Cinched, tied, and buttoned into her dress, Amelia waited out of sight of the wedding guests seated in the church. Her sisters in a swirl of motion around her unpinned the bustle of her dress to let out the train and fretted with the diadem and a few errant strands of hair.
Queen for a day, she thought. But at least not slave for a lifetime, she added with a modicum of relief. She at least had the good fortune to marry a friend in possession of a kind nature and sincere affection. And the agreement they made together with their parents ensured some independence from social and familial demands for the time being.
She surfaced from her thoughts when Mrs. Stodge grasped her daughter’s hand and kissed it.
“You will find happiness,” her mother said. “You must.”
Amelia bit back a tart rejoinder and tried to smile. Only half her face complied. A brief bluster of encouragement from her father, and her parents left to take their seats. Alexander would join her momentarily to lead her hence. Her heart faltered and her eyes stung with tears she willed back. Her sister would berate her for weeping.
“You look lovely, you know,” Margaret said to Amelia, handing her the bouquet.
“I feel like a dog’s breakfast,” Amelia said.
“You need to breathe,” Francine urged. “You look pale, and your complexion doesn’t support it.” She lightly pinched Amelia’s cheeks to bring color back, but frowned in dissatisfaction. “Those freckles. Do you even know what a parasol is?”
“Leave her be, Francie,” Margaret said. “She’s a flight risk as it is.” She hugged Amelia tightly, encouraged bravery and wished her luck before departing.
“One more thing,” Francine said. “Drink this quickly,” she pressed a glass of what looked like champagne into her hand, followed by a sprig of mint. “Then chew on this.”
Amelia did as directed, her mind in a state precluding any course but obedience. The bitter, sour taste of the drink made her ponder the plummeting quality of champagne. “What is this?” she almost choked.
“A little concoction to settle your nerves,” Francine replied coyly. “A godsend in these circumstances. You’ll thank me.”
“If I don’t die. It tastes like patent medicine.” Amelia hesitated to take another mouthful, not sure if the mild floating sensation was altogether desirable in her current situation.
“You’re half correct,” Francine smiled. “Now finish the glass and chew the mint so no one will smell the medicine on your breath.”
A soft knock at the door announced the groom had come to collect his bride. Having been medicinally harnessed, Amelia’s heart barely fluttered. Her head felt loose on her neck, and her body performed actions before her mind commanded, complying with every direction Francine gave. In the liquid muddle, Amelia wondered if this was Francine’s plan to prevent her from bolting out of the chapel at the first unattended opportunity.
“Ready?” Alexander asked, visibly anxious.
“No,” Amelia replied, swiveling rather than shaking her head.
“Me neither.” He stood taller and squared his shoulders. “Right, into the breach then?”
“Into the breach.”
***
The ceremony in its entirety took no more than thirty minutes. Amelia could remember little enough of it to confirm it had actually occurred. Francine’s tonic wore off in time for the torture of the receiving line however, which persisted for nearly two hours. Amelia’s face ached from the constant smile, though she was delighted to see Miss Kelley and Kurt among the throng, as well as Mr. McGoffery and his wife. By the time the last of the queued guests congratulated the new couple, Amelia’s feet ached, her mouth was dry, and she desperately needed to hide somewhere remote and silent.
Francine offered her sister a glass of champagne. “If I may steal your bride from you for a moment,” she asked Alexander and guided Amelia away from the disbursing crowd. Amelia eyed the proffered glass warily.
“Only champagne this time,” Francine said. “Can’t have the bride completely sozzled. It’s just not done. The tonic carried you through, though, and in tolerable spirits.”
“For a moment, I almost felt magnanimous,” Amelia quipped, taking a small sip, then a larger one once satisfied it didn’t contain laudanum. “Then I remembered what was happening and how many guests attended.”
“You performed admirably, and the trial is nearly over.”
Amelia marveled for a moment at her sister’s compliment and wondered if she hadn’t indulged in her tonic as well.
“Truthfully,” Francine said, “I didn’t expect you to go through with it. I anticipated finding your bed empty this morning save a letter begging for forgiveness. I was up all night worrying.”
Ah, that explains it, Amelia thought, sleep deprivation. “All that anxiety for naught,” she said instead, waggling the fingers of her left hand to show the simple gold band. “I know when I’ve been bested.”
“It isn’t as bad as you think,” Francine said, “being married under these circumstances. It’s...a necessary formality. I don’t find Mr. Grimpson particularly attractive as a man, or as a human being for that matter.”
