Chapter 1
Present
That witch Jeraldine was out to get me.
One wouldn’t have known such wickedness from her exquisite handiwork: puffed silk sleeves, deliciously cinched bodices, and skirts with airy chiffon trains all elegantly displayed in her pastel colored shop. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know I existed.
Jeraldine’s Dress Emporium had completely robbed me of business.
A horse chaise clattered by, splashing a puddle of filthy water at my feet.
“Bad luck,” I cursed. My summer had been riddled with it.
I set down the mallet in my hand and inspected the damage on my skirt, leaning against the side of my shop. A wooden plaque was nailed against the wall.
WANTED; APPRENTICE SEAMSTRESS, able to sew and mend competently; preferably under 70 years of age. Apply to Ms. Giselle P. inside.
No one had applied. I had hoped that an employee would bring more legitimacy to my shop, but perhaps “shop” was a generous descriptor for the hovel I had rented from a miserly human milliner five months ago.
It was a three story building of sloppy wooden slats and dirty windows, the highest of which belonged to the landlady herself, Mrs. Lewis.
I shook off my boots and picked up the mallet, pounding a loose nail back into the plaque. It had fallen over this morning, as if giving up on the notion of any interested apprentices.
“Five coppers for every hole you create in these walls, witch girl!” a voice screeched. I looked up, unsurprised to see Mrs. Lewis’s sour face glaring down at me behind moth-eaten curtains.
“Of course, Mrs. Lewis,” I muttered, not bothering to shout back. The woman had the ears of a bat. With a flick of my wrist, the street water seeped from the fine wool of my skirt. They became wobbling orbs in the air before splashing to the cobblestones.
“And no magic!”
I shook my hands off, scowling at the window as the curtains fell back into place.
This was a sorry scene, and certainly not where I had expected to be last spring.
About four months ago, a loud-mouthed court lady had caught wind of the fact that I, the once royal seamstress who dressed Crown Prince Bennett and Lady Narcissa Greenwood to the heights of perfection during their engagement tour last winter, was planning to open a dress shop.
I didn’t expect to be recognized—my name was not easily remembered—but somehow the address of my shop ended up in a fashion publication.
The praise was all very well and good, but I hadn’t been prepared for the wave of debutantes that flooded me.
Their pristine hems had no sooner brushed the splintered floorboards of Mrs. Lewis’s building before they fled two streets down to Jeraldine’s Dress Emporium, convinced they were misinformed.
Surely the middle-aged and elegant Jeraldine was the former royal seamstress, not the mussed girl they had seen squatting in that hovel of a building, unloading crates.
If that wasn’t bad enough, the same fashion publication had retracted my name and confirmed that Jeraldine was the former royal seamstress. That added insult to injury.
Last month I had visited Jeraldine’s shop intending to confront her, but one glimpse at her crowded storefront told me that even if she wanted to see me, she did not have the time. And anyhow, who was I to deny a fellow charmwitch success?
I exhaled, leaning my forehead against my shop window.
The interior was carpeted and furnished now, the birch shelves stocked with the finest of witch-made fabrics, the mannequins dressed in the latest fashions, the lounge area and fitting room outfitted for nobility.
Impressive, considering the sorry state it had been in before.
Behind the freshly wallpapered walls of the back closet were the white, frothy beginnings of Narcissa’s wedding dress—the one commission keeping all this afloat.
At least Jeraldine didn’t have that.
Yet no one had bothered to come inside for an entire week. After all, with Jeraldine’s Dress Emporium already established as a respectable witch business, there was no need to take chances on another, especially an unproven one in the less-than fashionable side of town.
The tinkle of a bell sounded, high and sweet. My shop door swung shut behind someone who entered, a figure passing by the window. A customer? An interested apprentice? It didn’t matter. It was someone. Perhaps my luck was already changing for the better.
I beamed, stepping in after them.
“Good afternoon, how may I assist—” I paused, suddenly remembering that I closed my shop already. There was only one person who visited after business hours. “You.”
“One would think you’d be happier to see your only patron.”
Maddox Greenwood spread his arms and grinned at me, as if expecting a brotherly embrace. Sunlight filtered through the window, illuminating his mud-splattered ensemble.
I shooed him aside to inspect the damage he had done to my jacquard rug. As expected, there was a streak of dirt from his boots.
“You are not my only patron,” I said irritably, rounding the polished birch counter for a broom.
He watched as I brushed the spot aggressively until the dirt disappeared, returning the rug to its blue and gold glory.
“I’m sewing your sister’s wedding gown. We have a fitting this week and I have no doubt I’ll find that far more enjoyable than mending holes in your dirty undergarments. ”
“They are not—” Maddox paused and looked me over. “You’re dressed differently today.”
I smoothed the front of my blouse—a lacy, pintucked confection the society darlings favored. It sported a square neckline that showed far more decolletage than I was comfortable with, which was none at all.
“I have an appointment,” I said primly. At least I hoped I did.
“Where?” he asked, making a face. “And what is that on your belt?”
I looked down at the knotted charms hanging at my waist like a tangled chatelaine.
The most recent ones were meant to repel stray rocks and dirt as a result of a nasty tumble I had earlier that week.
There were a handful more charms that I’d forgotten about, but it seemed I needed one to repel roadside splashes as well.
If luck was a substance, I would have made a good luck charm. But alas, it was an elusive concept that no charmwitch could ever manipulate, so speaking of it was a tad superstitious.
