Chapter 24
Comfort flew into action to undo the mess I had painted on my face.
The thick, uneven paste was scrubbed away, leaving my skin tingling and clean.
Before I could protest, she was already tugging me into a fresh gown, pulling at my corset strings with such ferocity that my ribs creaked and I gasped for breath.
“Hold still,” she ordered.
“I’m trying not to suffocate,” I wheezed. “I got out of the habit of wearing these.”
“Then get back into the habit.” She gave the strings one last, merciless yank, and then at last declared my figure perfect.
Next came the anxious affair of my cosmetics.
I sat on the edge of the bed while she hovered in front of me like an artist before a canvas, dabbing powders across my face, layering creams, smudging color, pulling back, considering, and touching up where it was needed.
Comfort chattered as she worked, describing to me how my eyelashes thickened with each careful stroke of her brush, how my lips glistened crimson, and how faint shadows on my face were softened until my features felt both familiar and foreign at once.
Earlier that afternoon, I might have opted to forego the wig, but now, I insisted on having it.
I drew the curls forward so that most of the left side of my face remained hidden, then draped a gauzy veil from my forehead over my shoulder.
Comfort sighed but didn’t argue. I knew it looked lopsided and a little foolish, but I would rather people whisper about fashion oddities than gawk at scars and shy away from me.
At long last, Comfort clasped her hands. “Perfect,” she said firmly, and gave me a little push toward the door.
I swallowed hard. For the first time in a year, I found myself craving a mirror—not out of vanity, but in terror.
Had she truly made me bearable to look at?
Or was I about to walk into a room and prove every nightmare right?
Would I relive my experience with Cynthia, but expounded a hundred time worse?
There was no time to search out the hand mirror I had hidden away.
My moment was here whether I was ready or not.
The downstairs was alive with people. Most had dainty glasses they were sipping from, and some were swaying to the music provided by the orchestra.
Just like Comfort had claimed, the people attending the engagement party had very different style choices from the royalty and noblemen I was used to at the castle.
Girls wore garishly colored gowns with an inordinate number of embellishments, large bows, frills and mountains of lace, their hats bedecked with feathers, flowers, and more lace. It hurt my eyes just to look at them.
The air smelled of perfume and candlewax and too many people crowded too close together. I froze at the threshold of the room Comfort led me toward, bracing myself for stares, whispers, possibly even mocking laughter.
But…nothing came.
If anything, no one seemed to notice me at all.
They were far too busy marveling at one another’s frills and ribbons, too distracted by clashing hues and glimmering jewelry to bother with a girl in a pale dress with a veil.
I exhaled slowly, my shoulders loosening for the first time in months.
I might just slip through the crowd, unnoticed.
Comfort nudged me forward, guiding me through the press of bodies until we found Mother.
She stood radiant near the fireplace, a glow about her I hadn’t seen since before Father’s death.
At her side was Algernon, tall and thin, his mustache neatly trimmed and his smile welcoming and kind.
He looked nothing like Father, but there was a warmth in his eyes that softened the sting of seeing Mother on the arm of another man.
“Is this your other daughter, Lenora, dear?” he asked, turning toward me. If he noticed my scars, he gave no sign.
Mother’s smile was steady. “Yes. This is Truly.”
I dipped a quick curtsy.
Algernon bowed his head. “Your mother has told me so many wonderful things about you. You were the youngest translator for the king, weren’t you?”
“Not for the king himself,” I corrected carefully. “Mostly foreign dignitaries.”
“And how many languages do you speak?”
“Five,” I answered, uncomfortably aware of how people were beginning to take notice of me.
A ripple moved through the crowd. “Five!” someone exclaimed nearby.
“She speaks five languages!” The murmur spread from one guest to another, and heat rushed to my cheeks.
To my surprise, however, it wasn’t shame creeping into my chest, but the strange, dizzying sensation of pride.
They weren’t whispering about my scars. They were whispering about my accomplishments.
“Remarkable,” Algernon said warmly. “What else do you enjoy?”
I rattled off the list—reading, archery, horseback riding—my words tumbling out too quickly. Still, his approval didn’t falter. “Just like your mother and sister,” he said. “You are quite an accomplished young woman indeed.”
Still smiling warmly, he said, “I hope you’ll help my daughter learn some of these skills. Have you met my Cynthia yet? She’s been eager to meet you.”
The name churned acid in my stomach. I forced my lips into a careful smile, every inch the diplomat I once had been.
“Yes, I met her briefly this afternoon. Unfortunately, we didn’t have much time together, but I look forward to getting to know her better.
” My voice came out smooth as glass, though inside, I was splintering.
Thankfully, more guests crowded in, eager to offer congratulations to Mother and Algernon, and I slipped away. All I wanted to do was stand in a dim corner and be overlooked. Relief lasted only a moment before an older man intercepted me.
“Pardon me, miss. Did I hear you speak several languages?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you can read and write them?”
“Yes, sir.”
He pulled a lengthy scroll from his satchel with trembling fingers. “Would you mind translating a business proposal for me?”
Would I mind? I nearly wept with gratitude.
“I’m glad to help,” I told him, a genuine smile breaking onto my face.
At last, here was a reason to escape the crowd.
We settled at a small table, and I buried myself in the familiar rhythm of words, ink flowing steadily across parchment.
While the room whirled with laughter, gossip, and music, I lost myself in the quiet refuge of language.
For a little while, I wasn’t the scarred girl hiding behind a veil.
I was a linguist again, just as Father had been.
It was the closest I had felt to him since his death.
By the time I finished, Algernon was shepherding the last guests out the door. The old man pressed a silver coin into my palm. “For your trouble,” he said. I tried to refuse, but he closed my fingers over it. “Take it. You’ve earned it.”
When he left, I sat for a moment in the echoing silence of the emptying hall, staring down at the coin. For the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t feel invisible or mocked or forgotten. I felt useful.
And useful, I realized, might just be the first step back to feeling whole.