Chapter 6

Lucia woke up the next morning, instantly cheered when she realized that she was home. Sunshine trickling through the window made her lazy as a kitten. She stretched and yawned, tucking her hands beneath her head and stared up at the blue canopy above her. At that point, she couldn't care less what would happen today. She was home, and that was all that mattered.

But her solitude didn't last. Maria bustled in, and at the sight of her lounging around, started to scold her for her indulgence. Lucia grinned ruefully, submitting to Maria's deft hands.

"The sun is sky-high already, yet you're still here in your night gown," Maria clucked as she skillfully piled Lucia's hair into some semblance of order.

"I think the pearls will do nicely with this gown," Lucia said, ignoring her. She was used to Maria's nagging. If she didn't nag, Lucia would be worried about her. She patted the pink and gray bodice, running her finger down the lacy trimming.

"Aye, so they will." She came back from the dressing room with the pearls. Lucia fastened the necklace and looped the earrings through her ears. Turning her head this way and that, she examined herself in the mirror from different angles.

Maria placed her hands on her hips, studying the girl. "Hurry along now. You'll do." She shooed Lucia out of her room.

Entering the breakfast room, Lucia felt a slight disappointment at finding it empty. Gesturing to a footman, she asked, "Did Lord William breakfasted already?"

"Yes, my Lady," he replied. "The Master and the young Lord ate together earlier this morn. I believe they are in the study together."

"Thank you, Robert."

Her stomach growled at the selection on the table. The cook clearly had outdone herself this morning in impressing the guest. Lucia hummed appreciatively as she bit into a sausage, the spices exploding in her mouth. She supposed that her morning sickness was improving. She smiled when she saw the blueberry scones on the platter of offerings. The cook knew those were her favorite. Lucia reminded herself to go see the cook to thank her for the thoughtfulness.

Her morning was filled with overseeing the household. Now that she was back, the cook sent up the menu for the day for her approval. There were bills to be paid and books to balance. She set the payments aside to one corner of the table.

Then there were the correspondences to answer, quite a number of them. Sighing with resignation, Lucia picked up one at random and broke the seal. Most were letters of condolences, sympathizing Lucia's loss of her betrothed. Dabbing her second-favorite quill into the ink, she wrote copies of the same reply, tweaking them in places to personalize the response— Thank you for your kind thoughts in these troubled times, etc., etc.

As she worked her way through the letters, the familiar handwriting on one of the covers caught her eye. She smiled as she recognized Adrian's tight scrawl. Her brother may be one of the busiest men in all of Erythal, but somehow he always managed to find the time to write to his little sister.

My dearest sister,

I would extend my condolences, but we both know how much I detested Henry Ravenshire to begin with. Though I have no hand in his death, I have to admit that I wasn't sorry to see that gambler go. You deserved better than Henry, regardless of what our father says. I just wish that you would allow me to convince Father to let you choose your own husband. More than anything, I wish to see you happy, Lucia.

Since I've penned the above, I've heard news that Father is planning to marry you off to Henry's brother. I cannot believe the ruthlessness of that man, and sometimes I have a hard time believing I am related to him. Though William Ravenshire has a reputation for being an honest sort of bloke, I don't know what your opinion is on this subject. I am on my way home. If you are not ready for marriage, then I will do everything in my power to stop this from happening. Don't bother to reply. I will be home soon.

Adrian

Rolling her eyes, she thought of how Adrian never grew out of the protective older brother role. If she didn't love him so much, she would throttle him for his meddling ways. Tucking the letter into the correspondence box she had especially for Adrian's letters, Lucia locked her desk. Picking up the letters and menu, she stepped out of her room.

She stuffed the letters into the mail bag and headed toward the kitchen. Mrs. Bilson, the cook, was up to her elbows in flour. Shouting to the scullery maids to hurry up, Mrs. Bilson punched the dough for good measure, as if to demonstrate the beating she would deal out if they didn't hurry. Spotting Lucia, she wiped those beefy hands on her apron, yelling at her daughter to take over.

"Good morning, ma'am," she said, doing a half-curtsy.

Lucia handed her the menu, pointing out the minor changes she made. Grunting, Mrs. Bilson agreed grudgingly that the chicken would probably be better received by their guest rather than the roasted lamb.

"By and by, thank you for the blueberry scones this morning," Lucia said, smiling. "They were wonderful, as usual."

"I reckon you can put some more flesh on those bones," Mrs. Bilson muttered, shooing her out of the kitchen.

The best part of being home, Lucia decided, was that she could go back to her paints. Dabbing at the colors and mixing them, Lucia wished fervently that William would not object to her painting like Henry had. The one time Henry saw her work, he had commented on the waste of money on paints.

Returning from her last visit to Ravenshire before Henry passed on, Lucia had been working on a large oil of a stormy sea. The cliffs she painted were familiar, as she had spent countless hours dreaming at that vantage point. But the sea was violent, and the sky heavy with clouds. Waves shattered themselves against the rocky shore, breaking into flying tears. In the tempest, a body clung desperately to a broken log. Though her face was blurry, she bore a haunting resemblance to Lucia's features.

The work had been emotionally exhausting for Lucia. She spent her waking moments in the paints, working her anger, fear, and shame into the howling scene. She painted until her hand cramped with fatigue, because if she tried hard enough, she just might lose herself in the painting long enough to forget her own pain.

The stormy sea was on the easel. She looked at it for a while, absorbed in the painful violence of her painting. This painting revealed too much of herself, she thought. She covered the painting with a protective cloth, setting the thing aside so she wouldn't have to look at it anymore.

