Cursed to Love: The Golden Curse

Chapter Four: The Harvest Faire

‘All shall suffer, until the day that you end what you have begun.’ – From the Witch’s Curse

Saturday morning Gilda woke up filled with excitement and dread. She couldn’t wait to go to the faire, but she was afraid of what might happen there. There was also the small consideration that she wasn’t entirely positive that she hadn’t lost her mind. Gilda stepped into the shed, and opened her drawer of projects. With a slight smile she pulled out her latest creation and set to work finishing the crown she had been weaving of dried flowers and the yellow and green peacock feathers. It would be hard not to name her Queen when she was already wearing a crown! It sat on her head, close to her hair, embellishing her golden curls. It looked like a wreath of almost pure gold. It reminded her of the golden wreath she saw in her dreams almost every night. The wreath reminded her she deserved more, and compelled her to seek it. Now she was wearing it’s likeness on her head, on the night that her life was hopefully going to change at last.

The peacock had made her vision possible, but it made the rest of her costume possible as well. She had saved the longer tail feathers to make a small cape to go around her shoulders. It had two layers, shorter feathers on top of longer, with the end falling just to her waist in back. She had finished the top with ribbon and green thread. It was so incredible and unreal that it looked as though it had been made by fairies.

Gran stepped into the shed. “See you used most of that peacock. You gonna sell what’s left?” She asked, still looking a trifle suspicious.

“Maybe.” Gilda answered, biting the end of the thread and tying it off.

“It just found its way into your snare?” Gran asked gently. Gilda nodded.

“That’s the truth.” She said standing. “I have to change for the Faire. I want to get there in time to do some trading.” Gilda said walking toward the house with intentional abruptness. She had no time to rehash the question of how she got the damn peacock. Not when she had to get into town in time to trade as many furs and feathers as she could to the traveling merchants that had come for the faire. She could no longer sell to Mr. Grummold, and she hated selling Mr. Grant anything more than she knew he really wanted. The poor man would buy just about anything for an excuse to talk to her, which felt somewhat wrong. Gran followed her.

“You sure you want to wear all that?” Gran asked. “Don’t you think it’s a bit much Gilda-lily?” She said fingering Gilda’s hair. “No sense in over dressing when you’re already the prettiest girl in town.” Gran looked at with concern. There was great danger in what Gilda was doing. Dressing above one’s station and aping one’s betters had gotten many a girl into dire situations.

“Stop worrying. If you half think I poached the bird…then of course I can’t sell it! If I make any coins on it, it’ll bring more suspicion. Bad enough I’m using it at all. I should have buried it in an unmarked grave in the woods.” Gilda said seriously. Her Gran nodded.

“Alright, you get yourself gussied up then.” She said giving in. Gilda kissed her Gran’s forehead before stepping into her room. She pulled the greenish golden gown out from under her bed. Every twist of the light saw new shades in the dress as she slid it on. It felt like water on her skin. It was intoxicating wearing something so fine. The very feel of it on her skin was like having had a glass or two of mead.

“Well?” Gilda asked stepping back into the kitchen. A strange smile came over Gran’s face, giving her a wistful look that Gilda had never seen before.

“Oh Gilda-lily! You’ll do perfectly.” She said just as inscrutably as her facial expression. Do for what?

“Shall we go then?” Gilda asked holding her elbow out as though to escort her Gran.

“You go on! I’m baking a few pies to sell. We’ve had quite of bit of odd meat lately… No one will know it’s peacock if I put it in the handpies!” Gran said with a wry smile. “I’ll say they’re chicken. Should bring in a fair bit of coin either way. We’re oftly short on flour and butter.” Gilda laughed. They were short on butter and flour because Gran was cooking for an entire fair.

“I’ll follow the smell of peacock pies to find you then Gran.” She said giving a wave as she hopped out the door and down the path. The walk to town was not a long one, but her excitement made it seem interminable. The soft violin music of the faire let her know that she was almost there as it wove its way through the trees to her ears. The woods thinned, and the path became more of a road as it connected with the other more well-traveled lanes leading into the village.

