Harewood House | a taste of bitterness ~ Invite

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Saturday, 14 July 1923
~ 3:20 pm ~
Harewood House Gardens

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Hues of lavender and periwinkle blue dappled the garden in specks of colour and life, soft as the strings of music drifting on the summer air. Streamers draped the lower branches of towering oak trees, artfully shaped and impossibly delicate, spanning from tree to tree and crisscrossing overhead. Beneath them, guests mingled in clusters, their voices blending with the music and the gentle hum of conversation.

Some couples danced upon white tiles marbled with black, a dance floor specially set up for the occasion, while others lingered at long wooden tables dressed in creamy white linen. Floral arrangements of carnations, peonies, and roses filled the spaces between them, their pale pink and purple echoing the colours scattered throughout the garden. Drinks refilled themselves at a touch, while platters of appetisers seemed never to empty.

Paper garlands, not yet lit, bobbed in mid-air. Enchanted butterflies fluttered in and out of view, appearing and disappearing among the flowers and guests.

Everything was light and pretty for Wiosna’s fifteenth birthday party. Even the girl herself was dressed to match, standing out amid the crowd clad in beige, white, and cream.

It was the first time his sister had organised an event like this on her own, with the help of a few others but without their mother’s guidance. And although she didn’t let it show, Dago knew how much that loss still pained her, especially today. It was there in the imperceptible tightness of her smile and the subtle shadow behind her eyes, in the way her happiness seemed dimmer than it had in previous years, and in the fervour with which she swept amongst the guests.

While Drago had appreciated and respected their mother—despite her many flaws—Wiosna had idolised and revered her like no other. Doing this alone weighed heavier than most would ever begin to recognise. She was hiding it well.

But Wiosna had always been the picture-perfect image of Zdravkova poise and elegance, even at her young age.

Catching her eye from a distance, Drago gave her a subtle smile and a faint nod. He would find her later. With Lev and Liliya as company, she was in good hands, and besides, he didn’t feel like subjecting Matilda to his brother’s quips if he could help it.

Instead, Drago slowed their idle stroll and looked around at Matilda. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said, voice lowered and lips curling slightly. Since their arrival, they had been tied up in one conversation after another, practically handed from one person to the next. He could almost see the pent-up energy simmering beneath her skin, only waiting to explode. Better to give her a break while they could.

“A few more hours.” He kept his smile contained, but gently flicked her nose anyway. “You can do that. Would you like to dance for a bit?”

Getting ready for this event was more difficult than any other single event in Matilda’s history. It wasn’t just a fancy event, or a gala where everyone would be judging your outfit. No, this was at the Zdravkova estate, with the entire family in attendance. Well, the British contingent at least.

The amount of clothing in her closet had nearly tripled since Paris. Silk, satin, beading and embroidery was represented in mass. Every color of the rainbow was represented for every occasion and every season. It was a ridiculous amount of fabric, but while standing in front of the rows of dresses, she was happy with the selection.

The instructions were to wear white, ivory or cream, which helped a lot in her choosing. Narrowing down the options considerably. There were three she was looking at, finally opting for the more conservative of the choices.

The ivory dress had a straight, drop waist silhouette with an intricate beaded sheer overlay. The delicate pleated chiffon skirt moved lightly with every step, hitting mid calf. To not draw attention, she was wearing the magical stockings, hiding her green scar, no need to discuss THAT today of all days. Her hair was up and out of the way, but still like a beacon to those around her.

With the muted color palette, Matilda had hoped she could blend in with the other party guests, but with a head of bright red hair, that was never an option.

The estate looked like it had been plucked out of a fairytale. Roses, peonies and carnations were everywhere, filling the air with a beautiful floral smell. Crystal glasses glittered in the sun and music drifted through the crowd. Gentle laughter could be heard, coming from the small groups of party goers as they discussed everything from the party to politics and every subject in between. It should have been enchanting.

Instead, Matilda’s thoughts sounded a lot like her grandmother.

Shoulders back.
Smile.
Not too much.
Never be the first to speak.
A gentleman introduces the lady, not the other way around.
Keep pace with Drago.
Do not swing your arms.
Hands still.
Do not laugh loudly.
Never let anyone know what you are thinking.

The instructions were on a loop in her head, like a test she was on the verge of failing. Every smile was measured. Every greeting was tempered. Even the way she accepted a glass of champagne required thought.

She desperately wanted to ask questions, compliment the flowers, tell stories that fit the conversation or laugh with the other ladies near the fountain, but each desire was quickly halted and tucked away.

It was exhausting. It was maddening.

It was her life now.

More than once she caught herself before opening her mouth to say something that would be frowned upon. She had never realized how much she enjoyed talking until she spent an afternoon convincing herself not to.

