2 Dove
DOVE
Dovey! Dovvvvey!!” A lilting voice echoed through the empty hallways. “We need you downstairs—now!”
I sighed for what felt like the hundredth time this week.
My mother had been relentlessly cheerful for months now…
a cheer bordering on mania. I understood she was relieved to have money coming in again.
This time last year, we were running out of furniture to sell off and staff to let go.
But the constant chatter, planning, shopping—good goddess, the shopping! —all frankly exhausted me.
Dropping my quill, I twirled my wrists and stretched both arms out to relieve the aching tension in my back. I’d been at this desk for hours working on the household books and budget, and it seemed I’d lost track of time again. The next applicant must be arriving soon.
I got up with a groan, shaking out the stiffness from my legs and looking myself over quickly.
A new ink splotch was on the left sleeve of my silk periwinkle dress, but that couldn’t be helped.
Taking out the clips that held my hair back while I worked, I fluffed my curls with one hand while scrabbling around in a desk drawer for a ribbon.
Dammit. Nothing. Well, this would have to be good enough for Mother. Goddess knew I didn’t have time to be dressing up for these pointless interviews. She could criticize all she wanted—ultimately, I should have the last word in how I looked and what I did now. Finally.
I scooped up Bluebell, my fluffy calico cat, from where she lounged on the desk and settled her into my arms, then traipsed down the corridors to our entrance hall.
We’d been conducting the interviews for my new bodyguard in the front parlor until yesterday, when one particularly uncouth applicant shattered an antique vase and tracked dirty footprints all over a new, handwoven, buttercream carpet that had just arrived from the Southern Isles.
From now on, Mother had announced at breakfast, we’d be vetting each of these coarse peasants by the door first before we let them farther into our home.
Which was perfectly fine by me. Hopefully at least a few would be so offended they’d simply leave after the snub. The longer I could avoid this ridiculous hindrance to my freedom, the better.
I made my way to the empty, high-ceiled entrance hall, its walls crowded with artwork, and our massive Wistrallo family portrait in pride of place.
Petting the purring cat in my arms, I paused to gaze up at it.
Mother’s prim, plump figure loomed over me in the painting, bronze-brown skin wrapped in maroon silks.
Her tight, high-cheek-boned smile making me frown like always.
Father stood beside her, a couple inches shorter and draped in austere charcoal, his eyes seeming to twinkle from his young, ebony black face at me through the painting.
I had been thirteen when the three of us sat for it—our discomfort neatly erased by the artist’s skilled brush—and now, at thirty-one, the severe braid and smart ruffled pinafore I wore in the painting had been replaced by my natural curly hair and colorful dresses that hugged my ample curves.
I may have inherited the body, skin tone, and facial features of my mother, but as I grew up it became starkly apparent that our styles could not be more different.
At that moment, the flesh-and-blood Lady Iris Wistrallo swept into the hall, looking like she’d just stepped out of the portrait above us.
The only hint to the passage of time was the strands of gray in her braided hair.
She even wore a similar deep maroon dress, ever so slightly updated to acquiesce to the changing fashion of almost two decades.
She caught sight of me and sighed. My shoulders tightened.
“There you are, Dovey.” Mother stepped closer, her quick eyes looking me over. I shifted my ink-blotted sleeve under Bluebell’s body. “You were due to meet me here ten minutes ago. The next applicant will be arriving any moment.”
“Well, I’m here now. And it appears they’re late—not a very promising start, wouldn’t you say? They must be terribly unreliable.”
She shook her head, looking like she was restraining herself from wagging her finger at me.
We’d had many discussions about wagging fingers over the years.
An uneasy truce had finally been struck in my mid-twenties—she wouldn’t reprimand me as if I were a child, if I stopped giving her the middle finger.
A fair bargain, though we still broke it several times a month.
A hard three raps of our peacock-shaped front door knocker rang through the entry hall.
Mother and I winced in tandem and exchanged glances, sharing a rare moment of commiseration.
I know she disliked dealing with these hulking barbarians as much as I did.
Which was why her insistence on hiring one to follow me around day and night was even more infuriating.
