The breakfast room, a cavernous space filled with the hushed murmurs of servants and the clinking of silverware, felt oppressive. Emmeline, attempting a composed smile, sat opposite the Countess. The air crackled with unspoken tension, a silent acknowledgment of the simmering animosity between them. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, but the room felt somehow colder than the crisp morning air outside.
The Countess, her gaze sharp and scrutinizing, surveyed Emmeline as if dissecting her very being. "So, Duchess," she began, her voice a carefully modulated instrument of disdain, "tell me, what has been occupying your time since your arrival?"
Emmeline, trying to maintain her composure, replied, "I have been… acquainting myself with the… the various aspects of running the estate." Her words felt hollow, unconvincing even to her own ears. She'd meant to sound competent, decisive, but the words stumbled out uncertainly. She had made a blatant mistake with an outdated etiquette—a subtle faux pas that the Countess had likely been waiting for.
The Countess's lips curled into a barely perceptible sneer. "Acquainted yourself, you say?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "I trust you have not, in your haste, stumbled upon some... unfortunate oversight in estate management?"
Emmeline, sensing trouble, tried to redirect the conversation. "I've been... reviewing the accounts, discussing the upcoming harvest with the stewards." She attempted a reassuring smile. She'd already considered that the Countess had made a point to see her stumble.
The Countess chuckled, a brittle sound like ice cracking. "Reviewing accounts, discussing harvests. These are the tasks of a capable steward, not a Duchess. There is an air of... incompetence about you, Emmeline." She paused, studying Emmeline as if weighing her worth in some unseen currency. "A duchess, my dear, understands the nuances of hospitality, the finer points of decorum, the subtle intricacies of social standing. You, however, seem to grasp none of these essential aspects."
Emmeline felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. Her carefully constructed facade was crumbling, brick by fragile brick. She had committed a social gaffe, a transgression that she'd hoped would not be noticed. She hadn't expected the Countess to be so blunt. The servants in the room seemed to exchange glances, their faces a mix of amusement and disapproval. She'd been so keen to prove herself that she'd completely overlooked her place within Blackrock.
Then, Elara, who had been standing quietly in the background, discreetly flashed Emmeline a silent gesture—a slight lowering of the chin, a subtle tug of the wrist. It was a sign, a reminder to maintain her composure. Elara was subtle and a master of managing appearances. A saving grace in this unwelcome situation.
Emmeline swallowed, gathering her remaining dignity. "Forgive me, Your Grace," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I...I fear I have fallen short of expectations." It was an understatement. She'd fallen far short.
"Shortcomings," the Countess continued, her voice regaining its icy sharpness. "One might expect them from an untrained maiden, not a Duchess. One who bears the title of Blackrock, and yet lacks the bearing, the character, the very *qualities* of a proper Duchess. And Blackrock Keep, for that matter."
Elara, at Emmeline's side, discreetly tugged at the hem of Emmeline's gown, nudging a more appropriate posture. Emmeline's gaze met Elara's. The Countess continued.
"If the Duke truly cared for you, he would be here now. To set things right. Politics are far more important than any...faux pas, any clumsy mistake. And that's simply not on display for you today." She paused, letting the words hang heavy in the air. "Perhaps, my dear," she finished, with a chilling smile, "he is better occupied."
Emmeline felt a wave of despair wash over her. Had she really misjudged her place here? Or was this a deliberate attempt to undermine her, to push her out? She stood, her composure starting to crumble.
"I understand, Your Grace," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. "I...I shall endeavor to learn and improve." The words were a weak apology, but all she could offer.
The Countess merely inclined her head, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. She stood, leaving Emmeline to stew in the aftermath. The room was silent once more, leaving Emmeline in her awkward position. Emmeline had only just started to understand this game. The game of politics. And she was already falling behind.