The Historian’s Novel

In the fancies of her early child-hood, Amelia would watch from a distance as her mother entertained guests. Picturing one day, that instead of being consigned to the kiddy corner where the only nobles to be found were made out of felt, she too would have a place at the grand table around which was discussed not only the goings-on of the Velvetican Kingdom, but the wide world as well.

“And I said, oh and I told him dear, that if he could smarten up like his older brothers, then maybe, just maybe, his business ventures might start finding success.”

To mingle with true upper-class ladies like her mother, over tea, was Amelia’s dream. For it represented a chance to share knowledge, and discover new methods to help better the lives of the people she might one day need govern.

“Do tell, how exactly did his face look when you said that? He didn’t cry, did he?”

They would debate politics, business dealings, and… and other such things. Important things. Things that mattered.

“Skin like a pickled plum my dear, I near thought he might faint from anger, but he only waggled his finger and threatened to not meet that cute Hathaway girl I found for him.”

“How dreadfully disappointing.”

“I say, don’t you agree, Lady Strightsworth?”

Amelia, whose daydreaming went ‘pop’, returned to the now. Where she sat in a café, surrounded by a group of women much older than herself. Who upon seeing a certain young woman standing by the door all alone, had chosen to help the poor dear, by involving her in their gossip.

Dealing with noble ladies of the capital wasn’t quite how Amelia had imagined it to be. Instead of topics concerning the well-being of their estates, the conversations which whirled seemed geared more towards which clothes were in season, who thought who might be cheating, and stories about horrible in-laws.

In short, drama. So, so much drama.

“M-maybe your son wants to prove himself to his father by working alone?” Amelia ventured, which earned her a smattering murmur of well meaning, patronization.

“You’ll understand when you’re older.” Said the lady to Amelia’s left.

“It’s youthful rebellion I tell you, all those terrible hormones,” said the next.

“Bet you know a thing or two about that,” said the third to Amelia, completing the circle, “You’ve been in the capital for a while now… Come on, tell us, which young lords have you played with?”

“P-played with?” Amelia repeated, and the jewelry of the older women jingled in delight as they laughed.

She should have known better. To invite her father for a meeting with Martel while others were around. The servant girl who had been cleaning their town-house must have sold the information the moment work ended.

No wonder the cat café appeared far busier than when she had visited with Grace. The Strightsworth’s court-hearing with the Rutherford’s must have every chatty lady trying to figure out as much as they could. What more, if her table’s company could be trusted as a reliable source for information. Then apparently, half of the noblewomen loitering about were, oddly enough, either divorced or widowed.

What a funny thing for them to mention, Amelia had thought, until her clean-shaven father entered the café in a custom military suit that showed himself off, and then it was all handheld fans a waving on deck.

“His face is a bit rough…”

“I don’t know; I think that’s a high-light. Doesn’t he look rather roguish?”

“And check out those forearms — Oh, he’s rolling his sleeves!”

“Could you imagine what it would be like? For him to hold you in them?”

Amelia couldn’t. She bid them farewell, before making a hasty retreat to her father. Not wanting to stay around the gossips before they could get into details.

“Over here!” she called, rushing over to grab his arm and lead him to where Grace had reserved them a table, “the tutor I mentioned shouldn’t be long at all. Are you feeling alright? Is there any food you want me to order?

“Meat,” said Havoc. Which made Amelia smile.

How excited she felt, to be upfront with her father. To worry no longer that every interaction between them held in it a hidden reproach. With the scales of guilt removed from her eyes, every memory between them seemed to have taken on a different, more cheerful tone of light. And Amelia found herself abuzz with a new-found desire to know him all the better.

Before, she would have assumed her father to be currently angry. But now, with his hands balled up into fists, his back straight, his brows stern, and his deadly gaze scanning the gallery of noblewomen who swooned where they sat, she could tell the odds were he simply felt awkward. As an oversized mannish man in an extremely frilly café.

“I’m not sure how appropriate it is for me to be here,” Havoc said, as they sat down together. Though he still sipped from his tea-cup once Amelia poured him a glass from the cherry-red teapot their waiter brought over. “I… care for you immensely, but I can’t help but feel I’m drawing too much attention.”

“Maybe you could try leaving the medals at home next time?” Amelia said in jest, secretly giddy her father would say he loved her out loud.

