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loathlylady2011-10-25 03:03 am
msmcknittington) wrote in loathlylady2011-10-25 03:03 am
Entry tags:
Excerpt for feministswrite
Charlotte flung back the heavy drapes hanging at the bedroom windows, letting in the thin morning light. It filled the room weakly, making the things it touched look pale and washed out. Ghosts of themselves, a notion she appreciated. Even so, it was enough to make the figure on the bed roll over and attempt to bury his face in his pillow.
"It is past time you were up and gone from here," she said, coming to stand by the bed.
The lump's only response was to say something nearly unintelligible into the pillow.
“I am not trying to make you miserable," Charlotte replied. "It is good, common sense. If we reach Winkenborough by tonight, then we will only need to travel a few more hours tomorrow."
Another mumble into goosedown. Charlotte put her hands on her hips.
"If you are that unhappy at being turned out of your bed, then I doubt you will be happy sleeping along the road tonight. I know I would rather be curled up in some inn than wrapped in a horse blanket."
The lump sighed and turned over, drawing the pillow over his head.
"Now you are just being silly," Charlotte said, dropping her hands from her hips.
"I'm the one being silly when you're trying to pull me out of bed in the middle of the night." His voice was muffled by the pillow, but fully understandable at last.
She sat on the edge of the bed and lifted the pillow away from his face.
"Rupert. Brother. My apologies, but the sun has been up for nearly an hour. The only people for whom it is the middle of the night are card dealers and cat burglars."
"Perhaps I've chosen a new career," Rupert said, propping himself up on the headboard.
"Perhaps I'm Cinderella herself," his sister retorted.
"I didn't want to say anything, but you are looking more wrinkled than usual." He moved his hand in front of his face, sketching lines and sagging jowls. "They have treatments for it, you know. In the mountains, fairy retreats. They coat you in mud, sprinkle a little dust over you, wash you off, and you come out looking centuries younger. It is, I understand, worth the expense."
"Please stop trying to divert the subject. Especially to one that bears no resemblance to reality."
"You are the one who claimed to be Cinderella."
"Oh, for fairying's sake, Rupert."
He clucked his tongue.
"Such language. And you spent all those years in school to become a lady."
"I am always under the impression that the attempt was very successful until I am talking to you. There is something about you that makes me want to swear."
"Jealous, are we, of my superior conversational prowess?"
In the folds of her skirt, Charlotte balled her hands into fists for a moment and then released them. She had not come here to argue or have Rupert argue with her. Her purpose was to convince him of the importance of returning immediately to their home estate.
"This is not about us," she said, trying to remove every trace of irritation from her voice. "You are needed at home."
He crossed his arms on his chest.
"He has not sent for me, and I doubt that he asked you to come as his messenger."
"The situation is very serious, and if you do not go now, you will always regret it. The rest of your life."
"I am needed here," he said stubbornly.
"Wendell announced last night that there will be no more balls, no more of this endless quest for a bride. I think that your place here is about to become much less prominent."
Rupert glared at her and then flopped back on the bed. He lay there for some minutes, staring up at the canopy raised above him. His face had gone perfectly blank, not an emotion on it. His hair, nearly as black as Charlotte’s, drooped over his forehead. His eyes, a shade darker than hers, studied the crimson silk of the canopy and hangings, as if adjudging its appropriateness to hang over his bed. She and her eldest brother were very alike, she knew, nearly alike enough to say that she was a smaller, more feminine version of Rupert. It ended with the physical resemblance, however. There was no place Rupert would rather be than planning elaborate celebrations at Wendell's request, and no place Charlotte would rather be than at their family estate, overseeing any number of things that were not elaborate parties. She had had her time with those, and that was quite happily behind her now. She did not wish to visit it again; last night had been an unpleasant reminder of those days. When Rupert left, she would be riding with him.
"I will leave on one condition," he said at last, still staring at the bed hangings.
"And that one condition is?" she prompted when he did not seem likely to continue.
He turned his gaze from the silk and toward her. He looked faintly amused, as if he had just won an particularly challenging hand of cards and was about to rake in the pot.
"I will leave quietly and without further fuss, if you remain behind and assume my role here while I am gone."
"Rupert." She paused, at a loss for words. It had not occurred to her that he might expect her to inconvenience herself so. Surely riding across the Fourth Kingdom in the autumn rains had been an inconvenience enough. And it was quite a surprise that Rupert would be willing to surrender his position as the Fourth Kingdom's social secretary to her. It had always been a point of rivalry between them that her position in the Second Kingdom's government had been less than his, that she had been a mere assistant. Having her assume his position for however short a time would make them almost equals. Anathema to Rupert.
Assistant or no, she still knew her own mind. Just because he was the eldest did not mean he still got to order her about now that they were grown. It was no matter that she had come here to do the same to him; Rupert had obligations at home -- at Larkwood -- and she meant to make him aware of them.
