’I’m not stupid, you know,’ the younger woman had stated and Genevieve found herself realizing that she had had a similar reaction in the past. Unlike what she wanted others to believe, the older witch oftentimes found herself in Meredith’s place, arguing against the system and expecting change; her older cousin Augustus had often saved her many a punishment by diluting her anger with promises of his own, courageously speaking to his father in order to grant the witch more liberties. Genevieve, too, had listened begrudgingly as her aunts and uncles, both blood-related and those in spirit, reminded her that her motivations were much too childish and unbefitting of a woman of her status. And finally, after all of the molding that had been done to keep her in line over the years, Genevieve sat here in their place telling Meredith to get in line or risk the consequences. The hypocrisy of it all would have made her sick had she the boldness to tell herself that she had been raised to give into a broken system.
While Genevieve could understand Meredith’s feelings, she refrained from commiserating with any of them, believing that a moment of vulnerability on her part would only send the wrong message. She was much too young; she simply wouldn’t understand the sacrifices that the older witch had made to rise to her position in society. It was a grossly overstated lie, but the idea of being seen as a martyr somehow struck with her and fed into the fantastical narrative that she had created for herself. It certainly sounded much better than the decadent and deplorable nature of the life she led, glimpses of which one could catch in the gossip columns of the Daily Prophet. In a way, it comforted her to believe that everything she involved herself in had a higher purpose.
The older witch smiled at her slightly when she reacted to Hefin being brought up in conversation, “Of course it isn’t,” she muttered thereafter but had only done so in sarcasm. In Genevieve’s universe it was common knowledge that male heirs were always treated much better than they deserved. In the Grosvenor household, she was unsure if it was due to the belief that men had superior intellectual capacity or that they were able to carry on the family name but the fact remained the same, male heirs had always seen with high regard in the family. The double standard was obvious in her own day to day life; Augustus had always been favored and though Genevieve demonstrated intelligence and emotional strength, his own had always been praised more in comparison. Though her family did not intrude on things such as her future career openly, in theory, she assumed that a career that seemed overtly masculine or required her to work in questionable practices would be strictly forbidden. Nevertheless, Genevieve did enjoy many benefits of her own. She came and went as she pleased, even if mostly in secret, and was often not scolded for her appearance in the papers. Over time, the younger witch had transformed herself into a dual entity: in the eyes of her family, she was an image of upstanding tradition and citizenship and in the eyes of her friends or acquaintances; she was a self-important caricature of herself.
Though practically non-existent, it was her romantic life that often gave her much pleasure, both physically and emotionally, which made the stresses of the everyday seem insignificant in comparison. On a superficial layer, it was for obvious reasons. The heiress had been raised in an environment in which she thrived from adulation and attention. There was an almost addictive quality to having the eyes of another following her every move. While in childhood it was preferred when she was performing good deeds, over time she found that people’s reactions to her wild nature were much larger, much more desirable. Combined with a lack of discipline and natural curiosity, Genevieve did not shy away from taboo subjects and her intimate life was no different. In fact, she believed that it was in intimacy that one saw her at her best: carefree, unguarded, and utterly at bliss.
She found Meredith’s reaction to be endearing and wondered for a moment if at seventeen, the younger witch had had any experiences of her own. Genevieve had first become well versed on such subjects early in her adolescence, first at the courtesy of her intended fiancée and later several times over by a plethora of attractive schoolmates and later, acquaintances. She nodded in response, a cheeky grin on her face as the conversation shifted. “Are you—Are you suggesting--?” she repeated in a mocking tone, a sort of malicious intention evident in the manner in which she spoke, “that you haven’t, Meredith? For Merlin’s sake, don’t be such a prude, of course it’s what I’m suggesting, it might do you some good…you know, help you get some of that pent up frustration out of your system,” she teased. In a way, it was her own brand of personal advice. It was not as if Genevieve did not have similar reasons for doing the same thing.
But whether Meredith had the experience or wanted it to begin with was beside the point. As the conversation topic change, so had the mood, and with it, all of the heavy thinking that the older witch tended to do when her values were questions went along with it. Things were much more manageable when her mood was light and unaffected, it was the proper way of a lady she had been told by someone at one point in her life or another. “I would tell you how I like to have my fun but I might make you blush,” she joked, a mischievous twinkle in her blue-grey eyes as she considered which one of her many one-night stands might scandalize the younger woman the most. “But in all honesty,” she returned to her serious expression if only for a moment, “You ought to consider it, hooking up as you call it might be a good way to gain experience and break that…nasty fairy-tale forming habit of yours, give you a taste of what real men in the real world are like. I’ve had my pick of bright, handsome young blokes and the lot of them are absolutely mad and considerably subpar and…more aspects than one,” she added, her nose wrinkling at the thought of some of her less than pleasant experiences.
As Genevieve saw the maid approach the table with a bottle of champagne and two gold plated crystal champagne flutes, she put her hand up to stop her. “On second thought,” she started, rising to her feet with purpose, “Let’s take this up to my room, I can show you—I’ve an album, you see, of Britain’s most eligible bachelors. Take a good look and I can see if you’ve any good taste in men,” she said with a laugh, the thought suddenly entertaining. “Bring the champagne upstairs, and some more dessert, I’m feeling quite peckish,” she commanded the maid who simply nodded in obedience. Taking the younger woman’s hand, Genevieve pulled her along inside. "This will be fun, you will see," she promised with a bright smile.
It was the least she could do, she decided. When all was said and done, it was still a charitable act, showing Meredith the ways of their kind.
