Meanwhile, across the city at the University, Irene was discovering that her morning's victory had been short-lived indeed. She sat in the back row of Professor Whitman's lecture on ancient civilisations, trying to focus on his discussion of Egyptian burial practices while fighting off waves of drowsiness.
It had been another restless night—the third since the lamp incident and she was beginning to feel the effects of going to bed late and also waking up way too early to make breakfast for her darling husband.
The professor's voice seemed to fade in and out and she found herself nodding off despite her best efforts to stay alert.
"Miss Myers." Mr Whitman called out to her, but she was too sleepy to respond. Not until a girl next to her smacked her on the back of her head did she wake up.
She jolted upright, her hand making an involuntary flicking gesture as she realised Professor Whitman was addressing her directly.
The other students had turned to stare, some with undisguised curiosity about the girl who had so mysteriously married and disappeared from social circulation for several days.
"Yes, Professor?" She rubbed her sleepy eyes.
"Perhaps you could share with the class your thoughts on the significance of canopic jars in the mummification process?"
Irene blinked, trying to gather her scattered wits. "Well, they... that is, the jars were used to store the internal organs that were removed during embalming. Four jars, each protected by a different deity..."
She managed to stumble through a basic explanation, but she could see the disappointment in Professor Whitman's eyes.
Before her marriage, she had been one of his most engaged students, always prepared with insightful questions and thorough research. Now she could barely keep her eyes open.
Well, this was the little, or shall we say, huge price she had to pay for education.
When the lecture ended, she gathered her books with hands that shook slightly from exhaustion and made her way toward the exit.
As she stepped out into the corridor, she nearly collided with three of her female classmates—Margaret Ashford, Penelope Hartwell, and Charlotte Pemberton, daughters of wealthy families who had never quite forgiven Irene for earning her place at the university through academic merit rather than family connections.
"Well, well," Margaret said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "If it isn't our mysterious bride. We were starting to wonder if married life had made you too refined for university studies."
"Or maybe too busy with wifely duties," Penelope added with a giggle that sounded like her nostrils were blocked. "Though you certainly look tired, dear. Married life must be quite... demanding."
Irene's hand made a dismissive flicking motion as she tried to think of a response that wouldn't give them more ideas for their gossip. "I'm managing just fine, thanks for your concern."
"Really?" Charlotte snorted. "Cause you look as pale as those undead creatures." She laughed then added.
"Oh, we're not concerned," Charlotte said sweetly. "We're just curious about how a girl of your... background... managed to snare such a man of wealth and substance. He is quite the catch, from what we hear."
"Though terribly mysterious," Margaret added. "No one seems to know much about his family or his business interests. How romantic, to marry a complete stranger who just surfaced from nowhere."
The implication hung in the air between them—that Irene had trapped Yin through some sort of deception or desperation, that their marriage was somehow scandalous or inappropriate.
She felt heat rise in her cheeks, not from embarrassment but from anger at their casual cruelty. This wasn't the first time, and it wasn't going to be the last either.
"I'm sure you'll understand if I don't discuss my private affairs with people I barely know," she said as she tried to step around them.
But they moved to block her path, clearly enjoying her discomfort. The three girls, jealous of her academic prowess had sworn to frustrate her until she left the school on her own accord.
"Of course," Penelope said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Though we do hope you'll still have time for your studies. It would be such a shame if marriage interfered with your academic pursuits."
"Exactly," Charlotte concurred. "Some of us remember how... dedicated you used to be to your research."
By the time Irene finally escaped their verbal ambush and made it home, she was not only exhausted but frustrated, and spoiling for a fight. The last thing she expected to find was a cheerfully rotund gentleman in the morning room, surrounded by an explosion of flowers, ribbons, and what appeared to be several dozen etiquette manuals.
"Ah, Lady Irene!" he exclaimed, bouncing to his feet with enthusiasm that made her tired eyes ache. "I am Professor Pembleton, your new instructor in the feminine arts."
Professor? She arched her brow. Feminine arts? What was going on?
"Lord Yin has enrolled you in my comprehensive course on flower arranging, proper conversation, and social deportment. We have so much to accomplish!"
Irene stood frozen in the doorway, her mouth slightly open as she took in the scene before her.
"I... there must be some mistake," she managed. "I haven't enrolled in any courses on... feminine arts."
"Oh, but your devoted husband has seen to everything!" Professor Pembleton beamed at her. "He expressed such concern about your education being too focused on dusty old artefacts and not enough on the skills a proper lady requires. We'll have you arranging flowers like a duchess and making conversation like a countess in no time!"
All Irene could do was sigh and flop herself on the couch as Professor Pembleton began his lecture.
That evening was the most antagonising three hours of her life, and the only way to get even was to get back at Yin.