I sit in the sun at our windows, embroidering a handkerchief. Jeanne-Marie, the maid, is sweeping the inn's stone floors, cleaning up the mess the guests left after breakfast. Mother is studying the homes finances and creating a menu, for the next week's guests, at the head table. Her light hair is tightly pulled back into a bun, making her face slightly angular. Father is in his study on the second floor. He must be looking at the business finances and planning. He is a merchant, and our inn is one of many of his ventures. It is situated on the river between the main port of Changy, and the city Torcy. Both are bustling metropolises, making the position of our inn ideal for merchants and tradesmen to rest on their voyages. My father has used that to create strong contacts in both cities, resulting in a thriving trade business. His success has vaulted our standing in society.
I smile at the thought of our blooming fortune. This is a perfect day in a perfect morning. What could possibly ruin it? Famous last words, right?
My reveries are interrupted by a strong, nigh frantic, knock on our thick wooden door. The maid stops her work and scurries to open it. I don't pay it much mind, only glancing up before returning to my work. My mother stops her calculations to greet our guest, although it is early for us to be receiving guests for the night.
They exchange several words, before my mother brings him upstairs to settle him in a room. I focus on forming a bright blue threaded blossom against the white of the handkerchief. The sun's rays warm me through the glass panes of the window. It is pleasant, and I lose track of time as I follow the floral design I had sketched on the bright fabric.
Jeanne-Marie hurries down the stairs, creating a rushed thumping noise with each step. I look up curious. Normally Jeanne-Marie is diligent in her tasks, but never rushed. She hurdles to my side and gives a slight bow. "Miss Camille, your father is calling for you."
I set aside my nearly completed work to follow her. "What does he need?"
"You better just come." I don't argue and follow. Father will explain.
I knock gently on his door. "Come in."
I push the door open to find my father sitting at his desk, staring at a letter in his hands. The disturbed look on his face stops my heart. "You called for me father?" I ask with trepidation. What could trouble him so?
"Yes, read this." He passes me the letter, and I look at is confused, but comply. My father made sure I learned to read, so unlike many of the young women around I could fulfil with his demand.
The blood drains from my face as I read. This can't be real. I don't want anything to do with this. On the bottom is the seal of Torcy. This means some high-ranking official is the one who sent it.
"Father am I reading this right? This is a proposal." I look at him, hoping to see his frowning lips lift in a grin to announce it is a tasteless joke. I am barely 18, which is a marriable age, but I am not ready.
"You read it right." He doesn't start to laugh. The longer I observe him, the greater my sense of unease.
"Who sent it?" He doesn't look me in the eye, but instead stares at his wooden desk. He taps his finger against the red wood.
"I don't know." I look down on the seal. Who has the authority to use it?
"What is your answer?" I don't look at him now. I know his response and I don't want to hear it, but I have to.
"There is no way I can refuse. Not with that seal." I know that he can't. Even the wording of the proposal leaves no room for argument. It simply states the date and location of the marriage, with a travel itinerary for our trip to Torcy. He has sent a horse for me to use, and only gives me 24 hours to mentally prepare before I am off.
I crumple in a chair across from my father. My mother grabs my hand. "Are you okay mon chou?" She calls me by my nickname. I look at her for the first time since entering, realizing that I hadn't noticed her. Her eyes are slightly pink. Has she been crying? It warms my heart to see her response. I am not the only one against this sudden, unwanted demand.
"I don't know what to think or feel." I scrunch my face. My emotions are swinging between shock and fear. "Is this normal?"
"It is sudden, of course you wouldn't know how to feel." My mother pats my hand. I smile at her concern.
"I mean the proposal." I correct, realizing that I hadn't articulated what I had thought.
"It is highly unusual. I have never heard of something like this. All I can think is that this is an arrogant and powerful man." My father doesn't look at me but passed me. It is obvious he is having as hard of a time processing this as me. I want to take away his worry, but know that I have no power currently.
"What should we do?"
"I think we have to follow the plan he has laid out." At my father's words tears stream down my mother's cheeks. I wipe them away.
"Mom, it will be okay." I try to comfort her. She seems devastated. I force a smile. "I am not going to be killed or put in prison. It is just a marriage. You can visit me. I am sure I will be able to convince …" I pause not knowing how to adress this man. "my husband to let you stay with me after the ceremony." I ignore the fact that he hasn't invited my parents to the ceremony, only supplying transport for me.
"But you will be so far away." She hiccups between sobs. I squeeze my lips together to hide my own emotions. My mother is my best friend and closest confident. I don't want to leave her, but I know that I don't have a choice. None of us have a choice. None of us want this. What kind of man doesn't come to propose in person or at least sign his proposal?
"Eugénie, don't make it harder for Camille." My father commands with compassion. He knows how devastating this separation will be for her. I hug my mom who nestles her face in my shoulder. It quickly becomes soaked with her salty tears.
I let her cry while my father stands and paces the study. I rock my mother back and forth and hum the lullaby she would always sing to me when I was upset.
"I thought with your father's success that you would have your pick of men. I wanted to watch you fall in love." Her words remain choppy as she cries. A small laugh and smile escape. She is too pure, focusing on the simple pleasures, blind to the waiting horrors.
"This isn't your fault." I rub her back.
There is a soft knock on the door. Jeanne-Marie peaks her head into the room.
"Miss Eugéne, guests are starting to arrive." I look out the window and see that it is already well into the afternoon. The time has slipped by under the shock of this retched letter.
"Mother, you go clean up, and I will go take care of the guests." I cup her face to lift it. I love my mother. She had struggled to get pregnant and miscarried every time she had managed to conceive. I am her miracle child who made it full term. Because of this, my parents have always doted on me, and treated me with respect. It has led to a strong friendship, more profound than that of parent and offspring, binding us together. She nods and I let go of her.
"I love you both." I call as I descend the stairs. I ignore the pain in my heart, tucking it away as I tend to our guest. I am polite and pleasant as I speak to each one, leading them to their respective areas and accepting their payment. We have a common sleeping room that is inexpensive, like all inns, but we also provide separate sleeping quarters of any guest willing to pay the higher price. Normally other merchants or even knights will take those rooms to share exclusively with their party.
A line from the letter runs through my head. The man mentioned that he had stayed here recently and had become infatuated with me during that time. I glance in the small mirror that hangs in the hall. What could he have found so attractive? My curly light hair matches that of my mother, but I have the dark blue eyes of my father. My face is rather round and pretty, but there is no alluring beauty there. What could have inspired this dreadful situation?