Chapter Text
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a significant fortune must be in want of a wife.
However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a village, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered the rightful property of someone or other of their daughters.
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“Wonderful news, my dear!” declared Countess Theodora von Varley, sweeping into the drawing room with a rustle of lavender silk and the scent of rosewater clinging to her like a cloud. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, and her gloved hands fluttered in the air as though she could hardly contain herself. “Have you heard that Hrym Hall is let at last?”
Count Grégoire von Varley, seated in a high-backed leather chair by the hearth, didn’t look up immediately. He had been poring over estate ledgers with the intense focus of a man determined to find a discrepancy that had eluded him for days before his wife had entered. The only sounds in the room had been the soft scratch of his quill, the crackling of the hearth, and the slow ticking of the ormolu clock on the mantel. At last, he lifted his gaze, one violet brow arching in curiosity. “No, I have not,” he said, his even and tinged with a touch of skepticism. After all, how long had it been since the estate had seen life?
Theodora let out a dramatic sigh, one hand rising to pinch the bridge of her nose as though her husband’s ignorance to local gossip were a burden she bore with diminishing patience. “It is indeed true; Dutchess Aegir was here not an hour ago, and she told me all about it over tea. Just imagine it! All these years, the hall stands empty, gathering dust and shadows, and now it’s to be occupied once more.”
Grégoire set his papers aside, folding his hands over them. “And who, pray tell, has decided to take on that crumbling mausoleum?”
“A knight of the Empire, no less!” Theodora leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice in a theatrical whisper. “Viscount Jeritza von Hrym.”
The count blinked, the name stirring something in his memory. “Hrym? This is an old family line, is it not? No wonder he has taken claim to the home.”
“The very same,” Theodora nodded with relish. “Apparently, Viscount Hrym is a distant cousin to the previous Viscount, although some say he is a bastard heir, not that anyone would dare say so to his face. Tall as a mountain, with a voice like cracking ice, Dutchess Aegir told me!”
Grégoire snorted faintly. “Let us hope he’s better at managing estates than he is at making dramatic entrances into the viscounty.”
“Darling,” Theodora said, fanning herself with a lace handkerchief as she gazed through the tall windows of the sitting room, where the first hints of dusk were softening the garden’s edges beyond. “I daresay, things are about to become rather interesting in our little corner of the Empire, we simply must introduce him to Bernadetta.”
At the mention of her own name, a faint, startled squeak broke the genteel quiet of the sitting room. It came from behind a floor-length velvet curtain in the far corner. The curtain rustled hesitantly before a tangle of violet hair and a pale, wide-eyed face emerged from the bay window. Bernadetta von Varley clutched a well-worn book to her chest like a shield, her gaze flitting nervously between her mother and father as though gauging whether immediate flight to the safety of her bedroom would be necessary.
“W-who’s moving in? Who must I meet?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Theodora turned to face her newly surfaced daughter with the pleased expression of a cat who had just discovered its prey. “Viscount Jeritza von Hrym,” she repeated with relish, drawing out the name as if it were something decadent. “A man of considerable means, I am told. With a salary of five thousand gold pieces per month. Rumour has it, he once slew a dozen bandits with a single sweep of a scythe, is that not positively thrilling?”
Bernadetta’s complexion, which was never far from porcelain, turned a shade closer to chalk as her fingers tightened around the book’s spine. “Th-that sounds terrifying…” she murmured, shrinking back slightly as though the man in question might materialize in the room at any moment.
“He sounds ideal,” Count Varley said firmly, folding his hands before him with all the finality of a royal decree. “A proven warrior, well-funded, and with a respectable bloodline, if a little shadowy. 5,000 gold pieces a month, just imagine what we could do with such means. You must meet him at once, Bernadetta.”
Bernadetta blinked. “Wh-what? Why me?!”
The curtain puffed out as she scrambled backwards into the seat, her voice rising with panic. “I’m not going to go introduce myself to some grim knight with a death glare and a giant farming tool! What if he thinks I’m a thief sneaking around his property? Or worse— oh no, no, no … what if he wants to talk to me, make conversation? I cannot be expected to talk about the weather and whatever town gossip has caught some Viscount’s attention!”