Gilda stepped out of the shadowy woods and into town. Sunlight sparkled on her iridescent dress, lit up her hair, and dazzled down her cape. The noise and bustle of the faire seemed to stop for a minute as she stepped into its midst. Even the bright and billowing tents of the fair merchants looked pale and drab in comparison to her. Heads turned, and eyes widened. Gilda walked forward slowly, allowing the crowd to part and let her through, as if they were afraid to brush against her shining splendor. Most of the villagers looked like dull cowbirds in their brown, gray and beige attire.

Gilda didn’t think trade was going to be possible, she was too much of a spectacle. As she walked along the little cobbled path through the center of town and toward the square she felt as if all the eyes were on her. The draped windows of the shops even looked like heavy lidded eyes. The men leaning on the rail in front of tavern grew silent, they were too perplexed to make ribald comments. She was reminded of Gran’s warning that the peg that stuck up got hammered down. Making a spectacle of herself was going to get her noticed…just like she wanted…

The broad central square of town was ringed with empty wine barrels ready to fill with oil and wicks for giant lamps during the dancing. Off to the side was a small table under a white canopy where the other girls were signing up to be considered for Queen. They looked at her with a mixture of awe and hatred. Gilda was suddenly embarrassed, she must seem ridiculous. Why had she thought this was a good idea?

“That’s quite the costume Gilda.” Anna, the baker’s daughter said with her eyebrow raised. “Didn’t think you could get the crown on merit alone? Had to dress as if you’d already been named?” She asked picking up the straw flower crown on the table and looking at it dismally. “Even if by some chance you lose…You’ll still look more like a Queen than the girl who is named!” She said and tossed the crown back down on the table. Gilda tried to grab her arm as Anna turned to walk away. Anna had been her friend up until Gilda had attended school, after that her mother had considered Gilda ‘too aberrant’ to be her playmate.

“Anna, please, wait!” She pulled a feather out of one of her bags. “Take one for your hair. It’ll look better in your dark hair.” She said quietly. Anna took the feather hesitantly, small a gift as it was, she did not own anything so nice.

“All the girls said you were seeing a noble! Did your fancy man give you this?” She asked eyes wide. “He did didn’t he?” She asked, narrowing her eyes in accusation. She laughed. “You don’t think he’ll actually marry you?” Anna asked incredulous. “Never really pegged you for stupid…but you don’t get an entire peacock for putting a man off do you?” Anna asked. Gilda shook her head.

“There is no fancy man!” Then she stopped speaking. It was almost better if her friends thought she had gotten her finery as a gift. “Just enjoy the feather, Anna. I have plenty.” Anna slid it into her hair looking slightly pacified, even though Gilda had several hundred more. It was a poor gift really.

“Thanks. Better sign up then. Can’t name you Queen unless you’re on the list.” She said with her voice still vibrating with jealousy that she was trying to bite back. Gilda gave her a wan smile and walked to the front of the line. The boy taking names looked familiar. Damn. It was Ethan Grummold. He grew as pale as the white paint on the shops lining the street as she approached.

“Hello Master Ethan.” She said avoiding eye contact as she wrote her name on the sheet. Hopefully her not so subtle insult would keep him from making any sort of ‘pretty speech’ to her. Gilda looked at the rest of the list. Several of the names were only X’s. Not sure how those girls thought they were going to get their names called…

“It’s Mr. Grummold.” Ethan said in a squeak of a cracking voice. “I’m all of twenty now. Fully a man and partner in the shop.” He said with his scrawny chest puffed out in pride. He was blushing, but he wasn’t stammering. Gilda nodded.

“Forgive me. Of course it is.” She said turning to walk away. He caught her hand in his sweaty one.

“You didn’t even need to write your name you know. All this is just a formality. I’ll make sure it’s you. All the judges look up to me…my father…it’ll be you.” He said, his eyes roving over her in a way that made her uncomfortable. Gilda smiled tightly.

“Thank you…” She said awkwardly. “But I’m sure there are many other girls to consider.” He shook his head.

“There’s only you.” He met her eyes intently. “In every respect, there’s only you.” He blushed deeply. “You’ll dance with me…of course you will…won’t you? I’m actually anxious to speak with you.” Gilda shrugged.

