Chapter 40

  Numerous dresses and gowns piled across the bed and amongst many garment racks, the castoffs of a vigorous selection. While the massive tabletop spilled forth with jewelry boxes, accessories and cosmetics.

  Gwen sat at her dressing table while a lady in waiting styled her hair.

  Still as a statue, Gwen gazed into her reflection as the stylist fussed about her. She stared deeper, attempting for a state of meditative trance and finding her center. Alas, such peace eluded her. The stifling maid and the constant hum of commotion made it almost impossible for her to focus.

  Rather, Gwen made it a practice of maintaining her expression in the mirror and not let her irritation show. She was annoyed and feeling prickly, and that she could not bare her teeth only worsened her mood.

  The past week had been a testing one for Gwen. Every single day, from late morning to well into the evening, the Croft Manor had played host to many a guest and visitor, with Gwen’s attendance very much mandatory.

  Akin to the rarest creature in the menagerie, everyone wanted a look at her. Suffice to say, Gwen had quickly lost her patience with her newfound popularity.

  Gwen was no stranger to attention. All her life, people had flocked to her for a great many reasons. Not all of them good. It was a survival trait for Gwen to discern those who were friendly and those that meant her harm. A two-fold necessity that she learnt how to deal with fame and recognition, as much to use them to her advantage than to protect herself against the dangers that came in tandem.

  Yet it wasn’t the people, but the repetition that had her peeved. Every guest that arrived compelled Gwen to reenact the same routine all over again. Every encounter went along the similar pattern of introduction followed by the same tedious conversations. Only to be replayed for the next visitor once more.

  Though those that arrived were not the run of the mill individuals, Gwen grew tired by their abundance. Socialites, politicians, entrepreneurs, businessmen and influencers aplenty.

  Unfortunately, they failed to impress or leave an impression. After two days of such, Gwen had grown bored. A week later, and she couldn’t be bothered to care. That didn’t mean that she failed in her duties. No, she played the sophisticated lady perfectly. It was just that she found it all a chore.

  She imagined herself akin to an actor doing multiple shows of the same play in a day for a week. The stage being the Croft Manor. Her family, herself and the visitors making up the cast. With rehearsed lines and choreographed scenes on repeat.

  Her mother’s loud exclamations from somewhere close by drew her out of her stone like stillness.

  Gwen released a pent-up sigh and relaxed her shoulders. Where she endured, her mother thrived.

  Eleanor Croft was in her element. Like a fish to water, she was amongst her kind in socialites. Finding herself to be the new shiny thing made her all the happier. And more vivacious.

  The result of which was that the entire manor had been besieged by commotion, with Eleanor the conductor of all shenanigans.

  The household had been whipped into a frenzy in preparation of the big party. The staff had been busy for days with the task as every minutia was to be how Eleanor wanted it. Made all the more difficult that Eleanor was a hard taskmaster with demanding tastes. She was, in a polite word, excessive.

  In all the hustle and bustle, there wasn’t a quiet corner to be found in the house as the staff raced with last minute preparations. Even the grounds weren’t spared as they were prepped for outdoor catering and assembling lawn decorations, gazebos, tables, benches, lanterns and the like.

  The entire estate had been transformed with the outdoors resembling a posh fairground.

  Gwen itched to get rid of her headache, but using spells on oneself was dangerous even for expert wizards and was only recommended as a last resort.

  Regardless, she desperately craved some peace and solitude from all the noise and people. She missed her routine of wizardry; yearning to research spells, refine her control and cultivate aether towards increasing her affinity.

  Much like her father, Gwen was a workaholic and being away from her passions agitated her immensely. As much as she understood why she was being subjected to such tropes, that didn’t go much in the way of driving away her frustrations.

  But she had learned her lesson and tolerated it all. It took an effort of will, but she bided her time with the reminder that she only had to endure it all for less than three weeks when things would return to normal. She didn’t want to acknowledge how na?ve that notion was. That it helped her cope with the nonsense would have to suffice.

  The stylist stepped away to let Gwen observe her work, awaiting her mistress’ approval.

  Gwen scrutinized her appearance and rose to get a fuller picture in the tall mirror. Her hair was immaculate, braided intricately at the sides and fell in cascading waves across her back.

  She looked to the side at the soft pink gown that she was to wear and frowned. She didn’t like it. Her wardrobe was usually more daring and she preferred more risqué designs.

  For the day however, she had opted to go the way of boring modesty with the pristine shoulder strap gown of lace and silk. She imagined the piece could have been bettered by making it shoulderless and with an exposed back, but alas, it wasn’t to be.

