Bring Your Own Betrothal

Some five-hundred years ago, a noble family was desperate to deliver an heir. Duke Roland of Peridot had worked hard to climb the peerage, becoming a duke on his own merits. His wife, Honora, was born into nobility, and very much wanted her children to climb even higher. The older the pair became, though, the less likely it seemed that they would be able to pass on their title at all. It was said that the duchess Honora had given birth to at least half a dozen children. The people of the realm could not be certain exactly how many there had been, as those that did not make it to full term or live beyond their first few hours of life were neither baptized nor recorded. Unfortunately for the noble family, that described most of their children. Finally, they had one healthy child, a little duchess whose rosy cheeks and shining eyes seemed out of place when compared to the weak and sickly look of her siblings. Little Leanora was the only child that most of her parents’ courtiers ever saw, as she was the only child of the duke and duchess to make it to her sixteenth birthday. Leanora’s noble blood meant that even before that day, the only thing her parents were concerned about was finding the most prestigious possible match for their precious daughter. Every titled young man in the dukedom was considered, though none of them met her mother’s exacting standards. Leanora was not interested in the process. As the daughter of the duke, she had always known her marriage would be arranged. She had never given it more than a moment’s thought, not bothering to hope for finding love in the arms of a prince or a king. Instead, she spent her youth learning things that pleased her, like riding, hunting, and hawking. Marriage negotiations would take months or even years, after all. In the meantime, Leanora had better things to think about. - At first light each morning, Leanora’s maids would twist, braid, or plait her long, auburn hair, to tuck it into her headpiece. This never ceased to irritate her mother, as she reminded Leanora at least weekly that a young, unmarried woman should keep her hair loose. But loose hair was more likely to catch when running, climbing, and riding, and that simply would not do. So, her maids learned to tuck her hair out of the way each morning. Two of her maids very close to her own age became especially good at this routine - and became her closest friends in the process. Imogen and Rosalind were their names, and though their station in life meant they would always be beneath Leanora and at her service, they were the only two she truly trusted. They were also the only two who ever knew for certain what their mistress was doing, at any given time. “The rain will mean the stables are closed today, Your Grace,” Rosalind warned, one particularly overcast morning. She finished one side of Leanora’s hair and tucked it under her headpiece. She pinned it in place and began assisting Imogen without pause. Leanora huffed. “Closed for the gentry. Not for us.” “Some of us are the gentry, Your Grace” Imogen laughed. She finished the rest of Leanora’s hair and let Rosalind tuck and pin it. “You just mean Nicholas will let you in.” “Us,” Leanora corrected. “And must you say it that way?” “What way?” Imogen asked, only daring to be so bold because she knew Leanora would never punish her for it. Instead, the duchess rolled her eyes. “Like you are accusing me of something.” Rosalind straightened Leanora’s hair and adjusted her headpiece. “I believe her accusation is for Nicholas, Your Grace.” She wore a smug look as she glanced at Leanora’s face, ensuring everything was fitted properly. The duchess batted her away, ignoring the warmth in her own face. “Nicholas likes to have fun,” she insisted. “Nothing more. Unlike most people at court.” “He certainly seems to like something,” Rosalind shrugged. “Or someone.” “He does not even come to court,” Imogen reminded Leanora. She scoffed. “He is smart! There is so little fun within the court.” “There is much fun and frivolity, Your Grace,” Rosalind countered teasingly. “It simply is not the sort you enjoy. Some of us like dancing and speaking to gentlemen.” “I am a fine dancer,” Leanora argued. “And I speak to plenty of gentlemen,”. Imogen giggled. “You speak to stable boys and the sons of the gentry. Those are not the gentlemen your parents would prefer you spoke to.” Leanora sighed. “My parents will decide on a groom for me soon enough. Until then, I will speak to whichever young men I please.” She stood and straightened her clothing, striding for the doorway of her private chamber before turning to look back at her friends. “Will you be joining me today, or would you rather stay here and practice your dance steps?” - Her friends did decide to join her. Of course, she could have bid them to do so. However, Leanora had never much enjoyed ordering others around, especially her closest friends. Besides, the two girls almost always trailed after her regardless of whether she asked them to or not. While the hazy morning and intermittent rain had kept most inside the walls of the castle and nearby buildings, the duchess and her maids made their way straight to the stables. There, the outline of two young men could be seen from many paces away, recognizable without the girls even having to see their faces clearly. One was a slight young man, well-dressed for where he stood, leaning against the fence and speaking animatedly to another boy. Meticulously groomed with coppery ringlets of hair never out of place, Pierce Greenbriar was the son of an earl whose father was a friend of Leanora’s own. He was a frequent visitor at the stables as well, even on days like these when riding was ill advised. “Pierce!” Leanora called to him, smiling. “Does your father know you are spending your morning in the mud again?” Pierce grinned back at her, shaking his head. “Of course not. Does yours, Your Grace?” “And who said I plan to stand around in the mud?” Leanora asked. Pierce removed his hat and gave her the briefest bow, giving her maids a similar courtesy. When they were close enough, he waited for each to present their hand, kissing them in turn and smiling widely. “I’m certain your good ladies would prefer that you did not.” “Her Grace has never given much thought to what her poor maids would prefer,” came another familiar voice from the thick mist that hung over the stables. Another boy, taller and broader at the chest appeared behind Pierce, less well-dressed but better fitted for the weather. He gave the girls the same respect Pierce had given them, though with perhaps less practiced grace. Nicholas Conrad, son of Sir. Ivon Conrad, was the chief stable minder for the ducal family. His father had served Leanora’s since before either teenager was born, and the two had grown up as somewhat unlikely friends. Now, Nicholas looked more like a man than a boy, tall enough to look over the backs of the horses and lean easily over the fences of the stable. His hair was the warm brown color of an acorn without its top, always pulled back out of his way with a few errant pieces hanging in his face. Rosalind and Imogen muffled their laughter, as they did every time Nicholas was nearby in recent days. “My poor maids are well paid for their patience,” Leanora quipped. “I think perhaps you are simply cross that I do not care what you would prefer.” Nicholas feigned injury, clapping his gloved hand over his chest and gasping. “You wound me, Your Grace.” He raised the same hand to his face, cupping it over his eyes so he could see further through the fog. “Not much of a morning for riding, though, is it ladies?” Imogen and Rosalind smirked back at him and shook their heads, but they knew well enough how futile answering would be. Leanora closed the gap between them and smacked him on the chest, impatient. “I thought we had established that I did not care what others thought, Master Conrad.” Calling Nicholas by his true title - that is to say, no title at all - was all part of the fun. Usually, Leanora called him by his father’s title, a mark of respect others would not give him. But today, she had a point to make. “Now, please make ready my favorite horse. If I’m quick, I can be finished for the day before the Grand Duchess even notices I have left the castle.” After a beat of loaded silence - and some subtle taunting by Pierce - Nicholas gave Leanora a lopsided smirk. “Your Grace,” he nodded, and then was off to fetch her horse.