“If I’m Queen of the Faire I’ll have to dance with all the young men won’t I?” She said trying to smile playfully. He laughed as though her joke was hilarious.

“Yes, of course! Mustn’t make it look as though there were favoritism…even if you and I…” He trailed off while rubbing a small circle on her hand. Gilda withdrew it hastily. He blushed again, his hand falling back onto the lace tablecloth that covered the table.

“I’ll see you later then…” He said, his ears purple. With all his blood in his ears, it was remarkable that the boy hadn’t fainted. Gilda nodded and made a quick exit. All she wanted to do was get away from the uncomfortable scene. It was easier to discount the strange events that surrounded her when she met one or two people in town…it was harder when the streets were crowded with people. She scurried toward the traveling merchant tents, at least they wouldn’t know her and make assumptions about her attire.

Gilda brought her bag of furs over to a little stall where a man was selling fine winter wraps for women. She waited until his costumer left and then laid her mink pelt on his counter.

“Are you only selling today? Or buying as well?” She asked. He looked at her in confusion.

“My lady is selling pelts?” He asked. Oh! He had mistaken her for a noblewoman! Not ridiculous…she was dressed like one.

“It just happens that I have some, of very fine quality.” She said, not destroying the illusion. He nodded. He seemed flattered that she would even wish to sell to him. He paid her slightly less than they were worth, but he purchased all she had. He probably assumed that she was a married noblewoman selling a few of her furs in order to get a bit of coin her husband didn’t know about.

After she left him with the entire bag of furs, and a multitude of bowing, she headed to look for a milliner other than poor Mr. Grant. The faire should have brought a few to town. If Mr. Grant bought any more feathers from her at the generous prices he generally paid, she might well drive the poor man out of business.

Gilda had taken the extra time to mix the peacock feathers in with her bags of other grouse and quail feathers from her snares so that they would not be so obvious. Any milliner would recognize them, but hopefully only upon further inspection…once she was gone. As much as she wanted to avoid selling them to Mr. Grant, she couldn’t help it when he came up to her on the street. He was trembling and sweating, as usual. He looked exceedingly nervous.

“I heard you might.” He gulped. “Have some feathers to sell me.” He said. He was panting as though he had run to find her. “Can I tell you, that you look…” He trailed off and looked as though he might faint. Gilda put her hand out to steady him. He looked at her hand on his arm with a strange expression…gratitude?

“Thank you.” She said smiling. “Yes, I do, have feathers, but I can sell to the other vendors if you don’t need more so soon.” She said earnestly. He shook his head.

“I heard you had some that were particularly special.” He gestured to her cape. “It seems you might?” He asked. She nodded politely and handed him the bag. He ran his fingers through it, sifting and finding the smaller peacock feathers that glinted and hid amongst the others. She had used the entire tail of the peacock in her outfit, but the iridescent blues, golds, and greens of the bird’s body feathers were just as unmistakable. He looked at her with his eyebrows raised.

“You have quite a few. A whole bird’s worth.” He said in surprise, adding with his eyes her attire to what was in the bag. Gilda wasn’t sure what to say. He handed her a small pouch of money. “I’ll take them all. I won’t say…anything about where they came from.” He said quietly as though it were a great secret. He bit his lip. Perhaps Miss Lillan would be grateful to him for helping her dispose of the suspicious feathers. It might make it slightly more probable that a girl of her caliber would agree to…no. Such an angel would never accept the offer of a middle aged milliner! Gilda shrugged.

“Only if you want to! It’s not a secret really…” Anyone could see that she had somehow obtained a peacock…she was wearing most of it. He shook his head firmly.

“I do.” He laid his hand on hers to take the bag of feathers. He had to try. It was now or never. “You know that you would be safer if…” He coughed. “If you had a man in your life…a father, or a brother, or…” He swayed, almost dropping, he was so close to fainting, but Gilda caught his elbow. He clutched his throat momentarily as if his voice had spontaneously dried up.