Amelia remembered her first impressions of Mr. Grimpson - words like vapid and vain and useless sprang immediately to mind and never warranted replacement - and she wondered how her sister could tolerate such a creature. Perhaps her tonic played a bigger role in her life than she let on.
Francine continued. “But he holds a significant position in society and in the city’s government. He is rarely home, and he cares little for the details of how our home is run, so I rarely have cause to speak with him for more than a few minutes. I know our marriage is a formality. I know he doesn’t spend all of his free time at his clubs and he finds company and solace in various locations. But he is discreet, I am comfortable, my children will never know want, and we dine in the highest circles. That is all I truly desire from a marriage. You, on the other hand, have the luxury of a husband who highly esteems you, who supports your desire for freedom, and as neither of you have social aspiration, you possess the liberty of doing whatever you want. All our families ask is, at some point, you make an effort to fulfill the biological requirement of the union. And if circumstances prevent it, one can easily find assistance elsewhere.”
Amelia had no time to contemplate the implications of her sister’s advice before guests interrupted.
Two hours later, the couple finally completed the requisite wedding rituals. Alexander asked when she would like to depart.
“Immediately, please,” Amelia whispered. ““I can’t sit without an entourage and an act of Parliament. And I begin to resent people in general.” She shifted from one throbbing foot to the other.
Alexander chuckled and put an arm around her waist and kissed her temple. The embrace surprised her at first, but she relaxed into it and leaned against him.
“How are you fairing?” she asked.
“I haven’t quite reached the point of general resentment, but then again, I’m not laced into whalebone and several meters of cloth and beads.”
“This corset is so tight I can neither breathe nor eat. We have food on the Mazarine, I hope.”
“Plenty, and more champagne.”
“Little felicities,” Amelia sighed.
After what seemed an insufferable amount of time, perhaps another ten minutes, all parties involved decided the moment had arrived for the new Mr. and Mrs. Brinkley to embark on their celebratory floatabout. Francine and Margaret helped Amelia into the less restrictive traveling suit. Then, a final toast, a chorus of cheers, and the newlyweds escaped in the carriage that would take them to Kettery, where the Mazarine was docked.
***
Colonel Pell waited the couple inside the Spire’s glass terminal. Once the introductions, formalities, and felicitations concluded, he asked for a private interview with Amelia, wherein he began directly with his business.
“The weeks following Merriday’s death have uncovered some...complications...regarding his will. He may have informed you that he has no children, nor immediate family. His legal will on file directed the entirety of his substantial estate to the Argonauts. It seems, however, that on the night of the gala, before he set off for the Amazon, he amended the will, witnessed by his assistants, wherein his estate is bequeathed to...you.”
“Me? Impossible!” Amelia sputtered. “Did Gavin put you up to this?”
“The matter of the estate is only a small part of the matter, however,” Pell continued. “Having named you as his heir, Merriday has passed his placement to you as well. You would take his place as Captain of the Argo.”
Amelia opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, bewildered. Despite all reason, she couldn’t make herself utter the words to decline. “I should like to consult with my husband before I make any particular decision, if I may.”
“Of course,” the Colonel chuckled. “Only, if you would permit me one indulgence? This business has kept me in the air, literally, for weeks. If you and Mr. Brinkley would like to join myself and Lady Pell at our home, we can discuss the whole matter in more detail there.”
Amelia considered this information for a moment, then excused herself to confer with her husband. She found Alexander pacing in the library of the Mazarine. The situation in which she found herself was so ludicrous that she had no idea how to explain it. Considering, however, the urgent nature, she decided to be as straightforward with him as possible.
“Captain Merriday left his estate to me. All of it. Including his position in the Argonauts.”
Alexander watched her for several moments, his expression inscrutable.
“Well, say something,” Amelia said. “I don’t know which way to turn.”
“You’re serious,” he said, sitting down. “I thought for a moment that you were joking. But why would he do that?”
“No, I’m quite serious, and I’ve no idea what he intended. The whole of our interaction occurred during the interview at the gala, and he demonstrated no particular interest in me at the time. I mean, aside from being perhaps a little more honest with his answers than I had anticipated. But nothing to suggest that he considered me anything at all, much less his heir!”
“What did you say to the Colonel?”
“I told him I needed to speak to you.” She began pacing the few steps across the library, rubbing her forehead. “I mean, I’m perfectly capable of deciding for myself, but I didn’t want to make that kind of decision for you.”
