The Dark Forest: A Collection Of Erotic Fairytales(19)
“Yes, miss.”
“I will wear the green taffeta now. Lay out my purple riding habit for later,” instructed Beatrice as she pulled the silver top off an elaborate porcelain jar. Using a small sterling silver spoon, she placed a tiny amount of powdered dried elderberry and hibiscus flowers onto a silver platter. Opening another jar, she spooned out a dab of beeswax before blending the ingredients together to create a bright red paste. Using her fingertips, she smoothed the mixture onto her nails, rubbing in small circles till they were stained the perfect shade of crimson. She then buffed them till they shined.
Holding out her arm to admire her vermilion, claw-length nails, Beatrice snapped, “And hurry up! I have no intention of spending the rest of my day cloistered in my bedroom with you!”
Careful to be sure she was not within view of the mirrored reflection, Dolores rolled her eyes before sighing a resigned, “Yes, miss.”
Over an hour later, Beatrice swept into the morning room just as her father was finishing his breakfast.
“Morning, Papa,” she intoned sweetly as she kissed his bald head. “I thought you might join me later for some riding?”
Her father did not look up from the various ledgers and papers scattered among the empty plates and saucers.
“Papa?”
“What is it?” he asked gruffly without raising his eyes.
“I thought we could go riding together. It’s been ages.”
Her father rose as he wiped his mouth with his napkin, straightening his waistcoat, he absently returned, “Couldn’t possibly. I leave for Florence within the hour.”
“Florence?” asked a crestfallen Beatrice. “But you only just returned from Brussels. You were gone for six months.”
“Don’t whimper like a petulant child,” scolded her father. “I have to tend to business.”
Hiding her brief flash of disappointment behind a mask of indifference, Beatrice flounced over to her seat and sat with a huff. Ever since her mother passed away three years ago, her father, never a very affectionate or attentive man in the first place, had grown increasingly more distant. Staying away from the estate for months at a time, she barely existed to him anymore. Even her rather childish and pathetic attempts to grab his attention with temper tantrums and disobedience had failed.
In fact, the only time he ever spoke to her was to give instructions for the perfumery or to…
“Beatrice, we must discuss your marriage,” he huffed as he dug in his waistcoat pocket, pulling out a gold watch. As if to ensure he spent not a moment longer than necessary on the subject.
…to discuss her marriage prospects.
“My marriage?” she rejoined, with forced brightness. “I believe one must first find a bridegroom before discussing marriage.”
“Don’t play smart with me, girl.” He snorted. “I have had enough of your sass and stubbornness. Your maiden state is an embarrassment to this family, and I will stand for it no longer.”
Beatrice stirred some honey into her tea as she perused the pastries before selecting a warm, buttery croissant. She had heard this speech so many times, she could recite it by heart. Every time he returned from one of his trips, it was with some suitor in tow. Whether it was the wealthy son of some fellow merchant, the second son of a nobleman or even on one occasion, an English duke, the result was always the same. She sent them away with their tails tucked firmly between their legs. With only the barest of interest, she wondered where her father had the latest victim hidden away.
“The marriage contracts have already been agreed upon. There is no use arguing with me.”
Wait. What? Beatrice sat up straighter in her chair, gripping the handle of her bread knife. “Sorry, Father. Did you just say the marriage contracts?”
“Yes, I did, daughter,” he responded with conviction. “You didn’t think I would let you ruin a proposal from the King of Dessin Animé on behalf of his son, did you? You are beautiful for a reason…to make me rich through your marriage.”
Beatrice slowly rose, still holding the knife. Her lips felt bloodless, as she breathed, “I refuse.”
Working his jaw, her father nodded. “That is precisely why I didn’t bother to ask you.”
“Father…”
Raising a hand in warning, he stated flatly, “It is far past time you married. I will not discuss it. Dammit, Beatrice, you will be a princess! If not for yourself, think of what that will do for the family’s prospects. Why our perfumes will be the most distinguished in all of Europe! We will be rich beyond imagining.”
Their perfume was already the most distinguished in all of Europe and they already had more wealth than any family deserved. Not that she was complaining about her privileged position, she just never thought her father would sell off his only daughter for even more wealth and power…and to a man who couldn’t even be bothered to meet her before arranging a marriage. Did her father care so little for her?
“You cannot do this,” she said through clenched teeth.
“It is done. Upon my return from Florence, we will receive a formal visit from Prince Jeanne-Marious de Rhysmont, the heir to the Dessin Animé Kingdom. If he approves of your appearance and demeanor, the marriage will take place within a fortnight,” stormed her father before marching out of the room to his waiting carriage.