Armand’s First Letter. Amelia’s First Letter.

22 December 1022, Cumbrian Embassy, Toulouse

My dearest cousin Armand,

The weather has turned cold here, and rather wet; but that has not dampened the spirits of the citizens of Toulouse. The windows of the houses and shops are decorated with winter evergreens and red ribbons, and candles are lit in every window in the evening. Even King Guy’s statue sports garlands of holly! I have seen no carolers a-wassailing, though I remain hopeful; but Maximilian and I joined Lord Ellesmere and his wife for a concert of sacred choral music at the cathedral this past week, and there will a grand ball at the palace on the 27th, in honor of the season, to which we are likewise invited.

It is a good that the position of deputy-chief-of-mission pays better than Maximilian’s previous post here at the embassy, for am I expected to dress as a companion of Princess Beatrice at these events.

The princess and I are cordial, and see each other several times a week, but there is a constraint I did not feel before last month’s unpleasantness. I am sorry for this, for truly she has no one else. Oh, she is often surrounded by the ladies of the Provençese court, smiling and flattering and playing wicked little games of status as coveys of idle women are wont to do. (Though perhaps it is not just the idle, for I recall a story you told me about the coming of colored window and door frames to Bois de Bas.) But it does not seem to me that men do this—not over such trivial stakes. Or am I mistaken? Please tell me that I am mistaken. But it seems to me that men work out their venality in other forms.

Beatrice is well able to traverse such a vale of admiring she-wolves unscathed, having been brought up to it all of her life; though I assure you that one’s debutante season in Yorke is no different. She smiles, and taps one or another on the shoulder with her fan, careful never to play favorites. Perhaps she will eventually find a true friend among them.

For myself, I fear I am becoming the most hated woman at court—simply because I am the one at the side of the princess, the one who is presumed to have her ear, and because I will not take advantage of that position. Many have approached me, but they have nothing to offer me; and as I am the wife of a Cumbrian diplomat who spends her time at the embassy, at L’École, with my husband, or with the princess, there is no hint of scandal for them to use against me. I will take care not to provide them with any.

Maximilian suggests that perhaps Beatrice fears making me angry; I think it more likely that she fears I have not truly forgiven her, and does not know how to go on as we were. I am still pondering how I might break through her reserve, for truly she needs a friend and confidant whose position does not depend on her favor.

I am pleased to report that Beatrice and Charles seem to be getting on well, however, and the wedding has been set for this spring. I shall be one of Beatrice’s attendants, along with two noble ladies from Cumbria; and how I, a commoner, am expected to maintain my countenance among the vast throng of the Cumbrian and Provençese peerage in attendance I do not know.

But that is a problem for another day.

Your absurdly elevated cousin,

Amelia

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