“I look like a giant pineapple, Mama,” I groused, and stared grumpily at my reflection in the mirror. The hexagon pattern of the yellow fabric itself was a problem, though made even worse by the gold-and-green tufted embroidery. This had to be a joke.
“Pineapples are fashionable,” she replied while fastening an emerald necklace to my throat, and I nearly wept in horror atthe likeness it made to a pineapple crown. “You know yellow is a highly coveted color this season.”
“Isn’t it too bright? We’re still mourning the king, after all. We should be respectful at least for a few more months.”
“Mourning is officially over, by the palace’s own announcement,” she countered. “And we must set our sights on getting you wed. I am certain that His Majesty, may he rest in peace, would understand the circumstances in which we find ourselves with your future. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
I gritted my teeth. “Honestly, what gentleman wants a gaudy pineapple for a wife?”
“The fruit is a sign of wealth, power, and hospitality. Three things that herald our family, and will hopefully attract someone similar.” She puffed my sleeves and studied the plume factory of white feathers currently ensconced upon my crown. I was lucky I could keep my neck straight and head high from the weight of them. Who knew feathers could be so heavy? Well, theywere—especially when encrusted with gems along the rachis. The multitude of hairpins required to keep them in place only worsened my situation.
“Let’s be realistic,” I muttered. “They’re a sign of imperialism.”
The maids surrounding us gasped, but they were used to my unconventional opinions.
“Rosalin!” my mother chastised, though she was smart enough to know I wasn’t wrong. It just wasn’t something any well-bred young lady should have thoughts on.
“Don’t worry, Mama, I promise to keep my irregular views to myself,” I said as Anna threaded more gems through my hair, whichwould not hold a curl no matter how hot the curling tongs were.Clearly, gems were the replacement for ringlets,I mused wryly. “Though it’s not like the Duchess of Harbridge would not agree.”
Ela’s mother-in-law, Zia’s own mama, the Duchess of Harbridge, whose ball we were attending tonight, was a brilliant, forward-thinking activist who led the charge for human rights in Parliament. Despite not having her own seat, since she was a woman, her very influential husband fully supported her recommendations and proposals. Her voice had power, and she wasn’t afraid to use it.
“She is aduchessand free to speak her mind, my dear. Perhaps you can aspire to such a position, should you find a duke to marry,” my mother said. “Women in our position must always find creative ways to have our opinions taken into account.”
I blinked at that, narrowing my gaze at my mother, but her expression was placid. What opinions did she have? She never went against my father…or so it seemed. Mama was a private person, but she had never been a wilting wallflower.
“There are hardly any good dukes left,” I muttered. “Much less ones with two brain cells to rub together or ones whose brains haven’t fully developed yet.”
Mama arched a thin, dark brow. “The Duke of Bentley is looking for another wife.”
I gasped and nearly gagged at the idea of marrying the man in question. Not only was he older than dirt, but he was also of the mind that women should be seen and not heard. No, thank you. “He practically has one foot, and perhaps even the entire leg, in the grave!”
“What about the Duke of Renton? His mother is desperate to see him wed. She asked me last week if you thought him handsome.”
My eyelids fluttered shut in disgust. “Mama, he’s sixteen with barely any whiskers on his upper lip.”
“Beggars cannot be choosers.”
I clenched my jaw, mimicking her terseness. “And yet you expect me to choose between a slovenly old toad and a pubescent boy who is an utter greenhorn. How are either of those acceptable?”
“Then pick someone else,” she said. “A marquess, an earl, a viscount. Even landed gentry will do.”
My eyes stung. “If it werethateasy, I would have been betrothed years ago.”
“You must marry this season, Rosalin. Your father won’t stand for his only daughter not to be wedded after a fourth time on the marriage mart. People are starting to think something is wrong with the Duke of Delmont’s offspring, and once that gossip takes root, it will be impossible to counter.”
“Nothing is wrong with me. I simply cannot abide a narrow-minded, bigoted old fool or a blushing schoolboy intimidated by his own shadow,” I bit out. “Would you be happy to see me wither away in misery?”
“I would be happy to see you settled and safe.”
I opened my mouth to argue and snapped it shut. That was the way of our world—girls of my station were traded from one keeper to another. Being married was the pinnacle of our existence and, sadly, was the only opportunity to continue to have a voice. At least for husbands whoallowedtheir wives to speak. I swallowed the bitterness on my tongue.
My mother had a capable, clever mind of her own, but she often ceded to my father, claiming that he would do what was best, especially politically. Which was true—he was a brilliant politician, and his political legacy was something to be lauded and admired. But that didn’t mean he knew what was best forme.
Was it so wrong to wish for a husband who could hold my interest with his mind alone?
Most people in the aristocracy alleged that one could not be both a gentlemananda scholar, as if the two were mutually exclusive. An aristocrat’s primary goals were tied to his estate and title, and for him, university was primarily about making social connections, learning diplomacy and civility, and gaining sophistication.
Then again, Zia’s brother and Ela’s husband, the Marquess of Ridley, had been made better for his time at Oxford. His intellect served him well, and not just as the future Duke of Harbridge but also as a respected peer. Mr. Nasser also had an exceptional ability to talk about any culture in the world…an aptitude that would have come from having diverse family and an extensively broad education. Even Blake, for all his faults, had been shored up by his time at university. He was sharp, with an extraordinary memory.
