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Painstakingly bathed and primped by two ladies-in-waiting, Ella stared at her reflection in the ornate gilded mirror.
Over a chemise, a corset cinched to diminutive perfection and a wide hoopskirt, she wore a voluminous brocade gown. Pearls and lace roses adorned the blush-pink skirts, fanning around her like frosting. Scalloped ruffles trimmed the bodice, the sleeves and the edges, all draped like piping on cake. Her frosty hair had been piled sky-high, looped with even more pearls and lace roses, and her ears and neck glistened with rubies. She felt like the worlds largest wedding cake, bedecked in pearls and all the lace of the Kingdom. Yet, the shining jewel of the attire was the monstrosity on her finger.
It was a massive, gaudy thing, taking up her entire fourth knuckle. An eyeball-sized diamond surrounded by blood-red rubies in a thick, golden band.
An engagement ring given to her weeks prior, to seal the contract.
Tearing her eyes away from the heavy weight on her finger, she swung open the windows and braced her hands on the sill, enough that her knuckles turned white. From her room in the manor, crowning the top of a fortified hill, she could see the forest line. She breathed in the crisp air in greedy gulps, attempting to calm the stirring in her stomach.
Codshire bordered the forest that divided Fae Realm from them. Just thick tree lines stretching far into the horizon, miles and miles, as far as the eye could see. It was the same forest most sensible people avoided going too deep into, for fear of what might be lurking. The same one bordering Cedric's farmhouse, where they'd played as children, straying as far as they could before getting scolded. The one where they would play hide-and-seek, pick berries, mushrooms, flowers and the four-leaf clovers Ella was a champion at finding.
Perhaps she had no common sense, but the woods fascinated her. There was something soothing about the darkness of the forest, the ever-present rustle of life, the lulling song of wind whistling through the leaves. In the midst of the towering trees, she had room to breathe.
Her existence was always one of being constantly watched. The manor may have been grand and enormous, but it was suffocating. She rarely had a moment to herself, alone. From morning to nightfall, there was always a multitude of people breathing down her neck, courtiers watching her every move, maids fussing about her, a constant reminder of her duties. In the last months, as the pressure she was under piled on, the impulse to submerge herself in the thick tree line was almost unbearable at times, making her skin prickle and her stomach clench. She chalked it up to the fact that she was to be married soon, and even the dark forest was far better than the alternative.
As Lord Blackwell's eldest daughter, it was past time for Ella to do what women like her are born for: marrying well, securing an alliance, breeding the perfect little heirs to do the same, so on and so forth. That was the way Lord Blackwell saw it, the way all of the aristocrats did.
Harrion would have had Ella married far earlier if he'd had his way, but Ella's mother had interceded in her favour, and Ella had kicked and fussed all she could to avoid marriage. At great cost, she had succeeded in postponing it for a year, but the time was up and there was no more putting it off. Today was the official engagement party, the day her marriage to Duke Jonas Pendergold would be announced to high society.
Jonas Pendergold was the son of Duke Barnabas Pendergold, of the adjacent duchy, Hampton. Codshire was the largest terrain and Hampton the richest, it was an obvious and advantageous arrangement. From a ripe young age, Ella had known she was eventually going to be married off to the man. Even her introduction to society during her first debutante season had been merely a formality, as everyone knew she was eventually going to be wed to Lord Jonas. There had never even been a possibility for her to marry anyone else.
Absentmindedly, she twirled the silver necklace on her throat and squeezed the ring looped at the end of the chain. An oval stone that shone grey-violet in the light. The silver ring was shaped like twisting vines and hawthorn leaves, with pinprick sized padparadscha stones in deep red, representing the tiny berries.
It was delicate and finely made, given to her many years before by her mother. Nothing like the hideous, tacky thing she wore of her finger. She'd refused to take it off, even for the engagement party, instead she put it on a silver chain and discreetly tucked it inside her dress. A small, insignificant victory.
She massaged her forehead, feeling a headache coming on. Clenching her eyes shut and ignoring her churning stomach, she took a deep breath, steeled her spine and turned her back on the window, arming herself to face a more than unwanted engagement party.
