Chapter 11 – An Experiment in Lace #4
That left Mionet, and Ophele could hardly bring herself to look in that direction.
It was only that morning that she had finally presented Ophele with the forbidden article, a scandalous object that made Ophele’s heart palpitate and her face flush hot and cold.
It was currently buried in the back of her wardrobe, with all the guilt and suspense of a corpse they had murdered together.
And tonight, she was meant to bring it out.
“Nothing. I mean, it’s good,” she said, starting as Remin spoke to her. “Will you be very late tonight?”
“I hope not. I’ll miss supper,” he said, reaching for another platter of eggs as if to fortify himself. “There are a great many details to be seen to before we leave.”
On the other side of the table, she saw the mischief in Mionet’s gaze and looked hastily down at her plate.
It wasn’t as if she was doing anything wrong, Ophele told herself.
Remin would certainly have listened if she asked him to reconsider his decision, even without this little…
surprise. What was wrong with making sure he was in a good mood when she asked?
He would enjoy all of it very much, and tease her when it was all over.
Probably.
Maybe.
Oh, stars, what if he didn’t?
* * *
“I don’t know,” she said later that night, wringing her hands as the hour of her doom approached. She was sitting at her dressing table with only Mionet and her guilty conscience for company. “He’s going to be tired, and you know he doesn’t like Segoile nonsense, and he already said no…”
“I think he has seen too much of the unpleasant parts of Segoile,” Mionet told her, brushing Ophele’s hair in long strokes.
Ophele wore a new robe of shining blue satin, belted very securely about her trim waist. “I know you are both worried about going, my lady, and I will help as best I can, but that will include attempting to make the trip enjoyable. There is the possibility that you both might do more than grit your teeth and endure it.”
She had been saying that for two months now.
Painting pictures of the fascinating people Ophele would meet, the beautiful places they would go, the endless shopping excursions for objects Ophele had never heard of.
It did sound very nice, a comforting counterpoint to Ophele’s worries and Remin’s abject loathing of the whole exercise.
It would be good to distract him from all of it for a night, wouldn’t it?
“It really looks all right?” she asked, looking at her reflection as Mionet clipped pearl earrings into place. “I’ve never…”
“It is lovely,” Mionet promised her, rising with such assurance that Ophele felt a pang of envy.
Of course, she would never be afraid to wear something like this.
Mionet was perfect, tall and confident and beautiful.
But Ophele had seen Lady Hurrell play tricks just like this, cruel pranks that her victims had not enjoyed, and what if there was something wrong with these clothes after all?
What if it was like the prostitute thing again?
She didn’t know, and there was no one she could ask, and she folded her hands tightly together in her lap.
“You would not…let me look a fool in front of Remin?” she finally asked, forcing the words out with a wooden tongue.
It was an unworthy thought, but Ophele knew what she looked like.
She and Lisabe were of an age, and Ophele had always suffered in comparison to her foster sister, scrawny and ill-favored, barely a woman at all.
Mionet’s hand paused in her brushing, her red eyebrows lifting.
“I don’t know if I…look right,” Ophele said, low. “In something like this…”
“You look perfectly lovely,” Mionet replied, sounding surprised. “Whyever would you say that? There’s nothing wrong with—ah. I see.”
For a moment, her lips tightened.
“My lady, there will always be people who try to make you feel ugly. The charge comes first, and then they find the evidence. The greatest beauty in the capital could pass them in the street, and if she is tall, then she is too tall, and if slender, then she is bony, and if she is ravishing in every way, why then, she has the wits of a turnip. If someone wishes to be hateful, they will find an excuse.”
Gently, Mionet nudged Ophele’s chin upward, turning her face toward the mirror.
“Every woman has parts of herself that she loves, and parts of herself that she hides,” she began, meeting Ophele’s eyes.
“Your beauty is a story you choose to tell the world. For you, it is this heart-shaped face, these splendid eyes, these darling little hands and feet. And perhaps it is not these lips, which are a little small. You must know where your own beauty lies. Do you see it?”
Ophele looked.
Mionet had not made her into a stranger.
That was her, with a rosy pout to her small mouth that made it look lush.
