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The Marchioness Owen

Chapter 25

Estica yawned as she stood outside Princess Corene's bedroom door. She hated attending parties, balls, functions, and the like. It reminded her too greatly of being back at Growlane. Sneering nobles and their petty schemes, bitches trying so desperately to prove how groomed and ladylike they were by showcasing their physical weaknesses and pretending to faint . . . All of it made Estica's fur crawl and she wanted no part of it.

Estica screamed internally when Charles assigned her to stand as a bodyguard for the princess but, of course, she did not protest. She would have to accompany the princess the entire night, remaining one step behind her throughout the ball - despite the fact that her majesty's clutch of elite mastiff bodyguards had arrived that evening at the manor, frantic in their search for her. Charles did not want the mastiffs prowling around the personal quarters of his family. He relegated them to the ballroom instead and told them the princess would be down immediately. And Estica - someone he trusted - was given the task of guarding her majesty's person.

The mastiffs had protested, but one word from the princess - sent through her handmaid Liza -- and they obeyed. The fools. Or lairs. Estica couldn't yet decide which. After all, how hard could it be to find one princess? The princess told Charles that she had been attacked and had wandered Howlester Duchy alone in broad daylight, drugged and confused. Estica snorted to hear such a thing. Corene's bodyguards hadn't found her because they hadn't wanted to find her. It was as simple as that. Estica wondered if it hadn't been a part of the queen's plan from the start, something to make the princess that much more pitiful when she arrived. Clearly, the princess had come to Howlester at the behest of the queen. She sobbed and cried and pretended she had run from Wychowl, but Estica saw right through her. She knew noble bitches and their games. She had lived it, witnessed it too many times. How often had her own sisters pulled the same front when manipulating her father?

But Princess Corene was a good actress. Charles seemed fully convinced she was there because she had run away, and Estica didn't have the heart to share her doubts with her employer. Charles wouldn't believe her anyway. So she kept silent, deciding to watch the princess closely and make certain none of her mischief harmed the Kingsleys - especially Charles, who had become something like a father to her.

Estica winced just to think of Charles. She had taken advantage of his kindness by dallying with Marvene and shirking her duties. Charles still hadn't reprimanded her for it - in fact, he probably wasn't going to. It was Duke Richard who took Estica aside and told her that if she "fucked up" again, he was going to see to it personally that she was sent packing from Howlester with only the clothes on her back. She watched him march away and knew she had pushed the dukes too far. She must do better. At least for Charles.

Charles had done so much for Estica, after all. She knew if he hadn't hired her, she'd be married even now to the Marquis Lucas Owen of Rorchester Fields, bored and wretched, possibly fat, and buried under a parcel of pups she did not want.

Rorchester was a very small duchy in the back pocket of Varimore. Much like Growlane, it was enfolded by mountains and great flowery fields. The Owens were a small family desperate for heirs. They had bred cousin to cousin for decades as was the custom, and thus had remained purely bred. But their family was so small that they were in great need of new blood. It was then that the Owen family approached the Shackleys. The Shackleys were the same breed as they: Bernese mountain dogs, robust and strong, and purely bred. The Shackleys also had plenty of children, so sending one away to a boring life in the tiny duchy of Rorchester would not cause Duke Abner Shackley to blink an eye.

No one cared how Estica felt, though. She protested to her mother, who sat in her rocker and stonily ignored her. The next day, she was introduced to Marquis Lucas Owen as if everything were final. The young lord kissed her paw and was kind and gentlemanly enough. He was even handsome, funny, and had plenty of interesting things to say. His family was a bit unconventional in their thoughts. The Owens did not believe nobles should have to be purely bred. Lucas believed bitches should be allowed to work as guards, compete in competitions of physical skill, or do anything they wanted if males were allowed to. And he absolutely adored her. He was polite and attentive, always making certain she was comfortable and happy throughout the evening. It was the best party Estica had ever attended, and Duke Abner looked on contently at the laughing young adults, convinced he had found a perfect match for his daughter.

Lucas Owen _was_perfect. The only problem was . . . he was male.

Estica didn't know how to tell her father she liked females, but she tried. He yelled at her. He told her she was disgusting. He told her she had better keep her mouth shut about it, that she had better suck it up and marry Lucas, because he was not going to face the shame of having a "pussy diving" daughter.