----
With a bit of time to waste before the Pendergolds, their entourage and the rest of the party-goers and courtiers arrived, she headed to one of the libraries in the west wing of the manor. Rarely used, it had become a quiet place to rest, away from the hectic estate life. Between the towering rows of old books and worn, comfortable sofas, Rosemary Blackwell could usually be found.
Her sister sat in a two-seater in front of the fire with her nose deep in a book. Ella could only see the top of her curly, gingery locks.
"Hello, Birdie." She patted Rosemary's head and sat down next to her as her sister placed the book on her lap, using her fingers to mark the page. "I brought you something." Ella set down a tray, bearing watercress and ham sandwiches and a streaming cup of milky tea. Rosemary smiled gratefully and lifted the porcelain cup to her lips.
"Thank you, I hadn't realized I was hungry, I lost track of time." She smiled sheepishly as Ella tugged on a ginger ringlet in mock annoyance dozed with a good measure of fondness.
"You know better," she said, handing her a sandwich. "You must eat before these parties, you're old enough that by now, Miss Judith will rap your knuckles with her ruler if you go around gorging yourself on food in front of polite company." The urge to scoff at the pompous word was ever-present.
"It's ridiculous," Rosemary frowned but accepted the sandwich, taking a bite. "Why is it that suddenly I can't eat at social events?"
"Because," she said, lifting her nose and imitating Miss Judith's snooty, plummy tone. "A proper, well brought up young woman must eat like a delicate bird, it is terribly gauche to stuff oneself like the peasants."
Rosemary giggled and whispered that she shouldn't say those things, as if they might be overheard. Ella rolled her eyes affectionately, bold as ever.
"Besides," Ella said, thrusting another sandwich into her hand, "the food there is tiny, it's best you eat here and get a proper meal in."
"Aren't you going to eat, Win?" A childish nickname their mother had given her when she was an infant. A play on her actualname, Elowen. The only ones to use it were Rosemary and Minna, their mother.
"No, I already ate." She placed a linen napkin on her sister's lap, to avoid crumbs from landing on her dress. It was a lie, she hadn't eaten a single thing since that morning. Her stomach was entirely too queasy to hold anything.
"Are you nervous? It's such a big party and you'll be the centre of attention," Rosemary said, genuine curiosity on her face and no small amount of apprehension. She was still young and innocent, she'd yet to learn the ways of the Court, how to guard her emotions and school her features into demure smiles. Her face was like an open book. More than anything, Ella wished she would never have to learn, that she could remain blissfully naive. Unfortunately, being vulnerable in a position like theirs was like wearing a collar of fresh meat in the midst of starving bears.
"Of course not. It's merely a business party, nothing to worry about." Another lie. She wanted to smooth the worry from her plump-cheeked face. As an older sister, it was her duty to look out for her, even with small white lies. Rosemary was a child and had no business worrying herself with adult problems that had no real solution.
Rosemary bit her lip and nodded, twisting her fingers in her lap. "I loathe parties."
Ella knew that if she could, she'd stay holed up in that library eternally. They shared an equal love for books, often spending hours curled up on opposite sides of the worn tartan sofa, each lost in their respective literary choice of the day.
"I know. Come," she stretched out a hand to help her up. "We only have to be there for a couple of hours and then we'll come back here. I'll bring you to the adult's table during dinner and you can sit next to me."
She made a small gasp and her eyes lit up in childish enthusiasm. "Really? You mean it?"
Ella nodded and adjusted the short, poofy sleeves on Rose's teal gown and made sure her hair remained neatly tied back with its bow. Rose halfheartedly complained about her fussing but stood still. By now, she was well used to Ella's mother-henning.
At eleven years old, Rosemary was the youngest of the Blackwells. She still had to sit at the children's table in the nursery, wear her hair down and wasn't allowed to participate during the balls and events. Despite their different natures, they were extremely close. Ella had a particular soft spot for her sister, perhaps because of the large age difference or because of their contrasting personalities. Rosemary was soft and gentle, like the nickname they'd given her as a toddler. A little birdie.
"Really," she said, smiling and leading her towards the ballroom.