“I’m alright.” He said embarrassed. He hurried away without finishing what Gilda could only imagine was going to be a very strange, very sweaty proposal. Gilda watched him dart away nervously. The poor man. If he couldn’t get through a short conversation on the street without fainting, how did imagine that he could survive having her as a wife? Certain marital activities would likely kill the man.

Gilda spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around the faire. The bright colored awnings of the tents invited her in to look at the various wares. Even things from another city seemed like exotic rarities to a town as remote as hers. She bought a ribbon for Gran from a vendor. The waving rainbow of dancing ribbons on wooden hoops at his stand had been too hard to resist. Gran deserved something pretty. If only she could find the woman in order to give it to her! Twice she had followed the smell of pies, only to find that they were chicken or beef…not peacock. The shadows were growing longer, and fires had been lit around the square to make it bright enough for dancing.

Gilda decided that Gran had better find her. She couldn’t miss the announcement. She hurried to the square where a few of the townsmen were standing on a makeshift stage. As she had hoped, the Squire and his family were there. Two of them were young men of precisely the right age… A rather handsome one with a devilish mustache and elaborately curled black hair, and a shorter less attractive one with light hair and an unpleasant expression. There were sisters too…that could complicate things. Sisters rarely let their brothers make foolish mistakes. Falling love in with a peasant would certainly qualify. Gilda bounced on her toes waiting nervously for the announcement that could change her pathetic life.

“If the ladies on this list, could please come forward?” The older Squire asked beckoning. Gilda and seven of the other girls started forward to the stage. The townspeople, and even the Squire’s sons drew a sharp intake of breath as Gilda stepped into the light of the oil lamps. The other girls looked downhearted. Their homespun costumes could not compete with Gilda’s outfit. Combined with her natural embellishments…the writing was on the wall. The men conferred off to the side. When the judges turned back toward the assembled young women, it was only Mr. Grummold who wasn’t smiling. The Squire came towards Gilda with a smile, holding the straw flower crown.

“I would crown you with this my dear, if it wasn’t superfluous.” He said quietly, smiling at her. Gilda attempted to smile politely behind her hand. Seeming overly pleased would not be lady-like. She only had one night to convince him and his sons that she was worthy of being a ‘lady’.

“I suppose I have made it rather redundant with my costume, haven’t I?” She asked shyly looking up at the older man. He raised an eyebrow. He had not expected a village girl to know what superfluous meant. He smiled broadly and turned toward the assemblage. The throng of sweaty peasants had an odor to them as well as a crushing sense of immediacy.

“Allow me to present Edenhoven with its new Queen!” He said loudly. Then he threw the crown into the crowd. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t think she needs this!” He said with a broad smile. The other girls ran into the crowd after it as if it were a bride’s bouquet. Gilda curtsied to the Squire. He nodded at her politely, but then, she neither looked nor smelled like a peasant. His tight formal smile disintegrated as a boyish grin suffused his face. He’d just gotten a very ‘naughty’ idea!

“I would normally invite a man of the village to escort this young lady to the dancefloor to begin our festivities, as our King…” He smiled at Gilda. The tradition was long standing. The crowd drew in their breath waiting to see what change he was going to make. “But I find I would much rather open the festivities with this young lady myself.” He said with an apologetic nod toward the assembled young men. The Squire was a widow, so there was no wife to shock. His grown children however, and the rest of the townspeople looked greatly surprised. No King of the faire? Surely the Squire wasn’t going to take this simple pleasure from the young men of the village? He wouldn’t give the Queen a kiss at the end of the first dance as was customary for the King? Gilda was still just a village girl after all, no matter how extraordinary she looked. Gilda was surprised as well, the attentions of the senior Squire were not a wrinkle she had considered in her plans to attract one of his sons. If he gave her the customary kiss at the end of dance, she would certainly never have a chance with either of them. There would also be the scandal of him having stolen the small pleasure of being King for a day from the members of his estate.

“Come now my dear.” The Squire said taking her hand to lead her to the square. Gilda followed him, mute with surprise. She searched the faces of the crowd for Gran’s. She was there! She looked disapproving. Gran would think a dance with the Squire was evidence of her forgetting her place. Did she expect Gilda to refuse to dance with her Lord? The musicians gathered in formation in the shadows struck up the tune.