It wasn't the first time in her life that Estica had almost run from her father in tears. But she stood her ground. Her father told her to get out of his sight, and it was only then that she turned and walked solemnly from the room. The next day at her father's shooting tournament, she masqueraded as a male and won. Her father practically threatened to kill her for it, but Duke Charles - bless him - swooped in and saved her. Even if it meant losing Duke Abner as a friend.

Estica didn't fully understand what Charles had sacrificed in hiring her until she returned to Howlester with him. The many attacks on the estate soon opened her eyes. In hiring on a bitch as a bodyguard, the Kingsleys had lost yet one more friend and in the process had gained even more enemies. Pious zealots came nightly to the manor, shaking the gates and chucking stones. Assassins broke onto the estate and attempted to climb up to the duke's window. Estica had her paws full every night keeping the dukes safe.

That Charles had been so brave as to lose so much respect in hiring her still impressed Estica to this day. She knew she was terrible for taking advantage of him. And she knew Duke Richard had every right to hate her. And he did. The moment Estica approached the waiting carriage with Charles, Duke Richard looked out the window at her, sneered, tossed his paws, and complained that she was only going to cause more trouble for them. And he was right. But she still resented him for the un-warm welcome. She worked hard to prove that she deserved her place at Howlester, that a bitch could be every bit as good a bodyguard as a male. But it was the fact that she was female that had protestors and assassins coming nightly in the first place. Everything Duke Richard and Charles did shat on convention. It angered the public.

Estica vowed that she would protect Charles - who she owed so much - with her very life's blood if she had to. She guarded his door day and night, haunted the grounds continuously, and gave those who managed to sneak on a beating they would not forget. She quickly became the best guard Howlester Manor had ever seen . . . and then Marvene came. And it was her undoing.

The door opened behind Estica and she turned around. Her breasts jerked up when she took a sharp breath: the princess stood in the doorway, stunning in a ballooning blue gown, her white mane swept up in an elegant bun, her slanted eyes shaped by eyeliner and shadowed by glittering blue powder. The neckline was deep and her heaving white cleavage rose from it like rising bread. Her wrists, neck, and ears sparkled with diamonds, and the sweet smell of her perfume made Estica a little wet in her breeches. She knew the princess' bandaged wound was hidden in her long flaring sleeve, that it still ached from the stiff manner in which she moved her arm.

Behind the princess, little Liza stood humbly, ears flat, occasionally casting Corene a fascinated glance.

"Your h-hi . . ." Estica stammered, hating herself. But then, a pretty bitch always made her a flustered fool. She closed her paw on her sword hilt and bowed deeply. "Are you ready to go down?" Estica straightened up again to see the princess was smiling at her politely.

"I am ready."

Estica marched the princess to the ballroom. On the way, servants gaped and gawked, bowed and scurried to clear a path. Princess Corene glided along with her chin lifted. Behind her, little Liza was glittering with diamond studs in her ears. Estica realized with a jolt that Corene had allowed her to wear them. But where did Corene get such jewelry? The princess had arrived on the estate with nothing but the ragged dress on her body! The duke had given Corene one of his mother's gowns to wear. Estica supposed the diamonds must've belonged to the duke's mother as well. She frowned. Duke Charles would not be happy about Liza wearing them - or Corene, for that matter.

Two of the princess' elite mastiffs were standing guard either side the great ballroom doors, having insisted on replacing Charles and Richard's own guards. The roaring lion of Wychowl was on their silver breastplates and on the back of their jackets. They stood stiff and proud, large and towering, swords on their hips. When they saw the princess, they stiffened up even tighter and bowed to her. Estica thought she saw a flicker of an apology in their eyes. This would be the first time they had seen the princess since her disappearance. But the princess seemed to bear them no ill will - something Estica noted with narrowed eyes. It was starting to look more and more as if the princess had arrived alone at Howlester Manor on purpose.

"If you would please, gentlemen," Corene purred and slapped her fan open. The fan was golden and of an intricate, flowery design. Estica recognized it as having been in a portrait of Evelyn, Duke Charles' late sister.

"Your grace . . ." the guards murmured and opened the great doors. Estica knew they'd been shut in the first place to allow the princess a grand entrance.

As the doors swung open, the music abruptly stopped. The golden ballroom lay before them, sparkling with chandeliers, wineglasses, and the many jewels that lay on rising cleavage. Estica could see the banquet tables, laden with glossy meats and winking dishes. The smooth, polished ballroom floor was like glass in the candlelight, reflecting the gathered crowds of chatting nobles.