"Absolutely and unequivocally no," she said.
"Ah, then it is no for me as well." He began to wrap himself back up in his duvet. "I will sleep for another few hours, then. Enjoy the ride home. Say hello to the dogs for me." He tugged on the bedclothes. "Excuse me, sister dear, but you are sitting on my covers."
She did not move.
"You must go home. If you stay here, then you are less of a man than I thought. Staying here will not stop what is coming from happening. Ignoring it will not make it go away."
"And making yourself into a martyr within the confines of Larkwood will not solve any of your problems either." He cocked his head to the side. "Or are we not allowed to talk about you, Charlotte?"
“Wendell is an ass,” she said, thinking of what had happened in the alcove. Could she look the king in the eye every day all the while Rupert was gone?
“He is king. Kings are frequently asses. He is improved since he was prince, if you can believe it.”
She frowned, knowing that as she did so, Rupert was mentally tallying the creases and lines it made on her forehead and around her mouth. He would comment on it later, no doubt.
"Fine," she said. "You win. I will stay behind and see to Wendell's correspondence and invitations to village fetes and every other inane little detail." One corner of her mouth flickered in a smile. "Provided you are up and gone in half an hour."
"You make staying here sound as if it would be unpleasant."
She stood up.
"Half an hour, Rupert. Or the deal is off."
He flung back the covers and swung bare feet to the floor. He searched out his slippers on the floor with his toes.
"I believe I can manage that." He gestured toward the riding habit she was wearing, in preparation for the ride home she had thought she would make. "You did bring something other to wear than that, didn't you? It's bad form to wear black to an audience with the king."
"I think I might be able to find something else to wear." She frowned. "And why should I not wear black? I am in mourning."
Rupert snorted and raised a skeptical eyebrow at her.
"Black is depressing. We owe it to king and country to present things in the most positive way. They are not like other people, you know. So much pressure in their lives. They deserve for things to be cheerful, and that means color."
"Preposterous. The rule was always red and nothing else in the Fourth Kingdom, and I did not notice Red Riding Hood was any less morose than any other ruler."
"Hood, as always, is an exception in all things. We must make sacrifices for our country, and if those sacrifices involve pastels, then so be it. And color makes Wendell less of an ass; he's very sensitive in that way." He pulled his dressing gown on over his pajamas, which were teal and fuchsia, respectively. "You shouldn't frown so, by the way. It will give you wrinkles that even a Seventh Kingdom spa treatment won't cure."
Charlotte frowned harder.
"Half an hour, Rupert."
As she went out the door, headed to change into something more suitable, she heard the gurgle of coffee being poured into a cup and the rustling of a newspaper. Half an hour be hanged. They would be lucky if he were gone before noon.
"It is past time you were up and gone from here," she said, coming to stand by the bed.
The lump's only response was to say something nearly unintelligible into the pillow.
“I am not trying to make you miserable," Charlotte replied. "It is good, common sense. If we reach Winkenborough by tonight, then we will only need to travel a few more hours tomorrow."
Another mumble into goosedown. Charlotte put her hands on her hips.
"If you are that unhappy at being turned out of your bed, then I doubt you will be happy sleeping along the road tonight. I know I would rather be curled up in some inn than wrapped in a horse blanket."
The lump sighed and turned over, drawing the pillow over his head.
"Now you are just being silly," Charlotte said, dropping her hands from her hips.
"I'm the one being silly when you're trying to pull me out of bed in the middle of the night." His voice was muffled by the pillow, but fully understandable at last.
She sat on the edge of the bed and lifted the pillow away from his face.
"Rupert. Brother. My apologies, but the sun has been up for nearly an hour. The only people for whom it is the middle of the night are card dealers and cat burglars."
"Perhaps I've chosen a new career," Rupert said, propping himself up on the headboard.
"Perhaps I'm Cinderella herself," his sister retorted.
"I didn't want to say anything, but you are looking more wrinkled than usual." He moved his hand in front of his face, sketching lines and sagging jowls. "They have treatments for it, you know. In the mountains, fairy retreats. They coat you in mud, sprinkle a little dust over you, wash you off, and you come out looking centuries younger. It is, I understand, worth the expense."
"Please stop trying to divert the subject. Especially to one that bears no resemblance to reality."
"You are the one who claimed to be Cinderella."
"Oh, for fairying's sake, Rupert."
He clucked his tongue.
"Such language. And you spent all those years in school to become a lady."
"I am always under the impression that the attempt was very successful until I am talking to you. There is something about you that makes me want to swear."
"Jealous, are we, of my superior conversational prowess?"
In the folds of her skirt, Charlotte balled her hands into fists for a moment and then released them. She had not come here to argue or have Rupert argue with her. Her purpose was to convince him of the importance of returning immediately to their home estate.
"This is not about us," she said, trying to remove every trace of irritation from her voice. "You are needed at home."
He crossed his arms on his chest.
