Repent at Leisure

Penelope pressed her hands down the silk bodice that blossomed with embroidered flowers and tapered from the swelling of her chest to her waist. She stared at her reflection in the glass on the wall before her, and a blush creaped up her neck to fill her fair cheeks as she scrutinized the low neckline Madame Beaufort had fashioned her for the evening. She tugged the lace in a vain attempt to hide more of the gentle curving of her white skin, but her hand was her hand was quickly swatted away by the fussing seamstress, who was still tugging at the bustle at Penelope’s back, muttering to herself in an intelligible mix of the Common Speech and her native tongue. Behind her, Lady Anne looked pleased and gave her an encouraging smile in the mirror.
“Do I pass inspection?” Penelope turned and, eyes downcast, bent against the restricting pressure of the dress and bowed deeply. As she raised her head and straightened her shoulders, Anne noticed a spark of irony in her eyes.
“Brilliant. To say you were lovely would be an unforgiveable understatement. Although how you’ve managed to pass as a common nursemaid these last months is beyond me, when every bone of your body shouts good breeding.”
“Cousin, I’ve not much experience with men, but it seems to me they look for little more than a pretty face and see little beyond it. I shall be so relieved to let my ruse fall and finally meet Valerian on somewhat equal terms. I hate this duplicity. I had much rather stand up to him and speak my mind, than dither about, mincing my words politely between curtsies while he undresses me with his eyes.”
Anne glanced up sharply from her task of decorating Penelope’s neck and ears with jewel studded finery. “Has the king made advances towards you then? You already make a fool of him by having lived under his roof in disguise without his permission or knowledge. To make a fool of him in love would be too much for someone as proud as Alexander.”
“Don’t worry Anne, I have made enough of a nuisance of myself that there is no chance the King is in love with me, and no--he has made no advances towards me in word or deed. But there are times when... Men are so infuriating! Why can’t they just look you in the eye and carry on an intelligient conversation instead of being so damned patronizing while staring lecherously at your breasts?”
Anne smiled ruefully at Penelope’s consternation. “Then how should we poor women get our way? Men should be much more difficult to handle if they were always ruled by their heads rather than by something else. No, Penelope, perhaps our bosoms and our pretty faces are our chief advantage, and ergo, my dear, you have been blessed with an unusual potential for power.”
Penelope blushed again. Her tell-tale red hair, though carefully powdered or coverned since arriving at the palace, was a constant source of frustration to her, robbing her of any hope of achieving a credible poker face. She shielded the skin beneath her throat self-consciously with her hand. “That’s hardly fair. I didn’t ask for these. They never caused me any trouble until I came here to the capital from the countryside. Even wearing modest clothing, these courtiers mistake my lack of sophistication for naivete and try luring me into dark alcoves.”
“I’m shocked that they would dare try, the way things go on between you and Alexander.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Half the court thinks the reason you two fight so much is because you’re both too proud to admit that you’re dying for the opportunity to kiss each other senseless.”
“What ridiculous rot--”
“The other half is making bets on which of you resorts to violence in an argument first.”
“If it weren’t treason, it’d have been me a long time ago.”
“Now, be truthful, Penelope. Despite his good looks, are you really not attracted to him?”
“Valerian has never been hard on the eyes or short on female attention--the lecher.”
“Come, come, he may be many things, but he was always faithful to Diana during their marriage, and by all accounts, has been to her memory since.”
“But not before.”
“I know you’ve been living quietly and sheltered on your estate for most of your life, but few men are saints. Yes--as a young man, he had one mistress. Unaquainted as you are with the world, I must tell you that that doesn’t make a man a lecher. Most of the men--and the women at court, for that matter--have countless little intrigues. Actually, our cousin Drake is known as quite the lady’s man at court, although his popularity has seen a sharp decline since Alexander came back home to roost. Have you really found no man to your liking here, someone with whom to kiss in a dark corner?”
“Of course not. I have plenty of other things to worry about and ways to occupy my time.”
