Gossamer in the Darkness (Fantasyland)

Straight up, on the cobblestone courtyard in front of what had to be stables, I’d lay money down Jaq and Gus were made into footmen there sometime in the last century.

It was gorgeous. It was exquisite.

I hated it.

“Did you hear me, Maxine?” Dad-not-Dad asked.

“I harbor a death wish for you. It is fervent. I have embraced it with all that is me. But sadly, this does not mean I can no longer hear your bleating. Ow!”

He kicked me in the shin.

Hard.

It hurt.

A lot.

I glared at him.

“You respect your father,” he bit out.

“You’re not my father,” I returned.

He moved his feet like he was going to kick me again.

I shifted mine and snapped, “Fine. Right. You do know, I haven’t forgotten my mother is in that hellhole taking care of your daughter.”

He settled back and watched the pink house get closer. “Don’t forget it. And don’t forget our deal.”

I wound a hand in a circle in front of me. Incidentally, it was a hand covered in a baby-blue kid leather glove with baby-blue-covered buttons on the inside at the wrist and intricate seam-work on the outside of the hand with delicate scalloping around the edges. They were lovely, and they felt like butter. I loathed them.

“Make him fall in love with me. Get him to knock me up. Produce a son. Get pat on the head. Be reunited with my mother and let out of this nightmare. Yeah, I didn’t forget our deal.”

He turned back to me. “We say yes in this world.”

I didn’t reply.

“Remember my teachings,” he ordered. “I haven’t spent hour after hour for three weeks molding you into a fine lady of Hawkvale, a woman fit to be called Countess of Derryman, which you are, for you to fall at this first hurdle.”

You guessed it.

After that trip where he took me, blindfolded, to see where Mom and the other me were holed up, a whole lot of unfun Eliza Doolittle garbage had been going on for three weeks.

Which was apropos, considering a number of things, including my current outfit (baby blue, form fitting down to kickpleats that started at my knees, a smart, knife-edged bow at the back of said knees, a one-foot train trailing from it, a long-sleeved bolero jacket up top that buttoned over my breasts up to my neck, the dress under had short, cap sleeves and a square neckline that exposed cleavage, all of this made in silk wool—it was simple, but fabulous, however the large hat with enormous rosettes that sat at a tilt on my head was not simple, it was extraordinary, and I detested it…all of it).

I again didn’t reply.

“You perform well,” he stated, “your mother gets the reward.”

“And your daughter,” I prompted.

He rolled his eyes and scoffed, “She’ll be fine. She doesn’t even know where she is.”

“She might have some issues,” I said quietly. “But she’s not stupid.”

His gaze skewered me. “Speak not of what you know nothing about.”

“I know that woman has no idea where she is, but she does know she’s not home.”

“She’s home for the first time since she was six,” he spat.

Six?

Did Maxine of this world get sick at six?

Maxine of this world.

God, my mom was having to take care of another me, one who was terrified, confused and not well.

But she looked exactly like me.

And Mom had to do this in a prison cell.

I noticed that he realized he’d said too much, his face closed down, and he reminded me coolly, “You handle this meeting with aplomb, they get mattresses and pillows, more blankets and an extra meal.”

I gritted my teeth.

And then there was that.

I was informed they got breakfast “gruel” (whatever that was, but it didn’t sound nice) and bread and broth for dinner. Plus water.

That was it.

And their blankets were scratchy wool, hopefully warm, but thin.

And their cots were just cots, no padding, nothing.

“You handle this weekend with aplomb, keep the betrothal intact, and we begin preparations for your wedding, they will be moved to a small cottage I own. There, they will stay until you finish your part of the deal. They will remain under guard, of course, but they will have more room, far more amenities and will be treated as my guests.”

His daughter, treated as his guest.

He was repugnant. Totally a bigger dick than my dad.

The carriage made a turn and shuddered to a halt.

“Are we agreed?” he pressed.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You have no choice but to be here. Thus, I’ll hear you say it,” he demanded.

“You gotta let me do this my way,” I returned.

His brows shot together in alarm. “Pardon?”

“I know you probably don’t get this concept, but I love my mother more than my own life. And I have a heart, so I don’t know your girl, I just know she needs to be somewhere not where she is now. If, for the next however long this takes, it’s a cottage instead of a prison cell, with beds and good food and room to move, I’ll take it. In other words, I’m not going to fuck this up.”