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15 Harpstring Moon, 1190
Leonie, Duchess of Gloucester, strode into the grand ballroom of Gloucester Hall. For all that she’d lived in the place—calling it a “house” was as accurate as calling Byleth Eisner “ordinary”—for the past ten months with her husband, she still felt like a girl masquerading as a princess. Like things weren’t entirely real, even though she woke up beside Lorenz every morning, and always smiled at the sight of him. But after a few years of working as a successful merc throughout Fodlan, going from camping in the woods to down pillows and feather comforters was still an adjustment.
For the most part, they lived simply, despite the gargantuan estate Lorenz oversaw as the current Duke of Gloucester. Lorenz was a believer in economy, for all that he liked to dress well, and Leonie hadn’t gotten the battle she’d expected from him on closing down half of the house, and putting the money to maintain it elsewhere. He’d readily agreed to most of her ideas, like modernizing technology for their tenant farmers, founding schools for the local children to attend, and hiring teachers to instruct them.
But Lorenz had a few areas where he was a stickler for tradition, and hosting the annual diplomatic ball at Gloucester Hall was one of them.
Leonie came to a stop over the Gloucester coat of arms inlaid in the center of the dance floor, and wrapped her arms around herself. She’d hated dancing for as long as she could remember. Hunting a monster, fighting some bandits, repairing whatever worn out tool or possession she had—no problem. But this was like her personal idea of torture: a room overfilled with overdressed, puffed up nobility looking down their noses in hopes that the “upstart commoner” Lorenz had married would fall flat on her unpainted face.
Lorenz asks so little of me, though… I can’t let him down by bailing. But g oddess help me, I don’t know how I’ll survive the evening without punching some hoity toity in the teeth.
She sighed heavily, and glanced around the room she rarely stepped into. It was rectangular, with a large mural on the ceiling, carved wooden columns lining the walls, painted white and gilded with real gold for accents. Large mirrors with built in sconces that held magical flames adorned the walls, making the space feel even more cavernous than it actually was. This was not a room that suited Leonie Pinelli Gloucester; it was everything she wasn’t.
“This is not where I expected to find you,” said the cultured voice of her husband.
Strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her against his lean body. Leonie turned in Lorenz’s embrace and looked up into his face. She was on the taller side for women, but had to admit she loved his height, and his penchant for tucking her head against his shoulder. Unfortunately, she felt too edgy to relax into that position.
“I know that look too well, and I think I can guess the cause of your unhappiness,” Lorenz said, surprising her with his perspicacity. “The ball, is it not?”
“Nothing gets past you, huh?” Leonie asked, one side of her mouth quirking upwards.
“I assure you, we can practice dance steps until you master them as completely as throwing a lance from horseback.”
His face was so earnest, the offer so heartfelt, that Leonie’s heart swelled.
“That’s very sweet of you. But it’s not really the dancing,” she said, and sighed. “More the whole production around it. The nasty gossiping about how I’ve entrapped you, how unsuitable I am to be a Duchess. I’m worried I’ll end up in a duel in your own ballroom.”
“Our ballroom, my dear,” Lorenz said. His gaze turned frosty. “If anyone utters disdainful slander against you within my hearing, I will fight them alongside you, if that’s how you want to settle things. However, consider an alternative: having the offender unceremoniously removed does create a good amount of gossip—about them.”
Leonie cracked a smile at the idea of her exceedingly proper husband pulling a sword on anyone for insulting her. That sounded more like Felix Fraldarius defending his diminutive wife’s honor—not that Annette couldn’t hold her own.
Lorenz reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear.
“If you consent to help me host this diplomatic event you so despise, I will make it up to you. We’ll embark on a pastime that you love afterwards.”
“You’d go hunting with me if that’s what I asked?” Leonie asked, eyebrow raised in disbelief.
“Yes, if that’s what you desire most. An eye for an eye in mutual suffering seems only fair.”
“We’d have to agree to terms,” Leonie said.
