Torn, page 11
I was growing impressed, I had to admit. Even Kristos would have appreciated the First Duke’s dedication to his scholarship. “Make sure,” I joked, “that those trade agreements include continued imports of that wonderful equatorial cotton.”
“I shall keep that in mind.” Theodor hailed the servant, who brought me a fresh glass of wine. “But only,” he said, “if you promise not to go too fast. This sparkling stuff catches up to you.”
He was right—my laugh was coming more easily and I was actually enjoying myself. “Are you speaking from experience?”
Theodor inclined his head toward me, as though sharing a great secret. His eyes widened. “I once had to be uncoupled from a potted palm tree at the Grand Duchess Pristina’s birthday ball.”
I erupted in laughter, and even the blonde and her enamored suitor stopped whispering in one another’s ears long enough to stare.
“Up, you four!” Viola stood over us like an imposing statue despite her petite frame. She waved her arms like a conductor. “Move to the tall table by the north window for your next course.”
Somewhere between our first table and the tall table spread with cheeses, paper-thin sliced meats, and exotic fruits oozing ruby juices, we lost our companions. Theodor didn’t say anything, but I thought they disappeared into one of the adjacent rooms. I tried not to stare after them even though Theodor didn’t seem surprised—were such obvious trysts common with the nobility? Or only at Viola’s salon?
“How does Lady Viola decide who to invite here?” I mused out loud, wondering partially about the rude behavior of our companions.
“People who please her in one way or another,” Theodor answered. “Some she finds entertaining. Some who connect her to the people she actually wants to invite. Some she is impressed by or enjoys their pursuit of their art.” He speared a cube of cheese with one of the tiny forks provided to us. “I like to believe I’m in that category,” he added. “You most certainly are.”
“I—thank you,” I replied instead of arguing.
“And some she wants to sleep with.”
I stared at Theodor, mouth agape.
“I’m joking! Mostly,” he amended. “Come now, you’ve heard the rumors.”
“I—I confess that I haven’t heard any specifics.”
“I forgot you don’t move in these upper-crust circles so bored by their own useless opulence that they have to invent stories and embellish the few real ones that float about.” Theodor took a larger-than-necessary draught of wine. “The old bats like to say that the only reason Viola invites any of the young gentlemen or ladies here is that she has some sort of insatiable nymphomania. I tend to think they’re all a mite jealous that they aren’t invited.”
“I can’t imagine rumormongers like that would have any real reason to be here,” I replied.
“See? You understand the salon better than most already. It’s supposed to be a place for conversation, learning, advancement. That was Viola’s concept, her plan. How she wanted to influence the world for good.”
“You have had quite a bit of that wine, haven’t you?”
Theodor grinned. “Yes, I have. Hide the palm trees lest I get any ideas.” His smile softened. “It is a noble venture, Viola’s salon.”
“You said ‘mostly.’” The wine had taken its effect on me, as well, loosening my tongue on subjects I would never have discussed otherwise.
“What?”
“You said you were mostly joking. About this den of iniquity.”
The duke laughed. “Not just here—” He stopped when he saw my face. “I forget that you’re, well …”
“Common?” I supplied.
“Hardly,” he replied with a grin. “Not of the nobility. This kind of thing”—he waved toward the closed door of the anteroom where our companions had retired—“it’s hardly unusual.”
“But she—if there were a child—she’d be—”
“Ruined? Not at all. Many a lady’s marriageable reputation has been made by her ability to conceive. The bastards haven’t the rights of inheritance, of course, but no nobleman would think of not supporting them.”
I stared at him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have even thought to discuss something like this.”
“No, I brought it up.” He scrutinized a sliver of fruit. “Tactical error on my part. We grow so used to it—to marriage being a political strategy, to children being heirs.” He sighed, and I wondered if he regretted that reality that made affairs the temporary escape from arranged marriages.
