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“Galt surprised me, to be blunt. He said he didn’t need to mourn the loss of his former marriage prospects. The girl had disappointed him. So had the father. But their foolishness didn’t erase his need for a wife to manage his social obligations, and you impressed him this evening.” Her father wrote out Galt’s name again, then a series of numbers after it. Habit? Or did those numbers have a significance?
He blotted the paper neatly—a methodical gesture. “You are young, I told him. He argued that you will turn sixteen next month—not an uncommon age for marriage in some parts. You might continue your education in his household if necessary. He offered generous terms.” That last was said almost as an afterthought.
He sold me. Theodr Galt named a price and he agreed.
Mann’s comment about avid collectors went through her mind. Her skin went cold and she had to suppress a shudder. What did Mann know about Galt? Or had he simply guessed at the man’s nature? “What about—” She stopped herself before she mentioned the rumors. Her father would not pay any attention to them. Instead, she asked, “What did Grandmama say?”
At that, her father looked away, but only for a moment. “Your grandmother has no say in this matter. Come, Therez. Fortunes are directed and planned for. They are not found like a treasure by the roadside. I will not argue the point. Tomorrow I hold the formal interview and we sign the contracts.”
“The shipping contracts?” she said impetuously.
Spots of color appeared on her father’s cheeks. “Do not be stupid, Therez. We are signing all the necessary contracts that touch upon this family. More you need not discuss.”
But I am not an entry in your ledger. I am not a crate of stone or wood, to be signed for and delivered.
Therez held her hands tightly together, willing her pulse to slow, her face to remain a blank. Her father was watching her closely, his gaze bright and rapt. He would lock her in her rooms tomorrow if she did not show a proper gratitude. He had done it before.
“What did Baron Eckard discuss with you?” he said. “Look at me when you answer, Therez.”
She met his gaze steadily. “Books.”
Petr Zhalina frowned. “What kind of books?”
A pause. “History books.”
“Interesting.” He looked thoughtful. “Did he show you any attentions? No, never mind. His days of influence are past.” He released a sigh. “You may go, Therez. If you like, you might want to talk with your mother. I told her to expect you.”
Dismissed. Therez hesitated, but her father appeared fully absorbed in writing columns of numbers. Still, he was observant, she knew from experience. She rose and curtsied, as an obedient daughter should, and though it took all her effort, she kept her expression fixed in a pleasant smile. Turn around, she thought. Leave the room. Do not lose control.
She walked steadily through the business wing, back through the public dining room, where the chambermaids were still at work. The steward greeted Therez in passing. She answered automatically, she hardly knew what, and kept on walking until she reached the stairs.
She stopped and leaned heavily against the newel post, forehead resting on the smooth wood. Tomorrow. Marriage next week or next month. It all depended on the contract her father signed. Her stomach lurched at the thought.
It took several moments before she could recover herself enough to climb the stairs. Numb, she passed through the familiar rooms where her mother entertained. A small parlor. A gallery decorated with paintings and other artwork. A library with rare first editions. It was a rich man’s house, built from luck and skill and determination. Her father had come to Veraene from Károví with nothing more than a cargo of rich furs, which he traded for shipments of marble, which he then turned into his first profit in gold. Therez thought she had understood him, had admired him for his intelligence and fortitude, even if she feared his temper.
It was quiet in the family’s private wing. No voices disturbed the hush; no shadows except hers moved across the walls. Therez came to her mother’s suite. Lamplight edged the door. Isolde Zhalina waited, as ordered, for Therez to visit and discuss the news.
What advice could I ask her? How to hide your thoughts? How to breathe without giving offense?
How to be a prisoner, not a wife and partner.
No, no, no. No, I cannot give up yet.
She turned away from her mother’s door and passed onward to her brother’s door. Ehren was awake, too, apparently, because she heard the soft notes of his flute. He had long ago given up regular lessons, but now he was practicing, which he did whenever he wanted to soothe his nerves
.
She knocked. Almost immediately the flute went silent. Ehren opened the door. “Therez.” He looked wary, she thought. But not surprised.
“Ehren, do you … do you have time for me? I have a problem.”
He stood aside. “Of course. Come in.”
As she entered his study, she realized she had not visited her brother’s rooms since he came home from university. Her distracted gaze took in the shelves overflowing with books, the letters on his desk, neatly stacked and waiting for his attention. One of the letters, addressed to Ehren, carried the device for Count Beckl’s house. Another envelope, in a more ornate hand, had a name she didn’t recognize. More signs that her brother had changed without her noticing.
“Therez, what’s wrong?”
Therez opened her mouth, closed it. It took another moment before she could frame the sentence. “Father told me I would be married. He’s negotiating my betrothal.”