Lorenz smiled, and startled her by stepping back and assuming the posture for the waltz. “Very well. We can practice your steps at the same time.”
“Hey, that was sneaky!” Leonie protested half-heartedly, even as she placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her into the proper footwork.
“I don’t see you turning down the practice, my love,” Lorenz grinned down at her, and Leonie couldn’t help smirking at how deftly he’d maneuvered her.
Two could play at that game.
“I’m not going to wear a ridiculous ball gown so I can trip on the hem and look foolish,” Leonie stated, leaning back when Lorenz dipped her. “I want to be comfortable.”
He pulled her upright, and resumed the waltz, all of his movements graceful and elegant. He was such a good dancer, Leonie didn’t have any trouble following his movements. What kind of wizard was he to transform a previously hated activity into something sweet and romantic, a moment of pleasure for just them alone?
Lorenz smiled like he’d read her thoughts. “My love, as long as you’re dancing with me at our ball, I do not care how plain your garments look. I am greedy for every moment I can get twirling you about.”
“Let me summarize this pact so we can formally agree,” Leonie said.
The loving look she sent him softened the transactional nature of her words.
“If I help you host this ball in my choice of dance attire, you agree to go on a hunting trip with me. In an actual tent.”
Lorenz narrowly missed stepping on her feet.
“A tent?” Leonie snickered at the look of horror he tried too late to hide. “Oh very well, I concur. But no more than two nights.”
“Fair enough,” she grinned. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
Lorenz bent down to kiss her, and Leonie had never sealed a bargain more pleasantly.
* * *
A month later, the dreaded ball was upon them, but Leonie was ready to face it like the demonic beast it was. If Lorenz’s eyes had widened a bit in shock at the sight of her descending the stairs clad in a white blouse, gentleman’s long tailed fitted jacket, and hose with thigh high boots, he hid it well. Leonie had at least compromised with the astonished tailor to order her custom garments in sumptuous fabrics befitting a duchess. Her black hose had gold stitching along the outer thighs, and her fitted jacket was a gleaming sky blue made of quality satin, lined in copper, and trimmed with gold. The tailor had convinced her to add more feminine puffs around the shoulder, which contrasted beautifully with the simple white silk blouse she wore beneath.
Lorenz was silent long enough that she’d grown nervous when he finally spoke.
“Well, this wasn’t quite what I’d expected, but...” he grinned suddenly. “You are stunning. I certainly will have trouble looking elsewhere with you dressed like this.”
“I hope that’s a compliment,” Leonie said, aware that her cheeks had heated from the appraising look in her husband’s eyes.
He was enjoying her rebellion a lot more than she’d expected, and she wondered if some secret part of him had ever chafed at the restrictions of his upbringing. Perhaps it was easier for him to let her break the rules for both of them?
Her resolve faltered once they’d entered the ballroom and greeted their guests, all of whom had rudely gaped at her outfit before recovering their manners. Everyone except for Hilda and Caspar Goneril, who’d been married a year, and usually represented her brother, the Duke of Goneril, at events. But even Hilda’s eyes had widened in surprise, and she was resplendent in a bare-shouldered, pale pink ball gown with wide skirts, decorated in sparkling jewels. Had Leonie been a little too bold?
When Lorenz led her out onto the dance floor, over the same Gloucester coat of arms they’d practiced on, Leonie felt like every eye was on her, even though many other couples had joined them. They took up the position for the waltz, and she looked up to see Lorenz studying her closely.
“My dearest girl, I support you no matter what,” he said quietly. “But if I could offer you some advice?”
“Yes?” she asked.
“Seeing as you have committed to dancing in this attire for the course of the evening, what the others say should have no bearing on your enjoyment. If you dance better by wearing pants, then hold your head high and let me spin you around.”
The music started, and he immediately led her into the steps, as elegant as always, but his face softened with a smile.
