5
T he cold mornings grew shorter and the sun began to cast its sweltering rays on the earth below. June was fast approaching and with that the Debutante Ball, marking the commencement of the dreaded Season.
A week had passed since the Welcome Banquet Disaster with Duchess Wilhelmina. Lydia had no clue of my blunder as Genevieve left it out when recounting our time at the palace. I spent days brewing over Julianna’s threat. I almost expected to wake up to taunts and rotten eggs thrown at our windows, but I was only met with silence. It was the silence that worried me.
It could only mean Julianna was waiting for a bigger, wealthier audience. An audience like the guests of the Debutante Ball. No doubt she decided that exposing me in high society was the more satisfying option.
My mind swam with thoughts of water spills, Duchess Wilhelmina’s disapproving face, and the ball of humiliation that loomed over me. I prayed that Papa would write back and tell Lydia I cannot go, that I was too young or he was too poor. But fate disregarded my hopes.
The day before the Debutante Ball, Rowena handed me a letter from Papa.
Theodora and Rowena,
Thank you for writing to me about Amarante. I agree with Lydia that it is time for her to attend the Season. It will be an opportunity for her to grow and learn. Though I regret I will not be there with her, I know she will make me proud.
Business is booming here in Aquatia—the local merchants are eager to purchase my stock of Deliberan silk. I cannot find time to reply to all my correspondence. Please apologize to my family on my behalf.
The letter cut off. I flipped the paper over.
“Where’s the rest?” I asked.
Rowena scuffed her feet. “He was rambling about business matters. I didn’t think you’d care for it.”
I set the paper on my nightstand, sick to my stomach. Papa wanted me to attend the Season. He believed I would make him proud.
If only he knew the mess I had gotten myself into already.
“What’s wrong, dear?” Rowena asked.
“What if Papa doesn’t care about me anymore?” I said. It sounded harsher out loud, but it was a reasonable conclusion. He had always been there to stop my punishments. Just a few years back, he refused to have Lydia ship me off to a boarding school for troubled young ladies. Why would the Season be any different?
Rowena tutted. “Don’t say that. He’s just busy, that’s all. Look how hard he works to support us.”
“I suppose so,” I muttered.
I didn’t want to overwhelm her with my real thoughts. Perhaps it was ungrateful of me, but I was more aware of Papa’s absence than the wealth that crept into our home in the form of new furniture and ornate rugs.
“Here. Your father sent this too,” Rowena said brightly. She set a large box with a satin bow onto my bed.
Inside was a magnificent ball gown of marigold yellow with intricate beading and gauzy fabric. Though beautiful, it solidified my doom, just like the bracelet of silver bells.
As I ran my fingers over the embroidery on the bodice, I recalled the last conversation I had with him.
“AH, MY FLOWER,” PAPA said, smiling as I brought in his nightly tea. His desk was in disarray, his fingers stained with ink. “You look like quite the young lady. ”
The porcelain clinked when I set it down. I made a face. “Really?”
“Why, you act like it’s a bad thing,” he said.
“My old governess used to call me that.” I recalled Mrs. Handel’s voice. She reminded me of Julianna, haughty, condescending, and shrill.
Papa took his tea and inhaled its earthy fragrance. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “ever since Mrs. Handel left you’ve been quite idle.”
I sunk into a leather armchair and slumped over the side. “She was a terror. Besides, Genevieve doesn’t have a governess. She’s doing just fine.”
Papa chuckled. “That’s because Lydia is tutoring her. And since you refuse to be taught by your stepmother, Mrs. Handel was the only solution. Though I wouldn’t have chosen her as your governess if I’d known she would swipe the antiques.”
I grinned, recalling the look on my governess’s face when Lydia’s bronze cat figurines fell out of her purse. I had flirted with the idea of getting rid of her in some way or other, but I didn’t expect the old hag to do it herself. It had been four months since I’d received any sort of schooling at all, since Papa was too busy to find a replacement.
In the absence of having to recite historical events or embroider a fish, I spent my time helping Rowena in the garden, lounging outside with Genevieve, and sitting with Papa whenever he was home. The break was a blessing.
Papa took a sip of his tea. “What do you think about attending the Season this year?”
I jerked up. “Papa!”
“Genevieve is going. You won’t be alone,” he said, adjusting his spectacles. He usually did that when he fancied his own idea .
“I don’t want to go,” I said. A whine escaped into my voice—hardly becoming for someone my age—but I didn’t care. I was not going to the Season, with its socials and dancing and courtship.
“Why not?” Papa said. “It’s something a young lady of your status would have to attend sooner or later.”