“So, are you as morally uptight as your sister was? Saving the world singhlehandedly with no time to smell the roses?
“I will not hear my sister spoken ill of. There are many worse sins to upbraid someone for than devout piety. My sister was merely too modest for you courtiers’ worldly ways. And no, unlike this overly amorous city, I have had no affaires du coeur.”
“But you are a beautiful women of six and twenty!”
“Yes. And?”
“You mean you have never had a beau, that you have never had a man court you, never even kissed you?”
“No, and I am sure I am much the better for it.”
“My dear girl, I am not sure I should let you go tonight. A woman your age being aloud out into the world with no knowlege of it or its ways... why, it’s dangerous! I know your mother died young, but please don’t tell me I need to sit down and talk to you about the origins of children.”
“For pity sake, Anne! We do have livestock in the country. You are completely blowing this out of proportion. I am not a naive little girl, even if I am inexperienced.”
“But what is knowledge but experience?”
“I will do quite well without your city’s brand of late night experiences in dark corners. I’m sure there’s enough red-blooded blighters and giddy-headed women to keep the population booming without my help.”
“Do not be so quick to judge men for their lustiness or women for developing their tendres. Especially when you obviously don’t know what it’s like to be in their shoes. Which is why you must be very careful not to allow yourself to be blinded to the allure--”
“Lady Anne, I appreciate your concern, but I was raised with different, less cosmopolitan values, and I do not intend to abandon my upbringing and begin experimenting with any so called supressed desires--”
“I do not suggest you forget your virtue, only don’t underestimate the strength of human desire, both for love and for physical companionship, and to never confuse the two.”
“Fine. I will bow to your superior years and wisdom.”
“Don’t even start with me about my age, young lady. With the right cosmetics, I intend to stay twenty-nine for years.”
“Perhaps I should check on Charity. It is her first ball. Mine too, in a way. I only ever watched them enviously while hiding from my nurse wardens as a child.”
“You are not going anywhere without your mask.”
“This doesn’t even cover much of my face anyway.”
“You must not be intercepted before the ball starts, and have some overzealous official tries to throw you in the stocks for disobeying the sumptuary laws. A governness should not be dressed like you, let alone wearing that many precious stones. Once the ball begins, however, don’t be surprised to see some important men have brought their lowly born mistresses. By that time no one will be willing to cause a scene. Even if you meet or dance with officials or courtiers you know, they will not associate you with the princess’ governess, because she is a nobody, and dressed as you are, you are definitely a somebody. Just make sure you’re in a good position to be seen as twelve approaches. Otherwise our elaborate plan to slip you into your inheritance by tying the king’s hands in full view of the court will have been a waste.”
“And Valerian?”
“Stay away from Valerian before the unmasking. He is unpredictable.”

* * *
Alexander Valerian watched with pride as his oldest daughter paused at the top of the grand staircase. She had a modest, self-assured beauty which was accentuated by the fashionable dress she wore that evening. It contrasted strongly in his mind to the old-fashioned, home made dresses she had stubbornly worn when she first arrived at the palace, despite his insistance on all of his daughters being issued a new trousseau and the service of a fleet of seamstresses. She had assented only when she was allowed to design them herself: all sensible and to his eye rather plain, with few extra bows or embellishments in stark contrast to the excesses of other girls her age. The dress she wore tonight was likewise simple, yet tasteful. The light pastel blue accentuated her dark features--dark, like him.
She was talking to someone who had brought a smile to Charity’s face when she approached. He rarely elicited that reaction from his daughter. Any light heartedness would quickly evaporate with the approach of his step, and she would turn to him in a businesslike manner and answer with curt nods and “Yes, Sir’s.” He could remember her as a child when her mother was sick and the family quarters of palace were quiet with worry and unease--exactly the same serious intensity in her eyes. Even as a toddler, the boisterous Prudence would hush when given the signal from Charity as Valerian paced across the chamber or corrider, rarely stopping to give them a pat or a caress. His thoughts had only ever been for their mother. After visiting the sickroom and sitting idle for as long has he could, he would leave his wife and unborn child to their repose and retrace his steps along the corridor, pass the silent stares of his two young children, then mount his horse in the courtyard and unleash his restless energy and anxiety in the hunt.
