Chapter Four
A knock at the door roused me some unknown time later. I blinked slowly into gray dimness, eyelids like lead weights. Another knock startled me up onto my elbows.
“My lord?” The door slightly muffled the male voice. I managed a sort of groan in response, and after a moment the door opened. “Are you well, my lord?”
I collapsed again, laughing helplessly despite myself at the absurdity of the question. Only a little bit of twilight still filtered in through the bedroom’s big windows; clearly I’d slept the whole day away, and the disorientation of that would probably linger until tomorrow.
The servant standing in the doorway and peering at me had brought an alchemical candle, and its warm orange light illuminated a young face, marred with pockmarks on the cheeks but with a pleasant expression.
He wasn’t in the same livery as the footmen I’d seen downstairs, instead wearing the simple black garb of a personal manservant.
“I beg your pardon, my lord,” he said. “But we thought downstairs that you might be wanting your dinner.” He looked up at the ceiling, seemingly fascinated by its shadows.
“Lord Stefan has gone out, my lord.” Ah.
And he’d been chosen as the lucky bearer of the humiliating news that my newlywed husband hadn’t only fled my bedroom, but his own house, in order to avoid me.
“So we thought you might like a tray here. Since you’re probably very tired. The dining room’s, ah…”
Inconvenient and embarrassing to set for only one person who’d been commanded to remain here and not cause any trouble, in any case. He didn’t need to say it to set my cheeks burning and the pit of my stomach clenching up tight.
But it wasn’t his fault. If anything, it seemed as if he and the other servants had conspired, without any orders from their master, to be as kind to me as possible.
“It’s too formal for me when I’m this tired,” I offered, giving us both a polite excuse to get away from this hideous topic.
His eyes flicked back to me, and he smiled and nodded.
“Yes! Yes, my lord, that’s it. I’ll lay your meal in the sitting room, just through there.
I beg your pardon. I’m Aldrich, my lord.
I’ll be seeing to you, if you don’t prefer someone else.
Only I’m an assistant to Lord Stefan’s valet, and so I’m more trained to see to a gentleman than the footmen are. ”
Somehow it didn’t surprise me that Lord Stefan had a bevy of valets. It did surprise me that he could spare one of them from the petting and cossetting of his silk breeches to wait on me.
Should I tell earnest Aldrich that I’d never had a valet, and would have far less idea of what a gentleman required than those footmen? He’d find out soon enough when he saw my clothes.
Speaking of which…no, the few possessions I’d had before my wedding hadn’t somehow materialized, and I had nothing but the crumpled, awful clothing I’d lain down in.
My potions had been the only truly valuable item I’d possessed, but the thought of my old cassocks being left behind and taken out with the trash to be burned caused me a shockingly sharp pang of homesickness.
If Aldrich wanted to burn this jacket, though, I wouldn’t argue with him.
“You can start by finding out what happened to my bag, if it wouldn’t be any trouble,” I said. “And a change of clothes of any kind, if not.”
Aldrich’s eyes widened. “Oh!” he said, on a note of shocked dismay.
In this household, the misplacement of clothing probably qualified as a sackable offense.
“I’ll find out at once, my lord, on my way down to tell the kitchens to prepare your tray.
I hope you fancy roast chicken and new potatoes?
And perhaps a lemon tart, and a few cheeses?
And you’ll need to tell us what wines you favor, my lord.
Lord Stefan’s steward will add them to his orders. ”
The steward and the cook both sounded delightful. Why hadn’t the Lord Chancellor married me off to one of them? Frightened or not, I’d willingly spread my legs for a man who could roast a chicken and pair it with a wine.
Gods. Lemon tart. Cheeses, plural.
For six years, along with every other soul in that abbey, I’d been limited to only one kind of cheese, and it had been hard, over-aged, and bland. And since leaving the island, I’d been seasick, terrified, and nauseated in one combination or another.
Well, fuck the Lord Chancellor, and fuck Lord Stefan, and fuck Ser Prendian, and fuck everyone but Aldrich and his fellow servants, who were clearly all far too good for their master.
I’d eat my cheese and crispy roasted chicken skin and lemon tart in solitary splendor in my own sitting room, and I’d decide what to do about everything else tomorrow.
