so many things i'd say if only i were able, but i just keep quiet and count the cars that pass by Who: Genevieve Albrecht, Olena Albrecht, Sylvan Albrecht, EVERYONE ELSE WHO WANTS TO COME! What: Vivi's birthday ball and subsequent engagment party Where: The Albrecht Estate When: This evening Rating: PG (will raise if warranted) Status: In progress!
She had almost opted for a small, quiet celebration, however, as her mother had forcefully pointed out, one only turned forty once. Which, in Genevieve's opinion, was one time too many. Still, she had had little say at that point, and gracefully handed over the planning of such a fete to her mother, who graciously took the reins and began the arduous process of pulling together what she was sure would be an overblown production meant not to celebrate Genevieve, but to remind Genevieve of what she was supposed to be.
Still, even she could appreciate the aesthetics of the decorations, and the food, as expected, was exquisite. Her mother seemed determined to hang about her elbow, steering her from less genteel conversation. It had been quite the argument when Genevieve had sought fit to invite anyone she had ever met, refusing to adopt the mindset that such galas and events were the right of the nobility. A party, she had argued, was meant to be festive, not a somber affair where guests spoke of nothing but their own achievements and woes. Sylvan, Faram bless him, had taken his daughter's side, insisting that it was in her honor, and so the guest list should be hers.
And wandering about the ballroom, listening to the laughter of her guests and seeing the tight lipped expressions of the upper class, Genevieve wholeheartedly agreed that the event was far more festive than anything her mother would have allowed. Still, she was rather bored of the obsequious conversations with whatever lords and ladies her mother saw fit to engage with. When her mother politely excused them for the formal toast, Genevieve had been ready to put a low dosage poison into Lord Weller's wine glass for her own entertainment.
Olena Albrecht was a tall, stunning woman, and when she glided into the center of the room, attention was immediately granted. There was no need for an announcement; she simply stood there for a moment before the hall grew silent in expectation. It was a skill that Genevieve lacked, and after years of trying, had eventually accepted that she would never master.
"On behalf of our daughter, Genevieve, we would like to thank you for your attendance this evening." Olena paused, and Genevieve noticed the waitstaff flitting about with trays of champagne. One arrived at her side, and she took one and handed another to her mother. Her father, who had joined them, lifted his own glass and shook his head, almost, it seemed, apologetically. It was as though something cold had trailed its fingers down her back, and she turned to her mother, who smiled sharply, almost triumphantly at her. "Though it is a most significant occasion, a birthday would not be complete without a surprise."
Suddenly, Count Orsinio was standing beside Olena. Something like dread and disbelief curled its way into Genevieve's stomach. She cannot be doing this, she thought, careful to keep her expression pleasant, though she could not help the tightening of her smile, or the glare she directed at her mother, who simply ignored her.
"My husband, Sylvan, and I are pleased to announce the engagement of our daughter, Genevieve, to Count Orsinio Calibri."
It was all she could do to keep her flute in her hand and not fling it across the room. When she had been younger, more foolish, her mother had done the same thing and she had not curbed the impulse. But she was older now, and had thought herself free of Olena's machinations. By law, she was not even her father's property any longer, but that of Alistair's family.
Countess Dietrich caught her eye, as though summoned by Genevieve's frantic thoughts. The old woman nodded her head, and Genevieve could make out the faintest smile. The woman had not smiled since Alistair's death so many years ago. To think it would be such an occasion that would relieve the mourning from her face.
There was a smattering of shocked applause, and Orsinio moved to her side, reaching for her hand. She withdrew it, smile still on her face. "You will regret this," she told him quietly.
Orsinio laughed. "You are but one woman, Genevieve, albeit a rather difficult one. I shall do what Alistair should have done years ago and put you in your rightful place." His smile was dark, a promise of what he believed was to come. "Shall we greet our guests?"
Genevieve turned on her heel, ignoring the plaintive look from her father, and strode alone into the crowd.