The first thing Beatrice was aware of was the light.
It came through the curtains at an angle that told her she had slept later than usual — not by much, but enough. The second thing she was aware of was the dull, persistent pressure behind her eyes that she had entirely brought upon herself.
She lay still for a moment, looking at the ceiling.
The last evening came crashing down onto her all at once.
She had drunk more than she intended to. That much was obvious from the way her head felt. It had started as something to hold in her hand, then something to sip between conversations, and somewhere between Lady Merenvale's pointed remarks and Countess Duvaine's assessment of her mother, it had become something she was quietly depending on to get through the evening without her expression slipping.
As for the Earl — she had said what she came to say. The ending had been abrupt and entirely out of her control, which she disliked, but there was nothing to be done about an Empress's summons.
She exhaled slowly.
She had done what she could. The rest wasn't in her hands — not yet, and not through any amount of turning it over before breakfast. Verdante Everleigh was not a man who could be rushed, and patience, she had already decided, was the only thing he would respect from her.
She sat up carefully, pressing two fingers to her temple.
Next time, she thought, she would count the glasses.
Lisa had been standing outside the bedroom door since early morning.
She hadn't been asked to — it was simply where she was. The Young Miss had come home the previous evening quieter than usual, the particular quiet of someone who had been holding themselves together for several hours and was finally done. Lisa had noticed. She always noticed.
She had prepared a glass of fresh lemon juice and a light hangover soup before the kitchen had fully woken up, on the reasonable assumption that the Young Miss would need both. The amount of champagne and wine that had been consumed the previous evening had not escaped her attention.
When she finally heard movement from inside the room, she straightened.
A moment later, Beatrice's voice came through the door — not quite her usual tone, slightly rougher at the edges.
"Lisa."
She pushed the door open and stepped in. The curtains were still drawn, the room dim. Beatrice was sitting at the edge of the bed, her hair loose, two fingers pressed to her temple with the expression of someone conducting a quiet internal assessment of their own poor decisions.
Lisa set the lemon juice on the bedside table without a word.
Beatrice looked at it, then at her.
"You anticipated this."
"I had a feeling, Miss." Lisa said simply, and moved to draw the curtains — slowly, mercifully, only halfway.
Beatrice simply nodded, it was her own way of appreciation.
Lisa helped Beatrice freshen up lightly first so that she could have her juice and the soup before moving forward with the day.
The light breakfast made her feel refreshed, but not enough to push out the anxiety that kept creeping in. If The Earl was to reject her offer, she must find some other leverage to make him stay or in worst case, find someone else to support her.
An idea came to her as she remembered last night, the small talks she had made with the Young Ladies at the banquet. She thought of throwing a small tea party. It wasn't much. But it was something she could actually do right now, which was more than she could say for most of her options.
With a ring of the bell, she asked Lisa to call Rhonda in.
Rhonda, the new head maid, was in her office when Lisa knocked on her door. It had been over a month since Miss Beatrice had hired her, and yet she hadn't been entrusted with anything exclusive — nothing beyond the standard running of the household. The Young Mistress had implied there would be more. Perhaps the time had finally come.
Over this past month, it hadn't escaped her notice that the staff of the house leaned heavily toward the Young Master. Not openly — nothing was ever open in a house like this — but it was there in the small things. Certain maids lingered near his wing. Information moved faster in one direction than the other. Curious, she had quietly pulled aside one of the laundry maids for the gist of it.
The reason, when she heard it, didn't particularly astonish her.
The Young Mistress couldn't use mana.
The Cornwell family had produced strong mana users for generations. Their hereditary ability was fire, and it had always been a point of pride for the family. The late Count had been capable by all accounts — his control solid, his power above average even among nobles.
Herrace had inherited it. Not to his father's degree — the fire he could produce was nothing remarkable, more functional than impressive — but it was there. That was enough for most people.
The Young Mistress had nothing. No ability, no potential, not even the faint sensitivity to mana that most nobles carried as a baseline.
In a house that had always taken its fire ability seriously, that was not something the staff had quietly overlooked.
But abilities or not, Rhonda wasn't particularly interested in any of that. She hadn't been promoted from within the house — she had been brought in laterally by the Young Mistress herself, and paid well for it. That was what mattered. She had no intention of letting that trust go to waste, not even by accident.
On cue, she got up from her desk and followed Lisa to Beatrice's study.
Beatrice was already sitting at her desk when they entered, looking more put together than Rhonda had expected given what Lisa had quietly mentioned about the previous evening.
"Rhonda." Beatrice set down her pen. "I am planning a tea party. Small, nothing elaborate. I need you to begin preparations."
Rhonda nodded, clasping her hands in front of her. "Of course, Miss. What would you like served?"
Beatrice thought for a moment. "Shortbread and almond biscuits. Cardamom tea, and the Nulang — the floral black one. Make sure the Nulang is sourced properly, not the cheaper substitute they sold us last time. Add some caramelised fruits too. Ensure that they are not very sweet." She paused. "And have the east sitting room aired out. I want it ready within the week."
"Understood, Miss."
"That will be all for now."
Rhonda excused herself, and the door clicked shut behind her.
Beatrice pulled a fresh sheet of paper toward her and picked up her pen.
The guest list.
She didn't want the older ladies — not for this. Lady Ashcroft and Lady Merenvale had their uses, but a table full of senior noblewomen would turn the whole thing into an interrogation before the first cup was poured. What she needed was something looser. Younger women, closer to her own age. Newly married ones were ideal — they were still finding their footing in their husbands' social circles, still looking for connections of their own. They were easier to draw in, and once drawn, they talked.
She began to write.
The first letter she wrote was addressed to Lady Amberville. As Beatrice remembered from last night, the lady was quite chatty and was to marry into the Viscounty of Luxemme. Coming from a wealthy Barony not too far away from the Capital, Lady Amberville was privy to most of the political issues and gossips. Beatrice needed someone like her as an ally. A friend, even, if she was being honest with herself — though she wasn't sure she knew quite what that looked like.
In similar fashion, she wrote a few more letters to the ladies from last night. Not long after that she finished her fourth letter, there was a knock on her door. It was the Old Butler.
"Greetings, Miss Beatrice. I heard you were planning to host a tea party." He said.
Beatrice nodded, "Mhm."
"The head maid informed me that she would be handling the preparations..." Beatrice understood what the Old Butler tried to imply.
"Yes, I did. I know that Sir Brauss handled all the preparations for the parties that my mother used to host spectacularly. But I need to give a chance the new head maid as well. It will prove her skills to the ones working under her. Don't you agree as well, Sir Brauss?" The Butler had no choice but to accept Beatrice's reasoning.
But he didn't back down from extending his help either.
"Would you like me to prepare a guest list, Miss Beatrice? "
Beatrice thought for a second and then smiled. "Sure, Sir Brauss. I am planning to invite ladies of my age. Who do you recommend?"
The Old Butler named a few ladies. Beatrice had heard some of those names, but was unfamiliar with others. After taking a note, she dismissed Sir Brauss and went on with writing letters to whom she actually intended to invite.
The list that the butler had provided contained those names whose affiliations were unclear with any of the present factions. It was a good move on his part. Beatrice was going to invite neither of them anyway.
Within an hour, she had all the invitations delivered through Lisa's hand. She set her pen down and looked at the empty desk in front of her. One thing at a time.