Lenore looks at her reflection in the mirror as Mary brushes her damp hair. Her pale skin, gray-blue eyes, and ash-blonde hair combined with her simple white gown make her look like a ghost in the midst of her chamber's dark fabrics.
With her future looming over her, she's concerned about the smallest details of her appearance. The Duke doesn't need to love her. She doesn't mind if he only tolerates her. As long as she's allowed to live, she'll be agreeable. Quiet. She won't cause trouble to draw too much attention to herself. He won't even know she's there.
Mary braids two sections of her hair from the front and ties them with a ribbon so they join the rest of her hair that's left loose. It's simple, but Lenore wants it that way. Her uncle hated when she tried to be like Alina and wear jewels or fancy dresses. When she dressed simply and stayed silent, he didn't seem to mind her existence.
Not outwardly, at least.
She wipes the sweat from her palms with the towel used to dry her hair before placing on the vanity again. Being nervous won't help her, but she struggles to quell the fear of uncertainty. She's used to surviving in Rowanhart. She knows all the rules she needs to follow to avoid upsetting her uncle and cousin. But Barrowmere? Barrowmere is unfamiliar. Sure, the Duke seems polite enough to not throw her out or hurt her, but she doesn't know his preferences. It's possible she could make a mistake without realizing it and end up abandoned again.
Not long after Mary finishes her hair, Corwin returns and leads Lenore to the dining room. Their path takes her back to the first floor and through hallways. The manor is grand, but it's large and unfamiliar, leaving her worried that she'll never know how to move through it without guidance.
Her doubt must show on her face, as Corwin says, "Lady Lenore, nobody is capable of finding their way in a new place."
She feels the heat of embarrassment in her cheeks. "Is it that obvious?"
"Forgive me for being blunt, but yes. Your expression says a lot, my lady." Corwin's tone is light, balancing humor with observation.
If it was a servant in Rowanhart who said the same things, their voice would be filled with emotions ranging from annoyance to disdain. Since Claude stopped pretending to care about her after the first years, a number of servants followed suit. Mary, at least, stayed by her side with unyielding kindness, and now faces a new life in Barrowmere with her.
The Duke sits at the head of the table by the time Lenore arrives, and he gestures at the seat to his right for her to take.
Lenore curtsies before she takes her seat. "Good evening, Your Grace."
He nods. "You can forgo the formalities and call me Alaric." His tone isn't unkind, but Lenore can't help feeling like she's made a mistake.
"I... understand."
The spread is big enough to host a banquet, but even limiting the dishes to the small section that Lenore and Alaric occupy means leaves more food on the table than two people could ever hope to finish. Not to say that the food doesn't melt in her mouth. Tender steak, soft bread fresh from the oven, and roasted vegetables with an unfamiliar sauce are only a fraction of her choices.
The clink of silverware against pristine plates is all she hears for a bit, taking her time to taste the dishes that look the most appetizing. How long has it been since she's had a chance to eat food fit for nobles instead of receiving the simple meals that her uncle allowed his servants to have?
"The chef will adjust the menu to suit your preferences," Alaric says, glancing at her as she eats. His own plate is filled, but he seems almost uninterested in the food.
Lenore pauses and wipes her mouth with the cloth napkin folded beside her plate. "I can eat anything. I'm not picky."
Alaric folds his hands, his elbows on the table and meal set aside. "I'm aware that you weren't sent here by choice, so your stay should be comfortable at least. Do you want to discuss the rest of the details about the marriage while you finish your meal?"
Afraid of inconveniencing Alaric, Lenore nods. She's more mindful about her pace, taking slow, measured bites. Without any idea what Alaric—or Rowanhart Duchy—gain from this marriage, she's nervous about what might be required of her during it.
"I'll have a formal contract drawn up after we reach agreeable terms." Alaric talks about it like it's a business deal he makes on an ordinary day. But maybe that is how marriage feels to him after going through multiple of them. "My requests are simple, so I hope you'll accept them. You can wander the manor freely, but must have somebody with you beyond its walls. Don't snoop around or act suspiciously, and I'll see no reason to confine you. Our chambers will remain separate, so don't bother concerning yourself with any marital duty nonsense."
After a pause, Lenore asks, "Is there anything else?"
Alaric nods. "A duchess is usually in charge of the estate, but the estate here is dead. Seeing as I don't host events either, the traditional duties that would be delegated to you are unnecessary. Now, then. Your terms?"
Lenore takes a moment to think about it. She hadn't expected to have the choice to request conditions for her marriage. Honestly, she can't remember the last time that her input has been considered, spending her life until this point like a puppet under the control of her uncle. "I'd like to keep Mary as my maid."
After he waits for a minute, staring at her, he asks, "Is that all?"
"Um, I would also like to be respected, and not treated like—like a servant or prisoner. And to send a letter to my parents." Lenore stumbles over the words. It's a wish she's had since she left her original home, hand-in-hand with the uncle she used to trust. Saying it out loud makes her feel like a child again, staring at the gates of Rowanhart Estate with tears in her eyes, wondering why her family abandoned her. Now, she wonders if that was another lie, but she's afraid to find out.
Alaric's eyes widen for a moment, but he smooths his expression quick enough that Lenore thinks she might've imagined it. "I agree. I look forward to your cooperation. As for the small details, we can discuss them when drafting the actual contract."
Lenore dips her head and looks at her lap. She doesn't want Alaric to see the fragile hope blooming in her chest. His terms are reasonable, and he agreed to her requests. It's more than she expected, and now she's afraid she'll get greedy.
Is this what others experience regularly? Is it a sense of freedom?
If so... what does she do with it?