Page 90 of House of Roots and Ruin
“Your maid. I never caught her name.”
She blinked at me curiously.
“She’s blond…with very dark eyes?”
“I don’t have a maid…. Bastian is my valet. His hands are far more nimble than any scullery maid’s.” Her grin deepened, as if remembering exactly how dexterous those fingers were, and then she laughed. “My dresses always have the most impossibly tiny buttons.”
“Oh,” I said, remembering the short man who trailed after her with the books. “Of course. She must have been a housemaid, then.”
Dauphine gave me a peculiar stare. “There are no maids at Chauntilalie, Verity. I…I like to keep a firm control over”—she bit her lip—“the household expenses. It’s far too extravagant, having so many girls underfoot.”
“But…” I swallowed hard as I realized exactly who the young woman had been.
She wasn’t a maid; she was one of Gerard’s new conquests.
A mistress.
Kept right underneath Dauphine’s nose.
I opened my mouth, ready to tell her, but there was something in her eyes. She knew. She knew or she suspected and was already bracing herself for the pain to come. I couldn’t stand to be the one to bring it down upon her.
So I rubbed my forehead, feigning confusion. “Did I say a maid? I meant a footman. How silly of me.” I offered out a remorsefulgrin. “I’m afraid last night’s champagne has completely muddled my mind.”
Dauphine paused before smiling, a beat late. “The fault is all mine. I shouldn’t have burst in on you with all of this, just as you’re waking. Why don’t I let you get ready for the day and then we can begin our work? There’s coffee and a light breakfast. I think that will do you a world of good. Will one hour be enough?”
I nodded.
“Out on the terrace, then, away from all this candle smoke.”
“You didn’t say she was joining us,” Marguerite grumbled as I stepped onto the terrace an hour later. I’d dressed in my best afternoon gown, pale blush linen with ladders of crocheted lace set into the bodice. It looked like the thing a bride-to-be ought to wear as she planned her wedding. I’d felt confident and assured as I walked through the halls of Chauntilalie. But three seconds of Marguerite’s grousing already had me feeling wilted.
“We’re looking through wedding details,” Dauphine said, the corners of her painted lips tight. “Where else would she be?”
“You didn’t say that either.” Marguerite sipped at her tea, its surface dotted with tiny lilac petals, appraising me with a cool eye before turning away, making her stance completely known.
“Now, then,” Dauphine said, setting aside her own cup of tea and picking up a pen. The table before us was a mess of paper and ink, color swatches and a calendar. “Will all your sisters serve as attendants?”
“The cursed girls?They’llbe coming here?” Marguerite rubbed at her temple. “This truly is too much to bear.”
“Mother,” Dauphine hissed.
“Attendants, for the wedding,” I repeated, trying to ignore the older woman. “I’m sure my sisters will be here, though I’ll have to ask them. They still haven’t heard about any of this, obviously.”
I’d have to write them all and explain my news. I was sure Honor and Mercy would be delighted for me. Annaleigh too, probably. Pontus knows if I’d ever be able to locate Lenore to tell her. And Camille…
Part of me believed she would be happy. After all, I was marrying into a duchy; it would be a great honor for our family, help solidify her alliances on the mainland. But even still…
She’d not wanted me to leave in the first place. Telling her that I was to remain here forever might not go over well. Would she try to stop it? A sliver of worry flickered within me. I could absolutely imagine her writing to Gerard, making up an excuse why the wedding should not take place.
“Perhaps your older nieces could serve as flower girls.”
“That’s sweet of you to include them both. It would have been difficult to choose just one.”
“Oh my dear, you’ll have far more than just them! The flower ring is one of the most important parts of the ceremony—other than the vows, of course. You’ll need at least eight for the traditional blossoms. Alexander will probably want alyssums as well…,” she murmured, jotting the note down. “So nine…Are there any flowers particularly meaningful to you?”
“I…I’m not sure. I don’t even know what a flower ring is.”
Marguerite let out a noise of strangled surprise. “You draggedme back for this? Why on earth are you allowing Alexander to marry this incompetent girl?”
