Days passed and Quenton started to get into some semblance of a routine. First, he would wake up and have Aliss prepare him for breakfast. Then, he would go to Mrs. Seaver to be taught about etiquette, diction, and other things that were apparently important for a Lady to know. 

Once that was done he would retire to his room before being changed by Aliss again for dinner, and then it was up to him to survive the experience until he could excuse himself and go to bed.

In between his obligations Quenton tried to find the time to practice what he had learned or peek into those books that Mrs. Seaver had left with him. They were incredibly dry texts about various social rules, history, and what seemed to be the holy book for the faith of Molyra: the Tetricon. 

He had not made much headway into these texts, but he was trying his best and he was sure that would have to count for something.

As much as it pained him to admit it to himself, he kinda liked the new existence he was going through. Sure it was difficult, complex, and having breasts were not nearly as fun as he thought it would be, but he felt that he had much more of a purpose in this world than he had back home. 

Would he prefer to slay dragons with a sword and rescue hot girls from the clutches of evil bandits? Of course he would, but he was sure that would come in time after he found a way to exploit his class.

The tutelage under Mrs. Seaver already had shown some results as his Poise had risen from 1 to 2 with the various physical exercises she made him go through, until she deemed that his way of standing and moving was “merely atrocious” and not “the greatest shame ever to be witnessed by a civilized woman.”

Most of her focus seemed to be stuck on courtesy and diction over all other things, but for the last three days two new subjects had been introduced to Quenton. Music and embroidery, apparently Briony had been a talented singer and a deft hand with most musical instruments. 

Quenton sadly did not have any of her talent at all. His voice was quite nice, but he had no understanding of how to sing and butchered most songs and almost broke the violin he had been given for practice.

Yet he had discovered a few talents of his own. He thought, holding a kerchief he’d embroidered up to the window, he’d sewn it into the image of a sword and shield. 

Aliss looked over from where she was dusting, “That’s rather pretty, my lady.” She said cheerfully, she looked at it a moment longer with a thoughtful expression.

“It is a bit queer though, before your fainting spell you couldn’t embroider in the least. Not even a flower!” She laughed a bit, putting a hand to her mouth to stifle herself.

“I’m terribly sorry my lady, that was…inappropriate of me.” She said apologetically. 

Quenton smiled at her. “Ah uh, pay it no mind.” He said, ensuring his words were properly formal. She nodded and returned his smile.

“It is true though, my lady; why, I recall your mother and father had to call on an alchemist to remove the scarring, from the needles that is.” Her smile faded as continued. “I did hate to see you struggle so. You’d get to bleeding and weeping as you went and I would fix it for you when I was unable to watch anymore.” She wiped at her eyes and Quenton could see the shine of tears.

Quenton searched for words as he met Aliss’ gaze, she was looking at him with an unfamiliar solemn expression. “I…I apologize my lady, I was just remembering. I oughtn’t have bothered you with such things.” 

He felt a stirring of guilt in his stomach. No matter how skilled he became as a lady he was not Briony and would never be. She’d had people who loved her, Aliss, Viola, Julianna, it hurt sometimes to recall that he was a mere imitator, that he was tricking them into believing he was the person they loved. Still. He thought solemnly. I don’t have another choice. 

“It’s not a problem, Aliss. I don’t mind at all.” He said softly. An idea came to him and he walked over to Aliss and handed her the embroidery.

“Since you helped me so much as I was learning, I think you ought to have this.” He said, smiling. “You earned it.” Aliss smiled tremulously, taking the embroidery in her free hand. 

“Thank you, my lady. I will keep it close.” She said, a hint of laughter in her voice. 

“I am…touched, truly.” She said more seriously after a moment. “I’m proud of you, Lady Briony.” She said, avoiding his gaze. “After your illness you might have succumbed to despair, it gladdens me to see you carry on.” 

Quenton lightly flushed. “Ah, thank you. I….I wouldn’t have been able to do it without your help.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his head. 

Aliss’ smile brightened. “Truly? I’m glad I could be of some help.” She said, her cheeks pinkening slightly. “Any…Anyways, your sisters ought to be adjoining to the gardens. You might join them, if you wish.” 

Quenton nodded. “I believe I will.” He went to the door and sparing Aliss one last glance, hurried into the hallway.

---

The gardens were quite pretty, at least Quenton thought so. It was a shady area covered by several chestnut trees and ringed by a mossy twelve-foot stone wall. The flower bushes seemed to be mainly wild roses and hydrangeas though there were some rarer flowers as well. He was satisfied that he recognized most of the plants from his time spent gardening with his mom. 

Today several wide hoops on sticks had been planted in the ground, one three foot tall, one five feet tall, and one seven feet tall, the fourth was eight feet and much smaller than the others, only slightly wider than the ball and placed a foot away from the other rings. Apparently they were going to play some type of rich lady game.

Viola had handed him a laticced wood paddle as she idly tossed and caught a pink rubber ball. “I thought a game of arceau might be in order.” She mused.

Quenton resolved to watch carefully, he couldn’t reveal he had no idea how the game was played. Hopefully by observation he could figure out the rules.

Camilla scoffed, tossing her hair. “Please, you find arceau as dull as we do. You want to speak on something.” She accused.

Rosalind smiled gently at Viola. “Of course dear sister, though I hope Briony and yourself are prepared for defeat.” She said lightly, ignoring Camilla entirely. 

Viola grinned. “Do not count your fish before they are caught, Rosalind.” She tossed the ball softly into the air and gently smacked it with the paddle sending the ball through the first and second hoop. 

“That is three points for myself.” She said, satisfied. 