I crossed my arms and scowled. “I choose later.” How I wished Papa hadn’t gotten so rich, so I wouldn’t have to attend at all!
He sighed and gave me a look I couldn’t quite read. “I suppose you can wait another year. But promise me you’ll spend your time more wisely, my flower. Nothing rots the mind like idleness.”
I relaxed into the armchair. “Very well, Papa. I promise.”
I NEVER KEPT MY PROMISE after he left for Aquatia, so perhaps I deserved the punishment.
Lydia’s thrill over Papa’s approval was nothing when she saw Genevieve in her ball gown. My stepsister looked like a princess in her gown of pale rose dotted with seed pearls. Lydia cried for a whole evening after the fitting.
I was happy for Genevieve. She was clearly excited for her coming out, but I knew she was suppressing her emotions for my sake. Still, as much as I tried, I couldn’t keep my sour mood from showing during the long carriage ride to the palace. My ill-fitting corset dug into my ribs and the embroidery on my dress itched. I hated that something so beautiful could be so painful.
When we arrived, Lady Hortensia met us debutantes in the courtyard and told us we had to rehearse our entrance before the ball. The year before, a debutante tumbled down the stairs as she did not know the proper way to descend a royal staircase. I doubted there was a difference between descending a regular staircase versus a royal one, but I followed Lady Hortensia into the ballroom nonetheless.
All twenty-five of us gathered behind the grand steps, each moving forward as the herald called our names. He was a short man with a monocled eye, a bald head, and the most piercing voice I ever heard, second only to Julianna’s.
“Miss Amara...Amaran...tee—”
“The ‘e’ is silent, sir,” I said, already halfway down.
The herald sniffed. “Very well. Er...Miss Rachel Estelle!”
A tall girl in a blue dress descended after me at his squeaky call. Her hands were shaking, though the ballroom below was empty aside from the servants setting the refreshments table.
“Posture, dear!” Lady Hortensia trilled from the bottom of the steps. “Remember Rachel, you are a swan gliding along a lake, not a pigeon pecking crumbs on the road. And speaking of pigeons, Mr. Packington,” she said, turning to the herald, “are you sure you cannot do anything about those awful birds? They’re nesting in the chandeliers.”
The herald peered up. A band of gray-blue pigeons was perched on the golden arms of the chandelier above him. They stared back with round, unblinking eyes. Mr. Packington shuddered. “Like I told you milady, the servants have tried everything. They simply wouldn’t leave.”
“I don’t like it. It seems like some sort of...witchery.” Lady Hortensia shuddered, wiggling her plump, bejeweled fingers.
“Nonsense!” Mr. Packington puffed up his scrawny chest. “We do not speak of such things here, milady. I’m sure that much you know.”
The lady frowned a frown that rivaled Lord Gideon’s .
By the end of it, we were led into a sitting room to wait for the start of the ball. Many debutantes spent the time chattering. Genevieve, Tori, and I sat in our own corner. We asked Olivia to join us, but the girl shied away from any interaction and buried her nose in a book.
Perhaps she would disappear again, like she had at the welcome banquet. We decided to leave her be.
As dull minute after dull minute dragged on, Tori excused herself to the lavatory, Genevieve sketched aimlessly on a napkin, and I settled on eavesdropping.
“How do you think pigeons got into the ballroom?” Samantha asked from the other side of the room.
“I heard from one of the servers they entered through the kitchens,” Tessa Donahue said, patting her coppery curls. “Someone must’ve left a window open.”
“How irresponsible.” Julianna scoffed. “Narcissa, why don’t you have your cat take them down?”
The duchess’s daughter was perched on an armchair. She narrowed her eyes. “It’s the servants’ job to take care of such things.”
Julianna looked cowed, but she masked it with a laugh. “You’re right. Work like that is reserved for clumsy waiters and girls who flirt with them.” She threw a glance at me. A few debutantes giggled.
“Ignore them,” Genevieve whispered, smoothing her napkin. Julianna’s laughter was still ringing in my ear.
“I can’t believe her,” I muttered, blood rushing to my face. It was true that I had grown used to Julianna’s antics. She spread all sorts of rumors about me as a child—that I had a beard I shaved off every morning, that I ate bird droppings, that I had freckles because I was cursed by a witch. At some point I learned to tolerate it by playing pranks and giving empty threats, but this was different .
How would Lydia react knowing my reputation had ruined Genevieve’s? What would Papa say if my first day at the Season was a disaster? How could I make him proud then?
“Amarante, whoever she gossips to is going to think worse of her than of you. No respectable lady would say such things about others,” Genevieve said, tucking her napkin away. She squeezed my shoulders. “It will be fine. I promise.”
