Chapter 2:
Farewell to the Heyward March
“PLEASE, FIONA, CAN’T YOU STAY here another day?” asked Marchioness Heyward, her shoulders drooping in disappointment as she and Fiona stood in the spacious entrance hall of the Heyward march. “I was so happy to have a companion to chat with… I’m going to miss you, dear.”
“I’m honored you would say that,” Fiona replied with an apologetic smile and a gracious bow.
The marchioness smiled when she was happy, jumped for joy, and sang when she was feeling good. Her rich kaleidoscope of girlish emotions were very charming to Fiona. But Giles, who was acutely aware that it was a performance and all too familiar with its effect, swooped in and sent Fiona a lifeline.
“Save your tears, Godmother. Fiona’s belongings are already packed in the carriage.”
“Oh, Giles, you meanie. How dare you ruin my fun!”
“Didn’t I already give you a week’s extension to appease you?”
The counterfeit painting scheme born from the war for the royal line of succession had been quashed before it could catch fire, and Gordon was under surveillance. Now, with the investigation and commendation ceremony behind her, Fiona had no reason to remain at the Heyward march. But the marchioness’s coy requests for Fiona to stay “just a bit longer” had delayed Fiona’s departure for a day, then two…and soon Fiona started to panic, thinking she might stay there for the rest of the season. She and Giles had devised a plan to get her out that day, whatever the cost.
“But, Giles—”
“I won’t hear it.”
“Um, please, both of you…!” P-please keep it civil!
Fiona was unable to stop the bickering, and her futile attempts at mediation put her in a complicated position. Despite the sudden nature of her arrival, Fiona had wanted for nothing at the march, and in her time there, she’d encountered so many beautiful art pieces. She had also attended gatherings of high-ranking nobles, and though she’d been wary at first, the marchioness acted as a bridge, easing her worries and enabling her to speak to so many people she ordinarily would have no opportunity to converse with. Among them was a noblewoman who invited Fiona to visit her fief. At first, Fiona thought it was just a rhetorical courtesy, but when a letter arrived at the barony addressed to her father, she was startled to learn that the invitation was sincere.
Her dresses and accessories were gradually replaced with finery, accompanied with offhanded remarks that they were old pieces that Fiona was free to keep. Between that and daily grooming from the march maids, plain old Fiona had transformed into a glamorous young noblewoman. Though her outward appearance had changed, her same old eyes stared back at her whenever she looked in the mirror.
They’ve treated me so well…but I can’t be a burden on them any longer, she thought.
“Truly, I don’t know how I can possibly thank you,” she said, bidding farewell to the marchioness.
“Oh, no need to thank me. Just staying here in the march a while longer will be plenty,” she replied, not giving up.
Fiona felt eternally indebted to the marchioness, but she was worried about her family business and Cecelia’s health. She had also decided at the start that once conditions had improved, she would leave.
“Godmother…” Giles chided her.
The marchioness’s cheeks puffed out. “I’m an old woman. Won’t you let me live out my final days in joy?”
“You’ve got years and years left in you, Godmother. Don’t flaunt your age only when it’s convenient.”
“Oh, you insolent boy!”
“The commendation ceremony is long over,” Giles added. “Her family back at Clayburn Manor misses her.”
“But, Giiiiiles—”
“I’m so sorry, Lady Heyward,” Fiona put in, feeling awful about her family being used as a bargaining chip.
This was enough to make even the sassy marchioness back down. Her face quickly lit up with an idea, however, and she clapped her hands delightedly. “That’s it! We should invite your family to stay here!”
“Huh?!”
“We have plenty of rooms. You can bring your father and sister, plus your friends, servants—everyone is welcome! Hee hee, what a splendid idea. Yes, let’s do that!”
The marchioness took Fiona’s hands with a jubilance that suggested she was liable to start dancing at any moment. Giles pressed a hand to his forehead and sighed heavily. “Godmother. I deeply appreciate all the help you’ve given Fiona so far, but that simply will not do.”
“Oh, you spoilsport. It’s been ages since I’ve had so much fun in the royal capital.”
