Weave of Silver [ONC III | Fantasy/HistFic | Complete]

Chapter 6: Honoured by Silver

The midday sun shone on elaborate, shiny hair, the same shade of scarlet as Meera's hair, ending in a fashionable topknot beneath a neat, pale pink bonnet. Gloved hands gripped the front of the voluminous cream dress with one hand. Mrs. Sterne did not run, nor did she appear harried; that was unseemly for a lady. She marched at a steady, purposeful pace.

Fullerton tipped his hat when Meera's mother neared. She paused, dipping her knee slightly and tilting her head down with a downward casting of her eyes in reply, before staring critically at Meera with her messy hair and well-worn Pelisse coat.

"My lady," Fullerton said in a charming, gracious voice.

"Mr. Fullerton," came the well-rehearsed reply and ready, gentle smile befitting a respected lady of the society. Meera wrinkled her nose at the piousness. "I thank you for your hard work to bring my precious daughter home."

"It was my honour."

Meera snorted. Her mother gave her a scandalised look.

"Mr. Everett will contact you regarding your compensation. I bid you a good day."

Fullerton tipped his hat again, meeting Meera's eyes fleetingly. Her travel bag went to Everett. Fullerton stepped back and onto the carriage again. For a moment, Meera considered taking that opportunity to dash into the tall grass. A glance behind her confirmed the futility of such an attempt: her father's clerk, Everett, and several manservants stood around her family's polished, black and grey open-topped carriage at the top of the hill. She could easily outrun her mother, but not her entourage. Mrs. Sterne gave Meera a frosty look before sauntering ahead, one hand still holding up the folds of her dress. Meera stomped after her, heart palpitating.

Her mother said nothing to her in the carriage. It didn't bother Meera. All her life, her mother's words had been endlessly nitpicking reprimands, subtle aggression, and obnoxiousness. Society demanded, therefore she must obey. It drove Meera insane.

Her father, on the other hand, had a face black as thunder the moment she stepped foot into the home. She wasn't surprised to see her family here. The Sternes had family homes up and down the country, after all. Mevagusson was only just over ten miles away from Pirran Downs.

"...dressed like some strumpet!" Her mother's voice penetrated the barrier Meera automatically erected for herself out of habit whenever she spoke. She blinked.

"Leave us." Mr. Sterne said in his quiet voice, once they all entered the drawing room. It was exactly as she remembered: cherubic paintings mounted on walls, a glistening chandelier hanging above their heads, matching chairs with golden legs and delicately quilted seats arranged in a welcoming matter. Atop one of the wooden tables was a collection of watercolour paintings. All the servants left with a bow or curtsey, save for Everett, her father's assistant, who stood in the corner as if he did not exist. "You disappoint your family, daughter."

"And my family, me," Meera replied, standing straight and gazing unflinchingly at the stoic figure before the door.

"Impudent child," hissed Mrs. Sterne. She quieted with a look from Meera's father.

"We are lucky Mr. Myerscough has a forgiving nature and is willing to look past your indiscretions." Mr. Sterne's sideburns and hair had greyed in the year Meera hadn't been home, but he easily made her feel like five years old again, disciplined for chasing after her sister for stealing her hairbrush.

"I refuse to marry Mr. Myerscough."

"He isn't marrying you," came a scornful voice from her right. Meera's sister, Dorothea, stuck her chin out with disdain. She perched neatly on the plush chair, her hair styled in a stylish topknot like their mother. Her pastel blue puffy dress swamped her. Meera and her were but a year apart, but their personalities were different as night and day. "Mother convinced him you were a lost cause. He was happy to get the better Sterne daughter."