An impertinent affair

7. The Marchioness Aunt

The grounds were delightfully green and beautiful. Eliza hadn't noticed them until now. The exquisitely tall oak and timber trees, various flower shrubs and the intricately designed water fountain that sat between all this glory made the garden one of the most beautiful ones she had ever laid my eyes on.

Not that she had any interest in gardening. The reason why she was paying attention was because this breakfast gathering had bored her out of her wits. The food had been delicious, no doubt, but the conversation was entirely mind numbing. There was a lot of chatter going about the table. 

After the terrible encounter with the Crown Prince, she hadn't dared to look up towards the head table, where King Latvio, his Queen Lorraine, Prince Thomas and his younger brother Prince Hagan sat along with his wife, Duchess Catalina.

She was silently eating her breakfast. But she wasn't the only one. Most of the debutantes, of which the total was twelve now-she had counted- were uncomfortably seated in different corners of the gargantuan table and had their plates filled to match a tiny bird's appetite. 

Some of the bolder, and more influential ones were animatedly chit chatting with the arrived guests, all the while waving their illustrious fans and batting their eyelashes. But Eliza's focus wasn't on them. 

The gears of her mind were working tirelessly, trying to find out the reason why her extremely influential and filthy rich aunt wasn't a part of the arrived battalion. It was impossible that she wasn't invited to the Warnian Crown Prince's season. 

Absolutely impossible. 

She was a part of King Edward's inner circle, and no fool of a king, that too an experienced and shrewd politician as the Warnian King, would leave the chance of befriending one of his arc enemy's trusted noble family.

So why hadn't she arrived yet?

She was too engrossed in her musings to notice the entire table falling silent. Her chain of thoughts was broken by a rough clinking of wine glass, demanding attention. She swirled her head towards the source of the sound, and found King Latvio standing in his seat, ready to address the crowd before him.

For the first time since his entry, she took her time to inspect the King of Warnia. His grey hair, wrinkling forehead and lined sun–kissed skin told of his aging body and his many years on the Warnian throne, but his eyes spoke a different story. His almond brown eyes were alit with a different fire, a zeal that even the youngest of kings didn't possess. 

The way his calculative gaze surveyed the crowd, told Eliza of his formidable persona, attesting to the many dangerous stories she had heard of the Warnian King. Ailing or not, he would be a politician till his last breath, she mused.

After taking a second, the king cleared his throat and spoke in a loud, booming voice.

"La bienvenida, all the señores y damas to the greatest trade Kingdom of the Continent, belovedly called as paraíso del artista, an artist's paradise. It is with tremendous pleasure that I announce my eldest son's, the Crown Prince of Warnia's season, where doncellas from all over the Continent have a chance of meeting their match, and perhaps, winning the heart of the royal Prince himself." Eliza could hear a swift sound of inhaling breaths across the table.

A ghost of a smile graced the thin lips of the old monarch.

 "We know, that the regular chain of events of a season commences with the Inaugural Ball, before any other social events, but we in Warnia believe in revelation of character before introduction." 

With this, the occasional swish or twitch on the table ceased completely. The atmosphere had gone dry and stiff. The monarch's words sent a chill down my spine. The words didn't affect as much as the intensity with which they were delivered did.

It was not in vain that people shivered at the mention of this infernal kingdom.

What's this kingdom and what more is being hidden from plain sight, thought Elizabeth as she remembered her nightly adventure in the palace and the conversation she had accidently and deliberately eavesdropped on.

After a short, effective pause, King Latvio continued. "This evening, as all our esteemed guests know is the Inaugural Ball, and this day is free of any social events, given to our guests as a time to recuperate and enjoy the encantador gardens. Till the evening, señores," he said and left the table. The royal family followed.

What a tremendous start to the day!!

-------------------------------------------

Without wasting another moment, Eliza had escaped the crowd and climbed up to her room. The infernal room felt more welcoming to her, and cosy even, much to her chagrin. She was sitting languidly on the seat, with her legs spread on the tea table, about to open the thick book in her hands when she heard the knock on her door.

At first, she thought it was her illusion. No one possibly would like to meet her, not until they get to know who she really was. Even Adine had not spared her more than a fleeting glance when she had arrived on the breakfast table, but it was another story that Adine had sat silent all through the meal, not once raising her head from her silver plate.

And then she heard the second knock.

"Verena!" she called.

"Yes, my lady?" Verena came running from her quarters and bobbed a curtsy. Eliza had given her the day off, even though the maid had insisted on preparing for the grand evening, but wasting the entire day on selecting and trying on dresses and ribbons seemed too trivial and way too nonsensical to her.

"Please check who's at the door. It seems someone must have lost their way."

Verena looked at her with barely concealed surprise, but complied nonetheless.

She heard the door swinging open and Verena's courteous and sweet voice asking the intruder if they had lost their way.

And then she heard the voice which sprung her on her feet.

"Lost my way? How foolish is that! Is this the way you treat your lady's attenders?" asked an irritatingly high – pitched, feminine voice.

Eliza could hear the maid stutter. "Oh no my lady, pardon me, my lady! It was Lady Elizabeth who..."

"Lady Elizabeth! Nonsense! Don't you know that a Duke's heiress must be addressed as 'Your Grace'? Have you..."

Eliza waited in the parlor no longer. She knew that voice well. Very, very well. She threw her book on the seat and rushed to the door to meet the one woman whom she dreaded the most, apart from her father.

"Aunt Emily! What are you doing here?"

And there on the front door, in all her noble glory stood her extremely powerful aunt, hands on her hips and a frown etched on her forehead, ready to push all her plans down the drain.