of them; however, for the most part, their events were organised sufficiently in advance that any other invitation could be declined.

All that said, it would be wrong to say she considered them friends.

“Announcing our guest of honour, Countess Augstadt!” today’s host—Isabelle—said, raising an arm in a wave as she walked in with Julia.

The other guests politely clapped, smiling.

“Come now, there is no need to give me such honours,” Julia said with a laugh, settling into a smile of her own.

“Oh of course there is! When we heard the news, we knew we had to arrange something to cheer you up,” Isabelle said.

Olivia chimed in next. “That is precisely it! Why, if that happened to me, I do not think I could bear to ever leave my quarters,” she said, eyes so very full of concern.

With a tittering laugh, Julia accepted Isabelle’s offer of a seat beside the head of the table. “Knowing your quarters, I am rather surprised we ever see you,” she said, smile sweet.

Although Olivia couldn’t say why, she felt something uncomfortable about Julia’s retort. Unable to pinpoint it, she kept to smiling and said nothing, leaving this event to the others.

“Well, regardless of that matter, we are now all here, so please, do eat,” Isabelle said, raising her hands to give a single clap.

The maids flooded in a moment later, setting the table with snacks. There was nothing particularly ostentatious about the food at a glance. At the centre, a neatly arranged circle of white bread sandwiches, cut into fingers, sat upon a layered display, their only filling butter. Beside them, a pile of round crackers had been spread in a circle on the plate, three small bowls of “toppings” in the middle, each with a small spoon; while not obvious at a glance to those who did not frequent such affairs, two of the three flavours were of shrimp and anchovy, an usual taste this far inland, while the last was of truffles, something which rarely graced the tables of even the peers. Beside that plate was a board of cheeses, already cut into suitable slices for placing directly on the crackers.

That made up the savoury offerings. Of those sweet, there were, of course, fresh scones, complete with two jams and clotted-cream. The jams, one was of a foreign fruit and the other, Isabelle announced with barely-concealed glee, had been a present to her father from the King.

Such an announcement was followed by an apologetic smile to Julia.

A mix of confectioneries surrounded the scones, some those served in the capital and some from the eastern parts of the country where Isabelle’s house had first rose to prominence, only in recent generations consolidating power more centrally as another branch of the family took over their eastern holdings.

Julia was quite aware of such matters.

Once Isabelle’s commentary on the food reached an end, the maids began to pour tea; the guests took off their gloves and placed their napkins on their laps. Such snacks as these, they were taken and eaten by hand. It was common sense that every lady, before putting on her gloves, should wash her hands that they stay clean until ready to eat. That was not to say the table lacked cutlery, for the matter of scones was one that every little girl of good standing would be trained to manage with elegance.

Edith had a nibble of her sandwich, then turned to the head of the table, covering her mouth as she swallowed the morsel. “Still, I must say, it is the most dreadful news,” she said, looking at Julia with such pity.

“That it is,” Julia replied; however, what she agreed with rather did not match the look of pity she returned to Edith.

Olivia not the only one to be unsettled by Julia at such times, Edith swallowed the follow-up she had planned, yet was more brazen, unwilling to accept the matter without any confrontation. “Why is it that you would look at me as if I am the one without a fiancé?” she asked lightly, ending in a titter.

“Well, one has to wonder what it means that, of all men in this country, the Crown Prince can see fit to annul a betrothal made between our fathers,” Julia said.

As she listened and then spoke, she split the scone cleanly in two, leaving her knife on the side of her plate, then used the serving spoon to add a blob of cream onto her plate, using her own spoon to spread it onto the scone halves. Finished with both preparing her scone and speaking, she raised the snack to her mouth, having only a nibble of it.

With Edith considering Julia’s response, it was Beatrice who spoke next, her delicate clothing and youthful personality often the one to answer the rhetorical. “Come now, what does it mean?”

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So the gazes at the table once more found Julia. “What it means, I suppose, is that people these days take less seriously matters of the church. For such vows are not made to king or country, are they?” She paused there to take a sip of tea, only to frown, putting it back down. “The tea is dreadful.”

Isabelle couldn’t resist, immediately saying, “How dare one slander my hospitality! And do not think you can sweep aside the other matter either.”

“It is a truth,” Julia said in answer, staring down at the drink. “I would have the housekeeper audited, that she is not purchasing a lesser tea and blending it with the good. If not her, then I would suggest having someone of trust, such as the butler, oversee the maids who handle the tea, that none of them are swapping it with intention to sell it.”

Although keenly aware she was being distracted from the other matter, Isabelle could not help but listen. For all that went on between them, she had yet to be misled by Julia’s wisdom.

“That is that,” she said softly, then found her voice to say, “but why bring the church into this? Whatever reason Prince Hector found is between the two of you alone.”

Julia put her saucer with the tea cup to the side. Raising her gaze, she counted more than just ten others in her audience.

“When I say this was a matter arranged by our fathers, of course it is that we underwent the rites of betrothal, which are to be as inseparable as the rites of marriage. Prince Hector may feel that I am someone who may be bullied, without a father nor benefactor to object on my behalf….”

