"Coming of Age"

August 31, 2018; Unreliable Narrator

Sunlight filters through the windows, illuminating the room. The white fabric layered around my bed frame glows as the light passes through. In said bed, was me, Murielle Étiennette Daphnée Fontaine, only daughter of Baron Gèrard Fontaine.

A knock at the door announces the entrance of one of the maids, Ámelie.

“Miss Fontaine, it’s time to wake. There’s a guest today,” she announces, polite enough to keep her voice quiet but not polite enough to refrain from yanking the drapes open. I hum in discontent despite the fact I was already awake.

“I do not usually have to dress up for father’s guests. I cannot keep up in their conversation, there is little point in my presence.”

“Miss, it is of the servants’ belief that the guest is here for you.”

“Really?” I sit up to blink owlishly at her, “Why would I have a visitor?”

“Well, you are coming to that age, Miss Fontaine,” is her measured response.

“The age of what?” My brows furrow, but I exit the bed and walk towards my vanity nonetheless. I grab my brush and begin working the knots out of my hair. Ámelie is visible in the mirror, standing in front of my wardrobe. She chooses a navy dress, the blue fabric shimmers in her arms. Her heels click against the floor as she walks towards me.

“You recently turned 17, miss, eventually suitors will come knocking.”

The hand brushing my hair slows, brown curls retreating to their spot on my shoulder, “Do you think that’s why? Surely Father would have told me? He would, right?”. I frown, and Ámelie’s sad smile only leaves me more confused. Father would tell me if its a suitor. It can’t be that, I’m barely of age, he wouldn’t! Mother would not allow him to, in any case, I’m sure.

“You can find out later,” her voice is full of a sense of finality, “now we have to dress you.” The smile on her face still seems sad, regretful. I surrender, and she dresses me silently.

———

Ámelie leaves before me. I’m still planted where she left me, facing the vanity mirror.

“A suitor,” I laugh, voice seeming too loud in the emptiness of the room, “There is no way it’s a suitor, not this soon.”

The smile returns to my face, and I nod to my reflection before turning on my heel and leaving.

———

As it turns out, the guest was for my father. I’d spent enough time around the maids to hear the gossip, then left. It was almost time for dinner, I’d meet him soon enough. I arrive in the dining hall, though my mother is already in one of the chairs, gazing out the window. I take my seat beside her, only to stand upon my father’s entrance.

“May I introduce Lord Alexandre Comtois,” he announces, gesturing to the man behind him. He’s taller than my father, but seems only slightly my senior. His skin is a light tan, hair  tied at his neck by a ribbon. He smiles at my father, before making eye contact with me. His eyes are icy blue, yet seem so warm. He approaches, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. My face flushes even as he releases my hand. I realize I’m staring when my father begins to chuckle, sharing a look with my mother.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I stutter. This is humiliating. I see one handsome man and suddenly forget basic etiquette.

“It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Miss…?”

“Murielle, Murielle Fontaine,” I recite, some amount of control seeming to have returned. My father coughs, and both of us flinch as if coming from a daze. We return to our seats, my father at the head of the table and Lord Comtois across from me. I focus on the plate of food placed in front of me, taking small bites and ignoring the conversation between everyone else, as usual.

“Murielle, dear?” I turn my attention to my father only to find that everyone is already looking at me.

“Yes?”

“Did you hear any part of the conversation?” he asks, exasperation clear in his voice.

“Yes?”

Father sighs, “The Vicomte and I agree that your marriage would be beneficial to both parties. You won’t be wed immediately, but the engagement still stands. Lord Alexandre will be staying here until then, to allow you to acquaint yourselves.”

My eyes had only gotten wider as he spoke, occasionally glancing at the man across from me. My fiancée.

“It cannot be, Father! I am barely of age! I can’t..I cannot be engaged,” my voice cracks, disbelief evident. How could he do this?

“It’s final, Murielle. The decision will not change. It’s time you grew up.”