Chapter 7 – Lady of the Household #5
“Yes.” The girl was glaring up at Mionet mutinously. “She sent me to fetch Lady Verr. Frechard, do you know if this is Lady Verr?”
“Yes…” Frechard answered cautiously, glancing between the lady and the girl as if he had just realized he had stumbled into a den of lions.
“Thank you, Frechard, you may go,” said Mionet, smiling gently without ever taking her eyes from the impudent little urchin. Outrageous. But also rather admirable, for sheer audacity. “Elodie, please direct me to Her Grace.”
“I’m s’posed to take you there,” the girl retorted, and at Mionet’s flat stare, added a grudging, “my lady. But I’m s’posed to watch out for strangers just in case any bad people try to hurt His Grace, or maybe even try to hurt the lady. She’s the Daughter of the Stars, she’s important. ”
“I am Her Grace’s lady-in-waiting,” Mionet replied crisply, picking her way around a variety of mud puddles. “Where is the wagon? Did someone bring you here?”
“I walked,” the girl said, sloshing along with barefoot unconcern. “Everyone walks everywhere. It’s not far though. What’s a lady-in-waiting?”
Lies. It was far. It was an interminable dusty distance and uphill for half of it.
Deliberately, Mionet slowed her pace to avoid any unbecoming perspiration.
She did not waste the time; a little conversation soon soothed the prickly child and Elodie was a fount of information.
By the time they reached the cookhouse, Mionet already knew where the most important buildings in town were located and a fair number of the chief players, though she would take the words of a nine year-old with due skepticism.
The duchess was standing in the open doors of the cookhouse as they approached, with two men in armor on either side and a tall boy before her, gangly and big-handed.
It was fortunate that the guards were there.
Her dress was so plain, Mionet would have thought her a servant otherwise, with her masses of hair contained in a simple plait and not a single jewel in sight.
When the duchess’s gaze flicked to Mionet, that lady noted both the startled flinch in her golden eyes, and the self-effacing hunch of her shoulders.
“Lady Verr?” she asked timidly.
“Your Grace,” said Mionet, with a deep curtsy. “I am Lady Mionet Verr, and am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Oh, rise. Please,” said the duchess, in a voice so soft it was nearly inaudible. “I’m glad to meet you…journey…difficult…”
“Not at all, Your Grace.” Mionet made her best guess at what the duchess had said and straightened, smiling. “I’m pleased to finally be here. Tresingale appears a proper beehive, it is most exciting.”
“There’s a…before winter.” The duchess’s hands gave an anxious flutter that instantly set Mionet’s teeth on edge. “These are my guards. Sir Leonin. Sir…vi…and this is Jacot, he is…”
It was with difficulty that Mionet restrained herself from moving closer simply to hear better. Surely, she must have heard wrong; that could not be Leonin of Breuyir, the son of an earl, serving as a guard for this little mouse? What a comedown for a nobleman.
“Lady,” muttered Jacot, who was clearly as common as cobblestones and eager to be gone.
“You can take the book with you, and please finish the chapter,” the duchess said a little louder, and the boy offered a single jerky bow and departed. “Have you eaten, Lady Verr?”
“I have, Your Grace, thank you.” It was natural to offer hospitality first, but Mionet did not fancy torturing a conversation out of this creature. “Duchess Ereguil gave me a little guidance before I departed. I gather you have no lady to manage your wardrobe or bath at present?”
“No. There is a bathhouse…” The duchess’s hands moved toward several of the worst crumples in her gown as if to hide them. “Most of my clothes…storehouse.”
“Well, if you are not too tired, my lady, then perhaps we might begin there while we get to know one another,” Mionet said brightly. “It is such fun to look at gowns, is it not? And then we may talk about the things you like, and see what ravishing costumes we might put together. Shall we?”
“All right,” agreed the duchess, as Mionet had been almost certain she would.
The maneuver served to separate the duchess from her guard dogs, who could not be hovering while they were discussing something so intimate as the lady’s clothing, though Elodie clung determinedly to her mistress, like a guard dog of the toy variety.
“It is a good range of colors,” Mionet remarked as gown after gown was drawn forth in the dim confines of the storehouse.
It was really the only thing she could say in their favor.
Inwardly, she was shocked and appalled as drab gown after drab gown emerged, many of them draggled, stained, blotted, crumpled, or otherwise defaced.
There were only two of any real significance at all.