The murmuring fell at once to silence as Corene gracefully descended the great stair, which rippled forward like water. Her little slippers clicked in the stillness as the herald stepped forward and called, "Introducing her majesty Princess Corene Isabella Jeanette Gardiner, beloved of his majesty, Prince Etienne Charles Verneus Emerald, future king of Varimore and heir of all the land."

The guests bowed and curtsied in a ripple.

It seemed an eternity had passed before the princess reached the bottom of the stair. Estica knew she was to stay at least five steps behind the princess until she had done so - the better to keep the focus on her graceful entrance. When Corene finally reached the ballroom floor, the band began to play again, and the guests went back to gossiping, dancing, and gossiping - only now, they also stared at Corene.

Estica kept close to the princess, her paw on her sword hilt, her eyes darting for anyone who was foolishness to try and take her life. There were certainly those who would. The princess staying with the Kingsleys and making nice with them was to the public a sign that the crown endorsed the same-sex "heresy" that was taking place at Howlester. It was a sign that the crown was ignoring the will of the Creator Father. Estica wouldn't put it past any of the nobility zealous enough in their faith to make a move on Corene.

"That will be all, Liza," Estica murmured to the maid, who was following behind Corene in the hope of going unnoticed.

Liza nodded glumly, and Estica knew she wanted desperately to stay for the ball. Liza was just a child, however. Her mother would want her to return to the servant quarters and to bed. No doubt Liza would stay up the night through, telling the other young maids what wonders she'd seen in the ballroom.

Liza was turning away when Estica called her back.

"You'd best put those diamonds away," Estica cautioned her. "I think they belonged to the duke's mother. He won't like you wearing them."

"Yes," Liza agreed unhappily.

Estica watched the girl retreat up the stairs a moment before she realized Corene had gotten some feet away. The princess stood near a servant bearing a tray of drinks, sipping from a wineglass as she chatted away with . . . Estica felt her heart stop. Lucas Owen. The princess was chatting with Lucas Owen!

The young marquis glanced past Corene and caught Estica's eye. He smiled slowly. Estica swallowed hard and approached.

"Ah. And here is my bodyguard for the evening," Corene said pleasantly as Estica joined them. She held a wineglass high in her slender paw and already looked a tad inebriated. "This handsome young scoundrel is the Marquis Lucas Owen of Rorchester."

Lucas Owen chuckled.

"Do be a dear and say hello," Corene scolded.

Estica looked past Lucas. "Your grace," she said stiffly.

Corene's brows went up in surprise.

Lucas laughed sadly. He was hurt. And he was still utterly handsome. His black fur glistened in the candlelight, and the white fur on his chin had grown out, forming a small beard. His long black mane was pulled back in an elegant ponytail, and he was wearing a high-cut coat with tails, dark red as blood. He bowed deeply to Estica, trying to smile through his hurt.

The princess waved an idle paw. "She's just my bodyguard. You needn't make the effort. She certainly didn't." She looked at Estica in amazement, trying to understand why she was being so rude.

Lucas shook his head slowly. "Forgive me, your highness, but the Lady Estica is no simple bodyguard. She deserves my acknowledgement."

Corene smiled. "The _Lady_Estica. I'm intrigued."

"Her highness shall have to remain intrigued," Estica said tonelessly.

Corene only laughed. She was going to respond when she froze, horrified. Estica followed her gaze.

A noble was coming toward the princess, a male terrier with red fur and an even redder mane. Estica recognized him at once and felt the irritation settle to the pit of her stomach. The approaching male was the Marquis Mont du Frey, an obnoxious little toad, infamous for tossing his daughter out to live on the street. He ruled over a march in some distant corner of Varimore, and for all his huffing and posturing, he was such a little nobody that Estica couldn't understand why the princess should be worried that he was coming to greet her. No doubt du Frey had never lain eyes on the princess a day in his life and was grabbing at the opportunity to get in good with the crown.

"Should I be rid of him, your grace?" Estica muttered as du Frey approached.

Lucas Owen laughed lightly.

"Yes, please, at once," Corene hissed, eyes darting. She took a weary sip of wine as Estica stepped forward.

Mont du Frey halted, his red brow furrowing into a frown as he gazed up at Estica. He was a very short male - probably four feet tall - with an even shorter wife somewhere. And yet he acted as if he were ten feet. "What's the meaning of this?" he demanded loudly and stuck out his chest.

