Chapter Twenty-Eight - Blackthorn Salon
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Blackthorn Salon
ROSAMUND WAS STILL reeling from her altercation with Bastian when she returned to Blackthorn Hall.
In the days after, she prepared for the salon.
Her mornings were now spent pouring over maps with Anders and Wulf.
She would throw something down her throat whilst reviewing the sprawling schematics that were spread across the table.
The other half of the table was taken up with paperwork for Dorian’s trial where she would speak with Emrys on what they had been able to find.
Her afternoons were spent with Elira, Mrs Hawthorn and Marianne planning and decorating for the salon in the conservatory.
Then in the evening, she and Corvin would run through the day to day running of the Veil and the Umbral.
Dorian may be imprisoned, but his people’s petitions and requests still had to be dealt with.
She was not going to let them down. By the time she flopped onto her bed in the evening she was exhausted, and it never felt like any time had passed when Gnash inevitably woke her up by pressing his snub nose to hers.
There had been other things to see too as well.
Corvin had made the arrangements to have the Darnwell’s interred in the Reverie.
Rosamund had written to the last remaining member of the family, a daughter in the countryside, to offer her sanctuary in either the Veil or the Umbral.
She had refused. It had broken her heart, but she had understood.
She had been where that girl was a few months ago.
On receiving the same letter she suspected she would have done the same.
Though it pained her, she let it go; there was still much to be done and time was running out.
In the few days they had before the trial, the conservatory of Blackthorn Hall had been transformed.
Rowan, Tobias and Hugo had worked tirelessly to repair the overall structure as the rain battered down around them, placing the many colourful sections of glass into the domed ceiling.
They had left one window empty, as the rainfall cascaded down into the cleared pond below.
Rosamund had brought herself to the brink of exhaustion, draining herself of her power to increase the growth of the plants she had nurtured there.
Flowers bloomed, trees stretched to the roof and shrubs burst into life as she extended her power towards them.
An oasis, a sanctuary, and exactly what the other wives would not expect.
Marianne had helped with the seating arrangements, the precedence and what would be expected in terms of decorum and function.
With a stab Rosamund thought of her lessons with Elswyth.
It should have been the older woman here with her now, but she was grateful for the young princess’s help.
When the invites had been sent Rosamund had expected silence.
By rights none of them should attend until she was a formal member of the family.
However, their curiosity surpassed tradition.
All but one had accepted.
The menu had been designed by Mrs Hawthorn, and the woman had outdone herself with the feast that had been laid out for the attending ladies. It was more than any of them could eat but was necessary for what she intended.
Fabricio had arrived the day before to work on her dresses for the salon and the trial.
The Vesperian had fallen into a fit of hysterics at the timescales, before proceeding to work through the evening to produce the exquisite dress.
The black and silver brocade skirts fanned out around her from her waist around the large hoop skirt she had been tied into.
The bodice, black velvet with silver boning had been laced up tightly, the swooping sleeves with the same silver ivy brocade lining gliding along the floor at her sides.
She was taken aback when she had seen herself in the mirror.
No longer the terrified young girl that had arrived in the city.
She looked like a queen of the underworld.
Now let’s hope they think that too.
She wore her long dark hair loose, though Elira had placed a silver clasp in her hair; the crescent moon entwined with a rose.
She had smiled when the young maid had shown her it.
A trinket she had picked up in passing when browsing the markets in the Velvet Tide.
It had amused her at the time, a clasp of the House symbols for Dorian and her own.
She had thought to show him it but never had.
She wore it now for courage, a reminder of why she was doing this, who she was doing it for.
For both of us.
She was still putting the final touches on things when Marianne arrived, dressed in the black, silver and emerald of Dorian’s colours.
It took her by surprise, but of course, the visiting princess would all arrive in the same shades.
She had maintained her usual style of light silks that cascaded down her slight frame the black and silver blending in an ombre.
It gave her the appearance of an elegant storm cloud.
Her hazel eyes widened as she took in the verdant decorations of the conservatory, the azure and crimson glow of the stained glass reflecting against the lush green leaves.
