The Queen's Invitation

Mabel was half-reclined on the narrow cot, slipping into a fitful sleep, when she jolted upright and hurried to him.

“Arthur! Are you all right?”

“...Call my parents,” he rasped, his voice a low growl as he fought to speak.

She bolted out and knocked on the master bedroom door.

Mildred flung it open with the blank expression of a stone slab. Bare feet, no slippers. Right behind her, Walter’s eyes burned red from sleeplessness as he stumbled in.

They had already sensed the worst.

“Arthur’s awake!”

That was all it took. They shoved her aside and raced for his room. Mabel followed right behind.

When all three burst into the chamber at once, Arthur gazed at them with fever-bright eyes. The faintest twitch tried to lift the corners of his mouth as if he might smile.

His gaze caught on Mabel.

“...Mabel, my good and dear little sister. You must go to university and find a way to cure this illness. I trust you.”

Each word he forced out came with the wet rattle of air leaving his lungs.

Mabel burst into tears and nodded fiercely.

“Yes, Uncle Arthur. I promise. Please... get better soon.”

“Mother... Father...”

Arthur’s hollow, red-rimmed eyes watered with the effort.

Walter stood frozen, face carved from stone. Mildred clutched Arthur’s hand as if she might faint any second.

“...I’m truly sorry I disappointed you.”

His eyelids fluttered shut.

Arthur Frederick Darlington never saw noon that day. He was only nineteen.

Winter 1922.

Mabel’s debut had been decided.

“Next May, when the royal court hosts the debutantes’ ball, you will understand.”

Walter summoned her to the study and spoke the words like a death sentence.

“Arthur’s mourning period is nearly over. We can no longer delay. You turn twenty soon. If you haven’t come out by then, the ton will start whispering.”

Mildred chimed in from beside him.

Mabel stared at the floor and bit her lip.

Coming out was both her legal passage into adulthood and her official entry into society. Most of all, it was the great declaration that she would now step onto the marriage market.

Yet it was the royal court ball itself.

After Arthur died, everything changed so abruptly. Why the rush now?

The Darlington fortune had tilted sharply after his passing.

Walter and Mildred had spent their last reserves keeping appearances. The household staff had dwindled from eight to four. The servants muttered that Walter was drinking himself into ruin and gambling on reckless stock tips.

Mildred had taken the mourning period as an excuse to abandon all social obligations.

Hosting the royal debutantes’ ball would cost a fortune. Wardrobes, travel, every detail. Mabel had never even considered marriage. Her first duty was to carry out Arthur’s last wishes.

She still had two and a half years of her undergraduate program left. After that she planned to enroll in graduate school and establish a specific goal: proving that shell shock was not mere nerve damage, but a true psychic condition that required experimental psychological study.

She had a secret no one knew yet, but she knew the road would be brutal. Resistance was inevitable.

After the war, the world had turned upside down. More women attended university and held jobs than before, yet for a girl of her class the idea still felt impossibly distant.

Even the graduates of Spence School had shown the way. They came out, married within a year, and settled into town houses on Fifth or Park Avenue.

Like Arabella.

Arabella had married Captain Hamilton the day she graduated and already had a son.

If I choose the scholar’s path, marriage will be nearly impossible. No gentleman will welcome a blue-stocking, Uncle Walter’s words aside.

After long deliberation, Mabel decided to tell Walter her resolve.

If she was destined to live alone, she must prepare for that future. First she needed the exact sum left by her parents.

Mabel gathered her courage and knocked on the study door.

“Uncle Walter, I... I would rather finish university and continue my research there. So, I was wondering... could you tell me how much of the inheritance I have received?”

She asked carefully.

Walter’s face flushed scarlet. He stormed forward, berating her.

“What good is knowing such things? I’ve worked so hard to make you a respected royal debutante and find you the finest husband, and you dare question me? After I raised you since you were five, this rude impertinence! Where on earth did you learn such ill manners?”

“I didn’t mean it that way... I’m sorry, Uncle.”

Mabel bowed her head in shock and apologized.

He had been more of a father to her than the real one she barely remembered. She had never doubted him. Not until now.

Walter’s voice gradually softened after a long silence.

“Your parents would have wanted you to use the inheritance for something useful. This is all for your future. Research, whatever. Stop wasting breath.”

Only then did the full weight of the royal debutantes’ ball settle on her. Her precious inheritance was to be spent on it, and she had never even consented.

She could not refuse.

Within the Darlington family, the choice had always been Walter and Mildred’s to make. For Mabel, the only choice offered was obedience. She had never dared dream of rebellion, lest she lose the only people who had raised her.

If that was unacceptable, she would have to marry and escape the family. But even then, she would simply trade one set of owners for another.

A strangled laugh escaped her.

“I’ll be busy preparing for the coming-out, so I’ll take a leave for the spring semester. Perhaps it’s best to withdraw entirely.”

The command hit Mabel like a thunderbolt, yet Walter spoke lightly, as if it were nothing.

Perfect French, ballroom dancing, and flawless full court curtseys.

“...Yes, Uncle.”

Mabel forced the words out. She already knew Walter took her studies far too lightly to care. She had simply scolded herself for feeling wounded.

Would I really be chosen? There are so many applicants.

The competition for invitations to the royal event was fierce. In America, the daughters of prominent families applied through royal sponsors, yet only four or five received invitations after the strict selection.

The Darlington name carried weight in diplomacy and the law, but it was not comparable to the Vanderbilts, the Astors, or the Rockefellers.

Therefore, she had no real chance. Mabel silenced her unease and comforted herself.

March 2, 1923, Friday.

A letter bearing the red wax seal of the British royal court arrived at the Darlington house.

Inside the crisp envelope lay a formal invitation stamped with the Lord Chamberlain’s seal and a letter detailing the dress code and etiquette.

What Mabel had forgotten was that her grandfather had once served as United States Ambassador to the Court of St. James. The London royal circle still remembered his connections, and the sponsor who stepped forward was none other than the wife of the current American ambassador.

Walter and Mildred received the news with the joy of castaways clutching the last life preserver.

Mabel simply closed her eyes and sighed, as if stepping naked into a raging sea.