Of course, I didn’t even have escapism when it came to romance. Without the insurance of copious amounts of money, a bastard was a liability and nothing more. And though I had, rather unwisely, engaged in a few flirtations with shopkeepers’ apprentices and tradesmen over the years, the care I had to take made the whole enterprise feel hardly worthwhile. A bastard for a noble meant assurance of marriageability, but for me it meant a sudden loss of income with an extra person to provide for. I had long since decided that the risks were too great for a woman in my position. I hadn’t even allowed myself the pleasure of talking—flirting, I admitted—like this in years.
I stabbed a hunk of cheese, frustrated. The duke watched me with concern blooming behind his hazel eyes.
“We are speaking of such foolishly serious things when there is sparkling wine and delicious food at hand.”
“And hardly know one another,” I added, by way of apology. It wasn’t his fault that I had chosen a detestably difficult personal life for myself.
“You’re right! We ought to know one another better,” he said, eyes brightening. “Have you any sisters? Brothers?”
“One brother,” I replied simply. “You?”
“Five brothers and one sister, smack in the middle of us.”
“Five!”
“Yes. The Dukes Second through Sixth.” He paused. “Parents?”
“Both dead. You?”
“Sweet mother, very alive and very meddlesome father.” He arrested himself and burst out laughing. “Now that was just awful—this is the worst conversation I’ve ever engaged in!”
“Truly?”
“The worst because it’s one of the best. Very honest.” He leaned closer and rested his hand on the small of my back.
I began to protest, but stopped myself. He was a noble—a high-ranking one. There was no chance he was about to suggest marriage to me, like Jack Parry outside a tavern. It was absurdly perfect. And though I had no plans to slip off to an anteroom with the duke, I admitted that I was less inclined to turn it down immediately than I would have believed. I enjoyed talking to him, and his deep melodic voice, and his smile.
“What’s your favorite plant?” I asked softly.
Theodor looked surprised. “Rose balsam—garden jewelweed. Grows nearly anywhere. It can be cultivated in a wide range of colors, and the stems are a dermal medicinal.”
“But why is it your favorite?”
“All of that wasn’t enough?” He smiled, and I was acutely aware of his fingers on my waist. “I like that it’s beautiful but hardy. I don’t care for fussy flowers. I like that it’s a common garden plant with a useful function. And I can remember planting them and then promptly ripping them out of the garden as a child. So there. Satisfactory answer?”
“Very much so.” I rolled a thin slice of meat around a sliver of fruit.
A servant appeared, quietly directing us to another low table, this one with a view of the wide river and the public gardens beyond. A tray with miniature cakes and dark chocolate wedges was laid out.
Theodor dropped onto a cushion. I wanted to sit beside him, but that seemed too presumptuous, too close. I sat opposite him instead. I thought he looked faintly disappointed, but he swiftly handed me a piece of chocolate.
“Cacao may be one of my other favorite plants,” he said with a wink. “Something else to make sure remains on the trade agreements with the Allied States.”
Our hostess reappeared and settled herself beside me on a cushion. “I am so very glad you stayed,” Viola said.
“As am I,” Theodor said softly.
“She must come again,” Viola said to him with a conspiratorial smile. “Perhaps you could help me convince her of that.”
I began to demur as I always did, but I stopped myself. Why argue? I liked visiting the salon—I liked the ladies here with their varied talents. I liked Theodor’s company. I liked Lady Viola and her high ideals that pushed her to create this small community.
“I will certainly make my case,” Theodor said with a smile.
13
“WHERE WERE YOU ALL AFTERNOON?” PENNY SWEPT A PILE OF threads from the table in front of her. “We had three new orders—three!”
“Three?” I did a quick tabulation. This made seven new orders in a week and would certainly increase our wait time for any more orders. Perhaps I would be able to bring Emmi on, at least for a few hours a week. I didn’t even begin to complete the math on cost for another hire, especially a hire I would have to train, before Penny continued.
“Yes, three—and Alice and I were up to our ears in work!”