“Could you show me the bath?” I said. “And then bring me all of the cheese, if you don’t mind.”
Aldrich laughed and then coughed to cover it, but he was still smiling as he led the way to the bathroom, where he produced a stack of fresh towels and the heartening news that the house had piped hot water—another luxury the abbot had considered unnecessary for his flock.
For the first time since I’d seen Ser Prendian in the abbot’s study, I was able to draw a deep breath and let out a bit of the tension.
An assistant valet didn’t stack up particularly well against the Lord Chancellor and his Lord Prick of a son, but having someone who spoke to me kindly and who didn’t just want to use me was a luxury no money could buy.
The three quiet days that followed felt comfortingly like being back at the abbey, where contemplation and silence had been encouraged—except that my bed boasted the softest of down pillows, and every meal that Aldrich brought me included some delicacy I hadn’t so much as smelled or seen in years.
Housemaids came in and out to clean and tidy, and they were as pleasant as Aldrich, their offhand remarks about the rest of the household indicating a well-ordered home.
In fact, despite his reputation as a connoisseur of beauty, pleasure, and vice, and his unkindness to me, Lord Stefan seemed to maintain a respectable house no different from any other gentleman’s. The orderliness of it soothed some of my panic.
But I couldn’t forget the looming appointment with the Lord Chancellor and his lady, or the looming necessity of consummating my marriage, or the threat to my sister, and dread brewed in my belly and poisoned all my attempts at optimism.
On the evening of the third day, Aldrich came upstairs to assist me in dressing.
I tried to choke down a cup of tea to steady my nerves as he stood in front of the open wardrobe and frowned at its meager contents.
He’d found my luggage, such as it was, and also scavenged a few clean shirts and other odds and ends to keep me decent over the last few days, but none of it could possibly be worn to a formal dinner party with my noble in-laws.
“You’re going to look awful, my lord. Oh, gods, I beg your pardon,” Aldrich almost moaned, running a hand over his face.
“I shouldn’t have said that. You could never really look awful.
But I’m responsible for your upkeep, my lord, whether or not I’m allowed to send for a tailor. I did try,” he said anxiously.
I nodded at him, acknowledging his efforts.
He’d not only tried to get me something to wear, but he’d tried to shelter me from the mortifying details—except that the truth couldn’t really be softened.
He’d gone to the steward and asked for funds for the tailor, and had been told that Lord Stefan would give orders for that when he deemed it appropriate.
Aldrich didn’t know enough about my marriage to read between the lines, but I did.
If you want the benefits of your new position, then you’ll make up your mind to fulfill your side of the bargain.
I’d get new clothes and anything else I wanted to spend money on once I’d made the marriage legal and proven I could stay out of trouble.
Not before. And if that left me looking awful at dinner, then Lord Stefan would surely consider that my problem.
Aldrich flipped through the hanging garments again and then threw up his hands in despair. “If you appear at Lady Estella’s table in any of this—! You’d be better off going naked, my lord!”
Naked.
Now there was an idea. That prick I’d married had demanded that I play the simpering, well-fucked whore, had he not? I could stroll into dinner completely nude.
And simper, of course. Before the gods and the Lord Chancellor and his lady and all the servants.
One of the other younger residents of the abbey had whispered to me, on one long afternoon in the garden, all about what a man looked like after sex. I could put rouge on my cheeks and lips and slick my thighs with bath oil.
Aldrich stared at me as I wheezed, coughed, and collapsed in helpless giggles against the side of the wardrobe, spilling tea all down my wrist.
“My lord?” he asked tentatively.
“Sorry,” I gasped, setting the cup down and trying to dry myself off. “Sorry. I only—never mind.” I blinked the tears from my lashes and then…oh.
Oh.
This brilliant idea had to be an apology gift from one of the gods who’d been sporting with me so capriciously of late, because I’d never shown any signs of unusual genius. And this qualified as such.
Not nude, but…could I get away with it? Who said a whore couldn’t dress like a novitiate—especially if he was one?
And besides, if Lord Ettori wanted to blame me for his son’s lack of attention to clothing me properly, he would, and the cassock wouldn’t be much worse than the horrid wedding garments.
