Chapter 6

“So you’re a Duke?”
Troy nods, “Yes.”
“And that means what exactly for me?”
“You’re nobility. And you must act as such.”
“Like… a queen?”
“Somewhat.”
“I wear a crown and wave at commoners?”
He chuckles, “My word, do you have a lot to learn,” he offers his hand to help me into the carriage.
“Um, how do you do this, exactly?” I giggle nervously, staring down his hand. Such a wonderful thing, hands are. So intricate and yet so simple. They express and show so much about a person. They add so much to the world, yet often go unnoticed.
“Mela, don’t stare at my hand.”
“Right,” I smile sheepishly at him.
“Just take my hand, like so,” he places my hand in his, “and climb into the carriage.”
I do as he instructs, “What is the purpose of that? I could have gotten inside the carriage on my own.”
He nods, “That is correct.”
“So the point is what?”
“It’s a formality. An honor.”
“What so formal or honorary about it?”
“I’m not really sure,” his brow wrinkles up, “I’ve never thought about that before. Just one of those silly things we do because we’ve always done it that way, I suppose.”
“Good day, my Lord,” a rather deep voice calls out.
“Oh, hello Yorke,” Troy tips his hat to the person bearing the rather deep voice, “I’ve told you before that you may call me Troy.”
“Of course, Troy,” a tall man with dark hair shakes Troy’s hand.
“Yorke, meet my granddaughter, Mela Winston. Mela, this is Yorke Cooper.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Milady,” he takes my hand and presses it to his lips, and I bite my lip to keep from laughing.
“It’s nice to meet you, too.”
“Yorke is in the military, Mela. He’s been assigned here for the next few years.”
“And am at your service, as always, my Lord,” he pauses, then glances at me, “And yours as well, Lady.”
“Thank you,” I glance at Troy, wondering if I responded correctly.
“No, thank you,” Yorke says, “It is my honor to serve such a beautiful woman.”
I bore holes in the ground with my eyes and try to keep from laughing.
“Well, we best be going,” Troy announces, “It was good to see you, Yorke.”
“You as well, my lord,” he looks at me, “We will meet again soon, no?”
“Uh, sure.” I mutter.
“Good day,” Troy concludes, stepping into the carriage.
Yorke tips his hat to me, and Troy flicks the reigns.
“Yorke’s a fine young man. From a good family,” he steals a sideways glance at me, “And he seemed to like you rather well.”
“What are you implying?”
“Well, you are of an age that you could think of being married. We can’t let you get too terribly much older.”
“I’m only sixteen. And I’m just getting to know the world. I doubt that now is the most prudent time for me to audition husbands. Besides, don’t you think Yorke’s a little… you know?”
“I know what?”
“Just… not the type of man that I’d like to marry.”
“Why not?”
“He’s a little ridiculous.”
“Most men are, my dear. You just have to find someone who is ridiculous enough to make you laugh, then snatch them up in a hurry.”
“I don’t think all people are ridiculous. You’re not ridiculous, and you’re a man.”
“Very well, let me correct myself. All young men are ridiculous, and then one day they shall all wake up to find themselves old and boring. Like me.”
“How old are you, exactly?”
“Fifty-seven years. Over half a decade, mind you.”
I glance at the reigns in his hands… the wonderful, beautiful reigns. So perfectly constructed and exquisitely made. Such a nice leather.
“Mela, watch yourself.”
“Of course,” I sigh, squeezing my eyes shut for a few seconds.
“To be honest, I’m not yet sure how this will work out, Mela.”
“What will work out?”
“You adapting to regular society. It could complete flawlessly, or it could be an utter disaster. My guess is it shall work itself out somewhere in between the few - after some perfectly flawless moments and some perfectly disastrous moments.”
“What if it doesn’t work out?”
He frowns, “Well. I suppose then we change, and adapt. And you will have to do just what you have to do, regardless of how simple or difficult said task is. It is my hope that one day you shall be able to stare at an object for twenty minutes - nay! Twenty days - and feel not the slightest attraction to it.”
“But it’s not my fault!” I protest, “I can’t help how I feel!”
“Can’t you?” He frowns, “Perhaps we’re born with natural bents towards things… say, for example, stealing. And one could go their whole life stealing loaves of bread and pocketbooks and newspapers, and just blame it upon the fact that it is how they were born and brought up. However, another with the same inclination may live his whole life and perhaps be tempted to take things that don’t belong to him, but consciously choose to live in a different way than the way he was born and brought up would lead him to do.”
“That’s different. That’s like… I don’t know. Just a thing. People don’t normally fall in love with everything they see. I know this. It’s not just a sin or a ‘bent’, it’s a curse.”
“But then, we all have our curses, Mela. Just as the man with a bent towards stealing, or a woman with a bent towards prostitution, or a young boy with an inclination to lie… perhaps these aren’t unusual things, but curses nonetheless. It’s important to realize, Mela, that nothing that you naturally do makes you spectacular or outstanding. Falling in love doesn’t make you any more unique than, say, that boy over there,” he points to a young boy playing marbles on the sidewalk, “What makes you spectacular is who you choose to be, and what you choose to overcome.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I’m saying that you can’t live your entire life blaming your faults on something else. Whether they are your fault or no, they are, in fact, yours to deal with. You can work to overcome them, or you can wallow in self-pity.”
“But… Falling in love with things isn’t a sin. I mean, it makes life rather difficult, but it’s not actually a bad thing.”
He raises his eyebrows, “Where do you get your funny ideas about life?”
“I don’t know. Books. Newspapers. Art.”
“All full of lies and silliness. No, love, real love, is quite hardly a sin. But lust, my dear girl, is of the seven deadly variety.”
“You’re saying I don’t fall in love?”
“Precisely.”
“I fall in… lust?”
“Well, I’d hardly call it love. It is impossible to really love an object. A thing.”
“Just because you’ve never done something doesn’t make it impossible.”
He nods, “good point, but irrelevant. I’m not speaking from personal experience. I’m speaking from a well-established veiwpoint, backed by definitions, commonly accepted ideas, and generally my observations.
“Fantastic.” I roll my eyes.