Havoc looked down at his chest, to where his many triumphs of war were displayed, “I’m meeting your tutor,” he said, “I can’t run the risk of her underestimating you for being the daughter of a former baron.”

Amelia giggled at the idea her father meant to intimidate Martel.

“I’m not belittling your concern,” she said quickly, making sure no more misunderstandings should ever cross in between them, “I simply believe once you meet Martel, you’ll find such caution is unneeded — and I think that’s them now.”

Having spotted Martel enter the café alongside Grace, Amelia waved from her seat until she had been spotted.

Her father stood to greet the pair of women.

“Martel Howligan,” Havoc said, using the last name Martel had switched to using since having lost her status as a noble, “it is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Goodness, I don’t remember you describing your father as handsome,” Martel said to Amelia, extending her hand for the Baron to place a kiss upon it with near perfect form.

Hold on, Amelia thought, where had her brute of a father run off to? And who was this strangely well-mannered and soft-spoken man who had stolen his face? It felt weird, watching him carefully pull out a seat for Martel, whose low v-cut dress which seemed designed to seduce, somehow remained classy.

Amelia stared as her father, and Martel, began talking to each other as if they were good friends.

“I remember asking my father for his newspaper to read about you when I was younger,” Martel told Havoc, shyly hiding the lower half of her face behind a menu, “It’s somewhat embarrassing, but I used to collect those snippets in a binder... When your daughter came to request my tutelage, I thought a chance had come to both finally meet you, as well as repay you for all the amazing stories you gave me growing up.”

“I can only hope to not disappoint,” Havoc said, calling over a waiter with a loud snap of his fingers, “Write down whatever the ladies want,” he said to the man, who nodded several times in what Amelia judged to be panic, “And if you don’t have it in stock, tell your chefs I’ll reward them well should they still make it happen.”

Havoc returned his focus to Martel, who had the gall to blush while looking away, as if she couldn’t muster the courage to maintain eye-contact any longer. Amelia’s mouth fell open as their waiter rushed off. And the only thing she could think of, were the words spoken to her in the rain, on the night she met Martel:

‘I’m a near middle-aged woman who likes mature, older men, not princesses.’

Had she made another mistake? That hadn’t been sarcasm? Did Martel fancy her father? The Historian’s novel hadn’t ever included an event like the one she was seeing! Worried for Grace, who ought to have liked Martel at first sight, Amelia found the princess pausing mid sip from her freshly delivered hot chocolate.

“Something wrong?” Grace asked, wearing a mustache made from whipped cream. Utterly nonplussed by whatever Martel was doing.

Satisfied, and relieved, Amelia took a napkin from her side of the table. “Just… Hold still,” she said, using it to clean her friend’s face, only to find, after a good deed done well, that it seemed to have become her turn to be stared at.

Havoc appeared bemused. While Martel smirked as if she knew something Amelia didn’t.

“Could you introduce your friend to me, Amelia?” Martel asked, “We met outside your townhouse, but we were in such a hurry to arrive I hadn’t the time to ask for a name.”

Waiting for the waiter to finish handing out a platter of appetizers, Amelia nodded, slightly self-conscious that she’d forgotten to do so.

“This is Grace, my good friend, and lady-in-waiting,” Amelia said, “Grace, this is Martel Howligan, who I hope will soon tutor me. We met while I was out walking a few days ago.”

Grace, despite the polite smile she gave, seemed to have remembered something unpleasant. “Yes, I… I think I slept in that morning.”

This rang a few alarm bells for Amelia. Who hadn’t considered whether drugging the princess into a sleepy stupor, might have caused her friend to blame herself for not waking up when she ought.

“It happens,” Amelia said quickly, placing a decorative biscuit from her own order onto Grace’s plate. “Here, these one’s are my favorite,” she explained, believing the power of sweets enough to curtail any problem.

“S’good,” said Grace, after the first bite, leaving Amelia with one hurdle leaped and a few more to go.

Such as Martel’s follow up question, “And are you childhood friends?” which made Amelia worry Grace would feel disparaged should her origins be forced into the open. Not that she thought Martel would judge a commoner for their status, but there were a great number of ears around them likely trying to listen in on their talk.

“Pretty much,” Grace said, giving an answer Amelia wished to applaud for proving how simple and effective a lie by omission could be.

“Well, I think you both look lovely together,” Martel said, “Don’t you think so as well Havoc? Look, they’re even wearing the same style of clothing.”