"He has not sent for me, and I doubt that he asked you to come as his messenger."
"The situation is very serious, and if you do not go now, you will always regret it. The rest of your life."
"I am needed here," he said stubbornly.
"Wendell announced last night that there will be no more balls, no more of this endless quest for a bride. I think that your place here is about to become much less prominent."
Rupert glared at her and then flopped back on the bed. He lay there for some minutes, staring up at the canopy raised above him. His face had gone perfectly blank, not an emotion on it. His hair, nearly as black as Charlotte’s, drooped over his forehead. His eyes, a shade darker than hers, studied the crimson silk of the canopy and hangings, as if adjudging its appropriateness to hang over his bed. She and her eldest brother were very alike, she knew, nearly alike enough to say that she was a smaller, more feminine version of Rupert. It ended with the physical resemblance, however. There was no place Rupert would rather be than planning elaborate celebrations at Wendell's request, and no place Charlotte would rather be than at their family estate, overseeing any number of things that were not elaborate parties. She had had her time with those, and that was quite happily behind her now. She did not wish to visit it again; last night had been an unpleasant reminder of those days. When Rupert left, she would be riding with him.
"I will leave on one condition," he said at last, still staring at the bed hangings.
"And that one condition is?" she prompted when he did not seem likely to continue.
He turned his gaze from the silk and toward her. He looked faintly amused, as if he had just won an particularly challenging hand of cards and was about to rake in the pot.
"I will leave quietly and without further fuss, if you remain behind and assume my role here while I am gone."
"Rupert." She paused, at a loss for words. It had not occurred to her that he might expect her to inconvenience herself so. Surely riding across the Fourth Kingdom in the autumn rains had been an inconvenience enough. And it was quite a surprise that Rupert would be willing to surrender his position as the Fourth Kingdom's social secretary to her. It had always been a point of rivalry between them that her position in the Second Kingdom's government had been less than his, that she had been a mere assistant. Having her assume his position for however short a time would make them almost equals. Anathema to Rupert.
Assistant or no, she still knew her own mind. Just because he was the eldest did not mean he still got to order her about now that they were grown. It was no matter that she had come here to do the same to him; Rupert had obligations at home -- at Larkwood -- and she meant to make him aware of them.
"Absolutely and unequivocally no," she said.
"Ah, then it is no for me as well." He began to wrap himself back up in his duvet. "I will sleep for another few hours, then. Enjoy the ride home. Say hello to the dogs for me." He tugged on the bedclothes. "Excuse me, sister dear, but you are sitting on my covers."
She did not move.
"You must go home. If you stay here, then you are less of a man than I thought. Staying here will not stop what is coming from happening. Ignoring it will not make it go away."
"And making yourself into a martyr within the confines of Larkwood will not solve any of your problems either." He cocked his head to the side. "Or are we not allowed to talk about you, Charlotte?"
“Wendell is an ass,” she said, thinking of what had happened in the alcove. Could she look the king in the eye every day all the while Rupert was gone?
“He is king. Kings are frequently asses. He is improved since he was prince, if you can believe it.”
She frowned, knowing that as she did so, Rupert was mentally tallying the creases and lines it made on her forehead and around her mouth. He would comment on it later, no doubt.
"Fine," she said. "You win. I will stay behind and see to Wendell's correspondence and invitations to village fetes and every other inane little detail." One corner of her mouth flickered in a smile. "Provided you are up and gone in half an hour."
"You make staying here sound as if it would be unpleasant."
She stood up.
"Half an hour, Rupert. Or the deal is off."
He flung back the covers and swung bare feet to the floor. He searched out his slippers on the floor with his toes.
"I believe I can manage that." He gestured toward the riding habit she was wearing, in preparation for the ride home she had thought she would make. "You did bring something other to wear than that, didn't you? It's bad form to wear black to an audience with the king."
"I think I might be able to find something else to wear." She frowned. "And why should I not wear black? I am in mourning."
Rupert snorted and raised a skeptical eyebrow at her.
"Black is depressing. We owe it to king and country to present things in the most positive way. They are not like other people, you know. So much pressure in their lives. They deserve for things to be cheerful, and that means color."
"Preposterous. The rule was always red and nothing else in the Fourth Kingdom, and I did not notice Red Riding Hood was any less morose than any other ruler."
"Hood, as always, is an exception in all things. We must make sacrifices for our country, and if those sacrifices involve pastels, then so be it. And color makes Wendell less of an ass; he's very sensitive in that way." He pulled his dressing gown on over his pajamas, which were teal and fuchsia, respectively. "You shouldn't frown so, by the way. It will give you wrinkles that even a Seventh Kingdom spa treatment won't cure."
Charlotte frowned harder.
"Half an hour, Rupert."
As she went out the door, headed to change into something more suitable, she heard the gurgle of coffee being poured into a cup and the rustling of a newspaper. Half an hour be hanged. They would be lucky if he were gone before noon.