Alexander hadn’t been aware that Charity had made any close friends among the ladies of the court. She had hounded his advisers and officials, peppering them with questions and observing how they spent their days in service of the kingdom. But the idle court ladies who preened their plumage and whose conversation was limited to gossip or insipid small talk. Charity continued her descent down the stair case, now with a little more bounce to her step and a smile that did not seem likely to scare away easily.
Although the wearing of masks had mostly become only a form, with most attendees wearing only small masks that covered the area around their eyes, Alexander had decided to break with the court fashions and dressed truly in cognito. Feeling a need for solitude and had dressed himself in the tunic of a royal guard, and wore a mask shaped like his heraldic device: the eagle. He had spent as much time as he could since his wife’s death campaigning and avoiding the capital. He believed the capital should serve as the head of a well-oiled machine, filled with bureaucrats and civil servants, not full of idle playboys who spent their days wooing and having illicit rendezvous, men like Drake Ulysses, who was now dancing with his daughter, and she was no longer smiling. Although the first dance was only half way completed, she disengaged from her partner and took a seat on the dais, leaving Drake embarrassingly alone in a crowd of couples. Having three daughters and no sons, Alexander mused, was not going to help him in his quest to rid himself of social climbers and useless hanger-ons.
Just then, he spotted the woman with whom Charity had been speaking a few steps back from the wall of bodies along the edge of the room who stood watching the dancing. What made this woman so special that she had earned the esteem and affection of his stoic daughter? As he made his way toward her, he reveled in his newfound freedom the mask lent him-- he was in a large group of people with absolutely no pairs of eyes fastened on his every move. When he was within a few yards of her she turned to allow someone to sneak by her, and he stopped short. The woman was his daughters’ governess! Thus far, the country girl had been a source of annoyance to him, often contradicting him when it came to the matter of his daughters since being brought back with them to the capital after being almost entirely raised on a country estate under the supervision of their spinster and hermit aunt. Although outwardly deferential to him, the governess invariably took a hard line of resistance to many of his ideas. He was unaccostomed to practically any kind of verbal censure, which she managed to dish up with all the form and semblance of courteous discourse. This annoyance was superseded by the fact that she sometimes had to repeat herself, and seemed inconvenienced to have to do so and resentfully aware that he had trouble keeping his eyes from wandering pleasantly over all the contours of her body. This compulsion was magnified this evening because she was not wearing a modest dress like the ones his daughters had worn and no longer had her hair covered. Instead, her hair was powdered and piled on top of her head and the top half of her well formed breasts were fashionably exposed. Instead of sack-like provincial clothing, her body was suathed in expensive sillk that revealed everything he had hitherto been fantasizing about.
Penelope knew she was supposed to be getting in the middle of things, dancing, and meeting important people, but she had a few hours to kill and was not looking forward to making a spectacle of herself later that evening, in front of the king, God, and everybody. Instead, she hung back and enjoyed the costumes and fantastic arays of color and admired the general splendor. As a child, she’d loved these kind of things and had played dress up with her sister’s old ballgowns (it being unfashionable to wear the same gown more than once). She couldn’t wait to grow up and have admirers. But after her sister’s death, her young neices, Mary only an infant, had been sent to her country home at Elyseum to be raised by their grandfather. After his death, she had spent her teens and early twenties devoted to her nieces’ upbringing. By most people’s standards, she was a spinster at twenty-six. She was unacustomed to all the male attention she had been receiving lately, and realized that with her new power and position, it would only get worse. Even though she had been their guardian, mentor, and surrogate mother, in many ways she felt at the same stage of life as her neices: nervously eyeing the threshold of womanhood. Slowly, as a blush creeped into her cheeks, Penelope became aware that someone was looking at her and had been for some time. She made a full turn, looking closely at the people arround her until she spotted a member of the royal guard leaning unprofessionally against a column, arms folded across his chest. She glared imperiously at him. When what sounded like a rumbling chuckle came muffled out from under his mask, it occured to her that this was a high class reveler in the livery of a guard, but who would not be scared off by a look from her or a threat of being flogged.