“I’m so sorry,” I replied. The afternoon in Viola’s ballroom had felt like a dream, a fairy tale, but now the bubbles from the sparkling wine faded and paled, and I was back to what I knew was my real life. I looked over Alice’s head, dutifully bent over a length of fabric, marking it with chalk, and saw the piles of unfinished work scattered about the studio. Already the light was fading outside.
Guilt sank into my stomach, a hard, bitter feeling. I had whiled away my afternoon on a frivolous party while Penny and Alice had worked.
“I—it took longer at Lady Snowmont’s than I had anticipated” was all I could muster in response.
“I bet it was gorgeous,” Alice said, depositing the pile of scrap into a dustbin. “What were all the ladies wearing?”
“You’re not angry?” I asked, incredulous.
“Of course not,” Alice replied, brushing her hands on her apron. “Most exciting new client we’ve had since I’ve been here. Aren’t you expected to—what do the merchants call it? Network?”
“I suppose I did that to some extent,” I said. In truth, while the other ladies knew me by sight and by name now, I’d spent the afternoon talking with one particular handsome duke. I sighed at myself—what a waste. I should have been handing out trade cards and consulting over silk colors, not simpering over a nobleman.
Penny eyed me suspiciously, as though she could read the reticence in my face. She probably could. “And the food? I’m guessing it was more than I see in a week.”
I bit my lip. “Yes, Penny, it was obscene. And I won’t lie, it was delicious.”
Penny shook her head so that her cap ruffles fluttered like the wings of an agitated bird. “My neighbor hasn’t worked this week—his family had to rifle through the leavings behind the baker’s shop and beg soup bones off the butcher. All the while, the nobility nibbles on delicacies.”
“You eat because they pay us for gowns,” I snapped, instantly regretting the harsh words.
Alice glanced from one of us to the other. “Did Lady Snowmont like the gown sketch?” Her voice was muffled by the tape measure in her mouth.
“Yes, very much. Set up a mannequin; we’ll start draping tomorrow,” I said, handing Penny the paper with the measurements.
“Lady Viola Snowmont, in a gown I helped to sew,” sighed Alice.
“Lady who now?” I nearly jumped through the counter at the sound of my brother’s voice.
“Kristos, don’t sneak in like that!” I shouted, throwing a wad of scrap linen at him.
“Hey now, put a bell on the door if you want to know when people come in,” he said. “But like I said—Lady who?”
“Sophie got a commission for Lady Viola Snowmont!” Penny called from the workroom, bustling out to see Kristos.
“It’s the most lovely thing, a gown with a geometric bodice inset, in pink duchesse,” Alice added.
“Great, a something out of pink something,” Kristos said as Penny plowed into him. I rolled my eyes. They weren’t even going to bother with the pretense of hiding this from me any longer?
“Yes, a pink something.” The bells from the cathedral echoed down the cobblestone streets—nearly the end of the workday already. “Alice, finish that hem, and Penny, sweep up.” I quickly stacked orders for delivery, glancing at the order board, chiding myself for the lost hours of work. I would stay late tonight. I needed to finish Lady Snowmont’s chemise and drawers, and preferred the quiet of the atelier to the row house. “It will be time to leave when you’re done, I’m sure.”
“Lady Snowmont,” Kristos said as the girls disappeared into the workroom in a flurry of excited chatter.
“Yes. Viola Snowmont.”
“You didn’t think this was big enough news to tell me?”
“I tried!” I punched his arm playfully, but Kristos wasn’t in a laughing mood. “I tried telling you when her lady’s maid came, and you had no interest.”
He screwed his lips together and shrugged. “I guess I wasn’t thinking.”
“Thinking about what?”
“Well, Lady Snowmont, Sophie. She runs the most influential gatherings in the whole city. It’s practically the cabinet in there.”
“Not quite,” I replied.
“And all you did was show up and take measurements. But you could have talked to them, influenced them. If you had one of my pamphlets.”
I bristled. I had spoken with Lady Snowmont’s guests—they had been impressed with me. A duke—the First Duke of Westland—had chosen to spend a luncheon talking to me. I wanted to throw that in Kristos’s face, but I was too flustered—one of his pamphlets? I was supposed to tote one of his pamphlets to a lady’s salon with me, as though she wasn’t already aware of the pamphlets swirling through the city and the sentiments published in them?