“Like this, you mean?” Leonie grinned, and he followed up by twirling her into a spin that was remarkably enjoyable. With no skirts to get tangled up in, no high heels to trip her up, Leonie relaxed and her fears receded.
“And there’s my wife again,” Lorenz said. “Your smile lights up the room when it’s genuine.”
Her grin somehow widened, even though she was sure she was blushing. “You are so poetic about the smallest things.”
“Perhaps because you’re so inspirational.”
“I hope you feel that way watching me hunting game in a week,” she teased him.
Lorenz pulled her closer than the usual form dictated by the dance, and Leonie felt a shiver run down her spine.
“I’m sure I’ll find something to admire,” he said.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
She smiled softly at him, gazing at him with all the love she could muster. Lorenz bent down and kissed her, sending her nerves into overdrive. And she’d thought her outfit had been bold! He appeared equally flushed when he pulled back, but Leonie leaned her head against his shoulder for a minute before straightening.
“Why Lorenz, I believe you just broke the cardinal rule of society: kissing your wife in public!”
His smile made her heart skip an errant beat.
“My dearest girl, seeing you smile and enjoy yourself in my arms is all I could ask for.”
Leonie leaned in and murmured. “I love you.”
“And I you,” he said, his grip on her back tightening.
The music slowed, and seconds later, the dance ended. For the first time in her life, Leonie wished it could have lasted forever.
Hilda and Caspar had ended their set beside them, and Hilda immediately grabbed Leonie’s arm and dragged her into the crowd watching the dancers, their husbands following.
“Leonie, I absolutely adore your outfit!” she said loudly, apparently oblivious to all of the eyes trained on them. “Caspar, doesn’t she look divine?”
“Uh, sure!” Caspar said, sounding distracted.
Hilda cleared her throat and shot him a look.
“I agree, that blue color looks really great on you!” he said quickly. Leonie grinned.
“I’m going to commission a dress coat and pants as soon as we return to Goneril,” Hilda continued. “Elegance and convenience all in one!”
Around them, all conversation ceased, and Leonie counted at least ten noble mouths hanging open. She grinned wider, realizing they looked rather like sheep staring vacantly around a field. Time to shake them up some more.
“I’ve never understood the point of getting all dressed up, so I figured I might as well wear practical attire while I was at it,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll see the benefits after your tailor is finished. I’d suggest some boots, too—way more comfortable.”
Hilda’s eyes widened with gleaming speculation.
“You are a genius, Leonie! Imagine the look, high leather boots, just like the men wear, but in an array of colors. I need to speak to a tanner immediately, and ask Ignatz where he gets the best pigments from.”
Caspar turned to Lorenz. “I think our wives just expanded Hilda’s plans for her school of artisans.”
“That’s because Leonie is a trailblazer with style!” Hilda exclaimed. “Look at this necklace she made me!”
She pulled out the old charm Leonie had made her at the Academy, a clear glass bottle filled with sparkling chip stones and a perfect petal of pink phlox, set in resin.
“You still have that old thing?” Leonie asked, stunned. “And wore it with your gorgeous dress?”
“Of course I did! I’m quite interested in innovation, you know! These skirts may look quite lovely, but I guarantee you’d be tired of waltzing around in them by the end of the evening.”
“But you look amazing in them!” Caspar said, beaming at his wife.
“Oh you!” Hilda leaned over and kissed him.”You’re sweeter than I deserve.”
“Nah, come on,” Caspar said, running his thumb over her jaw. “You deserve the best!”
Lorenz leaned down to murmur in Leonie’s ear.
“Now that was a masterpiece, my dear. Look at their faces now.”
Leonie sneaked a glance at the onlookers, who were loudly discussing their pressing needs to contact their modistes when they returned home.
“If the Duchess of Gloucester and the Duke of Goneril’s sister are going to start wearing men’s formal attire, you girls must follow suit!” a stern looking matron told her abashed looking daughters. “We can’t risk looking uncouth!”
Leonie tossed her head back and laughed.