  Still, Gwen couldn’t stop herself from pairing it with a sleeved cropped top that just came till her collarbone and was left open at the front. She paired it with an outer white corset that went well with the pink of the gown. The two additions by themselves were scandalous, but the ensemble came together nicely without appearing racy.

  Indicating to her attendants, Gwen let her bathrobe fall as the ladies converged on her.

  Besides the truly punctual who arrived at the designated time of four o’clock, by five the guests were steadily streaming in through the gates. Gwen decided it was time for her to enter the fray.

  Her entrance did not go unnoticed and she was immediately swarmed by guests who were most single-minded to monopolize her and almost desperate to catch her eye.

  It took some time for Gwen to deal with the most fervent of her admirers after which she expertly navigated towards easier crowds.

  An experienced partygoer herself, Gwen had come prepared with a plan. The trick was to seem approachable, but always appear to be busy and taken with others. To always be on move and not be bogged down by crowds.

  Her method did mean that she ended up socializing with more people individually, but that only added to her praises as a host. A few rehearsed words of small talk, followed by a vague excuse that she was needed elsewhere or that she had to welcome other guests, and she was golden.

  Gliding across, Gwen was not surprised to find that largest and certainly loudest gathering involved her mother. Eleanor Croft was the life of the party and led a herd of fellow ladies with their characteristic loud and shrill voices.

  Gwen avoided drawing their attention, fearful at the thought of being caught in their midst. They would latch onto her like a constrictor. She knew from experience.

  In contrast, Samuel held his counsel in one of the quieter rooms. Clinking glasses of aged liquor, inhaled smoke and muffled conversations made for the ambience between a flock of business men and women.

  Gwen didn’t pay them much mind as she moved past their assembly. If it weren’t for the fact that she found them incredibly boring, they would have made the perfect place to spend away her time without being accosted or bothered by others.

  As she mingled, she added to her opinion of the people of Faymoren, particularly in comparison to the people of Isca, her home.

  The folk of Faymoren were of hardy stock, hardworking, callused and rough around the edges. They were more honest and courteous in their manner. But let it not be said that there were no good people in Isca. Still, Gwen couldn’t deny that the people in Faymoren were broadly less mean and less ambitious than those in the capitol.

  People in Faymoren were nicer. Kinder. More content in their place.

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  But Gwen defended that people of the Duchy weren’t as vibrant and industrious as folks from her home. That Isca was a modern metropolis that boasted of diversity and held a greater joy of life with a propensity for exuberance.

  Faymoren was safe and bland. Isca was colorful and rousing, exciting and dangerous even.

  And while Gwen could see the appeal of the Duchy, she very much preferred the capitol and placed Isca above Faymoren in her ranking.

  Though she couldn’t deny the native appeal. Her covetous eyes did linger on few delectable specimens, but she controlled herself. Her most recent faux pas fresh in her memory made it easier for her to abstain and be on her best behavior. The reminder cooling her thirst of temptations.

  Still, she found it difficult when some of those who caught her eye returned her interest. She had to be so careful not to return a sultry glance or use her smoky tone. Ever mindful of ‘not’ swaying her patented strut nor swaying hips as she walked by beaus and belles.

  Thankfully, as distracted as she was by her baser instinct, she was in control of them. Strangely, she found an appreciation of her desires being out of her reach. The denial made them all the more enticing. Imagining a time when she was free to indulge herself had Gwen salivating.

  Precisely at seven, a stir in the audience heralded the arrival of the guest of honor for the evening. The Crofts promptly assembled and took their places.

  The Duchess arrived with her convoy down the lit arches of the thoroughfare. Everyone who could, did gather around to see the Duchess disembark and embrace the Croft family. Sabina followed it with a brief announcement of gratitude and an endorsement of the Croft name before being led indoors. Everyone bowed at her passing. Some even took a knee.

  With her arrival, Sabina had become the center of attention. Gwen felt that the Duchess had a palpable gravity to her that drew everything towards her. As if the world bent to her presence.

  And who could blame the world, let alone the people! Sabina Ashworth was magnificent. A queen of queens in her purple strapless gown with a velvet cloak and full sleeve white leather gloves. A red lace choker graced her throat with ruby earrings. Her hair went unadorned, swept over her left shoulder to spill across her bosom like black ink.

  Sabina was perfect. She was The Woman.

  Following behind as her parents shared the honor of rubbing elbows with Sabina, Gwen observed the people as they looked to their Duchess.

