The Duke's Decision

“Elizabeth, a moment, if you will.” Rose closed the door to Isolde’s bedroom gently, hoping not to call attention. She’d wanted a private conversation, and finding the petite blonde girl alone so quickly was a stroke of luck. “I've been talking with some of the other duchesses-to-be, and I wanted to make sure that you're fully apprised of the developing situation. Especially since, as daughter of an earl, you are one of the three who could claim to be first among the duchesses.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Johanna and Sabine?”

“Yes,” Rose said. “While Sabine was swearing her oath and you were being fitted for your dress, the rest of the brides were having a meeting about how to figure out things. I talked with Maude after that, and then Fiona. I don't know if Maude told you, but the plan is to turn the old duchess's chamber – the duke's library – into your bedchamber. But that's not the only thing that the other brides have been trying to figure out, and they don't want Maude to take charge of things.”

Elizabeth cocked her head to the side. “Maude's been lady of the castle since her grandmother died,” Elizabeth said. “Since before my grandparents were born, in other words. Surely it can't hurt to have her in charge a little longer.”

Rose shook her head. “One thing my mother told me about married life was that letting your mother-in-law run the household after the marriage will drive you up the wall. Maude's as close to a living mother as Avery has. You should ask for her advice, yes, but you're going to be the duchess. Duchesses. And some things are just too personal to let Maude decide how they're supposed to work. Like the rota.”

“Rota? As in, for unpleasant chores?” Elizabeth's family lived in a castle that was understaffed, and the servants took turns with some of the less pleasant tasks that were nobody's job in particular. York Castle wasn’t understaffed, per se, but with so many duchesses, there might not be room for enough servants.

Rose frowned. “A rota for being with Duke Avery,” she clarified. “Whether you see that as a chore or not, the fact is that there are eight of you and one of him. Fiona doesn't think that leaving it up to Avery to decide such matters is a good idea, so each of you should have assigned turns with the duke where he stays in your chamber.”

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “That doesn't sound very romantic.” She sighed. “I guess it's practical.”

“The tricky part about that is precedence,” Rose said. “Because marriage is consummated by carnal relations, the order of the first rota is a matter of some concern. At the meeting, Fiona suggested each of the brides go in order of your old social ranks, but that was before Sabine joined your ranks.”

“And Sabine thinks she ranks me,” Elizabeth said, and bit her lip. “I don't quite agree. Lancaster is a duchy, yet she's twice as far from inheriting Lancaster as I am from inheriting Northumbria. But I would hate to argue the point.”

Rose nodded. “I think it's a much better idea if the rota goes in the order you swore in. Whatever you were before marrying him, you’re all duchesses afterwards, and if the first mark of precedence is based simply on the order of allegiance, I think it will avoid a lot of potential arguments about rank. Not just between you and Sabine, but Anna and Merilda or Althea and Helen, or Johanna and everyone from Sabine down to Helen.”

“So, you think I should speak with the other brides in favor of a system that lets Johanna go first, in spite of the fact that she is only a baron’s granddaughter?” Elizabeth looked at Rose carefully.

“Yes,” said Rose. “Because then you're second without a fight over rank. I don't think you'll win that fight. You're quiet. Small. Cute, but Sabine is utterly perfect.” Rose unconsciously gestured at her own chest. “You look the girl next to her, and if you lose the argument with Sabine, you'll have as much as said her father, only a baron in his own right, ranks your father as nephew of a duke. Open with the sacrifice to Johanna… you'll not only go second, but go second for reasons that don’t cast a shadow over your father. If Johanna goes first, Johanna won't say she ranks you. She might think it, but I’ve seen enough to know she holds her opinions close.”

Elizabeth sighed. “My father wouldn't like me ceding primacy,” she said. “Neither would I like it, in truth. My brothers are big and loud, but they always let me do what I want.”

“You're not used to fighting to get your way,” Rose said, gently. “Your brothers indulge you because they already love you. Sabine will run you over.”

Elizabeth nodded. “You're right. Here you are, pushing me around, and you aren't even a duchess-to-be. You’re barely taller than I am. But if we go by order, Sabine's last. Won’t she fight that?”

“I think so,” Rose said. “But she can fight indirectly for precedence by asking the others to trade places with her. If she asks nicely, she might be able to trade all the way up to third place. So, I want you to bring up the idea at the next meeting.”

“Me? But it's not my idea,” Elizabeth said. “And as you say, I’m not used to fighting to get my way. I’ll be talked over.”

Rose shook her head. “If you speak up first on the topic, before anyone else broaches the topic of the rota, it'll look like you're graciously giving up your own claim at first turn at the duke. That sacrifice and your rank will carry more weight than anything the rest of us could say on the subject.”

Avery rubbed his eyes as Aunt Maude’s voice droned on. I would rather fight Richard's army all over again than plan another wedding, he thought to himself. Master Lew had been relieved to learn that the order of eight circlets had been the correct number, even if two of the original brides had died. The investigation into the death of Ivette, Gelle, and their families was still in progress. With assistance from Master Warin, the bodies had been traced to the Taylor estate, but they'd already been necromantically processed, and some parts were missing entirely, including most of Ivette and Gelle.

Since Edward Taylor had already been found innocent of everything except greed, Avery had refrained from throwing the man in prison, but he had confiscated the contents of the Taylor estate's short-term crypt and issued a decree that the more liquid Taylor assets were to be frozen in place until he decided on an appropriate fine for improper acquisition and use of so many corpses without proper title.

