He Objects

Chapter 2: Cocktail Hour

"I can hardly believe the wedding is tomorrow!" My mother exclaimed. "You must be as busy as we are making preparations, Your Grace!"

"Indeed," Dowager Duchess Gretchen Kentworth replied evenly, in the same quiet, impassive tone she'd been using all night with my mother, who was several inches shorter than her. Only her occasional glances at the duke indicated her discomfort, as though she couldn't quite believe my mother dared speak to her so familiarly but was doing her best to say nothing about it.

My left eye twitched, the most I dared to do to show my embarrassment. As the dowager duchess and Felix's mother, I felt Duchess Gretchen's reaction somewhat justified. On the other hand, I also felt a little protective of my mother, who only wanted the best for me. Her Grace was a tall, graceful woman, known to be rather intimidating when she wanted to be. Though she had been nothing but cordial to me, I sensed the same lack of warmth towards me that her son had, only it was far more subtle with her. She was disgustingly wealthy in her own right, and had a far higher standing in society than my family. I didn't like how she was looking down at my mother, literal height difference aside.

I glanced around the room. My parents had decided to hold a small cocktail party the evening before the wedding, supposedly so that family and friends could gather together and celebrate the pending nuptials. However, there were maybe thirty people in the room, and other than the duke's family and mine, not one of them held a title above that of an earl. The intent was clear: look at our daughter rise. She is already better than everybody else, and she only grows more superior.

I felt like a prized heifer, standing in that room. Or perhaps a slightly more flattering ornament, made to be admired and shown off. But property nonetheless.

In the corner, Felix stood with a group of older gentlemen amidst a cloud of smoke, though I noticed he was the only one without a cigar in hand. Even so, he was actively engaged in conversation, and clearly the center of attention.

When he noticed me glancing at him, though, he frowned slightly, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop. I pointedly looked away before he could. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd gotten to me.

But he did get to me. So did my mother's pestering of the high and mighty dowager duchess, and this whole ridiculous party. My feeling of melancholy deepened, settling in to stay in the pit of my stomach. This was my last night to be my own person before being stuck in a household legally bound to a person who despised me. But here I was, stuck in this room putting on an act, when all I wanted was to run away as fast as my feet could carry me.

I feigned attentiveness to my mother's incessant prattle for a few minutes more until I noticed one of the footmen slip into the room and approach Hawkins, our butler. A creamy white letter with a burgundy wax seal changed hands, and soon, Hawkins was approaching us.

"Oh, Hawkins, is that a reply from the florist?" My mother said brightly, extending her hand. "I looked at the church this afternoon and thought there weren't quite enough blossoms in the arch, so I requested at least three dozen more. The lovely couple should be positively surrounded by beautiful flora, don't you think, Your Grace?"

"I suppose," Duchess Gretchen started, obviously choosing the path of least resistance. Then she took a closer look at the letter on the platter in Hawkins' hand, before drawing her gaze slowly up to look the butler in the eye.

"Actually, my lady, the letter is addressed to the dowager duchess," Hawkins' murmured. He presented the letter mutely to her, doing his best to navigate the situation without embarrassing his employer.

"Thank you," she said, scooping the letter off the platter. From the grim look on her face, it was apparent she wasn't happy to receive a letter from the recipient. Although I couldn't understand why. Now that it was closer, I recognized the seal on the letter.

It was the royal seal.

"Please excuse me for a moment," Duchess Gretchen said, already turning away with letter in hand.

"Oh—alright," my mother said faintly. I could tell she was dying to know the contents of the letter, but for once she refrained from being openly nosy.

The dowager duchess retreated to a quiet corner to read the letter's contents. My mother stared at her openly, while I only peeked once or twice. Her already serious face grew even more so, and when she finished the letter she looked up at Felix, who was nowhere near her. Despite that fact, he immediately looked at her and walked over, his mouth in a thin line.

"Oh dear," my mother fretted, watching the two converse in low voices. "Something must be wrong."

"Maybe not?" I said quizzically, as Her Grace's expression transformed into a polite smile. It was hard to tell, but I thought maybe it was a little forced. Whatever it was, she didn't want to make her feelings about it widely known.

She walked back toward us with Felix half a step behind her. "I'm afraid we will have to depart earlier than expected," she said briskly. "We have an unexpected guest arriving at our estate shortly, and we must be there to receive them."

"On the eve of the wedding?" My mother said, taken aback.

Duchess Gretchen nodded. "My nephew has decided that he would like to attend his cousin's nuptials."

My mother gasped. "You don't mean—" she cut herself off, mouth gaping like a fish. I internally smacked my forehead. Could she be any more obvious? It took me another half-second for my mind to catch up with the implications behind my mother's inquiry.

"Yes," Duchess Gretchen said, answering the unfinished question. "Prince Henri will attend the wedding tomorrow."