“Her Royal Highness of the Mist Isles, Princess Marianne,” Rowan announced proudly.
“Rosamund, it’s beautiful,” said Marianne as she stepped into the room.
“Do you really think so?” asked Rosamund as she picked at a nail nervously.
Marianne took her hand delightedly, “it’s perfect.”
Margot had put her in touch with some craftsmen in the Veil who had quickly reupholstered the worn furniture in the conservatory.
The rusted iron had been buffed, painted, and laden with soft cushions.
They had been arrayed in a circle, whilst various smaller restored wrought iron tables were dotted around, heavy with all the delights of afternoon tea.
Some of the chairs would accommodate two people, whilst others had been reserved for single occupants, depending on status.
As Marianne took her seat there was the sound of others approaching.
They had considered asking Osric to personally bring the princesses to Blackthorn Hall to ensure that the secrecy of the district could be maintained.
In the end Rosamund had sent blacked out carriages for each of them.
She wanted them to have time to think, to wonder and speculate at what they could not see.
To want to know more. To give them a taste of the mystery of The Veil without compromising it.
There was only one guest in the end that they had asked Osric to retrieve.
Isolde and Lavinia arrived together, both walking in awed silence as they took in the surroundings.
Rosamund had ensured that the corridor from the foyer had been lined with the hanging wisteria she saw throughout The Veil.
She had even placed a few of the crystals Dorian had made in the baskets to make them glow all the brighter.
Even Lavinia’s normally sour expression was absent as she raised herself up on her toes to get a closer look at the crystal.
“Their royal highnesses, Princess Isolde of the Summer Plains, and Princess Lavinia of the Iron Highlands.”
Isolde looked delighted and rushed to Rosamund to kiss her cheek, “I can’t believe what you’ve done to the place! Osric always said it was a painfully grim place!”
“I’ve been making improvements,” said Rosamund with a genuine smile to the shorter woman, “please, have a seat.”
She gestured to one of the shared seats opposite Marianne. Isolde smiled at her approvingly as Lavinia stepped up, “I’m surprised anything stays alive here for very long.”
Lavinia leaned in to give Rosamund an air kiss. She just about managed to stop herself from recoiling from the princess.
“Perhaps once, but not now,”, smiling innocently at Lavinia as she arched an eyebrow, “but we can come to that once all our guests have arrived.”
With a tut and a roll of her eyes, Lavinia sat on the same cushioned chair as Isolde, eyeing up the cake stand with interest, “where did you get these?”
“The Veil,” said Rosamund dismissively, secretly pleased at the surprise on Lavinia’s face, “there is a very fine baker who often makes us these little delicacies. Please, help yourself.”
“We should wait for the others,” said Isolde, though a hand was already reaching for one of the cream filled cupcakes.
“There is plenty for all of us, I’m sure they would not begrudge us starting a little early,” encouraged Rosamund.
Isolde did not need told twice, and even Lavina idly scooped up some icing, licking it from her finger with interest. The plumper of the two let out an orgasmic groan as she chewed, “that, is delightful.”
“I’ll send some with you before you leave.”
Whatever snide comment was on Lavinia’s tongue evaporated as she took a bite of the slice of cake in her hand.
She looked at it suspiciously but said nothing more.
It was not long before they were joined by the others.
Walking cautiously along the corridor came Celeste and Seraphine, both similarly dressed in the colours of Prince Dorian, though Celeste favoured silver with Seraphine favouring the dark emerald.
“Their royal highnesses, Princess Celeste of the Golden March and Princess Seraphine of the Silverlands.”
Seraphine looked at everything like she was memorising it, analysing each and every detail. Celeste, however, focused her attention on Rosamund.
“Lady Rosamund,” she said as Rosamund curtsied before her, “thank you for your invitation. I cannot recall a time where I have ever been invited to Blackthorn Hall.”
“What a pity it took the arrest of Prince Dorian to receive such an invite,” said Seraphine, though somewhat distractedly as she continued to look around the room.
“A mistake I hope to rectify,” said Rosamund smoothly, and Seraphine turned her attention back to her.