With no success at tracing—or even fully understanding—the alchemical assassination of two of his brides, he'd decided to hold the wedding in the castle rather than out in the city in the old imperial barracks. The centuries-old cathedral that served as the main assembly point for the town militia was the largest indoor venue in York; but the old barracks were not as well secured as the castle bailey, especially not if one was concerned about supernatural threats or poorly-understood wizardry.

Moving the wedding inside the castle bailey placed serious limits on both the guest list and the ceremony itself. For example, in ordinary circumstances, each bride would process with a retinue, but just fitting eight brides, one groom, and an officiant on the dais in the great hall was going to be difficult. If the weather was pleasant, they could hold the wedding outside in the bailey courtyard, which would allow many more of the city's notables to attend – but an outdoor wedding posed a greater security risk, particularly considering fliers.

Although perhaps the main risk came from the brides themselves or their families; a risk that he simply could not eliminate. Avery pinched the bridge of his nose, and shook his head. “I'm sorry, Maude, what did you say? After you were done with the bit about Master Lew, I lost track.”

“In short, I'm saying that Merilda is too tall. It would be better if she wasn’t among the brides at all, but we can't have her tower over the other brides, especially the ones from better families. So we need little discreet platforms for each of them to stand on,” Maude said.

“Fine,” Avery said. “Seven little platforms for the brides who aren’t Merilda.”

“We really only need five,” Maude said. “It's alright if the ones on the ends are a little short. Fiona and Anna aren't noble-born anyway, so it doesn't matter if Merilda looms above them. But one platform needs to be an extra four inches, because Elizabeth is that much shorter than Sabine. We cannot have Elizabeth feeling overshadowed on her wedding day.”

“I don't think I'm going to worry about Elizabeth feeling bad about being short,” Avery muttered. “Considering the size of her father and brothers, I'm sure she's used to having other people loom over her.”

Maude gave him a stern look. “You're getting married in three days,” she reminded him. “Your duchesses are getting shortchanged by seven-eighths of a husband, so the ceremony you give them must be nothing less than perfection.”

“Very well,” Avery said. “I will have platforms made.”

Merilda led the others into what had been the sitting room. In spite of the inconvenient fact that it was in the process of being transformed into a bedchamber, it was still the best place for the brides to meet privately, partly due to its size and partly because Sabine seemed to have little interest in responding to polite requests to attend meetings with her rivals. She looked miffed at the sudden intrusion into her quarters.

Merilda gently set down the couch that had been placed in front of the door as the other seven women filed into the room, Rose bringing up the rear.

“What's this about?” Sabine asked, her left hand raised in a warding gesture and her right hand concealed behind it. One of her maids flinched, ducking behind a well-worn chair upholstered in beige.

Rose responded quickly, shooting a quick worried glance at Fiona. “It's a meeting of the duke's brides, and not the first one. The wedding is in two days, and there are matters which ought to be discussed. The duke is, as you know, quite preoccupied, and I am sorry he must be absent.”

Rose carefully did not mention that Avery had not been invited or even told about the meeting, guessing that Sabine would be less likely to object if she assumed the bridal meetings had been ordered by Avery rather than being Fiona’s brainchild.

Sabine schooled her expression into a gracious smile, slowly lowering her arms. “I see. Please, make yourselves comfortable in my chamber. Someone will see to bringing tea,” Sabine said. One of her maids quickly scurried out of the room. “What are we to talk about?”

“We're going to begin with a discussion of the wedding night,” Rose said. “Or rather, nights, as there are eight of you. Some taking of turns will be required.”

“I'm sure Duke Avery will do as he wills,” Sabine said with a shrug. “I’m sure he will make a suitable choice as to who to take to bed first.”

Fiona looked like she was ready to argue, so Rose quickly turned to Elizabeth. “Elizabeth? What do you think?”

“I think it's most fitting for us to consummate our marriages in the order we swore to marry him,” Elizabeth said firmly, then blushed, screwing her mouth shut.

Johanna looked surprised and pleased. So did Anna. Fiona looked surprised and uncertain.

Sabine furrowed her brow and waved at Merilda. “It's hardly proper for one of my standing to have to wait in line behind mere gentry for anything,” she said. “Much less a husband.”

Helen cleared her throat. “You can have my place in line,” she said, her gaze carefully fixed on the floor. “I don't mind going last.”

Sabine glanced over at Helen with surprise. For a moment, a look of recognition flickered in her eyes, then her face flushed bright pink. She brought a teacup up to conceal the lower half of her face, looking down and sipping as she schooled her face.

Fiona quickly jumped in, her hands fluttering nervously. “That would put you third in line, just behind Johanna and Elizabeth.”

Sabine looked up from her teacup and stared up at Johanna, but the baron’s daughter sat silently, meeting her gaze without flinching. “Very well, then,” Sabine said. She glanced at Rose and then over at her maid. “This isn't the sort of thing that should be discussed among others, however. I expect discretion.”

“May I please inform the duke directly of your decision, Your Graces-to-be?” Rose asked. She’d expected more argument, perhaps extended negotiation where Sabine could bring her wiles to bear, but Helen’s unexpected concession had brought matters to a natural conclusion. “If this little matter is indeed decided?”

Sabine reluctantly nodded.