Cicely sighed as she leaned back against her chair. For the last few hours or so, she’d been pouring over the paltry store of maps detailing the known countryside. All of them were outdated, and from what she’d heard, been formerly used for military purposes. Some of them even had markings where suspected enemy camps may be located and the routes to take around them. Had she been studying history, it would have been mildly interesting, but what she needed were accurate maps and sightings that might lead her to her fellow fae.
She finally gave up, folding up the maps and presenting them back to the librarian. According to him, there were still more maps available for use, but express permission from the residing earl was needed to use them. Cicely had no intention of making contact with political figures of the area, so she abandoned that idea without hesitation.
It didn’t help that the earl had already barred her previous intention to support herself with doctoring work while she was abroad—apparently one needed documented permission for that as well. While she understood such formalities, she was much more accustomed to the villages of Gesen; there, anyone who could prove themselves capable to clients was free to work as he or she pleased. Instead, Cicely was forced to mull about on her own, trying to find leads based on the scraps of gossip she caught from the locals.
“Faeries, eh?” The portly innkeeper who welcomed her back after her little excursion was just as helpful as everyone else she’d asked thus far. “There better not be any around here. You can be sure it’d have an arrow through its heart long before it stepped foot in town. Our good Earl is very vigilant about keeping us safe.”
There he is again, that annoying Earl. Cicely nodded her head at the man, promptly refusing his following offer to get her some ale to ‘brighten your spirits.’ Somberness was a near-permanent expression on her regardless of how disappointing the day had been.
Creak, creak, creak. The old, noisy staircase was conversational as usual as she made her way up to her room. Both her cloak and dress were damp from the drizzle of rain outside, so she found herself undressing almost immediately after stepping into her room. Only when she was down to her chemise did she realize that the small, iron furnace in the corner hadn’t been stocked. It looked to be a disappointing evening, too.
Rather than bothering the innkeeper for more wood, Cicely curled up in some blankets and watched the sky outside. She’d brought a few books to occupy herself, but all of them were volumes she’d previously read several times, and she couldn’t bring herself to look at them again. Thinking about them only made her remember the disappointing lack of literature in Airedale’s library—apparently all the good works were under the earl’s protection as well.
“Miss Cicely?” A knock sounded at the door. She knew that voice too well already—it was that innkeeper again.
Wielding a beaten quilt about her shoulders like a shawl, Cicely went to the door and opened it. The resulting shock on the innkeeper’s face almost made her smile. “Yes, Mr. Bates?”
“S-s-so sorry to in-interrupt! This c-c-came for you!” The red-faced innkeeper shoved an envelope towards her and quickly turned away. Before he could disappear down the hall, Cicely leaned out and called out to him.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Bates! While you’re still here, could I trouble you for some fuel for the furnace and perhaps a hot kettle of water? I’m more than happy to pay you for the extra trouble.”
“Not at all necessary, Miss! I’ll have them left outside your door!” The man didn’t even turn back, although he did trip over himself just before he made it to the stairs. His cursing finally brought that clandestine smile to her face, and she quietly retreated back into her room.
She sat on her bed and gently eased the envelope open. Though she didn’t recognize the wax seal, the parchment was fine and creamy—certainly nothing her family would manage to send. Her curiosity was piqued right up until she found the signature on the bottom of the letter: Lord Gideon Eisenhorn, Earl of Airedale. For a moment, she simply stared in disbelief. There was no possible way the man knew her, and yet there her name was on the envelope. Apparently his shadow wasn’t just annoying; it was aware of her, too.
“Miss Cicely Goldburrow,
It is my great pleasure to personally invite you and the celebrated members of Airedale’s society to my estate this evening. The festivities will begin shortly after six o’ clock, so I have taken the liberty of preparing a carriage to come for you twenty minutes prior to the event. Please dress accordingly.
I look forward to the honor of greeting you in person,
Lord Gideon Eisenhorn, Earl of Airedale”
Color flushed to Cicely’s face, her fingers trembling. Was this a prank? Had the letter been delivered a few days late? There was no possible way she could have been sent such an invitation a mere hour beforehand, and honestly, she couldn’t imagine why she would have been sent one at all. She wasn’t the celebrated member of anyone’s society, being an eclectic midwife and closet fairy doctor. How the earl even knew she was visiting his country was well beyond her.
I have to think up an excuse! Th-this was delivered on such short notice that I couldn’t possibly be expected to attend! If someone comes for me, I’ll just tell them I have a headache! A fever! The cramps! Anything… Cicely tossed the letter aside and pulled the quilt tighter around herself. She’d never actually been invited to a party before, so she had no idea how to refuse, and refuse an earl, no less!
“Miss Cicely?”
Her heart thumped so hard against her chest she felt like it might burst. She couldn’t bring herself to go to the door, so she simply remained on her bed. “Yes?”
“I’ve brought the wood and the kettle. I’ll leave them out here for you.”
Thank God, it’s just him. Cicely took a deep breath and went to retrieve the items, creaking open the door just the slightest bit. Before the innkeeper could disappear once again, she called out for him. “Mr. Bates?”