“Well then,” Alexander grinned. “We should tell our pilot to burn the travel plans.”
Queen for a day, she thought. But at least not slave for a lifetime, she added with a modicum of relief. She at least had the good fortune to marry a friend in possession of a kind nature and sincere affection. And the agreement they made together with their parents ensured some independence from social and familial demands for the time being.
She surfaced from her thoughts when Mrs. Stodge grasped her daughter’s hand and kissed it.
“You will find happiness,” her mother said. “You must.”
Amelia bit back a tart rejoinder and tried to smile. Only half her face complied. A brief bluster of encouragement from her father, and her parents left to take their seats. Alexander would join her momentarily to lead her hence. Her heart faltered and her eyes stung with tears she willed back. Her sister would berate her for weeping.
“You look lovely, you know,” Margaret said to Amelia, handing her the bouquet.
“I feel like a dog’s breakfast,” Amelia said.
“You need to breathe,” Francine urged. “You look pale, and your complexion doesn’t support it.” She lightly pinched Amelia’s cheeks to bring color back, but frowned in dissatisfaction. “Those freckles. Do you even know what a parasol is?”
“Leave her be, Francie,” Margaret said. “She’s a flight risk as it is.” She hugged Amelia tightly, encouraged bravery and wished her luck before departing.
“One more thing,” Francine said. “Drink this quickly,” she pressed a glass of what looked like champagne into her hand, followed by a sprig of mint. “Then chew on this.”
Amelia did as directed, her mind in a state precluding any course but obedience. The bitter, sour taste of the drink made her ponder the plummeting quality of champagne. “What is this?” she almost choked.
“A little concoction to settle your nerves,” Francine replied coyly. “A godsend in these circumstances. You’ll thank me.”
“If I don’t die. It tastes like patent medicine.” Amelia hesitated to take another mouthful, not sure if the mild floating sensation was altogether desirable in her current situation.
“You’re half correct,” Francine smiled. “Now finish the glass and chew the mint so no one will smell the medicine on your breath.”
A soft knock at the door announced the groom had come to collect his bride. Having been medicinally harnessed, Amelia’s heart barely fluttered. Her head felt loose on her neck, and her body performed actions before her mind commanded, complying with every direction Francine gave. In the liquid muddle, Amelia wondered if this was Francine’s plan to prevent her from bolting out of the chapel at the first unattended opportunity.
“Ready?” Alexander asked, visibly anxious.
“No,” Amelia replied, swiveling rather than shaking her head.
“Me neither.” He stood taller and squared his shoulders. “Right, into the breach then?”
“Into the breach.”
***
The ceremony in its entirety took no more than thirty minutes. Amelia could remember little enough of it to confirm it had actually occurred. Francine’s tonic wore off in time for the torture of the receiving line however, which persisted for nearly two hours. Amelia’s face ached from the constant smile, though she was delighted to see Miss Kelley and Kurt among the throng, as well as Mr. McGoffery and his wife. By the time the last of the queued guests congratulated the new couple, Amelia’s feet ached, her mouth was dry, and she desperately needed to hide somewhere remote and silent.
Francine offered her sister a glass of champagne. “If I may steal your bride from you for a moment,” she asked Alexander and guided Amelia away from the disbursing crowd. Amelia eyed the proffered glass warily.
“Only champagne this time,” Francine said. “Can’t have the bride completely sozzled. It’s just not done. The tonic carried you through, though, and in tolerable spirits.”
“For a moment, I almost felt magnanimous,” Amelia quipped, taking a small sip, then a larger one once satisfied it didn’t contain laudanum. “Then I remembered what was happening and how many guests attended.”
“You performed admirably, and the trial is nearly over.”
Amelia marveled for a moment at her sister’s compliment and wondered if she hadn’t indulged in her tonic as well.
“Truthfully,” Francine said, “I didn’t expect you to go through with it. I anticipated finding your bed empty this morning save a letter begging for forgiveness. I was up all night worrying.”
Ah, that explains it, Amelia thought, sleep deprivation. “All that anxiety for naught,” she said instead, waggling the fingers of her left hand to show the simple gold band. “I know when I’ve been bested.”
“It isn’t as bad as you think,” Francine said, “being married under these circumstances. It’s...a necessary formality. I don’t find Mr. Grimpson particularly attractive as a man, or as a human being for that matter.”