“These are for luck,” I said drily. “And I’m going to that new department store in the city, Blanche de Clare.”
“Never heard of it,” Maddox said.
“Didn’t think so.” I strode over to the oval mirror hanging above the mantelpiece, rearranging the respectable updo I’d managed to wrangle my hair into that morning. My usual braid was far too informal for a visit to the massive department store.
The high society magazines lauded Blanche de Clare as the crème de la crème of fashionable consumerism, which was an impressive title considering it opened only four months ago.
Despite its tender age, it had quickly become all the rage with the new money upper class.
Having a spot within its palatial walls was a dream come true for any business owner.
Maddox’s reflection appeared behind mine, his face scrunched in distaste. “Why is your hair like that?” He picked out a loose pin behind my ear.
I scowled at his reflection and snatched the pin back. “Why thank you, you look nice too.”
Maddox Greenwood was, unfortunately, a golden-haired Adonis with a pleasing figure that joining the Royal Guard only improved. I would have described his gray eyes as dreamy, if I didn’t know for a fact he had a very silly brain behind them.
Boys who looked like Maddox were a rarity in Witch Village. It was why I had found him so appealing when I first met him last winter—but what I wanted to be a brief flirtation quickly turned into a grating friendship that lasted far past the kingdom tour.
It always ended up this way with boys. Christabella said they were more interested in bickering with me than kissing me.
Maddox shrugged. “I brought mending,” he said, pulling out a wad of fabric from his pouch. He shook it out, revealing a wrinkled brown waistcoat with a hole worn into the lining.
I scrunched my nose. “Are you sure you don’t want it for rags? It’s hideous.”
“Your blouse is hideous.”
“Your face is hideous,” I shot back, grabbing the waistcoat. “Now come quickly. I have your stuff from last week.”
Maddox stuck his tongue out, the expression dispelling any notion that he was a grown man of twenty-one. He followed as I made my way behind the counter.
The back room was little more than a cramped closet, three walls covered in dusty walnut shelves from floor to ceiling. In the middle stood the mannequin that held a mockup of Narcissa’s wedding dress: the beginnings of a structured bodice and wispy, off-the-shoulder sleeves.
Tucked away in a bottom shelf, which I hoped Maddox wouldn’t see, was a large bundle that held a cot, a pillow, and blankets. Regretfully, the room also served as my bedchamber every night.
Maddox gingerly pushed the mannequin away to fit himself inside.
“Careful with that!”
He held his hands up. “Sorry.”
I dug through a middle shelf, withdrawing the shirt he had given me last week with the torn cuff which I had replaced. It was still the same filthy shirt, the linen sweat-stained and threadbare from far too many washes, but at least it was in one piece now. I stood and thrust it at him. “Here.”
Maddox examined my handiwork before stuffing the garment carelessly into his pouch.
“Your clothes are in shambles,” I said, picking off a loose thread on his shoulder.
His cravat was tied carelessly and his coat was pilled.
The lapels of his waistcoat sat limp and flat, as if the pad stitching meant to shape them had disappeared entirely.
“Why don’t you have a new wardrobe commissioned instead? ”
Maddox’s face lit up. “That would require frequent fittings, correct?”
“I suppose.”
“Then I’d like to order a new wardrobe.”
I crossed my arms. “What’s this about?”
“I want new clothes.”
“I don’t think the clothes want you.” I made a move to exit, but Maddox didn’t budge. There was an odd glint of desperation in his gray eyes and he reeked of horse, as if he’d spent the entire morning riding. Usually, that meant one thing.
“There’s something wrong at home,” I stated.
“Alright, I’m avoiding Father!” He gave a big sigh that ruffled the top of my hair. “He wants me to work again. It hasn’t even been a year since I left the Royal Guard!”
It was usually entertaining to listen to Maddox’s problems, especially regarding his petty arguments with his father, but right now, I had somewhere to be.
I grabbed my satchel from the second shelf. The worn brown canvas was at odds with my ensemble, but it would have to do.
“Is Captain Greenwood expecting you to rejoin the Guard?” I asked, pulling my satchel over my head.
“I’m not going to,” Maddox said fiercely. “It’s my life. I’d like to decide what to do with it.”
“And what would that be?” I ducked past him, rounding the counter.
“I-I don’t know yet. I just need some time to think. Father hasn’t said anything outright, but he’s eating more dessert than usual this week!”
I furrowed my brow. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“When the royal family’s safety depends on his physique? Ha! He’s holding in a lecture by eating more at meals. But I won’t be there when he breaks,” Maddox said triumphantly.
“Because you’ll be here,” I said flatly. That explained all the holes in his clothing and the sudden interest in a new wardrobe. “Listen, I have an appointment to get to. Why don’t you go bother Narcissa instead?”
Maddox followed me to the door. “She’s always with the crown prince! Yesterday I caught them in the parlor”—he abruptly lowered his voice—“kissing.”
“I’m sure they do that a lot.”
“It’s unsightly and I wish they would stop. As if tripping over their litter of cats all day isn’t bad enough,” Maddox grumbled. “And Cissa wants me to keep three of them. I don’t know the first thing about kitten-rearing!”
“I’m going now,” I said at the threshold. “Keep watch here if you like.”
The bell chimed as I shut the door. Hopefully Mrs. Lewis wouldn’t come down and demand who he was.