She gave a low, despairing whine and pressed her back against the wall, half-vanishing once more behind the curtain like a cornered woodland creature.
Countess Varley pursed her lips and exhaled slowly through her nose, as though summoning a deep and ancient patience for her own daughter. “Honestly, Bernadetta. With your behaviour, you would think I had asked you to duel him at dawn, not say hello and stake your claim. You are the daughter of a Count, not a dormouse.”
From behind the curtain, Bernadetta whimpered faintly, “Dormice don’t have to make conversation…”
Count Varley turned toward his wife with the weight of expectation etched clearly into his features. “You will call on him, Theodora. It is your duty as the lady of the house.”
He didn’t need to elaborate further. Theodora von Varley was already straightening her posture with renewed energy, her eyes gleaming at the prospect. “ Naturally . I’ve already given it thought. We shall call upon Viscount Hrym as soon as he arrives. It would be unforgivable not to! He is, after all, a knight of the Empire, and a figure of considerable intrigue. We would be fools not to take the opportunity, daughter to marry or not.”
From her place behind the curtain, Bernadetta groaned quietly into the pages of her book. “I don’t see why I must suffer just because some wealthy recluse decided to live in a haunted manor…”
The effect of her statement was immediate. The warmth in Theodora’s voice vanished like mist, and she turned toward the curtain slowly, her eyes narrowing. “What did you just say, Bernadetta?” she asked. “You are suffering nothing more than the natural consequences of being born a nobleman’s daughter,” Theodora kept her voice steady and breezy as she plucked a calling card from a silver tray by one of the sofas and turned it over thoughtfully. “And besides, this is no ordinary wealthy recluse. Viscount Jeritza von Hrym owns land in the Empire. He is a knight of the Empire. A man of means, mystery, and if rumor is to be believed, a rather compelling presence.”
Bernadetta peeked out from the window seat, her expression skeptical and mildly horrified. “Compelling? You said he kills people with a scythe, Mother. That is not compelling. That is terrifying.”
“Nonsense, Bernadetta,” Theodora waved the comment away with a flick of her wrist before turning to face her daughter, leveling her gaze to meet her daughter’s terrified one. “He’s precisely the sort of man who makes an impression, and that is what matters. There is an air about him, yes. Dangerous, perhaps, but terribly romantic, don’t you think? Dutchess Aegir said they call it magnetic .”
“No,” Bernadetta said immediately, retreating again behind the curtain like a crab into its shell. “I do not think that, Mother.”
Count Varley’s jaw clenched. He set his papers down with a soft flutter that carried a note of finality. “You will not embarrass this family as you are so prone to do, Bernadetta,” he said, his voice cold and clipped. “This is not a request, it is an expectation. It is a command. You will present yourself like a proper young lady, and you will not hide behind furniture like a skittish dog.”
Theodora followed up, her voice tight with irritation now, the earlier excitement turned to disdain. “You will accompany me when we call on him. You will smile, you will curtsy, and you will only speak when spoken to. The Viscount is a man of standing, and of wealth. A far better prospect than any I thought we’d find for you in this provincial wasteland after you ruined your chances with Duke Aegir’s son, and exactly what you need.”
Bernadetta whimpered softly, curling in on herself like a wilting flower. “I hope he doesn’t like girls who scream or run away,” she whispered, barely audible. “Because that’s all he’s going to get from me…”
There was a moment of strained silence.
Then, Theodora exhaled sharply through her nose. “Pitiful,” she muttered. “At your age, I was already dancing at court and conversing with dukes, with counts! What they will say of you, I dread to imagine.”
Count Varley gave his wife a sidelong glance, then turned his eyes back to the hearth. “They may say what they will, but the girl must make herself useful eventually.”
Behind the curtain, Bernadetta pressed her forehead against the cold wall and closed her eyes, wishing— as she so often did —that she could vanish entirely.