Be My Best

“Who was it that told you that? That there’s no such thing as success or failure in marriage.”

At my pointed question, Herman gave a soft smile.

“My mother.”

The next instant, though, I could only swallow hard. Such a narrow view, such an arrogant certainty; and all the while I was grateful I had never let those very words past my own lips.

Ah — the late Duchess Ernst…

I thought back to the noble lady who, long ago, had always smiled at me so gently. She had been a woman of mild eyes and a tender voice, and the impression had stayed with me. Though of course she had come to a sorry end, in a fire whose cause was never explained.

Were he and his mother close, I wonder.

His face softened in a particular way whenever he spoke of his parents, and it always caught me a little off guard.

About then, the imperial couple entered Lumen Hall. Every eye in the room turned to them at once as the Emperor and Empress came to a halt at its center and offered a graceful gesture of greeting.

Then, with a few words from the Emperor, the triumphal banquet began.

Before I could gather myself, Herman held out his hand. As the banquet’s guest of honor, he was to lead the first dance, which meant that I was too.

“Shall we, madam?”

Every so often he would fluster me with that courteous, formal address of his, the way he did just now, flashing a grin with a touch of mischief in it.

…I truly am no match for him.

By now I ought to have grown used to being swept along by him, and yet I could never quite find a way to hold my own against Herman.

In the end I took his hand with an awkward little motion and nodded.

We took our places at the center of the hall and faced each other, exchanging a light bow before the dance began.

The eyes on us do weigh on me, but…

I looked down at Herman’s hand clasped around mine and steadied myself, repeating for the dozenth time that all I had to do was dance.

The music began.

The minuet moved in slow, gliding steps; after that unhurried opening figure, we joined hands and turned in a slow circle.

Close together, I met his eyes and felt for the rhythm of his breath so the flow between us would not break. We spun once, a full turn round, and as we came face to face again, Herman murmured low.

“You don’t seem to care for it.”
“Sorry?”
“The notion that there’s no such thing as success or failure in marriage.”

I could find no argument to make. Rather than answer, I matched my steps to his as naturally as I could manage.

“If there’s one thing these past few years of my life have taught me, it’s that a man who gives up before he’s begun will accomplish nothing at all.”

The life of Herman Ernst. I turned the words over slowly.

“On the battlefield, on that deserted island — even when every last man called it impossible, I fought on to the very end, and in the end I proved them all wrong.”

Here was the face of a man who had fought his way through every kind of hardship. The conviction that anything was possible, so long as he tried, stood plain in his expression.

“So I merely mean not to give up on marriage in a hurry, either.”

There was a glittering arrogance in it, as if effort alone could ever change how things actually stood between us.

“I mean to try my very best for you.”
“…Is there some particular reason?”
“Well, I simply came to that conclusion on the way to the capital.”

His ash-grey eyes were brimming with sincerity. I found them hard to meet, somehow, and though I knew it was ill-mannered, I quietly lowered my gaze.

Inwardly, I had been hoping Herman would be the one to propose divorce first.

That was, in fact, one of the reasons I had dug in my heels about coming to the capital at all. I had wanted Herman, unable to withstand society’s verdict, to be the one to offer the divorce himself.

“Divorce might be the best thing for a new beginning.”

As no more than a third party to Herman’s marriage, I was in no position to end the bond myself. So I wanted Herman to be the one to say it first. And, just as much, I wanted him free of this filthy mire.

Herman Ernst was a man more than deserving of it.

“There’s no guarantee it would turn out that way, though.”
“A guarantee?”
“A guarantee that the second wife I took would be less extravagant than you, less dissolute in her private life, and not in love with some other man.”

A barb lay beneath the words. Flustered, I very nearly missed a step, but Herman caught me firmly as I faltered.

“Put that way, I sound all the more like the worst possible wife.”
“No — at least you have loyalty. Enough to have kept your dead husband’s title and house safe.”

Loyalty?

Could a word like loyalty truly be applied to Gloria? The real reason Gloria had never remarried might have had nothing to do with being unable to forget Herman.