“Hmm?” said the Baron, who hadn’t been looking at much, other than Martel, “I mean, yes. It is nice to see them both matching.”

A comment which turned Amelia’s cheeks a bright red. She could only imagine, to those who didn’t know she and Grace had simply gone shopping together, it might appear that they were wearing what amounted to… clothing for couples.

The mere idea frazzled Amelia’s brain. Sending her into quiet contemplation concerning why she apparently cared so much about what ought to be by logic, a mundane co-occurrence.

Havoc and Martel, continued talking while they ate. Discussing in depth what Amelia’s tutelage schedule would look like in the future. Preferring to listen over speaking, Amelia enjoyed herself as an observer. Content enough to not be eating at a table alone, which made every bite of food taste all the better.

“Would that work for a start?” Martel asked, after drawing Havoc’s attention to her posture, which she used as an example for both how effective lessons on etiquette, and a balanced diet could be.

Havoc, over the fourteen stacked plates of filet mignon he had eaten, closely examined Martel’s killer figure, caught himself, roughly nodded, then said, “I suppose whatever you do must work well enough. Have you discussed with Amelia what periods of the year she’ll need to stay here for her lessons?

“Stay here?” said Martel, as if surprised, “I had hoped if things went well enough between myself and Amelia in the coming days, I could continue her lessons at your place.”

Havoc tapped on the table in thought, “How does that sound?” he asked Amelia.

“We’ve got plenty of space,” Amelia answered, wondering why he would ask her. Or why her father clapped his hands together as if having obtained permission to do something he’d been a tad hesitant in trying out.

“Then it’s decided,” Havoc said to Martel, “Shall we retreat to my coach? There’s another subject I wish to speak with you about in private. And I would be remised to not offer a ride home while I’m at it.”

“Sounds charming,” Martel said, “is that alright with you girls? If we were to head out a bit early?”

“I’m fine staying here a while longer,” Amelia said, not wanting to rush with a belly full of desserts. Even standing felt like a chore at the moment, but she still waved her father and Martel goodbye as they left.

“Martel seems nice,” Grace said, once the café door closed.

“I’m rather hopeful for the future,” Amelia said in agreement. Since when the time came to make use of Martel’s talents to help bring about the Marquess of Rutherford’s downfall through his son, she now had an excuse to meet with the woman. Also, having found a proper etiquette teacher felt pretty good. Like a milestone of life she hadn’t actually been planning for.

“And she’s super pretty.” Grace added.

“Really? I think she’s alright,” Amelia said, trying to hide her immediate worry while downplaying Martel’s looks.

After all, even if Martel now differed from the person she’d become in The Historian’s novel, what if the older woman had only fallen in love with Grace once the princess had rescued her from a certain hanged death? While it was Grace who’d felt fancy from the moment they’d met?

Was fate a thing? Could the universe be conspiring to make sure the stars aligned where they’d been? Amelia didn’t know what to do! She didn’t want Grace to fall in love with anyone before at least making sure they were good enough for the princess!

“And… I think my dad might like Martel,” Amelia said, coming up with a plausible excuse to perhaps, dissuade Grace from pursuing the woman.

Grace laughed. A good sign. Since it meant the princess didn’t mind the idea.

“Yes, it would be rather hard not to notice the spark between them,” Grace said, as she began stacking their empty dishes and cutlery at the table’s centre, “You don’t mind, do you? If something comes of it?”

“I mean… I want him to be happy,” Amelia said in a whisper, having not actually seriously considered the possibility, “Long as he doesn’t forget about mom… I don’t think I would mind it?”

But as they moved onto playing with the café’s cats, she must have looked uncertain, since once they were done, Grace brought up the subject again while helping Amelia put on her shawl.

“Personally, I’m a bit iffy on the idea of marrying twice. We’re meant to go somewhere after we die, right? I can’t begin to imagine how awkward the after-life would be for those who’ve re-married.”

“I guess?” Amelia said, thinking it a strange point to make. She knew the Velvetican Kingdom played host to a few different faiths, but on the whole, it was still by the king’s orders a secular state.

Did this mean Grace was religious? Amelia thought back on The Historian’s novel, trying to find any examples pointing to a denomination, but found nothing.

“That’s why, I’m only going to stick with one person,” Grace said, hooking an arm through Amelia’s as they left the café, “Play around in the shallow end of the pool before really diving in for the long haul, you know?”

