The Rose Bargain

Chapter Twelve

The other girls and I spend the next day at etiquette lessons, but I can barely focus, with Emmett’s conversation from last night playing in my head.

That evening, we’re summoned to the queen’s private apartments for dinner.

She sits at the end of the table in a gown of green silk so dark it’s almost black, a pearl tiara settled atop her dark hair. Behind her is a roaring fireplace, casting the room in oppressive warmth. There’s a chandelier covered in live gardenias and white orchids. I spot an iridescent green beetle crawling for cover between the petals.

“Ladies, do come in.”

Her cool voice calls us as we skitter into the room like a flock of birds.

Faith and I haven’t spoken since yesterday. She’s avoided making all eye contact with me, but she’s seated next to me now.

The queen pulls out this morning’s newspaper and places it on the table.

“It seems you have already made quite the splash.”

I peer around Faith’s shoulder to get a better look. In bold black letters is the headline THE SIX.

The queen picks up the paper and begins to read. “‘The lovely young ladies impressed at Count Twombley’s ball, marking their first appearance in polite society as official suitors of the Prince of Wales.’”

The door to the dining room swings open, and Bram comes striding in, his muddy boots leaving footprints on the carpet.

“Mother.”

He leans down and gives Queen Mor a kiss on the cheek. Then he turns and gives us a short bow. “Ladies, I apologize for my tardiness.”

“How was the shooting, darling?”

Queen Mor asks, a warmth to her voice I’ve never heard.

Bram plops down in the empty chair next to her. “Terrible, but I must admit I am always a little relieved when the birds escape with their lives.”

A parade of white-gloved footmen come into the dining room to serve us, but the queen sits alone at the head of the table, without a plate in front of her.

We eat in awkward silence for a few minutes, except Bram, who appears unfazed. He wears a gold ring on each finger, and they click against his wineglass as he takes a sip.

The queen looks over at us and twists her mouth into an unsettling smile. In the candlelight, her moonlight-pale skin appears almost luminescent. “As a mother, I prioritize my son’s happiness above all else.”

“Oh, that’s embarrassing,”

Bram says good-naturedly. “I beg of you, please don’t make me sound like a coddled mama’s boy.”

She faces him and crinkles her nose, an expression that’s unnatural on her beautiful face. “I wouldn’t dare.”

She turns back to the rest of us. “It’s my deepest desire to ensure that Bram ends the season with his best possible match. We have only twelve weeks, and during that time my son will be traveling between London and Oxford, as he’s still finishing up his exams. Because of that, he has made a list of traits he seeks in a wife, and he’s generously allowed me to advise him.”

She gestures to her son. “Tell them, darling.”

Bram takes another sip of wine and pulls a paper from his breast pocket. “I hope for someone who is clever, dedicated, honest, and determined.”

He puts the paper back in his pocket, and his mother goes on.

“During your stay, you’ll take lessons with Viscountess Bolingbroke and lessons with me. I will evaluate you each in the traits my son has asked for and advise him on who will be the best bride—”

“Though the final choice is mine,”

Bram interrupts.

The queen pats his arm. “Of course it is, my darling.”

I shift uncomfortably as I remember what Emmett said to me last night. We must make him love me so completely, he’ll marry me no matter what his mother says.

The clock strikes ten as we push back our chairs and rise to leave. We’re nearly to the door when the queen clears her throat, and we pause.

“Girls, wait a minute.”

Bram pauses by the door.

“Not you, dear, we’re discussing female things,”

the queen says.

We’re left alone with the queen, who gestures for us to return to the table. “There’s no need for Bram to know the details of our lessons. Men are such sensitive creatures. Not like us.”

The firelight reflects off her tiara, and I realize I was wrong. It’s not inlaid with pearls, but with human teeth.

“Yes, ma’am,”

we all say.

Queen Mor takes her empty wineglass and pushes it toward Emmy, the closest girl to her right.

“A tear to ensure your silence.”

We glance at each other uneasily, but the others know as well as I do, we have no real choice in this, not if we still want to be considered as Bram’s bride.

“You want me to cry?”

Emmy asks.

“Just one tear.”

Emmy hesitates, then plucks out an eyelash hard enough to make her eyes water. One fat tear slides down the edge of the glass.

Marion wrenches her eyes open until they get dry enough to cry, and next to her, Olive and Faith follow suit.

Greer is trying to do the same but can’t manage it. “Slap me,” she begs.

I hesitate.

She swears under her breath at me, then slaps herself hard enough across the face that just watching it is enough to make me cry too.

She passes me the glass and I let one tear flow into it.

The queen looks us over and smiles. “What good girls you are.”

As we rise to leave, the queen knocks the glass to the floor, shattering it. I don’t think she needed our tears for the magic at all, she just wanted to watch us squirm. Disgust climbs up my throat.

A footman carrying a silver tray pushes past me as I’m nearly out the door. I turn back and make direct eye contact with Queen Mor as the cloche is lifted.

We leave the queen alone to take her evening meal, and it’s only once the door shuts that I realize what it was: a bowl of milk and honey.