Her silence lingered for a second before she continued.

“The matter of divorce is one reserved for the church to oversee. That he sees fit to usurp such a power, I hope that others do not follow suit, for which of you is so secure in her self and her suitor that she would not worry? That if she not deliver an heir within a time, he would not find someone else with youth? Or if another lady of better connections should appear?”

It was not an easy question for any to answer, these ladies ones who had spent little time with the ones they would marry. So, if such a future did come to pass, where did that leave them? Of the two in a marriage, it was certainly not the man who would struggle to marry once more.

However, not all were focused on such matters, Elisabeth chilled by the first half of what Julia had said. Whispering, she said, “Such words spoken of the Prince, we could be brought before the King!”

“Why would His Royal Majesty bring me before the King’s Bench to confess his son’s wrongdoing? Never mind that they might find the King himself complicit,” Julia said, almost laughing as she spoke. “If there truly was grounds for divorce, would it not be known by now? Alas, all I can do is keep the peace—lest I encounter an unfortunate accident.”

As if to make up for the bitter words she had spoken, she had another nibble of her scone. Silence followed. It was not that no one had thoughts they wished to speak, but this matter was one more serious than any knew to handle, even Beatrice knowing this went beyond her supposed naivety.

While Julia could have broken the silence herself, she saw no need. After all, it was nearly time, so she took the moment to nibble some more at her scone.

Sure enough, the door opened within the minute.

“Isabelle, my dear, I heard there are guests!”

Standing up, Isabelle raised her skirt as she hurried over. “Papa! Please, there is no need. It is simply us ladies having a tea party. And back so soon—did something happen?” she asked, unable to keep her voice from filling the room.

Smiles returned to the other guests, especially as her father glanced over them. “Let us not speak of such matters in public,” he whispered to her, then gestured at the guests. “While I would not ordinarily intrude, I have been informed there is a Countess Augstadt in attendance and it wouldn’t do for one of my standing to not greet his peer.”

Julia did not seem surprised to be picked out, already standing up, her napkin left on her seat. In measured strides, she walked over to him and curtseyed. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Grace,” she said, softly smiling.

“Oh, why must you two act as if she hasn’t visited so often before?” Isabelle said, as close to huffing as she dared in her father’s presence.

However, the duke simply laughed at his daughter’s antics. “We do try to keep such matters from interfering with Our Ladies’ lives. Unfortunately, there are times when responsibility falls onto a woman’s shoulders, and I must respect the responsibility all the same.”

Pausing there, he turned to Julia and returned her smile.

“My Lady, I hope you find our hospitality suitable,” he said.

“As always, it is impeccable, Your Grace,” she said, bowing her head.

He nodded along, smile wider for what he heard. “Wonderful. Then, I shall be on my way,” he said, turning with a small wave.

Isabelle followed him out the room to say her goodbye, returning a moment later, in time to walk Julia back to the table—as if afraid her guest might excuse herself too.

The earlier matter put aside by the interruption, Isabelle led the conversation to other topics, which so happened to not particularly include Julia. Discussions of the fashions at various recent events, whispered rumours of the capital’s happenings, even touching on bits of learning, recent years seeing worth in having a wife knowledgeable in some philosophy. After all, running a home and running a fief, it was said, was simply a matter of scale.

That no one directly addressed Julia did not mean she did not involve herself. Especially when the topic turned to rulership, she quite often interjected, picking at the formal arguments others put forth, which often ended in herself being challenged on the matter and so taking the position of the defender, putting forth her own argument and fending off criticisms.

Such discussions only lasted as long as there was food being eaten, though. Once their plates remained empty, Isabelle had the maids tidy up, moving on to other activities. A light meal, music followed and those with talents showed off their practised pieces on the piano. That naturally transitioned to dancing, others taking turns to also sing poems or play an accompaniment on the harp.

It was a more candid affair than a ball, yet did not lack elegance. If anything, without such pressures upon them, there was a more sincere elegance to their smiles, to their turns, how their skirts could so beautifully flutter, not keeping their movements so carefully restrained. For a short while, there were no suitors, no fathers, no priests, nor brothers. They danced and they clapped a beat, the piano played however they wished, voices full of cheer.

In the midst of it all, Julia often found herself tapping at the keys. She could play with her head turned right around, watching over the others with a smile, always knowing which song to play next, whether to play it high or low, where to improvise, at times playing the simple notes as written, other times playing in chords.

There had been no need to learn the piano, her father had long ago told her. Oh how she had struggled, her fingers stiff from holding books and mind so sensitive to loud sounds, and he had held her close, rubbing her back, telling her that such a talent had its use in finding a husband, but that she already had a wonderful fiancé who could hire the finest pianists.

However, her mother had written a single line about hoping to one day teach her children to play the piano, so of course little Julia had to learn.

She had yet to find something that she could not accomplish so long as she persevered. That was not to say she had mastered everything, but that, until the day came that she was incapable, she had no intention of abandoning something she thought worth pursuing.

So the music played, the ladies danced, and an uneventful day passed.