The great ballroom where Blackwell House held their famous and acclaimed parties was an immense salon with towering ceilings, wallpapered mint-green walls decorated with opulent tapestries, gilded mirrors, family crests and large windows that gave way to the well-groomed gardens of the property. Enormous crystal chandeliers twinkled high above and candles on wall sconces bathed everything in a waxy, yellow glow as musicians played animated tunes from high balconies and servers came and went with trays full of appetisers and glasses of drinks.
The party was in full swing, anyone worth anything was in attendance at the biggest event of the year. Harrion Blackwell undoubtedly hosted the most lavish parties. The engagement of his daughter to Lord Barnabas Pendergold's son, the richest man of Rhothomir, was the perfect opportunity to go all out.
There she was, bedecked in her rose coloured gown and wan, pleasant smile. The epitome of blue blood. A gaggle of aristocratic women and well-to-do merchant's daughters surrounded her, making dull small talk.
"Oh, let us see your ring!" said Miss Margaret Chadwick. They all chorused their approval. Ella conceded and extended her hand in a manner that her palms weren't visible. They were calloused from years of sword training, even with the ointments she used rigorously.
They all took in the monstrosity on her finger and fawned over it, calling out compliments with barely concealed envy. Ella smiled, preening and pretending to be pleased.
It was an awful ring, she didn't even like orange gold, but silver wasn't lavish enough and this was a ring meant for pageantry. A display of extravagant wealth and ownership. Everything about her tonight was meant to convey that she was the beautiful young woman betrothed to Jonas Pendergold, bedecked in her finest attire. A handsome gift wrapped up in lace and roses for the richest, most powerful man.
"My word, it probably weighs more than she does. I'm surprised she can keep her hand up, such a titchy little thing she is. I only wish I was as thin, unfortunately, I've always been more well endowed. It's wonderful that she's confident." This comment was made by Cordelia Montgomery, in a whisper much too loud to be accidental. The titters that followed made Ella's lips curl upwards in a crude smile.
And so it begins.
The glorious, brutal art of subtle insults and backhanded compliments.
There were many ways to go about insulting someone, but in their world, one had to be crafty. It wouldn't do to outright curse someone. No, it had to be calculated and underhanded, in such a way that the receiver couldn't actually complain about the jab.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
See, it was more important to seem polite than to actually be polite. One could get away with murder if it was framed with the right sugary tone and proper niceties. If the other person became upset and called one out or outright lost their temper and hurled vulgar insults, they'd be socially shunned.
Nasty comments and discreet mudslinging were the high-class equivalents of brawling, and Ella was a master.
She fixed a sweet, cheery smile on her face. "Cordelia Montgomery, is that you? Oh, you look marvellous! I almost didn't recognise you!"
The pleasant tone softened the words. She'd foregone addressing her by her title and insulted her appearance in one single sentence. The small snickers announced that no one else passed up on this either.
Cordelia was Lord Jonas' second cousin. As the daughter of impoverished landed gentry, she'd been taken in by her much more wealthy family, something she hated to be reminded of. She wasn't born a noblewoman and did not possess titles by birthright, but she still styled herself as a Lady and gave herself the airs of a born princess, sneering at anyone less fortunate.
Ella, who didn't give a damn about ranking and etiquette, wasn't above using her own status to knock Cordelia down a couple of notches.
Cordelia's smile was sharp, barely more than a grimace. She sauntered forward in a magnificent gown of grass green taffeta, fashionably low cut. "Lady Elowen," she said, emphasising her first name, something she'd mocked Ella for since childhood, "I am so pleased to be here at your party. It's superb. Lord Blackwell must truly be excited to see you off, what with how quick this is turning out. Rather sudden, but I'm sure you and my cousin have your reasons." Her knowing look was enough to have the women around them widening their eyes.
That crafty witch, subtly implying it was a quick wedding because she might be with child.
The women all peered at her, thirsting for a good performance. And Ella, ever the accommodating hostess, hated to disappoint her guests.
Ella motioned for a server who was walking by, holding a silver tray full of small flutes of sparkling white wine. She encouraged the women to take a glass and took a sip of her own, enough to debunk whatever Cordelia might have implied. The other ladies took theirs as well, drinks for their front row seats to the show.
