"Fifteen?" He shook his head. "Just a child."
"They married quite young back then," she pointed out. "Are there any paintings of you when you were young?" Lissianna nodded. "In the portrait room." His eyes lit up with interest. "There's a portrait room?" It didn't take the ability to read his mind to know that he'd like to see it, just as it hadn't taken the ability to read his mind for Lissianna to know that Greg's conversation with her mother had left him a little flabbergasted. When she'd entered the room, the man had been shaking his head and muttering to himself about something being a nightmare. Lissianna had no idea what had caused such a reaction, but had been so pleased her mother had decided to leave him free to roam the house, she'd merely asked if everything was all right. When he'd said yes, she'd suggested they join the others in the entertainment room for a movie.
They'd rented the movie from a rental shop next to the grocery store. It had been Thomas's idea, a way to keep the twins entertained. While they were unpacking groceries downstairs, he'd suggested they watch it once Marguerite had finished with Greg. Lissianna had thought it a good idea at the time; now, however, she decided they could give the movie a miss and detour to the portrait room instead. She was sure, though, that he'd regret asking it when he realized how many portraits there were. It was the equivalent of a family photo album, and since it started with the portrait of her mother before their marriage in 1280, and continued on until cameras came into existence in the 1800s, the number of portraits was staggering.
"Come on." Lissianna headed for the stairs. "I'll give you a quick tour before we join the others.'"
The portrait room had originally been the ballroom. When balls had gone out of fashion, they'd moved the portraits there rather than leave them in storage. There were a lot of them, and Greg seemed determined to examine every single one. He was openly fascinated by the bits of history revealed in the clothing arid surroundings.
"You have a handsome family," he commented, as they moved amongst the pictures of her brothers. Her mother had arranged the portraits in a time line, starting with one of herself and Jean Claude, painted the year they were married. It was followed by several more paintings of them; some of the couple together, some of each alone, then her brother Luc was born and joined the paintings, first as a baby, then as a boy, then as a man alone. His appearance was followed by Bastien's, then Etienne's, then herself.
"What was life like back then?" Greg asked, staring at the portrait of Lissianna that her father had commissioned for her twentieth birthday. She was seated under a tree wearing a long pale blue gown of the era.
"What was it like?" Lissianna repeated thoughtfully as memories assailed her. After a moment, she shook her head and said, "It was a time of gentility, gala balls, rides in the park--purely to be seen mind you," she added wryly, then said, "But there were no televisions, computers, or microwaves and women were as good as slaves."
"How do you mean?" Greg asked with a frown.
Lissianna shrugged. "We were allowed to possess no property or wealth and lived under the rule of our fathers until married. Females from the upper class were expected to marry well and have babies, then everything we inherited or possessed--including our very bodies and any children we produced--would became a possession of our husbands to do with as they wished."
"Hmm," Greg looked unimpressed with this news.
Lissianna smiled at his expression, then went on, "Females of every other class began working between the ages of eight and twelve. They, too, then married and everything they possessed--including their bodies and any children they produced--became their husbands', too. It's better today."
She noted his disappointment and smiled wryly. "You have the romantic view they show in movies and books. I'm afraid my view is colored by my memories and the fact that I'm a woman. It's easier to be a woman now. We needn't marry if we don't wish, and can't be forced to have children. We can get an education, have a career, own property, and possess wealth. When I was born, all we were expected or even allowed to do was be dutiful daughters, marry, and become dutiful wives and mothers."
"You didn't marry and have children," he pointed out, then tilted his head, frowned, and asked, "Did you?"
"No."
"Why? You're over two hundred."
Lissianna smiled faintly. "You make it sound like I'm an old maid. Everything is relative. When there is every likelihood you'll live a couple thousand years or longer, there's no need to rush into marriage."
"Yes, but-- Two hundred years? In that time you've never fallen in love?"
Lissianna shrugged. "It's difficult to fall in love when everyone you meet is nothing more than a pretty puppet."
Greg blinked. "I don't understand. Why a pretty puppet?"
Lissianna hesitated, then asked, "Could you love my mother?"
His expression was answer enough, but Greg said, "I'm not a control freak, but I like to at least be in control of myself in most situations. She makes me feel..."
"Inferior, like a child, nothing more than a walking, talking puppet," she suggested and Greg nodded with sudden understanding.
"I see. The relationship couldn't be balanced. Like with Meredith and me, you would always be in control."
Lissianna nodded. "And--like you--I need an equal."
They shared a smile, then Greg peered back along the pictures to the ones that included Jean Claude Argeneau. "Thomas said something about your father and control. Did it have something to do with--"
"My mother was a maid in a castle, just fifteen years old," Lissianna interrupted, peering up at a painting of her parents. ''Father could read her. He rode in on his steed; strong, handsome, and shiny as a new penny, and she was infatuated. He was like a god in her eyes and she was easily swept off her feet. Mother adored him and thought him perfect. All of which was no doubt flattering," Lissianna pointed out dryly. "He turned her and married her relatively quickly, and things were good for a short while."
"But--?"
"But, once the infatuation fell away, she saw that he wasn't perfect, and her thoughts weren't as flattering anymore." Lissianna glanced at him. "He, of course, could read the small critical thoughts as easily as he'd read the awe before it and became hurt and frustrated. He started drinking and philandering--no doubt in an attempt to bolster his flagging self-esteem."
"Could he control her like your mother does me?" Greg asked.