Younger Than She

"For what is wedlock forced but a hell?"

February 19th

As the sun set on her eldest's birthday, Goneril had retreated into her study. Children's birthdays were even worse than her own for reminding her of her age. Miranda was twenty-two, which meant Goneril was forty-four. She would be married twenty-five years come May. Twenty-five years was more than half of her life; in turn, that meant she had spent more of her life married to Albany than not. For all of that, she hadn't even the consolation of a married heiress; Miranda was as stubborn and childish at twenty-two as she had been at sixteen.

That, unlike age, was something Goneril could change.

"The Lady Miranda, your ladyshi-"

"She knows who I am, Phyrnia," Miranda scowled. "Haven't you something better to do with your time than announce the obvious?"

Unfazed, Goneril pinched her book shut. "Thank you, Phyrnia. Miranda, sit down." She looked her daughter over with faint disapproval. "You aren't dressed for the party."

"Neither are you." When her mother only raised her brows, Miranda pressed on. "Or is your maid still sewing the tiara onto your wig so it doesn't fall into the punch again?"

"Miranda, I didn't call you here for a battle of barbs and quips. If you cannot be civil, you will be quiet." When Miranda shrugged, Goneril took her victory and pressed on. "You must agree that I have been extraordinarily patient with you these last several years. Childishness, sourness, disloyalty-"

"You hardly need to summon me so formally to name all my faults again. You admire directness, Mother, so why not be plain?"

"The privileges of being born a Capulet come with duties attached. All of us must work toward what is best for the family. I have, thus far, tolerated your closeness with your cousin when it is all too plain that she and her sister would be the ruin of us. I know that bond and the difficulty it would be to leave it. But I expect you to give at least as much favor to me as you do to anyone else."

"And how would you have me do that?" Miranda sighed.

"You aren't a child anymore." Goneril set her shoulders with pride. "I was your mother at the same age you now sit unattached."

"You can't be surprised, Mother. Contrary to what you say, all of Verona knows I may never be Lady Capulet. That sort of asset has to be concrete to be worth overlooking my bent nose, my scar, and the rest of my flaws."

"Not everyone agrees with that, child. I am quite confident that my own daughter will be the next Capulet married."

"A fair bet," Miranda sighed, "when you consider the competition."

"A certainty, in fact. I have come to an agreement with Lord Norman on your behalf, for your betrothal to his son: your cousin, Stephen."

Miranda's blood ran cold through her veins. Her stomach and her skin tingled with dread. When her heart skipped a beat, she thought it might not start again. "Stephen? He's an arrogant, dim-witted toad!"

"All of which are other ways of saying 'easily controlled', which you will learn is an essential quality in a husband."

"But you hate the Normans, especially Lord Norman. Are you punishing me by giving me away to them? Is that it?"

Goneril shook her head. "Hardly, child. The Normans are out of favor and heavily indebted - most notably, to us. For Lord Norman, my forgiving that debt is as good as a large dowry to him, and that is more than he could expect to get for Stephen in the next year or two, considering his disgrace. Of course, Stephen cannot be Lord Norman and Lord Capulet at once; I suspect Lord Norman plans to marry again and try for a son. But I have every belief he will forget that plan when a ready-made heir, his son's son, mothered by the best blood in the realm, is presented to him. Think of it, Miranda! Your son will have a noble title, one invigorated by its blood link to ours, and will bind two houses together. You, as Lady Capulet, would be guaranteed a supporter in the wider Council, as would your descendants for generations."

While she heard the words, Miranda didn't believe them. Her mother hated the Normans. She went out of her way to make them suffer for being related to the husband she despised. These shrewd, political thoughts were what her mother had used on Lord Norman to convince her she had some desire to merge their houses once again. The glimmer in her mother's eye betrayed a more personal motivation to Miranda. "Why?"

"Because I want you to inherit my title and live up to your birth. Neither of those things can happen until you are bent to reason. If you obey my wishes and show me your loyalty, you will remain my heiress. Child, your aunt and I didn't choose our husbands. We gained money and land from your aunt's marriage, and mine put an end to the Normans' political opposition. That was the duty we owed to our mother and what you owe to me: a great duty in return for greater rewards." Goneril smiled coldly.

"And you expect me to think that is worth being chained to a blundering, embarrassing idiot forever?"

