The Falconer's Daughter, Book 1

Chapter 6 - Part 3

Footsteps sounded down the hallway, stopping just outside Cordaella and Elisabeth's bedchamber door. There was a knock. Cordaella continued combing her hair as Elisabeth glanced from the bath. Maggie went to the door, opening it "Your ladyship," she said with a curtsy and opening the door to allow Lady Eton to enter.

Mary Eton stood inside the doorway, her hands folded neatly against her skirts. She rarely visited the girls' chambers and looked uncomfortable now. "Good evening," she said a little stiffly.

"Good evening," the girls answered.

"I have come to speak with you, Cordaella," she said without preamble. "His lordship believes it is in your best interest if we—you and I—talk now." She glanced at the beds and the small wooden bench against one wall. "We can speak here or go elsewhere."

"I am undressed," Cordaella said, having already prepared for bed.

"Then we can talk here." She lifted the wooden bench and carried it to the bed. "Come, sit. I shall say what I must." Cordaella could feel Elisabeth's eyes on her as she walked to the bed, her legs wobbly, her knees loose as if all strength had left her. She sat down, her long hair spilling over her shoulders to her waist. "It is November," Lady Eton began, "and nearly winter." She cleared her throat. "You will be sixteen after Epiphany. Your lady's maid has said that you've begun your monthlies, and—" she wavered for only a moment, "you are of an age to bear children." Cordaella lowered her head, embarrassed. "Your uncle believed it would have been in your best interest to have had you married by your fifteenth birthday. He is looking for a suitable husband, one that will bring honor and strength to the Eton name."

Cordaella's hands felt damp and she wiped them on her nightdress. "Has he made a decision?"

Lady Eton didn't immediately reply. She stared at the girl, her expression pained, her brow furrowed. "Do you understand a wife's responsibility? That she must be quiet and diligent, gentle, honest, and always," she said, stressing the last word, "obedient."

"Even when he is wrong?" Cordaella asked, thinking of Eton's arrogance and manipulations.

Lady Eton held up a finger. "One's husband is never wrong. He cannot be contradicted."

Cordaella looked away, looking to Elisabeth who was silently drying herself by the fire. Maggie was emptying the tub's water into small pitchers which she would then dump out the bedchamber window. "Am I to be nobody then?" Cordaella's voice was barely audible over the popping of the fire. "Another servant for my husband?"

"A wife is not a servant. She is his greatest asset, his help, his hands, his handmaiden, and that is very different from being a servant"

Tears filled Cordaella's eyes. "No it's not," she whispered, "it is no different. It is just that the church makes it sound good. Holy." She swallowed and blinked back the tears. "But I am not like that. I cannot—"

"You must," Lady Eton said, interrupting her firmly. "That is your duty, your calling. Even as God calls some to the church, he calls others to serve through marriage. You are to serve as a woman, as a wife. It isn't your choice. It is His."

"God's?" Cordaella said, "or the Earl's? Or is my uncle God?"

Lady Eton slapped Cordaella, not terribly hard, but with enough strength to chastise her. "Shame! You dishonor your uncle, as well as the Lord. You are still so willful." She shook her head as Cordaella touched her cheek. "Do you think I am harsh? Consider what your uncle would have to say. That is why I am here. I am telling you—trying to prepare you—for the future. God chooses our path. We must then choose to accept."

"You make it sound easy."

"It is never easy."

"I don't know how to accept. Not from someone I cannot trust, cannot respect."