I marveled at her calm, especially when her reputation was on the line too. A part of me wished I could be like Genevieve, but the sensible part knew that wasn’t possible.
I gave my stepsister a strained smile and stood from my seat. “You’re right,” I said. “I’m going to the lavatory.”
I was in more danger of pummeling Julianna with my bare fists than ever before, but I had since learned to curb my juvenile tantrums. I satisfied myself by marching up and down the hall instead, imagining I was digging my heel into Julianna’s face with each step. I passed Tori my fifth time down the hall.
“Where you off to?” Tori said, nibbling on a pastry.
“The lavatory,” I said.
“It’s over there,” she said, pointing to the left. “The kitchen is to the right. They’ll let you sneak a little snack before the ball if you ask.”
“Great. Thanks.”
She went back into the sitting room and I made my way to the right. If there was anything I needed, it was Theodora’s signature raspberry tarts, but I would have to settle for the next best thing. The more I walked the angrier I got. What right did Julianna have to hold my reputation against me? That was crossing the line, even for her .
Servants bustled past with arms laden with baked goods. A maid beat at a stray pigeon with a feather duster. A young man strolled by, polishing a green apple with his shirt.
I stopped in my tracks. It was him .
“You!” I whirled around, pointing a trembling finger at the waiter who had spilled water on me. This time, he was dressed in a plain shirt and breeches. Those in the hall stopped and stared, but I paid them no mind. My blood was boiling.
“Oh. You,” the waiter said. He raised his eyebrows, looking infuriatingly relaxed. “Hello.”
“Hello? Hello? ” My voice raised an octave higher as I stomped up to him. “Do you have any idea what you caused?”
“Woah, easy there.” He stepped back, holding his apple away.
“Of all things you had to give me your jacket! And you...you winked at me!” I sputtered.
I wanted to say a million more things, but surely shouting at a palace employee wouldn’t help my situation .
Yet my anger had to go somewhere. I snatched the apple from his hand. Curse him for holding it away from me, like he was afraid I was going to spit on it. I shoved the fruit between my teeth and crunched down.
The servants behind me gasped. The waiter merely stared.
My eyes watered from the acidity of the fruit as I thrust it back into his hands.
“Enjoy that,” I said, mouth full of apple, and marched off.
IT WASN’T LONG BEFORE Lady Hortensia ushered us out of the sitting room to the top of the stairs again. The ballroom was now alive with chattering guests. Somehow, the servants had shooed the pigeons away. The only sign of their presence was a dollop of droppings on an unlit candle.
“Miss Samantha Faas!” Mr. Packington announced.
Samantha descended the marble staircase as several other debutantes had before her. The ballroom burst into a smattering of applause. The waiter’s apple soured my stomach, a reminder of yet another humiliating decision I had made in the past few weeks.
The queue shuffled forward. A thousand faces turned toward us.
“Miss Genevieve Bonavich Flora!”
My stepsister descended, the voluminous skirts of her ball gown flaring around her like petals on a rose. She was a tiny figure when she reached the bottom. She curtsied low before the dais and joined the cluster of debutantes on the side of the ballroom .
“Miss Amarante Flora!”
My feet brought me forward at their own accord, seemingly more prepared than I was. The descent was longer than I anticipated. Queasy as I felt, I managed to reach the foot of the stairs and curtsy before the king and queen.
The fact that the rulers of Olderea were merely a few feet before me did not help my nerves. I stole a glance at them as I rose. King Maximus was swathed in golden finery. His bleary gaze and stony expression told me he was already bored with the festivities. In contrast, Queen Cordelia gave me the smallest of smiles. It made her eyes glimmer. I let go of a breath, returned her smile, and joined Genevieve on the side of the ballroom.
It felt like ages when they finished announcing everyone, including the illustrious courtiers and gold-ribboned young men. Silver bells jingled as the debutantes shifted about, restless from standing. When I thought they would finally let us go, a fanfare sounded from the top of the stairs.
“Announcing His Highness Crown Prince Bennett Median of Olderea!”
Squeals and whispers erupted from around me. I peeked over the shoulders of my fellow debutantes to catch a glimpse of the crown prince. He was tall and stately in a deep maroon coat, his crown gleaming from atop his chestnut hair. He looked very much like the king, if the king weren’t paunchy and balding. With a curt bow before his parents, the crown prince mounted the dais and took his seat beside his father. His face was stoic as he stared ahead.
“Who put dirt in his tea?” I muttered to Genevieve. She giggled .
Another fanfare sounded. “His Highness Prince Ash Median of Olderea!”
A familiar figure came down the steps.
Except this time, there was a crown nestled in his dark hair.