Her large eyes glowed in the candlelight, her lashes dark, thick, and mysterious.
And around that heart-shaped face, her long hair curled in a glossy frame, maple-warm beside the cream of her skin.
Ophele met her own golden eyes, and color flushed her cheeks.
“When you feel beautiful, it shows in your face,” said Mionet softly. “You should feel proud when you succeed. You are the best version of yourself. And you are making the whole world more beautiful for His Grace.”
Oh, she hoped so. She hoped she would please him. He wouldn’t admit it, but she knew he was very worried, and hardly sleeping at all, and even aside from all this business of surprises and strange costumes, she wanted him to forget his troubles. For one night, she hoped he would have sweet dreams.
Once Mionet bid her goodnight, Ophele was alone, seated by the fire and retaining absolutely nothing from the eighth volume of the Imperial Code in her lap. It was an age before she heard Remin’s heavy tread in the corridor, and she looked up as the lock clicked loudly.
“Wife,” he said, locking it shut and stooping to kiss her hello. “You don’t have to wait up for me.”
“I wasn’t tired,” she answered. “Have you eaten?”
“I had a bit.” He set a thick sheaf of paper on the table and began shedding his many layers of clothing on the way back to his dressing room. “But if you kept something back, I wouldn’t say no. Stars, I thought we’d be there ’til morning.”
“What were you talking about?” It seemed rude not to ask, but she didn’t expect more than a vague answer. Ophele went to fetch a heavy earthenware crock from the hearth, where mutton and potatoes had been warming.
“Planning the spring planting,” he answered. There were distant thumps as he shed his boots. “We’ve a great deal more people to feed than we anticipated. We can order additional supplies, but I’d like us to be self-sufficient as soon as possible…”
It was so comforting to hear his voice moving from dressing room to bath chamber and back again, washing up after the long day and hunting for his plainest and most comfortable robe.
Ophele knew without looking that his dressing room would be a shambles by the time he was done, which was just the way Magne liked it.
The valet enjoyed nothing more than wagging his head and clicking his tongue as he restored order to the world, and Remin was just the man to disarrange it for him.
“What did you do today?” Remin asked, sitting down to devour his snack in huge mouthfuls, washed down with warm wine.
“I had lessons with Master Forgess this afternoon. He said if I wanted more anatomy, then we would have to go to the To…Tower.” Ophele could have bitten her tongue.
She wasn’t supposed to bring that up until after.
“And we talked about the cataloguing of beasts, and how the connections between them are much clearer in the Empire than elsewhere…”
Fortunately, Remin was dividing his attention between her and his food, and his mouth was too full for any substantial response.
Ophele babbled on, wondering when she ought to spring her surprise on him and feeling as if butterflies were battering wildly at her insides.
Once he had settled in his chair by the fire, she took a sip of wine, made a face, and then went to confront him.
“I also…got new clothes from Master Tiffen today,” she began, coming to a stop before him. Her fingers fiddled with the sash of her robe.
“I like them,” Remin said immediately. “The robe?”
“Yes, and…” Ophele looked down, heat rising in her cheeks, and tugged her sash free.
The robe parted.
There was lace.
There was only lace.
She had hardly dared to look at herself in the scandalous thing, and she had certainly not allowed anyone else to see her.
The lace nightgown ruffled apart over her thighs to expose her slender legs and wrapped tight around her middle, plunging between her breasts to reveal their inner curves.
The darker pink of her nipples was clearly visible through the sheer lace. It was worse than being naked.
Remin’s mouth fell open.
“Mionet said ladies in the capital wear such things,” Ophele managed, feeling heat blaze to her forehead. “For their husbands, as a, a surprise…”
“Let me see,” he said thickly. There was a strange, heated glow in his black eyes as he drew her between his knees.
“I thought you would like it,” she breathed, flushing as she saw the evidence of exactly how much he liked it.
His hands smoothed over her body, tracing the curves of her hips, watching the lace shift over her skin.
The nightgown parted shamefully, long cuts over her thighs that slid open to expose smooth, silky skin.
“I do,” Remin whispered. His palms slid up the backs of her thighs to squeeze her backside. “I do like it. Tiffen made this? He knew it was for you?”