“You’ll forgive me if I am a bit rusty at this particular reel, I don’t usually dance at these country affairs.” The Squire said as he gave her a quick spin, his words were not intended to be insulting, but they stung a little. Gilda smiled at him anyway.

“May I tell you a secret?” She asked archly. He nodded.

“You may tell me anything you like.”

“I prefer the more elegant dances myself. Although, I doubt the other townsfolk would know how to properly perform a minuet.” In truth Gilda had only ever seen illustrations of a minuet, but that didn’t matter. She had all of three minutes to convince him that she was worthy of one of his sons so that he would not kiss her at the end of the dance. Perhaps his sense of propriety would prevent it? He laughed.

“And here I thought you were going to confess to the theft of my peacock.” He fingered the edge of her cape.

“You are missing a peacock?” Gilda was careful to keep the fright out of her voice. This was exactly what she had feared. Apparently a gallows were in her future. He nodded in reply.

“One escaped a few weeks ago, through a large hole in the fence…I didn’t think it was deliberate…I rather blamed my gardener for neglect, until I saw how fetching you look in the ensemble.” He touched her crown with an overly long caress that included her hair. Gilda blushed.

“I was fortunate to find an unlucky bird, quite dead, near my cottage in the wood. It seemed a pity to allow his death to be for naught.” Gilda couldn’t confess to snares…she wasn’t really sure if it could be considered poaching, since it was his bird, even if her woods weren’t technically part of his estate. He raised his eyebrows.

“That was quite providential, especially the timing…for your costume…wasn’t it?” His voice was teasing. He was being surprisingly good-natured about the entire thing. He could have had her hung, since the evidence of a crime was staggering. She blushed again.

“It is the truth Sir, although I admit it is hard to believe.” She gave him a wide eyed look, it had never failed before. Unlike other girls with the same sensuous figure that she had, she was still able to project child-like innocence with her wide and unusual eyes. He smiled at her.

“As your cottage is far from my estate, it is possible the poor devil ran himself out and collapsed of exhaustion upon your door step.” He said benevolently. Gilda was momentarily relieved that he was so forgiving. But, then song ended and as expected, but not desired, the Squire gave Gilda her first kiss. He held her waist and kissed her firmly on the lips, quite a bit longer than was customary. He opened his eyes in surprise at the taste of her mouth, and failed to release her when it was appropriate. The prescribed kiss was a peck, only lips touching. His was longer, hands tightly upon her waist, tongue grazing hers. She did her best not to recoil. She couldn’t, because he had the power to arrest her. Worse still, this was the sort of kiss that could publicly ruin a young woman.

Gilda could hear audible grumbling from the assembled young men of the village. The Squire was King every day! He lived in wealth and excess and could have had a kiss from any girl he wanted, by virtue of being Squire. Today had been the chance for one of them to feel like a noble. The King got to kiss a girl without having to marry her, to drink spirits all night for free, and to begin the festivities as though he owned the village. That once in a year chance had been snatched away by a man who did not deserve it. He had done so, because the prize had been too irresistible. As resentful people often do, they didn’t blame the man responsible, but rather the accessory.

Freyr stood in the shadows watching Gilda be passed from partner to partner as the dance continued. The candles in the musician’s rusty candelabras were growing shorter, causing them look rather sinister in the dying light. Every commonplace boy in the village wanted a chance to hold her waist, to touch her bare hands, to put his face against her cheek. They were satisfied just to touch her.

The merchant’s sons, and proper townsmen were not. Freyr could hear them grumbling about the Squire’s decision to be King. They didn’t blame him, they couldn’t, he was their social better. They blamed Gilda. The men who’d had a chance to be King were not pleased with their loss. It wasn’t just the shadows cast by the candles that were altering the look of the scene, it was the people. Everywhere the crush of oily commoners with resentful faces was stifling. A young woman of very low social standing…a trapper for goodness sakes, was being treated like nobility, not just by other peasants, but by her betters. The villagers were fanatical about knowing your lot in life…Gilda most certainly did not. Freyr shook his head.