  Respect, reverence and submission; their eyes were full of it. They saw her as a goddess. So different from the covetous gazes of greed and lust that were thrown Gwen’s way. She felt lesser for it, diminished in a way.

  She looked to her side, at the almost forgotten figure of Hektor as he walked alongside her dressed in a militaristic blue jacket suit with bronze accents.

  In that moment, Gwen finally understood why Hektor was immune to her. Was there a woman alive that could impress when your mother was Sabina Ashworth?

  Hektor caught her looking and gave her an awkward smile. Gwen could infer that Hektor was uncomfortable at the worship heaped upon to his mother. More accurately, he was nervous by his proximity to the scene.

  Upon reaching the main hall, Sabina went on to hold a casual court of sorts as everyone present wished to pay respects to the Duchess.

  The guests were closer to the Crofts’ standing than nobility. Majority of those invited were influential and upper-class bourgeois, the very wealthy and the up-and-coming. It was not every day that they could say that they met the Duchess face to face and most, if not all, were unwilling to let the chance slip.

  Sabina patiently graced anyone that approached her, sparing a few seconds for each of her subjects. Samuel and Eleanor stood by on one side of Sabina’s, with Hektor and Gwen on the other, presenting a picture of solidarity.

  After a quarter of an hour of being inundated with meet and greets, Sabina decided against standing still for taking a stroll and mingling with the crowd.

  “Why don’t you and Gwen go ahead and enjoy the party?” Sabina suggested to her son with a smile.

  Hektor extended a gentleman’s arm for Gwen in invitation and together they separated from their parents.

  Not much was said between Hektor and Gwen as they made their way across the hall towards the verandah. They had planned things through and thought it best if they took to the outdoors to thin the crowd and stagger the immediate onslaught of attention.

  Much more for Hektor than Gwen, the occasion served as a trial run for the main event of Hektor’s birthday.

  The pair weren’t left alone for long and were soon mobbed.

  Gwen led the interactions as Hektor observed studiously. Initially, he came across as reticent, but after a few exchanges he started to mimic Gwen and became more approachable. Ten minutes later and Gwen could see the boy making strides. She judged that with a little more practice, Hektor could pass for being sociable.

  Gwen did remain mindful of giving Hektor small breaks as she picked up the slack. Being so close to him, Gwen was the only one to sense Hektor go tense from time to time, only to relax a while later when given a reprieve from speaking.

  Gwen indicated to the roaming waiters to keep the crowd plied with drinks and appetizers, their feasting earning Hektor small respites between conversations. The waiters were also on hand to refill Hektor’s glass with water and juice. Gwen knew how much the boy sweated through in his anxiety and sought to keep him hydrated. She would have offered a little liquid courage to settle his nerves, but she had found out that Hektor was very averse to alcohol.

  Gwen felt like she was juggling two tasks at once. One of entertaining the guests. The other of playing nanny for her betrothed.

  Half an hour in and Hektor was finding his feet, becoming more comfortable in his skin.

  Gwen would have been proud, but the crowd was well mannered and they seemed considerate of Hektor’s affliction. Most of whom were content to offer their congratulations and blessings to the young couple before making way for the next in queue.

  Eventually, the adults made way for the younger generation to get their chance at being acquainted with the new couple.

  Gwen grew more alert at the youthful audience. Not for her own, but for Hektor’s sake. Already she could feel the lecherous eyes on her and spot a few disdainful looks sent Hektor’s way.

  To his credit, Hektor seemed impervious and remained the perfect gentleman. He let Gwen take the lead and stood in a manner to give her center stage. She would have felt touched, if not for being wise to the slyness by which Hektor was deffering to her in a show of respect, while at the same time hiding under her skirt.

  A young man stepped forth and Gwen tagged him for a troublemaker by his impish grin.

  “Harry Bryce, at your service,” he introduced with a bow. He took Gwen’s offered hand and raised it to his lips without kissing. “Congratulations on your betrothal,” he gushed.

  Gwen had to think to place the name. If she wasn’t mistaken, the Bryce family held farmlands for growing alchemical herbs.

  “Thank you, Mister Bryce,” Gwen spoke graciously to the man who seemed around her age.

  The man eagerly moved on to shake Hektor’s hand. “And you as well, Master Hektor.”

  Hektor repeated after Gwen and thanked Bryce.

  “What is that you are drinking?” Bryce asked in a honeyed voice dripping with concern.

  Hektor looked to his glass and back. “Grape juice, Mister Bryce,” he replied.