Amelia mumbled a non-comital response while hailing a taxi. Giving the coachman their townhouses’ address, she found herself sulking once seated. For unlike when reading The Historian’s novel, where she had enjoyed the dalliances of the princess, now picturing Grace tasting each of her suitors only left her stomach with knots.

“Come on, it’s not the sort of question you’re meant to think deeply about,” Grace said, nudging her shoulder against Amelia, whose eyes drifted to where she wished a blouse hung a few centimetres lower, “If you want a real question to get all introspective about, why not… What would an ideal life well lived look like to you?

“If I could pick?” Amelia asked, guilt-ridden to find a part of her found the princess extremely attractive.

“It’s a hypothetical, silly” Grace said, amused, in a tone which suggested she really did want to hear Amelia’s answer.

“I suppose… A happily-ever-after is what I would hope my life would amount to,” Amelia said, “Finding someone who could… be with me through it all, sounds pretty nice.”

“Is that all you want? A person to care for you? Nothing else?”

“Maybe… more books to read?” Amelia said, hesitantly, having never really considered the future unless you counted her involvement in changing the Historian’s novel, “Or more time to relax in my mother’s garden?”

The answers she’d come up with were simple. Shallow even, by her own standards. Though it did get Amelia thinking about what it was she really wanted in life. A riddle she hadn’t given much extra thought about solving since Grace had asked her something similar while at the pavilion with her father and grand-father.

“Above all else I… I don’t want to be lonely anymore,” she said, speaking aloud her inner-most thoughts which came knocking, “Our family’s maids have always been good to me, but it’s not the same as when I had mom… It’s why I’m so glad you came into my life. These past few weeks have been more exciting than the last few years I’ve lived, combined together.”

“Aww,” Grace said, wrapping her arms around Amelia in an intimate hug, “I’m glad you found me as well.”

Amelia returned the hug. Finding a strange bliss in being enveloped by the princess’s perfume. She wondered whether Grace modified the scent using magic. Which brought back the memory of when the two of them had shared a kiss. Which caused Amelia to nervously swallow. No longer able to deny that within her lay an urge to taste once more the lips which were even now beautifully smiling.

Maybe if their carriage hit a large enough rock, it might nudge them a bit closer?

Her wish, would not come to pass. For with a sudden jerk the coachman pulled back on the reigns of his horse, bringing the carriage to such a stop Amelia fell not against Grace’s lips, but right onto the floor.

Silly girl. Foolish girl. Amelia thought, chastising herself. She was glad reality had rocked enough sense in her to remember the princess was destined to fall in love with one of her suitors.

Anything else simply wouldn’t make sense. A fact which gave rise to a need for escape. Causing her to remember Stanton. Who she still needed to bring up with her father.

Stanton, would not only be the perfect man to hire as a duelist for their mano-a-mano against the Marquess of Rutherford, but the perfect partner for Grace. Surely, pairing Grace with Stanton would help Amelia stop having thoughts which she absolutely, positively, could not allow herself to have.

“I need to talk with my dad!” Amelia squeaked, and she leapt from the coach before Grace could even offer a hand to help her get up, “Can you meet me upstairs after paying the fair? I’ll explain everything once I’ve confirmed his response.”

“Sure?” Grace said, confused but still showing that same beguiling smile Amelia fled from.

Amelia berated herself for having almost ruined their friendship, all the way up the driveway and into the townhouse. Where for some reason, the guards normally posted at the entrance were missing.

Amelia’s heart, still beating like a drum, didn’t care for their absence. Not when she could tell her father was home by the presence of his military jacket haphazardly lain on the ground, atop two sets of different sized shoes.

“Dad, are you home?” Amelia called, moving down the hallway towards the kitchen where she could hear the noises of movement. “There’s a really important question I have… and I wanted to… Wanted to…”

She couldn’t get the rest of her words out. For there in the kitchen did Amelia stumble upon not only her father but Martel as well, who Havoc held by the waist. Which would have been fine. If Martel didn’t happen to be completely undressed. With her hands caught frozen in the proverbial cookie jar that happened to be the buttons of Havoc’s shirt; half of which were already undone.

The exercise from sprinting, embarrassment over her attraction to Grace, and an eye-opening shock, combined into one.

Amelia fainted.

Falling with only a single thought left, which wondered whether it was her fault she might soon have a stepmother.