“That would have been most indecent,” I replied through clenched teeth. “Kristos, I won’t argue you pursuing your political interests. But they are not mine. Even if I did agree with you, I wouldn’t bring political propaganda to a client meeting.”
“Fine.” He tugged his red cap down over his eyes. He wore that thing nearly every day now—were they protesting that often? Or had their lives begun to morph into a constant protest? “I can’t imagine it would make for pleasant conversation over tea.”
“You would be surprised,” I countered. “If you could hear what they have to say, too—maybe you would be willing to see what the reforms they’re working on could do.”
“They have no interests but their own,” he spat. “Nothing they are willing to do without pressure from the populace will amount to anything. And I can’t hear what they have to say, because I’m not invited to their parties like you are.”
“Don’t be angry,” I said quickly. “Please?”
He didn’t reply. “You’re staying late here, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I have a commission to finish. For—” I stopped myself.
“For Lady Snowmont. It’s not just a pretty gown, is it? You’re making her one of your specialties.”
I stood straighter. “Of course.”
Kristos looked like he was ready to crack, his face hardened so much. “I can understand taking a client and plying your trade, but when you use your gift to help the nobility—I can’t help but wonder whose side you’re on.”
I wanted to argue, but he swept out of the shop before I could. I wouldn’t have heard the bell he suggested over the slamming door.
14
THE COFFEEHOUSE WAS ALMOST DESERTED IN THE WANING LIGHT of the afternoon, with the morning rush over, the crowd descending for chatter and hot drinks after lunch gone, and the evening’s social circles still hours away. That was why, the day after the second market day of every month, anyone frequenting the Aromatic Flower coffeehouse mid-to late afternoon could find a knot of Pellian Galatines talking charms over carafes of hot, black coffee.
Today it was just Emmi, Namira, Lieta, and a flustered Venia, whose sister was getting married in a week and had the whole family busy with plans. “She wants a huge cake like the Galatines have, instead of baka,” Venia complained, referring to the sweet pastry Pellians defaulted to for dessert. “But none of us know how to make a cake like that.”
“I’ll help,” Emmi said. Unlike the others, but much like me, she had been born in Galitha. “I know how to do it. It’s not hard.”
“Everything Galatine,” Venia continued. “Even the gown. She won’t wear my mother’s veils and sulta.” I had seen the elaborately draped robes and veils of a Pellian bride only at a distance, when a wedding procession clipped Fountain Square. I didn’t blame Venia’s sister—the getup was hardly flattering and could never be worn again, unlike a Galatine-style gown.
“I made her this,” I said, handing her a lace-edged kerchief. “She can wear it with the gown if she wants, or carry it, or wrap the bouquet—”
“Bouquet?” Venia wrinkled her nose.
“Most Galatine brides carry a little nosegay with flowers—for luck,” I faltered, trying to explain a tradition that seemed so normal to me. “The kerchief is a good luck charm,” I added.
“Thanks,” Venia said. “I wish I could have made her something.”
I had quickly realized in working with the women that charm-casting skill varied. I hadn’t known that some casters were naturally better than others, though it made sense, the same way some people are better than others at music or math or footraces. Venia was not terribly talented, but moreover, her skill was less fluid. If she was careful to focus her energies, she could etch a decent, generic good luck charm into a clay tablet. She couldn’t direct specific kinds of luck—health, love, wealth—and she couldn’t transfer the skill into anything else.
Lieta and Emmi could both quickly inscribe a tablet, and Lieta had taken to attempting traditional beadwork as a form of good luck charm with moderate success while Emmi had, under my direction, practiced more specific charms in the herbs she blended into sachets. I toyed with the idea of stitching pouches with embedded charms for Emmi’s blends. It was an interesting idea, but there was no process to test the efficacy of layered charms, any more than one could scientifically isolate whether a charm worked or not.