"Aren't you going to take one, Cordelia? They're delightful. Fresh from the Eastern continent. Only the best for this party and my dear guests. We've been planning for months, I do hope the wedding in March is even lovelier."
To imply it was a fast wedding due to pregnancy, a laughable attempt at an insult. It was barely September, not nearly enough time to hide a pregnancy. More so, as if she'd willingly touch that man without a contract forcing her to do so.
"I'm sure it's delicious, but I'm not particularly thirsty," Cordelia said tightly.
Oh? It was no secret that the woman tended to get a little lively during these events. She was rarely seen without a flute of wine or punch in her gloved hands. Noteworthy indeed. Ella filed away this interesting tidbit.
"You're taking care of your figure I see! That's wonderful, the changes are already stunning." She smiled amiably, looking around at their circle of vultures who were nodding their heads and calling out equal compliments.
It wasn't an actual insult, Cordelia did look rather good, she was deservedly known as one of the most beautiful women in Rhotomir's elite circles. Ella could admit to that privately. But the beauty of such a comment was that due to their lifetime rivalry, it was still interpreted as a catty jab.
"Thank you, I'm glad it's noticeable." The tightness in her mouth and the glimmer in her eyes said she was gearing up to strike brutally.
"Where is Cedric? I haven't seen him in ages, he's usually right by your side! You two are so close, it's a shame he didn't come to your engagement party. I see Lord Theodore Gladstone, Archie Drummond, William Hereford, Edmund Wellington and all your other friends are here. I know Cedric is your dearest and favourite companion though, you must be most disappointed he isn't here with the rest."
The titters were barely contained. Lady Amelia Avesbury even let out a very unladylike snort.
"She might have to arrange for an entire separate isle in the ceremony, just for her little friends to fill up," said Grace Ullswater, Cordelia's best friend. They wore twin expressions of malicious glee as everyone else chortled and gasped behind fluttering fans.
Credit had to be given where it was due, that was a good one. Bringing up her supposedly tainted good name and long list of past lovers–some of which were true, but the rest greatly exaggerated.
Not that many of the ladies present had anything to say, given that their track record was hardly pristine. It takes one to know one, and what have you. None of them had any proof, anyway, Ella had always been extremely discreet with her dalliances. Most of all, she wasn't going to give any of them the satisfaction of cowering and blushing like a priest, Ella wasn't ashamed.
She raised a hand to her chest, the one with the gaudy ring, and painted on a rueful expression. "It's simply a shame, I agree. Unfortunately, he's away on official military business. But worry not, Cedric will be present at Lucinda's wedding." She tilted her head to the side, a gesture of curiosity, though the glint in her eyes was anything but kind.
"You must be most delighted that your younger sister is betrothed. Little Lucy is barely seventeen, isn't she? Her first season out into society and she's already to be married! They grow up so fast, don't they? Don't worry Delia, surely you'll meet plenty of suitable men there. I'm sure we'll all eventually be at your own engagement party... I suppose."
A devastating blow.
It was known that Cordelia had already been out into society for at least six seasons and had no suitors in sight. At least not the ones she wanted: extremely well off dukes, marquesses or earls. Not barons, viscounts—or heaven forbid—a lowly title-less merchant.
Ella envied her, in all honesty.
Cordelia was beautiful and well connected, but she lacked the pressure to marry into specific families to fulfil business contracts, she had much more freedom than Ella did. If she wasn't so terribly picky, she could select an advantageous suitor and still find someone she liked.
Ella, on the other hand, was being sold off to the highest bidder like a prized mare. Cordelia had choices, Ella had absolutely no say in the matter. It was hardly an accomplishment, but in their society, the clock was ticking and Cordelia was practically a spinster, while Ella had snagged the fattest prize. Frankly, it was ridiculous. Cordelia was hardly old, she was in the prime of her life, but those were the unspoken rules of their circle. Adding insult to the injury, her younger sister was getting married before her, something uncommon and positively gossip-worthy.