"I've been in that situation for nearly twenty-five years, Miranda." For the first time, Goneril's tone was motherly and almost soft. "You are a daughter of the House of Capulet, far above the common lady who marries her husband for security. Husbands are a trial and a conquest. We undertake them for gains that help us in our real goals. And I can assure you firsthand that there are immense sources of pleasure available to a woman with such advantages."

"And if I do not?"

"Everything you despise about your existence will be laid on Desdemona, and you will no longer be my daughter. You will go from this house and go tonight." Like a preying cat, Goneril sized up her daughter. "But where do you have to go? Crawling to your cousin who prefers her founding's company to yours? Imagine, siding with him over her own blood! Even you have more pride than that, Miranda. Yet, if you would prefer shifting for yourself among gypsies and beggars to this small obligation, then by all means, do."

For only one moment, Miranda thought she heard a flicker in her mother's voice. She was too anxious to allow herself believe her mother bore her any tender feelings. In a better state of mind, she would have known her mother would never have suffered to see her firstborn become an embarrassment. Miranda was too wound up to do anything but take her mother at her word. "How long do I have to decide?"

"Lord Norman wished to have you greet your cousin in private before the party. I will delay it until supper. If you come and submit to me, all will be forgotten. Else, you will not be my daughter anymore."

You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need....

I will have such revenges on you both,
That all the world shall --
I will do such things --

What they are, yet I know not: but they shall be
The terrors of the earth. You think I’ll weep?
No, I’ll not weep.

"Have you gone completely insane, coz?"

Miranda had left her door unlocked for just this reason. She tried not to look too happy. "What did you say, Hermia?"

"You know what I said!" Suddenly cognizant of being in a house full of unfriendly ears, Hermia lowered her voice. "Why does everyone think you're engaged to that Norman creature?"

"Because I am." Hermia snorted in disbelief. Miranda slid down the length of her bed and bade her come over with a wave. "Lord Norman is desperate, and Mother can smell blood. She's already plotting for my son to replace Stephen as Lord Norman's heir."

"A grand bargain! Lord Norman gets rid of his idiot, your mother gains a secondary title for her descendants-"

"And effectively ruins the independence of my father's family."

Hermia looked sidelong at her cousin. "And you would waste yourself on Stephen Norman for that?"

"No, not for that. It was either marriage or disinheritance... and if I chose the latter, Desi would have become the sacrifice."

"In truth, Miranda... I didn't know you loved Desi that much."

"I don't even love you that much." When her joke fell flat, she shrugged. "Desi might be happy in a marriage someday. The only thing marriage has been to me is inevitable if I remained here, and I think we know what sort of nun or peasant I would be."

"Coz, how could I let you do this? Reconsider your decision. Puck and I would happily-"

"Don't," Miranda snapped. There was no question of taking refuge with Hermia and Puck. It might inflame old jealousies that she was working so hard to put to rest. Few days passed, even days when Miranda felt scorned and lonely, in which she didn't spend some time considering how fortunate she had been not to ruin Hermia's life. If anyone deserved to be happy, it was Hermia, even if that meant Puck came first forever. "I can't hide from her or from this."

"That doesn't mean you have to marry an ignoramus! We could at least find you someone more palatable." Hermia paused, visibly straining to think of anyone Miranda would find acceptable. "Puck could write to the queen. There are a few unwed Fae princes, and Queen Mab is anxious to have them settled. You could have your pick of them, and if you were a princess, your mother would be obliged to pass you over."

Her cousin's desperation was more succor to Miranda than Hermia could ever know. "My mother is still smarting over your marriage to a 'mongrel Fae founding.' She wouldn't accept a Fae match for me now, not when it would give Lady Summerdream that much more influence. And, of course, if you caught a Summerdream, I must 'do better'. Maybe if Mother is satisfied with this, Desi might..." She shook her head to focus her mind. "If one has no choice in one's husband, an ignoramus isn't such a bad outcome. He could be tractable, and he's too stupid to stop the hammer from falling."

Wry for the first time this evening, Hermia asked, "The hammer, Miranda?"

"If I can't prevent the marriage, I can make them regret it. I will be the dutiful daughter and the proper wife. I'll do just enough to make them ignore the little indignities and punishments coming down on their heads. They will never see the sum of it all until they're drowning in the muck beside me, the lot of them."

Disbelief was written all over Hermia's face, but she nodded indulgently. "If you change your mind, coz, or if you ever tire of being a hammer, you'll always have a home with me."

"I know."

Next Post: "There is no vice so simple but assumes some mark of virtue on his outward parts."