Alexander had always wondered how far down a red-head a blush would go... And after looking at her closely for the last several minutes, he had decided she was a red-head. Although powder had been thuroughly applied to her skin as well as her face, he could detect a spray of freckles across her nose, and red-heads blushed deeper than most. At least now he knew that a blush did not stop at the face, but continued down her neck, and presumably farther... She was facing him now, and her eyes flashed fire. He had seen suppressed anger before in her eyes when he’d eyed her, but she was not behaving like a demure governess tonight. By the looks of the jewelry that draped from her, Lady Anne had took her under her wing and dolled her up for a night. She had come to the mask in disguise to watch Charity have her first ball. However, desguising yourself above your station was technically against the law, although at functions like these, the sumptuary laws were rarely enforced. He chuckled as an idea formed in his mind. He would have a little fun with the little impostress. He closed the space between them, and standing quite close, leaned forward so that only she could hear:
“Lady Anne should have been more careful about whose jewels she let you play with if the two of you were planning on keeping your commoner-turned-lady dress-up party a secret. The Ulysses emeralds have not been seen at a public function for many years, but they are quite distinctive. It’s a shame to be put under arrest so early in the evening.”
Penelope was fairly sure a courtier would not stoop to a public scene, and decided to take his threat of arrest lightly and without turning to face him, replied “Surely, sir, there are other ladies here of your own acquaintance willing to play your little game with you and be properly distressed at the thought of arrest and interrogation at the hands of a royal officer. However, I lack the inclination to humor the fantasies of school-boy courtiers on a power-high from getting to wear their daddy’s sword and a dashing uniform.”
Annoyed at being treated so disdainfully, Alexander took a step forward so that he stood directly behind and bent to speak so that his lips almost brushed her cheek: “You speak decidedly for one with so little knowledge of to whom you speak. You should take care not to offend someone whose ill will you can ill afford.”
Determined to shake her unwanted company who seemed intent on imposing himself on her company with no regard for her wishes or for her sense of personal space, Penelope responded icily, “Frankly, I find your impersonation more offensive than mine could ever be and in horrible bad taste: to think that you can don the loyalty and nobility of a man who has risked and sacrificed for his country and shed it with the dawn? You, whose hand has never shed blood in defense of country or home?”
Before she had time to cry out, Penelope found her arms grabbed and pulled painfully upward behind her back and forced backwards beyond the ring of ballroom observers and outside into the open air of the terrace. She was swung around to face her captor who shook her by both shoulders, “And what would you know of the shedding of blood in distant lands? You who have ever been surrounded with sources for affection and warmth? Perhaps a dose of fear and loneliness would do you some good.”
Penelope had never guessed how easy it would be for someone to kidnap her. She had always thought she would give a captor hell and plenty of scars should anyone ever attempt the feat, but Penelope now realized how ineffectual her small frame was against grim muscle commanded by steely purpose. Half-carried, half-dragged through the palace grounds with an iron hand grasped tightly over her mouth, she began to recognize the wing of the palace as they approached that were dedicated to the boarding of the royal guard. Producing a key from around his neck, the masked man opened an exterior gate in the wall obscured by bushes, and they entered into a dark passage. After several steps, he opened another door into a poorly lit corridor with numbered rooms along each side. Again using his key, he opened the door marked IX and deposited her on the hard stone floor.
Now Penelope began to feel afraid. The whole barracks wing of the palace seemed deserted for the evening. A light flared as her captor lit a lamp to reveal a Spartan room measured about six by ten feet furnished only with a bed mat on the floor, a chair, and a table with a washbasin and oil lamp. Her captor locked the door, then crossed his arms and leaned back against it. “Comfortable, your ladyship?”