“Go live in that dreary ducal castle, clinging to a husband in name only. Herman Ernst — come to think of it, he was originally yours anyway, wasn’t he?”

No. I was certain of it. Had she truly loved her late husband, she could never have brought herself to say such a thing.

“…Perhaps I simply never remarried because I couldn’t find a good match.”
“And so here I am, come back alive, just like this. Five years ago or now, there’s no finer match in the empire than me.”

His voice brimmed with confidence, absurd beyond belief, and yet nothing came to mind that I could throw back at him. Herman truly was the finest catch of a husband, coveted by every soul in Lumen Hall.

“And even if you did divorce me, you could never end up with Cedric Drake.”
“What nonsense is that? I don’t even want to be in the same room as that man.”

I knit my brow and denied it at once. As it happened, Cedric’s face kept snagging on my eye every time we turned in our circle, and it had been souring my mood.

If I had my way, I’d have scraped Cedric’s very existence out of my life. It was my name I wanted back, not a husband.

“Ah. Is that so.”

Without missing a step, Herman narrowed his eyes as though weighing how much of my denial to believe. He arched one eyebrow too, as if in mockery.

“Gloria,” Herman said.

“If you mean that, then stay at my side.”

For a moment I nearly stopped mid-step.

“I promise I’ll be your best. So you — be my best too.”

Just as the minuet drew to its close on one long, sustained note, a sudden thought came over me.

If only I had married Herman Ernst. If only, that is, I had never yielded his proposal to Gloria.

The dance ended, and Herman and I exchanged a courteous bow.

Then neither Herman nor I would ever have been cast aside like this.

Somewhere in this hall, Cedric and Gloria would be watching us. What were they thinking, I wondered, as they looked at Herman and me?

It was a useless thing to imagine. Nothing would change.

An unbearable grief came surging up. This misery, the kind that seems forgotten and then comes calling all over again, could drive a person to the very edge of the spire in a single instant.

“I— I’ll just step out to the retiring room for a moment.”

Once Herman and I had returned to our place, I whispered it from behind my raised fan. I could not have said, just then, what expression I was wearing.

Even for a moment — I only want to be alone.

I could not tell whether this turmoil rose from the Cedric and Gloria crowding my head, or from the Herman standing so straight-backed at my side.

“Yes. Go on.”

With Herman’s leave, I had taken a step or two toward the retiring room when a figure came hurriedly wedging in between us, as though someone had only been waiting for me to go.

The figure was Baron Bernard, counted among the greatest magnates of the Empire of Balter. He met Herman’s eyes and gave a respectful, silent bow; by imperial etiquette, a man of lower rank could not be the first to make himself known. Even so, his determination to get a word with Herman by any means at all was plain to see.

“It’s been a while, Baron Bernard.”

Herman greeted the baron with the face of a man who had little choice in the matter. The baron seized on the opening as though he had been waiting for it.

“It has been far too long, Your Excellency. You cannot imagine how it moved me to hear the news of your safe return.”

He tacked on the customary pleasantries for only a breath before promptly presenting a pretty young lady.

“Ah — this is my daughter. Make your greeting, Camela.”
“It is an honor to meet you, Your Excellency.”

The young Lady Bernard, who had been standing by shyly, lifted her skirt with both hands and sank into a curtsy. I caught no more than a passing glance of it, and yet one look was enough to guess what was afoot.

For I knew well enough what it meant to introduce a daughter.

The whole scene laid bare exactly where ‘Gloria’ stood in society. No one would have dared go this far unless they were certain Herman meant to divorce her soon.

Pretending I had seen nothing, I walked on a few more paces, then stole a glance back over my shoulder, half on instinct.

In that instant my eyes met Herman’s, and he knit his brow faintly, just as though there were something he wanted to tell me.

But I pretended not to notice and turned my face away again. Somewhere along the way, I had begun to wish, with all my heart, that Herman would be happy.

May you meet, just as you wish, a woman who will do her very best for you.

And that woman, I was certain, would never be ‘Gloria.’ Not the real Gloria, and not the false one.