Despite telling herself that like the others, she would easily send this new suitor on his way, her father's word sank deep, and Enora began to fret. 

Walking past his wing of the building the next morning before lunch and seeing the various trunks lining the hallway under the row of family portraits as if waiting to be packed onto wagons and carried away, made her swallow uncomfortably.

When Enora reached her room, she stopped dead at the doorway. The large room was bare of all her possessions, and in their place stood one open trunk at the foot of her four-poster bed, her clothing spilling out from the top.

"What is the meaning of this, Larsie?" she asked the girl who she spotted near her wardrobe.

"Your father ordered me to pack for you. He said you would not do it yourself," the girl explained, stopping with a pair of riding breeches in her hand. Her face was pink from exertion and her brows were creased as if annoyed at being interrupted, or perhaps preparing for what she knew Enora would say about the situation.

As Enora continued to stare at her, she saw the slim girl bite her lower lip.

"Please don't do this to me, Enora," she said raising her free hand to wipe the sweat from her forehead onto the back of her wrist. "Don't put me in the middle of a war between your father and yourself. I am your maid, and he is your father but this is your brother's household. I wish the three of you would not give me contradictory orders as I am bound to have two of you angry at me."

"Why, what did my brother say?" Enora asked curiously.

"He said that I should only pack enough to appease your father's belief that you are leaving and save myself the trouble of unpacking when it becomes clear that you are not."

Enora laughed and saw the way the sound of it loosened the tension in the girl's shoulders. "Good old Antony."

Larsie ran her hand through her blonde hair, moving the strands away from her eyes. "So, may I continue? Or will you rail at me now?"

"Am I a monster that rails at you regularly?" Enora asked crossing the rug to stand over the open trunk. She touched the fine blue cloth of the shawl her mother had left her.

"No, but your cross looks are enough to send me into a tizzy."

"I highly doubt it."

Enora looked over her room. It was strange to see it without the few possessions she treasured. Her music books and art supplies had been put away. As had the jewelry box her mother gave her.

"Luckily you are not a reader. With all the books your father is bringing they will need several wagons to prevent weighing down the horses," Larsie said from where she'd disappeared behind the tall, wooden wardrobe door again.

"Maybe all this packing is for the best," Enora said after a long stretch of silence.

"Is it?" Larsie asked peeking her head out.

"Yes. I will be leaving this house once I turn twenty-two and have access to the funds my mother left me. I plan to settle in a house in the city. I will be very fashionable and have many lovers. You of course will come with me and if my father chooses, so may he."

"Many lovers?" Larsie repeated, her lips curving up in a mocking smile. "Hundreds?"

"Thousands."

Larsie laughed. "I am sorry, but I cannot see that."

"You are right. I do not want children and there is no way around that if one becomes involved with men."

"You don't?" Larsie asked, her brow furrowing. "But I thought you said you wanted at least—"

"That was before a babe ripped my mother apart as it attempted to enter this world," she said with a shudder at the memory of the dark room with its stench of blood and her mother's cries of agony.  She shook the memory away, lifting her chin as she walked to the window and stared out. "No, I will not risk it. Besides I will be a little too busy starting a business to have time for men."

"A business?"

Enora tapped her fingertips against the cool glass, as she remembered what her father had said. She did not know how seriously to take his words. 

"What kind of business?" the girl asked, leaning against the wardrobe door.

"I thought perhaps to open an institution for the gifted. My mother helped me to shape my gift. I want to do the same for others."

"What did your father say to this?"

Enora ignored her question. "It would be for young women who have attained independence, just as I will soon. Only it would help those without the financial means to support themselves. I have many ideas on how to operate at a profit. And as you know I am skilled in that way." 

"But what did your father say to this?" Larsie asked again.

Enora smiled. "Antony said that although he was neither gifted nor female, he would help me any way he could."

"Of course, your brother would say that, but what about your father?" Larsie pressed.

Enora sighed, her lips turning down. She turned to face the girl. "He said bringing attention to my own gift and gathering others with gifts in the same place was both dangerous and foolish. He does not trust the new queen."

"Many do not. Perhaps your father is right."

"I must do something with the money. I don't want to squander the opportunity my mother left me." Enora paused, as the memory of her mother, settled like a sad grief on her shoulders. "She's the reason, I'm not married yet."

"How so?"

"As you know, my father has the authority to sign any marriage contract without my consent. On her deathbed, she made him promise to let me choose. That is why there have been so many suitors. He hopes that I will fall head over heels for a pretty face. I have to admit that sixty-four, was very pretty and did come close."

Larsie laughed. "Very close. How did you get rid of this one by the way? He seemed very persistent and not someone you could easily reject."

Enora shrugged her shoulders. "Who knows? He suddenly decided that he didn't like my scent. He found me so revolting, that he rushed from the room, holding back bile. I have no idea what came over him."

"Um hmm..." Larsie said, carrying an armful of clothes and dumping them on top of the trunk.

"Is this how you pack?"

"When I know you are serious about leaving, I will pack more neatly."

A discreet knock at the open door had them both turning to face her father's man, Torsten. He stood in dark trousers and an embroidered vest, similar to what her father preferred for himself, his thinning hair combed back neatly.

"Lady Enora, your father wishes you to join him at the luncheon table in one hour. Mr. Cadel has arrived."

She nodded, waiting until she heard his footsteps retreating to release a long pent-up breath.

"Here we go again," she said.

"Which of the ugly dresses do you want this time?"

"The ugliest, if you don't mind. The brown with the orange flowers will do perfectly for this momentous occasion of my very last suitor. Luckily Aunt Helen had the worst taste in dresses. They have been very valuable these last few years for my visits with my prospective bridegrooms." 

She watched Larsie move back toward the wardrobe. "Oh, and can you help do that thing to my hair again? Make me look like a penniless governess with a severe bun. I want my hair pulled back from my scalp so hard my eyes water."

"As you wish, my lady," Larsie said with an elaborate curtsey before her laughter filled the room.

Author's Note:

Only one more suitor to go before Enora's momentous birthday milestone. Do you think the dress will work to scare off Aaden? 

How is the world-building? Is there enough detail to pull a reader in?