He didn’t like the look that the Squire’s sons were giving Gilda either. It was clear that they didn’t like their father’s actions any better than the townsmen did. Was there ever a girl who could inspire such feeling? It was as if she were a match or a flame, she could boil water by just holding the glass. The Squire’s sons were conferring as if they were planning something, their eyes darted to Gilda over and over. They did not look at her with lust, like the villagers did, but intense dislike.

The snake, Mr. Grummold approached the Squire’s sons and two daughters who were still standing off to the side, unwilling to truly join in the party. Their disdainful looks made it obvious that they thought just taking part in the festivities was beneath them. The Squire himself had begun his third turn with Gilda in the square. The older son, Lord Phillip, was twisting his curled black mustache in displeasure. He was a perfect caricature of a villain.

Mr. Grummold was standing next to him whispering something to the ridiculous man-child. Freyr tried to get closer so that he could hear, but the crowd was not being very cooperative. They must be particularly attached to their viewing spots if they would not step aside for a 6 foot 5 inch man clad almost entirely in dark leather to pass by. Usually his appearance alone made people get out of his way before he even indicated the direction he wished to move in. He elbowed his way closer as Squire Phillip waved Mr. Grummold away like a pesky gnat. The elder Squire returned to stand by his children, clearly in excellent humor. He didn’t notice the dismayed expressions of his sons, or the concerned look of his youngest daughter. The elder daughter looked angry, she was turned away, unwilling to even speak to her father.

Freyr sighed. He could do nothing, and something bad would happen to the girl tonight on her walk home. It was not his job to keep her safe, but if you knew something bad was going to happen, weren’t you somehow responsible if you simply let it? There were too many angry men, too many of them were speaking with one another… He made a soft growling noise in his throat. They couldn’t go after the Squire to expiate their disappointment and feelings of injustice. There was no way that some of them didn’t go after the girl. The rumblings had started already, the joking suggestions that “a few of them should walk her home.” There were very few ways to deal with a girl who forgot her place. He knew what they would do to try to put her in it. Freyr gritted his teeth. He was supposed to stay out of it. He sighed. Very well, what would happen would happen. He would simply stay out of it.

“The night’s getting a bit late for these old bones Gilda.” Gran said when Gilda stopped dancing for a breathless moment in order to have a glass of punch with her grandmother. The beverage cart bore witness to the hour as well. Several of his barrels had run dry. It was only the sickly sweet punch for the ladies that was left in a big round cask with sliced fruit on top. The barrels of ales and spirits for men, were disconcertingly empty.

“Oh, alright Gran. Let me get my bouquet from Anna and we’ll go.” Gilda said handing her Gran the little wooden cup of punch. The elder Squire, Lord Timothy Gravely had paid the man with the beverage cart a decent sum to keep her supplied all night. Unfortunately for Gilda’s head, the man had endeavored to hold up his end of the bargain.

“Oh no Dear, I didn’t mean that you should leave. The Queen of the Faire has to stay till the night is half gone! No no Gilda, only the old bones need to be to bed this early. You stay…but mind you dance with the young village boys, no more of this Squire Gravely nonsense.” Her Gran said a facial expression similar to a wise old owl. Gilda shook her head. It wasn’t as if she could refuse him when he asked.

“I’ll do my best. Do you at least have a lantern?” She couldn’t tell her Gran that the main reason for her objecting to her walking alone was because she knew the woods to be haunted by a blurry phantom that seemed to be obsessed with her. Gran would think she was touched in the head! Gran reached behind her to grab a lantern from her sash and held it up for Gilda to see.

“There, you see? I’ll be safe as can be.” Gran assured her. She knew that no man would get bolder about courting Gilda if her Gran was always at her side. No one would offer to walk Gilda home and propose marriage to her if she was already walking with her elderly Gran! If only Gilda weren’t so high and mighty in her choice of men. She needed to settle on some nice young man of appropriate esteem and start a life of her own. Gilda was already two years past when other village girls wed. Any longer and the men would start to wonder if she was interested in men at all. The girl had to be settled and soon. A girl who’d turned down too many proposals the year before had been found half dead in a ditch when a group of fieldworkers tried to show her what she was missing. Why couldn’t Gilda see the value in a nice farmer, butcher or woodcutter? Her safety depended on it.