The marchioness sounded so dejected, Fiona didn’t have the heart to free her hands from her grip. “Lady Heyward…”
In fact, the marchioness had a good reason for taking such a firm stand. Her husband had not formally transferred the Heyward title, but the march all but officially belonged to their son, and the marchioness had taken her first steps away from social life. All of her young relatives had grown up, and now they were so busy that she seldom saw them anymore. And as her friends who were the same age as her began to pass away, she started to go out less and less often. Now, she spent most of the time holed up at the palace whenever she came to the capital. And just when she was starting to feel she might burst from the futility of it all, an unexpected surprise landed at her feet: the counterfeit painting con and Fiona.
All sorts of visitors came to the march, now that Fiona was around. That gave the marchioness and her husband more things to talk about, breathing life back into their relationship. Her husband always had a cheerful disposition, and she loved the opportunity to spend more time with him.
“You indulge me in my tendency to ramble at length,” Marchioness Heyward told Fiona, “and you are so elegant and lovely that I know I can take you anywhere without being embarrassed.”
“I have you to thank for that, Lady Heyward.”
“Oh, a little makeup and some new shoes is nothing, my dear. You know of so many lovely shops to visit. Whether we went out or stayed in, I’ve truly enjoyed every day with you.”
“And it was an honor to spend all that time with you,” Fiona said in earnest, squeezing the old lady’s hands.
With a long sigh of resignation and a sentimental smile, the marchioness said, “Promise me you’ll come visit me again soon?”
“Of course. I promise.”
Permitted at last to leave, Fiona walked out the front door and found a carriage parked right in front of it. She paused to say her final goodbye, and the marchioness’s eyes sparkled with sudden inspiration. “Ah, yes,” said the marchioness. “Do come to Her Majesty’s royal ball. I want to see that Michele dress on you.”
“Fear not, Godmother, I’ll be taking her there,” Giles put in.
“Um, what?” Fiona asked, confused for a moment in the suddenness of it all. But then she remembered: Every year, the queen hosted a royal ball at the end of the social season. Apparently, she was invited this year.
Is…is this really happening? Fiona thought. Her pretend courtship with Giles had gotten her invited to a number of soirées, but the queen’s royal ball was another thing entirely. That lavish celebration was meant as the perfect ending to the season and reserved for only the highest-ranking nobles. The Clayburn barony had never received an invitation, so, naturally, Fiona had never attended.
Of course, if her escort invited her, she was permitted to attend. But she’d never dreamed their charade would take her to such extremes.
Fiona stood around hesitantly while Giles and the marchioness made the arrangements for her. “It’s a promise,” Giles assured his godmother.
“All right,” said the marchioness. “Well, I suppose this is goodbye.”
At last, she released Fiona’s hands, and Giles escorted Fiona straight into the carriage. The two women waved at each other through the window as the carriage set off, and only once they’d passed through the mansion gates did Fiona sit back properly in her seat. The thought of the queen’s ball had her worried sick.
A grand function like that is so beyond me…but I guess there’s no use thinking about it. That’s right. Forget it, Fiona!
The wheels of the carriage clacked lightly along the road beneath them. The more distance Fiona put between herself and the march, the further into the recesses of her mind the queen’s ball slid.
She had entered the fake relationship with Giles to put a stop to her engagement to Norman. That goal had been achieved, so Giles’s own goal was now the top priority. If he wanted her to attend a party—any party—she would trust him with it. The choice was his, and Fiona’s only duty was to play her part well.
Fiona looked out the window to clear her mind, watching the aristocratic cityscape she was sure to never see again recede into the distance. She really did treat me so well, Fiona mused, reminiscing about her days at the march and feeling a little melancholy.
“Sorry my godmother was so persistent,” Giles said from beside her.
“Oh, it’s all right. The marchioness was a very gracious hostess.” It was true: In everything from small daily matters to Fiona’s commendation ceremony at the palace, the marchioness had been attentive and caring. Fiona had let the old lady dote on her, giving her nothing in return, and despite any aristocratic motives that might have underlay the marchioness’s actions, Fiona felt nothing but gratitude.
“She’s become very fond of you,” Giles said.
“I think she was just happy to have you and Lady Miranda around more.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. Once this season is over, make sure you visit her on the Heyward fief now and then, you hear?”
“But it snows in the winter…” Giles awkwardly proceeded to explain that the land between the Bancroft and Heyward fiefs received heavy snowfall each year, making it difficult to traverse in wintertime.