It was a serious problem. She had very little here to work with. And that included the duchess, who had barely spoken a dozen words.
“I was three years with Lady Carolen Sallen,” Mionet said, giving no sign of any of this.
“She is the wife of Duke Ereguil’s second son, and the last ensemble we planned was for the opening of the Gold Leaf Theater.
She is famous for her patronage of artists, you know.
Her gown that night was a champagne-colored silk with accents in pink and melon, with tourmalines.
It all looked like a sunset together, and quite smashing on a blonde. ”
“There isn’t anything like that here,” said the duchess, looking both apologetic and intrigued.
“Yet,” said Mionet, with a little mischief. “But with your hair and eyes, my lady, I think perhaps…”
In a trice, she had selected a half-dozen gowns, mostly in pretty, muted colors because the lady was not confident enough for flash.
Even as she chattered on, Mionet eyed her like a sculptor sizing up a likely bit of clay.
The duchess had a figure to die for, and good tailoring would make a world of difference even to these drab gowns.
Good hair, or at least a great deal of it, and her eyes were really rather spectacular, so large and distinctive in hue.
She might be quite a smasher, if she would just stand up straight and stop flinching.
It was an unforgivable waste that she did not dress to her station, especially since everyone knew the Duke of Andelin was richer than many nations. If there was one thing Mionet Verr detested, it was to see a thing done poorly.
“Are there any colors you especially like, Your Grace?” she inquired, setting the least terrible dresses aside for further attention.
“Oh. Um, green?” The duchess’s fingers brushed over a green silk gown, probably the third best of the available dresses and still heartlessly plain. “His Grace likes me to wear green.”
Mionet made a mental note. And also noted the flush in the lady’s cheeks when she said it.
“And you, yourself?”
“Pink? Light pink,” she qualified nervously, as that color spread to the tips of her ears, and she looked down at her feet. Mionet generously shifted her attention to give the duchess room to recover.
“What do you think, Elodie?” she asked, turning to the girl, who had been in raptures to be included in such a grown-up pastime. “What gown do you like best on Her Grace?”
“Oooh, this one,” Elodie said instantly, with no shyness whatever. She held up a wine-red gown with a pretty embroidered bodice. “This one’s my favorite.”
“Oh, it is?” The duchess asked, much easier with the child. Perhaps it would be a good idea to keep the girl close at hand, at least in the beginning.
“Yes, it’s so soft, and makes you look so sweet and dear that I want to give you a hug,” Elodie said artlessly, with a triumphant glance at Mionet as Duchess Andelin exclaimed and immediately offered one.
“It is a lovely color, especially for the season,” Mionet agreed, adding it to the small pile of acceptable gowns. “Is there a tailor in town, Your Grace?”
“No, not yet. There is one coming from Belleme. Sir Tounot’s mother recommended him. Master Tiffen.” It was easier to hear the duchess’s soft voice at close quarters. “It is quite a long journey from Belleme.”
“You might be surprised what we can manage in the meantime. I have an idea,” Mionet said, tapping a fingertip to her lips. “Perhaps you will allow me to make a trial of you one morning, and surprise His Grace? I think you will like the results.”
“I suppose so,” Duchess Andelin replied nervously.
It would mean a lot of tedious sewing and a late night or two for Mionet, but sometimes sacrifices were necessary. As they looked through the gowns and Mionet spun delightful visions of the possibilities, she also gleaned a great deal of information about the lady, the bathhouse, and the duke.
The man himself appeared in the door of the storehouse a little after sunset, and Mionet was so surprised when he burst through the door, she almost dropped her armload of gowns.
“Ophele?” he asked, his black eyes narrowing in the dim light, and as the duchess hurried to his side, Mionet had to take a moment to gather herself.
Stars, they spoke often enough of Remin Grimjaw in Segoile, but they only blathered on about Supreme Sword this and Valleth that and had he really needed quite such a bloody conclusion to the war.
Why hadn’t anyone mentioned that the man was spectacular?
While masculine beauty was no virtue to Mionet Verr, it would have been nice to be warned.
Rising, she set the gowns aside and waited to be introduced.
“…helping with my gowns,” the duchess was explaining. “Your Grace, this is Lady Verr. She arrived today.”
“Your Grace,” Mionet murmured, sinking into a flawless curtsy.
“Lady Verr.” His hand flicked an order to rise. “I am pleased by such diligence. You will serve Her Grace well.”
Mionet heard the unspoken or else.