“Are you sure Gran? I’d hate to think I’d let you turn your ankle in the dark and lie in a ditch till I came along.” Gilda said, feeling honestly as though she should leave and accompany her grandmother. The woods were very dark at night, and where they lived was quite remote from town. Gran shook her head.

“I’ve got me a light! You’ve got you a host of dancing partners! Don’t make me threaten to tan your little hide in front of all these young men. Now go!” Gran said shooing Gilda with a wave of the lantern

“As you wish Gran.” She said with a sweeping curtsey. Gran nodded with a shake of her head and began the walk toward the woods. Gilda gave her a last nervous glance before allowing herself to be drawn back to the dance once again by the over-solicitous elder squire. He had materialized out of nowhere to claim his chosen partner again. None of the villagers who had been waiting a turn to dance with the Queen would dare assert their prior claim.

“My dear girl, I understand if you feel a slight duty to your…Grandmother?” He guessed, guiding her back toward the dancefloor. It was slick now with the sweat of a night’s worth of dancers. “But as King, I cannot allow you to desert your subjects in this manner!” He said as if mock reprimanding her. Gilda raised her eyebrows.

“I did agree to let a poor old woman walk through the woods alone at night, in order to stay with my subjects Sir. I do not think they can accuse me of being over filial to my poor Gran…mother.” Gilda hurriedly finished, hoping the Squire had not noticed she was about to use such a common term for her Grandmother. The Squire did not seem to notice any of her errors, in dance, behavior or speech. Nor would he allow them to play any of the popular reels, or contra-dances when he was her partner. Nothing that would force him to change partners and dance with one of the other village girls. The action was both overly intimate and insulting to the other peasants who naturally felt slighted. It was becoming quite a problem for Gilda. With the Squire showing such preference for her, none of the merchant’s sons or village boys would be able to compete. And as their father was all over her, there was less than no chance that either of his far more eligible sons would so much as glance her way. She should have realized that the only nobleman a peasant like herself, no matter how pretty, had a chance with…was a widowed old man.

It was beginning to dawn on her that not only had she lost the chance of a nobleman, but she had also lost the red faced merchant boys as well. It was doubtful that any of them would dare anger the Squire by approaching her. This many dances with the same partner in one night practically constituted an engagement! Or, in the case of a Squire and a village girl – who was bedecked in peacock feathers…it would appear that she was already something quite special and intimate to the man. The feathers would no longer seem like an inexplicable miracle, nor would his choice of her as Queen or himself as King. In every townsperson’s mind it would now be indisputable fact that Gilda was the Squire’s kept woman. It would look as though he had made himself King in order to avoid having to share her lips with a common village boy. In one evening she had lost all her chances of marrying so much as a farmhand. Even if she told everyone the truth and never saw the Squire again, no one would ever believe her. She could not have convinced the village of her lack of virtue more thoroughly than if she had surrendered her chastity to the Squire in the town square in full view of all of them. Gilda laughed accidentally at the lurid thought.

“Have I done something to amuse you?” Squire Gravely asked. Gilda shook her head, her mind crashing back into her body. She couldn’t very well tell him that he had made her an old maid! The Squire seemed confused by her strange laughter and subsequent silence.

“Have I done something to offend you my dear? I think you may be unaware, being so inexperienced with men, that you have had a profound effect on me this night.” He said earnestly. Gilda smiled tightly. The man had not meant any of the harm he had caused. There was no point in being angry with him.

“My dear Sir, I do not wish to be impertinent, or ungrateful for the undue attentions you have shown me…but I am afraid that they have not gone unnoticed by myself, nor certainly by the other gentlemen of the village.” She said gently, looking up at him through her lashes. He stopped momentarily as the song ended, but waved the musicians to begin another slow song. He was unknowingly starting yet another dance that the townspeople, who wanted more up-tempo music, would not enjoy. He was also continuing to monopolize a highly in demand partner. Was there any man alive less in touch with the wants of others?