Small gasps could be heard from the chorus around them. She didn't have to turn to know they were all but salivating. The elite loved a good spectacle and she'd given them everything they expected, a grand show.
Cordelia's face puckered up like a prune. She was shaking so much that the peacock feather in her large updo practically vibrated. "If you'll excuse me, I must use the lavatory." With that, she linked arms with her friend and they sped off, not before throwing barely concealed looks of fury at her.
Ella grinned triumphantly, like the cat that ate the mouse.
She'd won this round, though perhaps Cordelia would feel masochistic enough to come back for seconds later. They'd been rivals for their entire lives. The last social event culminated with Cordelia managing to accidentally trip her and spill tea on her dress after Ella fell on her knees in front of an entire tea party full of tittering women. She'd clearly won that underhanded squabble. All parties were a battleground for their vicious fights.
Ella sauntered through the room, making courteous small talk about trivialities such as upcoming parties, summer homes and the latest fashions, while sipping on a flute of white wine she made sure to keep visible, lest anyone have the grand idea to make up more rumours.
She took a small break to nibble at a tiny goat cheese pasty with the rehearsed disinterest of a child picking at a plate of vegetables. It tasted like ash in her mouth. She desperately wanted to shrug off the dress, corset and tight updo, put on something comfortable and curl up in bed with proper food, where she could actually eat without being scrutinized like a bug under a magnifying glass. Unfortunately, there was still dinner to attend to and a few hours of dancing before it was socially acceptable to retire.
As she scanned the room full of dancing and mingling guests, her eyes narrowed, catching sight of Cordelia next to a familiar lanky, curly haired figure. She was throwing her head back and laughing, swatting at his arm with her fan as if he'd graced her with the wittiest comment she'd ever heard. Ella grit her teeth.
Grayson Blackwell was Harrion's second born. As a man, he was to inherit the duchy, the lands they were on and an immense amount of power. Raised like a Duke and rightful heir, the eighteen-year-old was already taking on a plethora of responsibilities and allotted a prominent role in their land's politics. Power, wealth, vast amounts of influence, he had it all.
This wasn't lost on Cordelia, who made a sport out of social climbing.
She would have loved nothing more than to sink her perfectly manicured claws into Grayson, the most eligible bachelor now that her own cousin was technically off the market. It was visible in the way she batted her long lashes, giggled and widened her cornflower blue eyes, feigning admiration at whatever her brother was saying. Using all her wiles to lure him, she was well-practised, like a hunter setting out snares. Ella knew exactly how Cordelia bled wealthy men dry. Cordelia, who belittled anyone beneath her and delighted in being cruel, just for the sake of entertainment.
She would eat Grayson alive and pick her teeth with his bones.
It would be a cold, cold day in hell the day Ella took up that gold-digging witch as a sister-in-law. If she wanted to go after her brother, she'd have to crawl through lit coals.
In her wildest fantasies, Ella would simply walk up to Cordelia and throat punch her, sending her sprawling on the ballroom floor, pearls flying everywhere. But in their world, everything had to be done carefully and behind the scenes, like war tacticians.
Gears turning in her head, she spotted Lady Caroline Hawthorne nearby and waved her over animatedly. "Lady Caro, how are you?" she said, exchanging air kisses with the ginger-haired woman. The same colour of hair her mother and sister had. She was the daughter of her uncle Brandon, Marquess of Woolmere, the court where her mother hailed from.
They'd spent many summers together and Caroline was perhaps one of the only noblewomen not completely terrified or appalled by Ella. She wasn't a friend per se, Ella had no friends here, but she actually liked Caroline. Caroline was popular amongst the nobles, given that she was sweet-natured and avoided taking sides in disputes. Most importantly, she was a neutral party; and as a neutral party, she had credibility.
Whilst she listened to Caroline's animated chatter about watercolour paintings, she began strategically pivoting them so that Cordelia was in plain line of sight.
MarquessVincent, his sister Countess Millicent and their group of friends were nearby, perking up their ears to see what tasty information might slip. They were the biggest tongue waggers in all of Rhothomir.
"—I am simply enamoured by his line of work, simply marvellous to look at, such beauty," Caroline said, speaking about a painter she'd recently discovered and commissioned. "I should love to give you one of his works, perhaps as a wedding present!"