I steeled myself and broke eye contact with her, staring stubbornly at a painting of a dragon hung on the wall by me instead.
Mother was just intent on protecting her assets, which included me since I’d developed my…
talents. She wanted to secure her wealth—our family’s wealth.
It wasn’t about me or my feelings. She had made that excruciatingly clear over these past months.
Our new butler, Frandin, bustled into the hall and checked through a peephole to make sure it was our expected visitor at the doorstep. After confirming, and a slight nod from Mother, he unlocked the large front door and swung it open.
“Good afternoon. Papers, please?” Every inch the professional, Frandin had posture nearly as perfect as Mother’s.
I let myself slouch more, focusing on the curves of the dragon’s intricately painted red scales and the feel of Bluebell’s soft fur beneath my hand.
This whole show was a waste of time. I should be back up in my study, continuing my work.
Rustling the applicant’s papers importantly, Frandin announced, “Maerryl Kirim, here to apply for the position of Lady Dove’s bodyguard.” He gestured one stiff arm to invite the stranger inside. “May I introduce Lady Iris Wistrallo, mistress of the house.”
A stout, young, pale-skinned woman in fighting leathers entered the hall with a slow step and a wary look.
Guarded in every sense of the word, she scanned quickly over the entrance hall with one hand resting near a sheathed knife, as if she expected some rogue to jump out from behind the credenza.
Dwarf blood in her, by the looks of it, but she still stood several inches taller than my five-foot-three height.
As she finished her perusal, Maerryl brought her attention to me.
Despite myself, my back straightened under her scrutiny, hands clasping in front of me in a way that I knew drew notice to my ample chest. Only a lightning quick glance down and up my person before she dismissed me entirely from her attention and focused on Mother. A glimmer of shock rippled through me.
With a slight, awkward bow, she said to my mother, “Thanks for seeing me today, lady. I’ve spotted seven weak points of entry on my way into your manor so far. You’re right that security services are definitely needed here.”
“Oh my,” Mother said, surprise ruffling her normally smooth demeanor.
I rolled my eyes. For some reason that I couldn’t shake, I disliked this candidate—even more than the recent lout who kept greedily eyeing the gilt-framed art on our walls as if already planning how to make off with them in the night.
At least with him, I could read his intentions clearly.
With this one… Maerryl—far too pretty a name for such a commoner—I couldn’t tell what she was thinking behind that hazel-eyed gaze, other than wanting to scare her way into a job. Not yet, at least.
“Why don’t we move to the parlor for a proper chat, Miss Kirim?
” Mother said, one gracious hand showing her to the doorway on the right.
Her eyes shot to Maerryl’s feet, and mine followed.
She wore clean boots, with only a faint dusting from the journey here.
At least our carpets would be safe from this one.
Frandin passed Maerryl’s papers to my mother before heading off to check on our tea. Maerryl inclined her head and followed Mother into the parlor without even waiting for me to enter first. My irritation swelled.
After we’d all settled into petal pink chairs, Mother pounced: “So, Miss Kirim, how exactly would you approach our home’s security?”
“Well,” she began, a slight gulp bobbing in her throat. My eyes narrowed. “First, of course, I would need to do a full perimeter sweep and analyze every possible point of entry. Windows and doors, as well as the roof, cellars, sewer, and any crawl spaces at the base of the house.”
“The sewer?” My nose wrinkled in disgust. “No one is going to try to break in through the sewer, ugh.”
Maerryl’s gaze moved to me, and I felt myself adopting my haughtiest frown. She frowned right back at me. “Oh, I assure you, Miss Dove, motivated criminals will stop at nothing to get what they want. Even if it means dealing with a bit of… refuse.”
The side of her mouth quirked up slightly, there and gone in a split second. I felt somehow as if the other woman was poking fun at me, though I couldn’t figure out how. I raised my chin another inch.
“Lady Dove to you,” I shot icily.
Mother brushed a hand through the air. “Oh, Dovey, enough. Please be civil.” Leaning toward Maerryl, she said, “Now go on, Miss Kirim. What next steps should be taken for my daughter’s safety?”