  Bryce made a show of being relieved. “Oh, that’s alright then. I feared you were on your fourth glass of wine and putting us all to shame! And with you not old enough to drink,” he added as an afterthought.

  The crowd tensed at the perceived slight.

  Hektor struggled to hide his grin. “I do not need be to be drunk to enjoy your company, Mister Bryce. Or hers for that matter,” Hektor inclined his head at Gwen.

  Bryce was momentarily speechless before barking out a laugh. “Can’t argue with that!” he commended, happily entertained. It seemed he was well satisfied with a bit of verbal jousting.

  Gwen felt a curiosity to inquire as to what that was about, but she was quickly engaged by another guest.

  The next eventual troublemaker was unexpected. A young lady closer to Hektor’s age stepped forth and introduced herself with a curtsy, “Miss Abby Alders. A pleasure to meet you Miss Croft.”

  Gwen had an easier time placing the Alders name. They ran a few printing presses. “A pleasure,” she returned.

  Abby turned to Hektor and her demeanor transformed. The young lady seemed to visibly hold a grievance against him.

  “Young Mater Hektor must be very pleased with himself for having Miss Croft for a bride,” Abby uttered as if it were an accusation.

  Hektor was more curious than anything as he maintained his manners. “Yes, Miss Alders. I am fortunate to have Miss Croft as my fiancé.”

  The opinionated young lady huffed. “Perhaps Miss Croft would have preferred to wait and not be bullied into marriage by aristocrats such as yourself.”

  Gwen guessed that the impressionable young thing might be a fledgling feminist or a misguided republican. Either way, she had chosen poorly to flaunt her opinion.

  Hektor kept his tone even. “I am afraid, you are mistaken, Miss Alders. Miss Croft chose me, not the other way round,” he attempted to diffuse Abby’s misguided anger and spare her the embarrassment. “But it speaks to your character that you worry for her. I am very happy to know that there are people like you out there, Miss Alders.”

  The wind left young Abby’s sails as a blush bloomed on her cheeks. She spluttered, grabbing her frock in fists before fleeing in shyness to the amused and endearing chuckles of the audience.

  “So, it was Miss Croft that courted you, Master Hektor?” asked a Miss Milhouse playfully. She was amongst those whom they have already been introduced to. “Then I must ask for your opinion. What do you think of your bride to be?” she teased to many girlish giggles and feminine glee.

  Hektor looked to Gwen for permission, which she gave with a smile. She was intrigued as to what he would say.

  “Are you familiar with Charlotte Northrop?” Hektor asked Miss Milhouse.

  Miss Milhouse shook her head. “The name seems familiar, but I can’t recall,” she admitted.

  “She was philosopher native to our Duchy some two hundred years ago,” Hektor established. “She is mostly known for her paintings,” he clued in to Miss Milhouse, hoping she recognized the name. “She also wrote essays and one of her pieces always stuck with me.”

  Hektor was a little surprised when he noticed that everyone was focused on him. Before he could panic, Gwen gave his arm a squeeze, as much in support as in warning.

  Hektor maintained his nerve and addressed Miss Milhouse.

  “In one of her essays, Charlotte Northrop stated beauty to be an advantageous quality. A trait of purpose.

  “Flowers are colorful to aid with pollination. Animals have rich coats for camouflage and warmth. Even birds with their plumage and sounds have their distinct uses.

  “Miss Northrop suggested that as such, beauty is ‘not’ in the eye of the beholder. Rather it is a trait of purpose.

  “According to her, cleverness is beauty. Good health is beauty. Education is beauty. Wealth is beauty. Having food is beautiful. Being independent is beautiful. Knowing a craft is beautiful. And so on. You get the gist,” Hektor surmised.

  “When I look to Gwen, I am reminded of that prose by Charlotte Northrop. Every aspect of hers is purposeful. Her mind. Talent. Appearance. And wealth. All of her is beautiful, in that it is purposeful.”

  All as one, the audience pivoted to Gwen. For once, their eyes weren’t those of lust and greed, but those of observation and estimation. A few returned their attention to Hektor in contemplation. Just then, they didn’t find him as lacking as before.

  It would be a stretch to say that they found him beautiful. But they found him purposeful.

  Meanwhile, Gwen was reminded of the fact that Hektor was someone who had the capacity to surprise her and turn her assumptions to mush.

  For all the sweet things whispered to her and praises proclaimed in her name in the most intimate moments, she couldn’t find many compliments as touching as those that Hektor had graced her with.

  And he had done so in front of a crowd!