Faced with a blank canvas, she sketched out another scene by the sea in pencil. She outlined the rocky cliffs that so characterize Lyonsyl, but this time, it was a sanctuary. In her mind's eye, she saw seabirds nesting in the crevices of the rocks, seeking refuge.

They came every year to the shores of Lyonsyl, raising their young where few other animal dared. The males and the females took turns nursing the fledglings. When she was young, Lucia had asked Adrian to scale the rocks to catch her a fledgling, but their governess caught him before he had gone very far. Their father gave both of them a good beating and sent them up to bed without any dinner. The next day, their governess showed them an illustrated book of seabirds, pointing out the same birds they were after. She told them that the fledgling would die without its parents careful nursing. Lucia and Adrian immediately swore never to touch those birds again.

Lucia picked up her brush, dabbing the hairs in the paint and scraping it on the palette to get the right amount of paint. She covered the sky with the colors of dusk, the deep blue fading into a turquoise, then into the orange and yellow of a dying sun, brushing the surface with a large brush. She would perfect the details later.

The sea was a familiar friend, one she knew intimately as an artist. She swept the areas with various shades of blue and green and gray, indicating the depth of the waters. The austere cliffs outlined by deft strokes of gray and brown.

A stillness surrounded her, the peace that she could only find in her paintings. Her breathing was even and deep as she focused on her work. She was in another world, one where marriages of convenience did not exist. Nothing existed except for water, clouds, and nesting seabirds. So absorbed was she in the serenity of her paints that when a maid knocked to ask her if she wanted luncheon, Lucia snarled and told her off.

Hours passed before she finally noticed the change of sunlight in the drawing room. The white light of early afternoon turned gold as the time of sunset neared. She laid down her brush, standing up to stretch her cramped legs. She peered out the window, admiring the streaks of colors across the blue sky. They were bound to have a good sunset tonight, she thought.

Just then, she heard rising voices outside the door. It sounded like two men arguing. Her curiosity peaked, she turned her head toward the door, which swung open violently. Adrian strode into the room, his boots and cloak muddy.

"Adrian!" she exclaimed, rushing into his arms. "What a pleasant surprise."

He hugged her despite the layer of dirt on his clothes. He set her aside to examine her carefully, as he always did. She looked up at his face. Years of experience had taught her that the dark frown now on her brother's face meant that Adrian was very peeved indeed.

"Well, well. I see that you are hiding out in your artist's garret," Adrian said wryly.

She smiled. Winking at him, she retorted, "I have yet to satisfy my thirst for paint." She tried hard not to wince as Adrian collapsed into one of her nice chairs. The maid would wreak havoc if she were to clean up after Adrian's mess.

"You look well," Adrian observed.

She raised a brow. "Did you expect me to be crying my eyes out?" she asked.

He looked at her long and hard before saying, "No, I knew you didn't love Henry."

She sat back down in front of her easel. "Who were you arguing with out there?" she asked, picking up her brush again.

Adrian snorted. "Our beloved father, of course. He was reminding me of the negligence of duty on my part." He wagged a finger at her. "It gets harder and harder for me to come home, I'm telling you."

Lucia shrugged. She frowned at the color on her brush. "That can't be helped, First Counselor." She smiled impishly.

Adrian sighed, scratching his head none too gracefully. "Father says your marriage is being finalized," he said.

Lucia put the brush back down. She looked at her brother's face, a face as familiar as her own. "Yes, Adrian," she said quietly. "I am marrying William."

"But why?" he asked, his eyes imploring. He walked to her seat and kneeling in front of her, took her hands into his. "Father listens to me. I can talk him out of this marriage and into letting you choose your own husband for a change."

Lucia gripped Adrian's hands tightly. "No, you mustn't do that, Adrian," she whispered fiercely. "Promise me you won't."

"I just don't understand," Adrian gritted. "I can't see why you would submit yourself completely to our father's every whim. What about your own happiness, Lucia? Are you willing to be miserable for the rest of your life just to please our father?" Frustrated, Adrian stood up, pacing impatiently like a caged animal. He whipped around. "Besides, he's much too old for you, Lucia."

"Adrian." He could never resist her small pleading voice. It was the voice that sent him running to beg for her forgiveness. Adrian loved his sister, and had given into most of her demands in her life without any arguments. He waited.

"Please," she said. She went to him, placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I think I can be happy with William. He is a good man, Adrian. He'll make a good husband, and I can be useful to him as a wife, guiding him through the political and social life of Pelicana, since he doesn't understand it yet." She shrugged. "There isn't another man who would allow me to do that, Adrian. Didn't you always say that my talents could be used for far more than the average household tasks? This is my chance."

She smiled a little. "Henry was older than William's thirty-five years," she pointed out.

Adrian examined her face and apparently was satisfied with her sincerity, for he nodded. His eyes, though, were sad. "I cannot oppose it if you feel that way," he sighed. Cupping her face in his hands, he smiled wistfully. "You are my sister, Lucia. I want you to be happy the way you deserve."

She smiled. "I am not completely helpless, you know," she shot back. "I'll be fine. Trust me for once, Adrian, when I am making a decision about my life."

"Some 'decision'," he snorted. "As if you had a choice."

She stuck out her tongue at him. "You didn't have a choice either in your career," she argued. "Father has groomed you for his position since you were born. Did you ever choose to become the First Counselor? Never."

He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Well, at least I am interested in my position," he said.

"You wouldn't be if Father didn't direct you in that path," she replied. "In a way, we are both Father's pawns."