Several heads turned, and Estica's eyes hooded wearily. Did he have to start a scene? Well, she would gladly finish it.

"Is the princess not receiving her admirers? I come to admire." Mont shot Corene a smile the princess pretended not to notice as she engaged Lucas Owen yet again in conversation.

"Her majesty is receiving admirers," Estica said coldly. "She just isn't receiving you."

Mont's nostrils flared. He glared at Estica. "Out of my way, bitch. If you know what's good for you!"

Estica's throat tightened. She placed a paw on her sword hilt. "It can not have escaped your notice that I am armed, your grace. I would suggest that you turn tail -- before you _lose_it."

Mont glared at Estica. But the little dog was no fool. He adjusted his cravat, and with a dignified sniff, he spun about and sauntered away again, tail flashing back and forth in righteous indignation.

When Estica turned again to the princess, it was to find her visibly relieved.

"Thank you, Estica," Corene said breathlessly. Estica thought she looked flushed. She stared at Mont du Frey's retreating back with haunted eyes - then she jerked and looked over her shoulder, as if someone were standing there. But there was no one.

Estica and Lucas exchanged worried glances.

"Perhaps her highness would like to rest a while," Estica suggested. "Duke Charles has yet to arrive. You could occupy his throne."

Corene's lashes fluttered. Her paw was shaking on her wineglass. She nodded like one in a daze and reached blindly for Estica. "Yes . . ." she whispered. "Yes . . . take me." She fumbled to set her wineglass on the nearby servant's tray and missed. Lucas caught the glass and set it on the tray for her, watching her with concern.

"This way, your highness. Lean on my arm," Estica muttered, trying to keep the derision from her voice. Whenever a bitch acted this way during a function, it was usually a part of some scheme - to garner sympathy, get someone's attention, or else to remove herself from the room entirely. Estica studied Corene's red face and couldn't decide if the princess was faking or really in danger of slipping away. Perhaps she had the drug in her system still.

Estica and Lucas helped the princess up the steps to the pair of throne chairs, on which Duke Richard and Duke Charles would normally sit. Both were absent, however. And from their own ball. Estica had a feeling she knew why and held back a smile as she helped the princess into one of the chairs.

"Is her majesty quite alright?" Lucas asked anxiously.

"Yes . . . yes . . ." Corene said breathlessly. She slapped open her fan and fanned herself, tendrils of her white mane fluttering across her blushing forehead. Her eyes were darting everywhere, searching. But for who and what? "Go away!" she suddenly hissed and closed her eyes. "Please . . ."

Estica looked at Corene and decided the drug was definitely still in her system. The princess had been drugged when she arrived at Howlester Manor. She hadn't lied about that much.

"Don't worry, your grace," Estica said to Lucas as she solemnly took her place at Corene's armrest. "If the princess takes ill, I will make certain she arrives safely in her quarters. Why don't you return to the festivities?" She didn't look at Lucas as she spoke, but she knew he was hurt that she was ignoring him.

"My lady," Lucas said, drawing himself up. "I would have a word with you."

Estica frowned irritably. "Your grace, is it not apparent that I have been assigned to guard her majesty --?"

"My guards are here beside me," Corene said, waving a lazy paw. Indeed, two of her mastiff bodyguard had come up the steps and were standing behind her throne, paws behind their backs, cold and silent. "Please," she said. "E-Estica . . . fetch me another glass of wine. And something to eat. I feel I shall faint."

"Immediately, your highness," Estica murmured and made for the banquet tables at once. Irritation flickered in her eyes when Lucas followed her.

"How are you?" he asked.

"Have you not eyes?" Estica returned. She took up a plate and started gathering grapes from one of the bowls. She wished he would just go away. She hated being cold to him, but she knew it was the only way to make him stop pursuing. She had been at Howlester Manor for more than a year now. Lucas had sent her many letters, but until that night, had never worked up the courage to actually call on her.

"Yes," Lucas said with a smile. "And you are as lovely as the day I last saw you. I have been thinking of you . . . and little else . . . I came for you, Estica. To take you from here."

Estica didn't look at him. "You have wasted your time."

"Marry me. Come to Rorchester with me."

"No," was the simple reply. Her eyes found a cheese plate and she cut a slice for the princess, using the knife to lift it onto the plate.

Lucas frowned. "You can't be happy here playing guard."

"I find it remarkable that you think you should decide for me what I can and can not feel."

