Page 6

6

Unladylike

Annalise

“Thank you for joining me. I know the invitation was extremely last-minute.”

I smile at Aunt Pen while lowering into a seat across from where she’s settled at the table. “No, I’m pleased you asked.”

There’s a glimmer in her eyes at my words, and I can guess she knows the sentiment is sincere. We don’t know each other well yet, but she’s been kind so far. And not to mention, quite generous with her wisdom.

“I’ve requested that the cook prepare steak tonight. I hope that’s okay.”

“Yes, it’s fine. I’m not picky.”

She pauses with a glass of wine halfway to her lips, then smiles dimly. “Hm.”

A longcase clock standing at the center of the paneled wall ticks loudly through the silence. The motive behind her dinner invitation wasn’t very clear. It simply stated that she’d like for me to join her. The first thought that enters my mind is that she’s aware of her nephew’s advances, this campaign he’s launched to win me over. Perhaps she’s been sent in to see if I’ve softened. To see if I’m still just as angry and bitter as before.

But either way, whether this is genuine or a setup, I accepted and I’m here.

Aunt Pen’s glass makes a light tinkering sound when she sets it down on the table, then levels another intense look my way.

“I’m aware of the rift between you and my nephew, but does that mean you won’t be attending the military ball? You are aware that he’s been selected as this year’s Commendation of Gallantry award recipient, aren’t you?”

My posture stiffens, and I don’t miss how Aunt Pen’s expression dims, possibly realizing that her nephew is still a rather sore subject for me.

“I won’t be attending,” I say. “And, no, I wasn’t aware that he’s being honored.”

I bite back the snappy remark that’s on the tip of my tongue.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to anger you,” she says. “Honestly, I only brought it up because I wondered if I’d see you there.”

I don’t respond, and Aunt pen being somewhat intuitive, she seems to sense the need to shift to a new subject. So, she wastes no time doing just that.

“Your garden,” she pipes up, “how’s it coming along?”

I intentionally let the budding frustration I felt roll off my shoulders. It’s still possible that this could be a pleasant dinner.

“It’s… great,” I say with a calming breath. “I make it a point to venture out there at least once per day, mostly just to take in the beauty. It’s the most peaceful place on the entire property.”

“Yes, I can imagine. I’ll have to join you out there one day.”

“I’d enjoy that.” I pause to taste my wine as a question comes to mind. “Do you have hobbies?”

She seems shocked that I’ve addressed her with a question. I almost get the sense that she’s maybe not used to anyone taking an interest in her.

“I do, actually. Although, it’s a passion that found me much later in life.”

“Oh?”

“I enjoy sparring,” she says with a nod. “I’m aware of this not being the most ladylike pastime a woman can partake in, but I’ve found it to be a great stress reliever.”

I never would’ve guessed.

She laughs to herself, and I’m curious what thought or memory has just popped into her head.

“Father’s probably turning over in his grave. As I’m sure you can guess, the men in this family were— are— very much attached to their ideals surrounding gender roles.”

A deep breath leaves me. If there were ever anyone she doesn’t have to explain this to, it’s me. Apparently, my expression gives me away, because the next second, Aunt Pen belts another laugh.

“Right. I’m preaching to the choir.”

I neither confirm nor deny these are my exact thoughts.

“Can… I ask another question?”

That same look of intrigue fills Aunt Pen’s expression, and she nods. “Of course.”

“Since I’m certain it wasn’t your father or brother who taught you to fight, who did?”

Something about the way she smiles now makes me incredibly excited that I asked. If I’m not mistaken, there’s an interesting story here. But then I see something else, a hint of emotion in her eyes as she says a name.

“Bastien Fontaine.”

Now, I’m certain there’s a story.

“I don’t think I’ve heard the name before.”

A quiet laugh leaves her, but her gaze never meets mine. “My guess is the Larks thought it best to shield you from the clan’s bad apples .”

I don’t speak, but my silence doesn’t mean I don’t have anything to say. In fact, I have many questions to ask. Only, I suddenly get the impression there are many layers to this story, and for fear of causing that flare of sadness to return to Aunt Pen’s eyes, I don’t say a word.

“He’s not someone my father could ever accept. And by my brother, Alpha Evander, being that man’s carbon copy, he couldn’t accept it either.”

“Is… that why you’ve stayed away?”

Shit. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.

Aunt Pen nods, and I breathe a sigh of relief when she doesn’t immediately scold me for prying into her life.

“He was the reason, yes,” she admits, amending her statement a moment later. “Or rather, he… is the reason . ”

The more I’m around her, the more I think I’m starting to understand. She’s a noblewoman, yes, but she’s the embodiment of all I’ve ever wanted to be. My awe of her has nothing to do with her wealth. Instead, it’s her freedom, her audacious independence that calls out to me. She saw the proverbial line drawn in the sand, and she crossed it anyway.

While she hasn’t come right out and said what it is about the Fontaines that makes them bad apples, I can guess that they, too, march to the beat of their own drum. Whatever that means. And here, in New Eden, anyone who doesn’t follow the status quo, anyone who thinks for themselves, is considered an enemy.

I’m reminded of the story Cas shared with me last night. The one about the writer who dared to express himself creatively, only to be cut down in his prime, before he had a chance to reach full potential. It’s these restrictions, these unspoken and spoken regulations that I desire to see change.

For me.

For everyone.

“But enough about me,” Aunt Pen says, and I don’t miss how she blinks away the light sheen in her eyes. “I invited you here for a bit of lighthearted conversation while we dine. Not… this .”

She seems mildly embarrassed for having let me see so much, but I wished she knew there was no need for that with me.

No need to hide.

No need to pretend.

I shrug, and she peers up when I speak. “I don’t know. I’m okay with things getting heavy sometimes. After all, it isn’t often I find someone I’m comfortable sharing my thoughts and feelings with. And maybe you’ve felt the same.”

She’s thoughtful for a moment, then nods as she takes another sip of wine. “I have indeed.”

The staff enters the room with our meal the next second, but Aunt Pen’s eyes stay trained on me. And as she stares, I can’t help but wonder if she’s holding the same hope I am.

There’s more than just the potential for interesting dinner conversation between us.

Perhaps, in this place that hasn’t always been kind to me, I’ve just found something similar to what I’ve discovered in Tabatha and Genevieve.

Friendship.