Amelia remembered her first impressions of Mr. Grimpson - words like vapid and vain and useless sprang immediately to mind and never warranted replacement - and she wondered how her sister could tolerate such a creature. Perhaps her tonic played a bigger role in her life than she let on.
Francine continued. “But he holds a significant position in society and in the city’s government. He is rarely home, and he cares little for the details of how our home is run, so I rarely have cause to speak with him for more than a few minutes. I know our marriage is a formality. I know he doesn’t spend all of his free time at his clubs and he finds company and solace in various locations. But he is discreet, I am comfortable, my children will never know want, and we dine in the highest circles. That is all I truly desire from a marriage. You, on the other hand, have the luxury of a husband who highly esteems you, who supports your desire for freedom, and as neither of you have social aspiration, you possess the liberty of doing whatever you want. All our families ask is, at some point, you make an effort to fulfill the biological requirement of the union. And if circumstances prevent it, one can easily find assistance elsewhere.”
Amelia had no time to contemplate the implications of her sister’s advice before guests interrupted.
Two hours later, the couple finally completed the requisite wedding rituals. Alexander asked when she would like to depart.
“Immediately, please,” Amelia whispered. ““I can’t sit without an entourage and an act of Parliament. And I begin to resent people in general.” She shifted from one throbbing foot to the other.
Alexander chuckled and put an arm around her waist and kissed her temple. The embrace surprised her at first, but she relaxed into it and leaned against him.
“How are you fairing?” she asked.
“I haven’t quite reached the point of general resentment, but then again, I’m not laced into whalebone and several meters of cloth and beads.”
“This corset is so tight I can neither breathe nor eat. We have food on the Mazarine, I hope.”
“Plenty, and more champagne.”
“Little felicities,” Amelia sighed.
After what seemed an insufferable amount of time, perhaps another ten minutes, all parties involved decided the moment had arrived for the new Mr. and Mrs. Brinkley to embark on their celebratory floatabout. Francine and Margaret helped Amelia into the less restrictive traveling suit. Then, a final toast, a chorus of cheers, and the newlyweds escaped in the carriage that would take them to Kettery, where the Mazarine was docked.
***
Colonel Pell waited the couple inside the Spire’s glass terminal. Once the introductions, formalities, and felicitations concluded, he asked for a private interview with Amelia, wherein he began directly with his business.
“The weeks following Merriday’s death have uncovered some...complications...regarding his will. He may have informed you that he has no children, nor immediate family. His legal will on file directed the entirety of his substantial estate to the Argonauts. It seems, however, that on the night of the gala, before he set off for the Amazon, he amended the will, witnessed by his assistants, wherein his estate is bequeathed to...you.”
“Me? Impossible!” Amelia sputtered. “Did Gavin put you up to this?”
“The matter of the estate is only a small part of the matter, however,” Pell continued. “Having named you as his heir, Merriday has passed his placement to you as well. You would take his place as Captain of the Argo.”
Amelia opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, bewildered. Despite all reason, she couldn’t make herself utter the words to decline. “I should like to consult with my husband before I make any particular decision, if I may.”
“Of course,” the Colonel chuckled. “Only, if you would permit me one indulgence? This business has kept me in the air, literally, for weeks. If you and Mr. Brinkley would like to join myself and Lady Pell at our home, we can discuss the whole matter in more detail there.”
Amelia considered this information for a moment, then excused herself to confer with her husband. She found Alexander pacing in the library of the Mazarine. The situation in which she found herself was so ludicrous that she had no idea how to explain it. Considering, however, the urgent nature, she decided to be as straightforward with him as possible.
“Captain Merriday left his estate to me. All of it. Including his position in the Argonauts.”
Alexander watched her for several moments, his expression inscrutable.
“Well, say something,” Amelia said. “I don’t know which way to turn.”
“You’re serious,” he said, sitting down. “I thought for a moment that you were joking. But why would he do that?”
“No, I’m quite serious, and I’ve no idea what he intended. The whole of our interaction occurred during the interview at the gala, and he demonstrated no particular interest in me at the time. I mean, aside from being perhaps a little more honest with his answers than I had anticipated. But nothing to suggest that he considered me anything at all, much less his heir!”
“What did you say to the Colonel?”
“I told him I needed to speak to you.” She began pacing the few steps across the library, rubbing her forehead. “I mean, I’m perfectly capable of deciding for myself, but I didn’t want to make that kind of decision for you.”
“Well then,” Alexander grinned. “We should tell our pilot to burn the travel plans.”
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