Rosalind smiled coolly at her. “I’ll take my turn.” She walked to where Viola stood, perhaps ten feet from the hoops and tossed the ball, with a light thwack she sent it through the second and third hole.

“Hm. It seems I’ve got a pair, that’s five points.” She said smoothly. 

“Your modesty is unparalleled, sister.” Viola responded, her voice taut. 

Rosalind’s eyes gleamed. “False modesty is as unbecoming as arrogance. One ought to take pride in their accomplishments.” 

Camilla rolled her eyes and scoffed. “If you possessed any more pride you’d walk about in medals and sashes.” She said, smacking the ball through the second hoop with a vicious overhead swing. 

“Dear Camilla, have you not been taught that a lady’s flair is in her bearing? Take heed sister, poise and posture will take you farther than petulance.” Rosalind retorted, fetching the ball. 

Camilla glared at her. “Take me where? Moray is on the very edge of ruination and there is no easy road back from such a dire predicament. You know that as well as I.” She answered haughtily, before giving Rosalind an unfriendly smile. “Then again perhaps you do not, afterall mother and father believe you will be the one to spare us from collapse. A good lark if ever I’ve heard one.” 

Quenton blinked in shock. Moray is on the verge of ruin? The thought was terrifying though, now that he considered it not entirely unlikely. A sense of desperation hung over the house and particularly over it’s lord and lady. If they truly were broke and screwed then their focus on Rosalind and desire to hide Quenton’s amnesia made far more sense.

Rosalind’s eyes narrowed even as her smile stayed fixed. “You would be wise to watch your tongue, sister. They say the loudest lamb is the first devoured when the wolf finds the flock.” She lifted the paddle and with a fierce swing sent it sailing through the third ring. 

Quenton looked to Viola; she met his gaze and smiled bitterly, her expression resigned. “By the four Camilla, must you always come with such vitriol?” Viola rebuked. “Yes, I brought you three here to discuss our circumstances and I mean to do that without us descending into savages.” 

Camilla crossed her arms. “If you would discuss our imminent collapse then get to it, we’ve little enough time to waste.” 

Viola frowned. “Very well. I’ve looked through father’s ledgers and we are, I believe, financially insolvent. The mine no longer produces and if it were, we would not have the funds to hire miners.” She let her paddle fall against her leg. “Further, the village pays taxes in exchange for protection, protection we are no longer providing them. It is only a matter of time before bandits or far worse other families take note of our predicament. When that day comes we must have a plan.” 

Quenton felt unease roil in his stomach. He had spent little time with the sisters over the past couple of days and even less time with his parents, he had no clue whether things were truly as dire as Viola was saying.

Rosalind hummed softly. “It need not come to that. Mother has been conversing with Lord Shroplington.” She said with a weary sigh. “If I can marry someone of adequate wealth then we needn’t worry about the sicario coming to our door.”
“Not to dismiss your charms, sister. But we’ve no dowry to make you a more enticing prospect than any other pretty face in Molyra.” Camilla sneered.

“We have our name, I’ll remind you. A noble title elevates us from the comely daughters of smoke barons and merchants.” Rosalind retotored, leaning against the ivy strewn wall. 

“That is true, Rosalind, but a merchant’s daughter can be easily uplifted by a generous dowry. I fear that a marriage may not come soon enough to be our salvation. You know how lords and gentlemen love to tarrey, considering every angle of the marriage before they allow it to pass and that is presuming you find a husband at all.” 

She paused, taking a breath and giving Rosalind a grim look. Quenton nervously awaited her speech, wondering how much more dismal it could get.

“In the meantime, the vultures will circle, Bywind, Eastfort, Pritchett, and Lindwood, to name only a few of the houses who would see us brought low. Bywind particularly, has caught the ear of the count, if they earn patronage then they will have no compunctions about taking our title for their own.”

“I’ll be gone by then. I’ve less hope of marriage than Briony and I’ve no inclination to become a vestal. Lyndon and I will flee to Tetrigard. If you were clever Viola, you’d leave as well.” Camilla said, tossing and catching the ball.

Viola turned disdainfully. “I should think not. If indeed, the knives are called, I am Moray’s last line of defense and it will be over my remains that I allow them to harm any of you.”

“Then you’ve chained yourself to a sinking vessel.” Camilla sniffed. “And you, Briony? Will you face the assassin’s blades with proper Molyran dignity?” She asked, her voice contemptuous. 

Quenton looked to Viola, who gazed back at him expectantly. He took a shuddering breath. It seemed the Morays were in genuine danger, that their poverty was liable to get them murdered by an ambitious house and now he’d been put on the hook to either stay and risk his life or flee into the unknown.

“I…don’t know.” He answered honestly, at last. “I am sorry.” He added, remembering Seaver’s lessons.
“Pathetic.” Camilla scoffed. “All of you. Don’t you understand that they’re going to kill us?” 

“We understand well enough sister. Though flight is no way to ensure safety. The Talons are known to hunt every member of a family down, to end the bloodline so no vengeance can be taken. We’re safer together, at least.” Rosalind said, her voice eerily calm. Camilla turned her face away, her cheeks red with exertion. 

Quenton felt choked, his stomach lurching. “What…what can we do?” He asked, when the garden had lapsed into an uneasy silence.

Viola placed a comforting hand on his shoulder before speaking. “We have little choice but to carry on as normal. To cease social gatherings would make us seem all the more vulnerable. However, while we continue we must search for any prospect of patronage, marriage, or enrichment. During that time we must be flawless in our court graces, recall that any offense to a higher family could well cost us our lives.”

Quenton looked at her grave face and then to Camilla and Rosalind. He swallowed hard, now with the knowledge that his performance as a lady could be the difference between life and death.