The man froze. “Eh?”
“I’m afraid the chill has finally gotten to me. I’ve something of a fever, so if anyone happens to visit and wants to see me, could you kindly tell them I will attend to them tomorrow? I’d appreciate it so very much.” To accentuate her need, she added a pitiful little cough at the end.
“O-oh! Of course! I’m so sorry to hear that.” The man’s head began to turn her way, surely feeling concerned, but he stopped himself and headed back down the stairs.
As she went about lighting a fire in the furnace and preparing some tea with the set she’d borrowed from the innkeeper earlier, she managed to calm back down. Illness was a perfectly good reason to refuse an invitation no matter the person. She could feign it easily enough, and then she’d be off the hook. She told herself that, over and over, as she enjoyed the herbal blend of tea she’d put together.
It was a shame her nerves heated right back up when an unfamiliar voice sounded at her door. Surprisingly, it was female.
“Lady Cicely? May I come in?”
Cicely promptly set her teacup on the nearby bedside table, pulling her quilt close again. Hadn’t she told that blasted innkeeper not to let anyone visit her? “I’m sorry, I’m not properly dressed. I’ve been rather ill and I’d hate to be seen like this.”
“Oh dear, that’s no good!” The door swung open on its own accord and in came some woman in her late thirties. She was dressed in a long black uniform with tufts of lace—quite formal serving attire, if ever there was one. Even her hair was immaculately done, sporting springy blond curls under her white maid’s cap. The woman wasted no time in bustling over to her, setting down a package in one arm as she bent down to feel Cicely’s forehead and wrists like she was her very own nursemaid.
“Eh? You seem quite healthy, Milady.” The woman smiled suddenly, and a bit too devilishly. “Is it the jitters you have?”
Cicely blinked. Then she gently pushed the maid away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t send for a doctor. Who might you be?”
“Ah!” The maid curtsied. “I’m Lisa Burgham, servant of the esteemed Lord Eisenhorn. He gave me very strict orders to help escort you to the castle. He said to me, and I remember very distinctly, ‘Miss Lisa, see to it that her ladyship is properly prepared. I don’t want her first impression to be one of embarrassment.’”
Cicely’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Did he, now?”
“Indeed!” Lisa flashed another uncouth smirk. “Did you plan to go in that, Milady? While I’m sure Milord would appreciate it, being a man, it seems a bit forward.”
“Ngh!” Cicely blushed despite herself, wishing her quilt would conceal a little bit more. “I had no intention of going in the first place. I am ill.”
“Ah, of course.” The maid’s smile never disappeared. “He’ll be so very sorry to hear that. He may even be forced to make a personal visit to see that one of his personal guests is alright.”
This time, the blood drained from Cicely’s face. “You jest.”
Lisa shrugged. “No, no. You must understand that Milord was very, very insistent on me completing my task. If her ladyship is well enough to go but refuses, I’m afraid he may take such a gesture quite personally.”
“Is that a threat, Miss Lisa?”
“Perish the thought!” Lisa began to unwrap the parcel she’d brought, turning back to smile at Cicely. “I’m going to prepare you thoroughly to see his lordship and no one will be disappointed.”
Cicely entered the grand earl’s castle, a maid on her right and a footman on her left. Polite as they pretended to be, the accompanying pair felt more like wardens than servants. As it turned out, Lisa had brought a splendid green dress (curtesy of the earl), and had masterfully fitted it to the unwilling victim. While the thing was finer than anything she’d previously worn, the gaudy puff of sleeves and tiers of lace and satin were far too gaudy for her tastes. It was an awfully long way to go just so one of his guests wouldn’t be “embarrassing.”
He didn’t just overdo it there, either. Lisa had Cicely’s hair pinned up so all her wild curls could cascade back down her neck. Her corset was strung tighter than she would have liked, too (apparently being unable to breathe was in fashion for nobility), and she hardly dared to touch anything with the pair of silken gloves running up to her elbows. She felt utterly ridiculous, like a fragile trinket meant purely for show.
As she steadily made her way into the castle’s foyer, however, she saw the standard set for her dress was merely modest in comparison to the other ladies present. Though she understood that the country was still repairing itself, Airedale was doing quite well if the nobles could present themselves in such a way to their earl. Strings of pearls and jewels, feathered, flowered hair pieces, dripping silk and intricate ribbons—the women looked more like walking show pieces than guests. Their male counterparts were no less worthy, dressed to the nines in coats with buttons of precious metal and trousers of silk and fine linen.
The earl was mental, Cicely decided. By no stretch of the imagination did she belong with any of those people. If she could have fled, she would have, but the footman was intent on guiding her over to the castle’s great hall. Brilliant lights awaited her, along with elegantly set tables, floral arrangements, and gently drifting music from a terrace far above the seating arrangements.
Cicely was set down at a table near the center of the room and told to wait. From there, she could only gaze about to see if she could find the earl responsible for her rough handling and await his other guests who may have met the same fate as her.
~40 Minutes Later~