As long as I made a point of acting well-fucked, not that I knew what that meant, but anyway, I’d do my best, my cassock wouldn’t be a threat to my well-being or my sister’s.
It’d be nothing more than an embarrassment to Lord Stefan, who couldn’t possibly blame me in turn when he’d forbidden me from acquiring anything better.
…And who also wouldn’t see me in time to make me change my clothes, because he wouldn’t be here to hand me into the carriage; we’d be picking him up on the way, Aldrich had informed me.
He couldn’t even be bothered to put down his bottle or his actual whore for the quarter of an hour it’d take to get himself home to escort me properly.
That settled it.
“The better of my two cassocks, please, Aldrich,” I said, and choked on another burst of hysteria.
Who would be angrier? My husband, or my father-in-law?
Given a little luck, if I behaved in such a way as to satisfy the appearance of having had Lord Stefan in my bed, they’d each blame the other for my giving them precisely what they’d asked for.
Aldrich hesitantly obeyed me, pulling the better-mended of my two brown sacks out of the wardrobe with a shudder.
Since I already stood there in only my shirt and drawers, it took only an instant to whip the cassock over them and be fully dressed.
I didn’t need a mirror; I’d spent years clothed like this.
Besides, I had Aldrich’s gaping mouth and horrified eyes to tell me anything I could’ve learned from my reflection.
“Oh, my lord,” Aldrich murmured, his face gone pale under his pockmark scars. “I’ll lose my position over this.”
That was the only thing he could’ve said to shake my determination, but it still wasn’t enough.
Lord Stefan and his father had earned this.
“I’ll do my best to make sure no one thinks this is your fault,” I said, in my most convincingly lordly tone. Showing more confidence in me than I could bring myself to feel in myself, he nodded and set out my shoes without another protest.
Leaving my rooms gave me a shiver of anticipation despite my destination.
On the island I’d been accustomed to being outside for a great portion of every day, even in the winter.
My bedroom and sitting room here opened onto a balcony set with a few potted plants and a chair, so at least I hadn’t suffocated. But I’d gone stir-crazy.
The great clock in the hall began to chime seven o’clock as I made my way down the three flights of stairs—alone, damn my husband all the way to his eyeballs.
What would it be like to truly be the master of a house like this, laughing and rich and carefree, dressed in silk and velvet and tripping my way downstairs to take the arm of a very different man, one who loved me, whose eyes lit up as I smiled into them?
If Lord Stefan ever deigned to gaze at someone like that, he’d be devastating.
My hand clenched on the polished baluster, and I almost jerked myself to a stop.
No. I forced my body to keep moving. Lord Stefan was an utter bastard.
I might never have the chance to escape him and find love, but I’d have no chance at any life at all if I wasted my time mooning over my unhappiness.
I had to focus on the tasks in front of me.
I had a Lord Chancellor to deceive, a handsome, horrible husband to manipulate, and a sister to save from disgrace and death.
In the slightly longer term, I’d need to find a way to contact my mother without the Lord Chancellor accusing me of conspiracy (as I had no doubt at all he’d manage to find out if I wrote to her openly), and discover more about the family I’d married into.
At court, information could be wielded like a weapon, and I needed something more than my ability to chant verb conjugations in three ancient languages—or to wear ugly, inappropriate clothing out of spite.
As the last chime of the clock echoed through the marble and gilt of the hall, I stepped past the footman holding the front door.
For a moment, I paused on the steps and tipped my head up toward the sky.
No stars yet adorned the dome of royal blue fading down into an apricot sunset, but a sliver of moon floated off in the distance, seeming to hang from the tip of a temple tower: Dromos’s manifestation, gleaming through the remnants of Ennolu’s dominance over the sky.
I sucked in a deep breath. More of a smell of horse manure than I’d been used to on my island, and a hint of garbage and offal even in this genteel neighborhood, but mostly the scents of damp stone and salt sea, the flowering trees across the street and the roasting meat of someone’s dinner further along the square.
Despite my upbringing in Ennolu’s service, I whispered a few words of prayer to Dromos, he who’d gifted me magic and put me in this pickle in the first place.
He owed me. And if ever he meant to repay that debt with a helping hand, this evening’s ordeal would be the time.