That was the line of opening Ella had been waiting for.
"I'd love that! I do hope Hampton Hall has enough space for me to put up your gift and all my other artwork collections. I can hardly believe I'll be married in a few months!" That wasn't a lie. She couldn't quite believe she'd be losing whatever scraps of freedom she had in a few months. This horrible party made it all too real, too final.
"I know, you must be elated! Hampton is beautiful!" Caroline chattered on about the many qualities of her future home, until her eyes caught sight of Cordelia, just like Ella had expected her to.
"Oh, is that Lady Delia Montgomery with your brother? She looks so taken with him. How's that, imagine if you were sisters-in-law!" Caroline chuckled good-naturedly and Ella forced herself to laugh along. She'd rather chew glass shards.
"We're already to share a home, it would be like switching families!" she said, letting out a cheery little laugh. "I'm glad she's feeling better. The poor girl has been feeling rather awful all day." Caroline frowned and the people eavesdropping nearby craned their necks.
Hook, line, and sinker.
"What do you mean, cousin?"
"Oh, I suppose she's nervous! It's a big event, after all, I know I've been a tad queasy all day, what with all the excitement. I noticed she didn't eat much or drink at all." Ella waved a hand and let out a casual chuckle. "It's probably just jitters!"
Caroline's brows creased delicately. "Now that you mention it, I haven't seen her dancing much, eating or drinking anything either..." her eyes widened and she gasped. "Goodness! You don't think...!"
The busybodies nearby barely contained their gasps, likely coming to the same conclusion.
Ella widened her eyes for effect as well, even going as far as to delicately lift a hand to her lips. "You're not saying what I think you're saying! Good grief!"
"Oh, we mustn't say anything!" Caroline said, grasping her arm with her dainty pink gloves. "Let's not mention it!" Caroline, ever the sweetheart.
Guilt stirred inside her, for using Caroline in such a way. Her cousin was genuinely nice and well-meaning and her concern was honest, something extremely rare in their circles. Certainly, a quality Ella lacked altogether.
"Of course not!" Ella shook her head vehemently. "I shall not breathe a word!"
It wasn't necessary. The gossipers were already furiously whispering, it was bound to spread like wildfire.
Technically, Ella hadn't started a rumour, she'd insinuated it and the silk-clad vultures had worked their magic. The rumour mill was savage, it had a mind of its own.
Once, Cordelia and Grace had started a rumour that Ella's white-blonde hair was actually a wig, then Grace had accidentally tangled a bracelet on her hair and yanked. It had pretty much proved that it wasn't a wig, but the real treat for everyone had been watching Ella's eyes water at the pain, the dishevelled hair, the utter humiliation. Somehow, the ridiculous piece of gossip still made its rounds at times.
Everyone loved the drama, they lapped it up like greedy dogs; it didn't matter if it was true or not, it didn't matter who was on the other side.
In this world, women had their reputations and honour torn to shreds for merely stepping on someone's toes and men delighted in ruining business ventures and life opportunities simply on a whim. Entire lineages sabotaged into destruction, for getting on someone's bad side.
Ella learned very early on, from unfortunate personal experience, that if she was to survive, she had to be the meanest, most wicked person to walk into every room.
Or at least act the part of it.
Ella had little qualms about her behaviour because it was the only way to ensure safety. Survival of the fittest, you could either meekly bow your head and be trampled like a milksop, or you could grow a backbone and strike back. What she'd done to Cordelia was a reminder not to provoke her, or play with her own.
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Notes:
The nobility in my story is based on the English peerage system. (duke, Marquis, earl/count, viscount, baron, knights)
Landed gentry weren't nobles, but they were well off. Cordelia belonged to that rung of society before she was taken in by the Pendergold, who are at the top of the peerage, like Ella's family.
Debutantes/being out into society is when a young girl is introduced into society as eligible, ready to be married. The point was to be married as quickly as possible. The age depended, but it was usually 17/18, often 16.
Before "becoming of age" (Like Rosemary) children had to sit at the nursery, they couldn't really participate in adult events.