"What do they pay you for this mundane work? A pittance? I would take care of you."

"If you had a pair of tits, I just might take you up on that offer."

Lucas sighed. "Some things are more important than what . . . turns our heads. You could live comfortably with me for the rest of your life."

Estica shook her head, her long black mane cascading around her. She wore it in a low ponytail, very loose. The tip came to the small of her back. "I wouldn't call lying to myself living comfortably." She poured a wineglass and lifted it from the table. "Now if you'll excuse me . . . my lord."

Lucas didn't step aside. "I love you. Certainly you know this."

She looked at him apologetically. "I know."

He frowned. "And you honestly do not feel the same? That night we danced, I felt a connection, Estica. I looked at you . . . and felt I should be with you always."

"I'm s-sorry," Estica said, hating it when her voice broke. "I have ever thought of you as a dear friend, Lucas. Nothing more."

He glanced down and swallowed. "You love another, don't you?"

"Yes," she whispered, thinking of Marvene.

Even still, he looked at her hopefully. "What if I let you continue to see this other --?"

"Lucas!" Estica cried, astonished.

He smiled. "I didn't think so . . ." He glanced down. He hadn't yet stepped aside, and Estica knew he was thinking of kissing her. Her paws were full and she would not be able to stop him without dropping the plate, the wine, and causing a scene to boot. But the gentleman in him would not allow such a thing. So he looked at her lips and swallowed his desire away. "So this is it then? You will not be the Marchioness Estica Owen?"

Estica looked him in the eye and said apologetically, "I mean it, Lucas. I will not be the Marchioness Estica Owen."

Lucas nodded unhappily and stepped aside. "Farewell, then. . . . sweet Estica."

***

Lucas made his way back to the hall. There was no point staying for the ball. He had come for Estica and only for Estica. After her rejection, he didn't think he could stay, even though he knew he should. His father had told him not to return without a wife. The family needed an heir and had become so desperate that they were willing to mix bre - Lucas' thoughts shattered when he collided with someone. Or rather, they collided with him. A flash of brown mane, a scream, wine tossing, and then he was on the floor with bells ringing in his ears.

"Oh! I'm so, so sorry, my lord!" squealed a frantic voice.

Lucas moaned as someone pulled a dish cover off his face. Small paws clutched the front of his coat and helped him sit up.

"I am so, so sorry - oh, no! Your shirt is a mess!"

"Yes, well . . ." He looked up and his voice trailed off. A young maid knelt before him, her brown and white face anxious and small. Her brown mane was mussed and falling across one eye. He laughed: she had a pineapple slice slapped on her bangs. It slid in her eye and she squinted against it.

"Oh!"

"I've got it," Lucas said with a laugh and peeled the pineapple off. Without really knowing why, he pushed her bangs back from her face and paused. She had the prettiest eyes.

She gulped hard as he stared at her, and her lashes fluttered as she really looked at his face for the first time. He smiled: she liked what she saw.

"I - I could fetch you a clean shirt, my lord," the girl said, dropping her eyes away as she scrambled up.

Lucas got to his feet as well, staring at her. "No, no, my lady. I am more concerned with your . . . dress."

The girl's dress was wet with pineapple juice. It clung to her breasts, and Lucas could see the full shape of them, the nipples that stood out hard. A pineapple slice stuck to her nipple. He pealed it off with careful fingers. She watched with heaving breasts as he - without knowing why - lifted the fruit and slid it in her mouth. Their eyes locked as she sucked slowly on his finger. He pulled his finger free, and she swallowed breathlessly.

"Oh," she whispered and the white splotches on her face blushed. "You're s-so handsome, m'lord . . ." Her eyes widened to hear her own words. "I'm s-sorry! I-I didn't mean --"

He touched her lips to silence her. "I know what you meant." He took his finger away and looked at her mouth, glossy from the pineapple. Her little breasts were still heaving. She was stiff and alarmed, but she didn't stop him when he leaned down close. He touched his lips to hers in a tender kiss, and with sudden hunger, slipped his tongue in her mouth, closing his arms around her. She slid her arms around his neck and twisted her head to kiss him in turn. Their lips pealed apart and their foreheads touched.

He looked at her softly. "What is your name?"

"Elsi - I mean, Elizabeth, my lord."

He looked in her eyes and surprised them both when he whispered, "How would you like to become the Marchioness Elizabeth Owen?"