“Oh my! I had not thought of that. Do you fear that my attention has damaged your reputation?” He asked with concern, as if the idea was a surprising one. Gilda laughed again – a trilling – crystalline sound.

“If I were not bedecked in peacock feathers, it might well have been over-looked, but I am afraid that the combination of that and your kind attention… It is alright however. There were no young men of the village that I particularly liked anyway.” She admitted honestly. She couldn’t very well fault him entirely when she was the one who had made her self-aggrandizing attire. He still looked quite taken aback.

“The sad truth of having always lived in privilege is that one doesn’t always realize when one has taken too much advantage of it.” He said guiding her gently through the steps of the dance. “I can see now, however, how my choice of myself as King of the faire, as well as my lack of deliberation before choosing you, could be misconstrued by people as simple as these villagers. It is a poor society indeed that will allow a woman’s entire chances to be ruined by the foolish mistake of one man’s accidental impropriety.” He seemed greatly disturbed by the situation. It would be nearly impossible to rectify at this juncture.

“It is not of your concern Sir. Even a man as powerful as yourself cannot change the rules of society in one evening.” She curtsied as the song ended, and turned to find herself another partner. The crowd was restless, they wanted to hear a song they knew and enjoyed, and were unlikely to get one while the Squire was dancing with Gilda. Rather than letting her go, he drew her to the center of the creaking wooden stage. It was just a few sawhorses and pine boards. It was only supposed to hold the weight of a few girls once.

“My wonderful village! It is my great pleasure and privilege to be Squire of this magnificent jewel of a hamlet. It was so very pleasant to meet many of my people this evening, especially your lovely Queen. Thank you so very much for sharing your musicians and your dancing abilities with me. Whichever of you gentlemen is lucky enough to have this young lady as your bride will be a privileged man indeed.” He said bowing to Gilda. Oh God! How could he have gone and made things worse?! A moment ago she would not have thought such a thing possible. The man was a fool. Now it looked like he was attempting to auction off his old mistress in order to find her a proper situation. Gracious. Gilda had never been so embarrassed in her life. Was he really so unaware of the social situation he had created?

“As the night is half spent, I think that your beautiful Queen and I will have to bring the festivities to a close. Perhaps you Sir, would take her to the floor in order to end our evening?” He said turning to Theodore, the banker’s son. Rather than eager, Theodore looked pale and awkward. He was however, in no position to refuse his Squire, so he nodded and took her hand. Gilda tried to smile both at Lord Timothy Gravely and also at Theodore, but she knew it looked forced. Theodore took her hands nervously, which thankfully didn’t shock him this time, and drew her to the floor.

“Thank you for not turning down the dance.” Gilda said as the music started.

“Your solicitous Squire didn’t exactly give me a choice.” He said quietly. Gilda sighed.

“He is not my anything I assure you. I never met him before this night.” She said intently. Maybe he would believe her? He gave a derisive laugh.

“You are dressed in a gown you could never have afforded, and covered in the feathers of a bird only a Lord would own. Do you honestly think I will believe such a lie?” He asked. He was utterly destroyed by the thought that she had already been used and thrown away by a man several times his age and station. He had imagined her as pure and delicate as she appeared. He had been terribly wrong.

“No. I expect you to think it is quite a boldfaced lie, because truth or not, that is what it sounds like. But I did pay for the dress myself and I poached the peacock. I did not refuse his offers to dance because I did not wish to be hung for my crimes.” She said telling Theodore the truth. He wouldn’t even meet her eyes…and his hands weren’t sweaty. He was no longer attracted to her. None of the boys were red faced sweaty and stammering anymore. That had been a consequence of them being profoundly attracted to her and thinking that they were so far beneath her that just breathing the same air as her was an honor. Their nervousness stemmed from the notion that she had more than every right to turn them down…now they thought she was beneath them. Gran had been right. If she had married a boy from town a day ago, he would have spent years worshipping her, and trying to deserve her. If she had gotten her wish and married a noble, she would have had to have been the boot-lickingly grateful one. Now she would have neither. At this moment, every man in town thought he was her superior. The song ended and Theodore walked swiftly away without bowing. The night was over. It was time for Gilda to slink home.