Instead, she busied herself with soft smiles, graceful nods and occasionally answering questions when it was appropriate.

Every now and then she would look to Drago for reassurance. Silently checking to see if she was doing everything correctly. Had she smiled too brightly? Had she spoken too much? The questions continued while they walked around the garden. Somewhere between introductions and polite discussions, she stopped worrying about the other guests opinions, and focused more on if Drago was proud of how she was acting.

Not only Drago, but the other Zdravkova’s. It felt constantly like there were eyes on her. Assessing, judging.

Matilda sighed as Drago walked them away from their last group. Her smile faltering, a large sigh escaping her mouth. Her feet hurt, her back was sore from maintaining a stiff posture, there was a headache brewing and she was pretty sure her molars were chipped from the tense set of her jaw.

As they slowed, Drago spoke low, just for her to hear. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said with a small upturn to his lips. Not HER smile, the dimples wouldn’t be coming out in this crowd.

“A few more hours.” He continued, flicking her nose playfully. Causing her smile to spread. “You can do that. Would you like to dance for a bit?”

Ugh, a few hours sounded like a lifetime, but she had made it this far.

”Dancing sounds lovely.”

Her perfectly poised mask lifted, offering him a genuine smile. Only for him. She slipped her hand in his as they walked towards the dance floor. For the first time since arriving, she didn't think about the eyes that were inevitably on her.
Perhaps she was still being judged. Perhaps every Zdravkova family member was looking at her arm placement and footwork, the tilt of her head and the smile on her face. She should care, but she didn’t.

For the next few minutes, she didn’t have to think.

She only had to follow his lead. And that, surprisingly, felt much easier than pretending to be perfect.

Liliya has had the best of times so far. She loved a good garden party, so much more than a gala in another grand ballroom. The breeze felt lovely against her skin and through her hair. The sky was open, the sun warm, and the air lighter than it ever could be trapped inside four walls. Although events like these, of any kind and in any setting, had once felt like torture, Liliya found herself growing rather fond of them.

Not just the attending either, but even the part that involved planning.

She hadn’t done much. Not anything, really. Mostly, she had observed, watched, and listened. Studied the way Danika and Wiosna had arranged a litany of little details with a casualness she could only follow with silent awe. Her etiquette training since becoming part of the family had covered many things—still did, in fact—but this had felt like an entirely different level of knowledge. She hadn’t the faintest idea how she was supposed to manage all of it one day.

The thought still brought a queasiness to her stomach, but Liliya tried not to dwell on it. If she could learn Legilimency, she could learn how to be a wife. The wife of an heir.

Even that thought sat uncomfortably. Not in an aversive sort of way, not anymore. More like worry. Like doubt.

In the past, Ruslana had been the one to organise things like these. Before her death. Danika had stepped up since, and as the oldest woman in the family, the responsibility had fallen to her. Seamlessly, perfectly, she had taken over, flawless as all these Zdravkova women and girls seemed to be. Standing in their orbit always made Liliya feel small. Undeserving even.

Maybe she was.

Still, she had grown to fit her place a little better. Ever since…then. Things felt easier, at the very least. Especially her relationship with the rest of the family. She thought some of them looked at her with just that little bit less critique in their eye.

Smiling at Wiosna, Liliya let her expression warm with genuine affection. “Everything came out so beautiful,” she said, willing the subtle shade of melancholy from her cousin’s eyes. “You did a wonderful job, truly. I’m having such a good time.”

Wiosna smiled, only slightly tinged with sadness. “Thank you, Liliya. I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” Her gaze flicked briefly toward Lev before returning to her cousin. “Please, don’t let me hold you up. Go and dance. The music is only getting better. I’ll come find you later.”

Liliya smiled and nodded, watching the girl as she found another group of guests to check in on. Her heart ached for Wiosna, despite the aversion to her mother. Ruslana had never regarded her with anything more than contempt, but watching Wiosna struggle was gut-wrenching.

After a moment, Liliya took a breath.

Pushing the gloom away, she turned to look up at Lev, face bright with hope. “Can we dance?” She loved dancing. “Please?”

But his answer didn’t matter.

Movement over his shoulder caught her eye, and her gaze landed squarely on Tilly. Eyes rounding, Liliya gasped in excitement. “Tilly!” Dragging Lev along, she intercepted the redhead and her fiancé on their stroll. “And Drago.” Her gaze flicked up to him for a second, accompanied by the proper smile, before returning to her friend.

“How has your summer been?” she asked, feeling giddiness spiral through her chest. She really needed to find a way to stop that. “Are you excited for term? It’s your last, isn’t it? I can’t wait for you to live with us finally! You’ll have to finish school and get married first, of course, but after you and I can hang out!”