Chapter One: Roseward Manor

Previously: Mireille

 

"Mireille du Maurier" turned around, taking in her new surroundings. This wasn't medieval England, of course; it was idealized, sanitized even. The rusticity was present, but everything was a little too clean. There were no foul smells, and everything was either perfectly washed, polished, or brand new.

 

Not that Mireille was complaining.

 

"My lady," a newcomer greeted, her accent delightfully archaic, yet somehow still posh. She was red-haired and freckled. She wore a pink dress embroidered with roses. "Godwin wants to see you before you break your fast."

 

Edith, Mireille quickly remembered. "Oh?" she asked. The computer had failed to mention a Godwin.

 

Luckily, Edith was programmed to be a guide. "Your seneschal has some concerns about that party you wanted to host?"

 

Mireille perked up immediately. "Yes? What about my party?"

"It's too expensive, my lady," a man said, entering the room after Edith. He was much older than the women, and balding. And he had an accent just like Edith's. "You just purchased and furnished this manor. At the rate you're spending, those twenty thousand crowns you have sitting in the bank will quickly evaporate. The fields were just planted two months ago, and we have no guarantee of a good harvest!"

 

Mireille raised an eyebrow. Oh, he's that guy. And then she remembered.

 

Hitting the pause button on her bracelet, she watched the two characters freeze. "Computer," she snapped. "I'm supposed to be a fucking millionaire."

 

"You are a millionaire," the computer assured her. "Your accessible funds are one million crowns. But since the idea of a vicomtesse personally holding a million crowns would be unfathomable to the characters, your public account displays a balance of twenty thousand."

 

"So you masked it from them," Mireille sighed. "Resume game." She looked at Godwin. "How much is this party going to cost me?"

 

"Almost a hundred crowns, my lady."

 

Mireille snickered. "We'll be fine. I have more money coming in from Valeronne anyways. Now... who's on the guest list?"

 

 "The Langfords can't make it," Edith told her.

 

"The Whitecrofts won't be coming either," Godwin grumbled.

 

"What about the Baron?" Mireille asked suddenly. Westervale was a barony after all.

 

"Lord Corwin Ravenshaw has yet to respond," her seneschal informed her.

 

"But let's face it," Edith chuckled. "He won't miss it for the world. The baron is buried under crushing debt. All our nobles are. None of them have hosted a proper celebration in years."

 

Mireille looked at her, smiling. I can already tell you're going to be my favorite person.

 

Godwin looked between the women, alarmed. "You can't bring that up, of course."

 

"Of course," Mireille mused. "Now, we need to talk menu, music, and my dress."

 

The seneschal's eyes flew wide. "Madam...you have trunks full of new dresses. You brought them with you from Valeronne."

 

"And besides, Valeronnese fashions are better than Avenish anyway," Edith said, shrugging. "I think we should serve Calderran wine."

 

Godwin gawked at her. "That's at least another crown."

 

"Or three," Edith said innocently, shrugging again, "if we request an older vintage. I think the menu should be Valeronnese. I found a book of recipes in the library. Imagine the looks on the guests' faces when we serve them pheasant, quail, heron, swan, and peacock."

 

Godwin finally had to sit down. Rubbing his temples, he patiently advised, "Valeronnese cooking requires expensive spices. Pepper, saffron, cloves, cinnamon, mustard seed..."

 

"We have plenty of pepper in the pantry," Edith insisted, frowning. "We can make our own mustard. And now that summer nears, we can find the other items at the market."

"See it done," Mireille ordered. "And I will hear no more complaining about the expense, Godwin. Edith, show me to my dresses."

 

The redhead grinned, gesturing the Viscountess to follow her out of the sitting room and down the hall. The rose motif followed them throughout the manor, as did the roses themselves.

 

"Edith," Mireille inquired, "who was the original owner of Roseward?"

 

"The late Lord Edmund Rosemere," the maid chuckled.

 

 Mireille pursed her lips. Fucking programmers.

 

 "What happened to him?"

 

"He died of old age," Edith told her. "Left the place to his son, Simon. Simon's a bit of a drunk and a gambler. He had to sell this place to pay off his debts."

 

"And where is he now?"

 

"Stag's Crossing," Edith mused. "It's a small town about twelve miles east of Ravensbridge, sits on the River Wyne. I've got a cousin who works in a tailor shop there. Says they call him Lord of the Inn. He's staying in small place called the River Maid, living off ale and meat pies."

 

Mireille was disturbed and didn't know why. "So... he's still a lord?"

 

Edith smirked. "It's just a title."

 

She pointed in the direction of Mireille's rooms. The Viscountess had the large suite in the manor, with a sitting room, a bathing chamber, a large closet, and a bedchamber—all covered in roses.

 

Edith led Mireille to the closet. Innumerable dresses hung from pegs and polished wooden rails, and in the center of the room, a full-length silver mirror stood. A large wooden vanity sat by the window, covered in jewelry boxes. 

 

Mireille blinked. In all her years of gaming, she'd never seen this many beautiful clothes in one place.

 

"Your taste is exquisite, my lady," Edith was saying. "You were wise to bring these with you. We have nothing so fine here." 

 

The Viscountess was breathless. "I don't even know which one to choose."

 

"As the new mistress of Roseward Manor, I think you should embrace the theme and be our new Lady of Roses," Edith cheerfully suggested. She pointed to a shimmering silken creation. "It's getting too warm for velvet, after all."

 

"Oh, Edith," Mireille gasped. "It's like you know me."

 

"The feast is in five days," Edith reminded her. "You'll have plenty of time to make a final decision. Would you like to walk the town, get to know Ravensbridge?"

 

 "No," Mireille whispered, slowly shaking her head as her eyes remained fixed on her finery. "I want to make an entrance."

 

Her right hand flew to her left wrist. "Computer, fast forward to the night of my dinner party." 

 

Next: Lady of Roses