Chapter Twenty-Six
Moonlight
Eleanor left The Ladies Grace to ever-deepening glowers and smirks from the others, while Madam Grace had all but shoved her into the dark blue and silver carriage that’d arrived as the sun had set.
The driver, helpfully and too loudly, for her liking, announced that the marquis had arranged the carriage.
For which she had been quietly thankful.
Navigating the streets at night dressed like this would have been treacherous.
All it would take was for one person to approach her, thinking they could take advantage of her.
A dash of courage, a touch of foolishness, or a bit of inebriation was all it took.
Despite wearing her cloak to hide her meagre excuse of a dress, it would identify her as a prostitute.
That alone would add to the temptation for someone to press themselves on her for free, regardless that she was one of Madam Grace’s ladies.
Not that anyone needed a reason to force themselves on seemingly weaker or lesser people.
But that’s how many women ended up dead at the end of an evening, prostitute or not.
Alone, walking the streets at night, wearing clothes that someone would deem suggestive enough to give some twisted unspoken permission, would be enough to inflict themselves on her.
Those who had encountered Eleanor on such a night would never do so again. No matter how much she relished the idea of such a confrontation, she didn’t need to show up at the marquis’s fancy party with blood on her, at least not tonight.
The carriage trundled along the lamplit Centre where the wealthy of the king’s society lived. An area with a lure that was hard to resist for thieves, perfect for being caught by the city guards or a noble’s own guard.
Her stomach churned with the certainty that the carriage was taking her to the palace. But it turned just before reaching the statue of the First King and the palace gates, ending up at a cluster of trees Eleanor had always assumed was part of the Palace grounds.
The carriage rolled between wrought-iron gates, passing a small building tucked just inside, housing the guards. Lights dotted the trees, lining what she realised was a driveway, ending at another set of open iron gates fixed to a long, high stone wall.
The driver circled the carriage, displaying a courtyard fountain, then stopped at the stone steps.
So, this was where the mysterious marquis lived.
A wisp of blond hair escaped from the driver’s hat as he jumped down to open the carriage door for her.
Eleanor thanked him as she took in the marquis’s residence.
It surpassed all other Breninsol residences in size, excepting only the king’s palace.
Light, music, and laughter streamed through the tall windows into the courtyard, which helped the torches to illuminate the neatly trimmed shrubs running along the windows.
The doors were massive, and she could have easily ordered the carriage to have driven her up the steps and deliver her into the entrance hall.
If she had done so, the carriage would have appeared small.
The double-storied hall featured a wide staircase leading to the darkened upper level of the residence.
Manservants stood guard at the top and bottom of the stairs, but they didn’t fool her.
They were standing too rigid, their eyes too wary, and their blue outfits only added to the bulk of their frames.
Even though they bore no visible weapons, she recognised them for what they were: guards posing as servants.
Presumably they prevented party-goers from straying too far, unless there was another reason for these men to hide in plain sight.
Before she could fully take in the hall, the young servant in front of her took her cloak.
Eleanor thanked the young woman, knowing she would see the holes in it.
She had probably not even seen five-and-twenty years.
Maybe she was even younger, as she was nearly two heads shorter than Eleanor.
Her neatly tied-back blonde hair accentuated her rounded cheeks, adding to her youthful appearance.
Her long cornflower blue dress looked warm with sleeves that fell below her elbows, and a crisp white apron was tied primly around her slight waist.
The young woman widened her eyes at Eleanor’s dress, and the false servants coughed. Eleanor smirked, as the woman’s cheeks turned a shade of pink.
Despite the invite, Eleanor held no illusion that she was a courtesan, so she’d opted for a flowing dress in an eye-catching gradient of colour, cascading from a light blue to a deep turquoise.
As always, the dress had a plunging neckline, and it revealed more flesh than the courtiers’ dresses, with its criss-cross pattern on her stomach that revealed her belly button and hips, but the draping fabric at her shoulders covered her arms in a slitted sleeve.
The only compromise she’d made was to tie her hair into a low chignon.
A pointed cough interrupted the woman’s staring, making her let out a little squeak and fix her eyes on the floor.
Another servant, wearing the same cornflower blue outfit, gave Eleanor a quick curtsey. “If you’d follow me, my lady. The party is this way,” she said in a light, confident voice.
This woman was slightly older. Her brown eyes held a mature firmness, betraying a worldly experience that stripped away youthful innocence.
Eleanor wanted to correct the woman of her station, but she knew it’d be pointless. Instead, Eleanor gave a small smile, hoping to convey that no harm had been done. The first servant was young and, judging by her reaction, led somewhat of a sheltered life.
Like a good courtesan, Eleanor obediently followed the woman towards the merry music, passing towering paintings, and into what appeared to be the main hallway.
There were more manservants here, standing to attention.
Interestingly, Eleanor didn’t think they were all guards masquerading as servants.
To her eye, the slight differences in their positions were stark in contrast. The biggest tell was their sizes, with the largest looking like men who knew how to wield a sword or nock a bow.
Both roles endured standing to attention for long periods of time.
A servant was required to be inconspicuous and unnoticeable in a room until their lord required their service.
Whereas a guard stood proudly and impressed their presence on those around them, with the intention that if they stood imposingly enough, their foe would withdraw, all without the need to engage them in combat.
Her concealed blades eased Eleanor’s apprehension as she passed these men.
Not every dress featured pockets in The Ladies Grace.
Eleanor initially altered her own dresses until the other ladies noticed and altered their own dresses.
When Madam Grace had eventually found out, she realised the practicality of pockets for her ladies and it had become a feature with their tailor.
Madam Grace’s version of practicality involved the light-fingered ladies pilfering from an unsuspecting client, while their version of practicality was more for the odd coin, spare ribbons, a snack, or a weapon or two.
However, Eleanor had never been that obvious to keep her weapons in a pocket. Those she kept tucked away on her body. Tonight, her blade was snug on her thigh, and the dagger with the decorative handle held her hair in place.
The young woman guided Eleanor towards the music and laughter. She bobbed a quick curtsey before she left Eleanor by the open double doors, where the party was in full swing.
Her stomach sunk.
She was the only courtesan here. Eleanor felt their scrutiny before she’d even stepped into the room. Watching her closely, ready to see her next move, and planning to inform the marquis. She didn’t want him to know she’d fled.
Weakness.
Eleanor lifted her chin and took the necessary steps into the room but kept close to the wall; she didn’t need to stride into this party. She briefly indulged in the illusion of remaining unnoticed for a short while.
Compared to the party palace rooms, this one felt surprisingly small. It felt intimate, like this truly was an exclusive event.
The walls and ceiling were a mixture of light blue and white, making the room feel bigger than it was.
After the ostentatiousness of the party palace, the displayed wealth here was subdued.
Wide glass doors with paned windows above were pitch black from the nighttime, and a string quartet in a corner was playing soft cheerful music that obscured the courtiers’ conversation.
Tall green ferns dotted around the room added some interest and a small space was clear for those wishing to dance, but people were mostly talking.
Eleanor took in the courtiers who were laughing, smiling, and drinking with abandon. It didn’t feel like the party in the series of rooms in the palace, but it wasn’t like the parties in the palace’s ballroom either. This felt different, and she couldn’t put her finger on why.
She recognised a few courtiers and their Favours, but many others were unfamiliar.
These unknown nobles were older, some significantly so, noticeable by their grey hair and the lines that defined their features and highlighted their age.
Some moved with more considered slowness, or they were seated.
Their expressions were less reserved, with open scowls or booming laughs that deepened the lines on their faces.
Whoever these older nobles were, they’d been absent at the parties in the palace. Their jewels, though smaller and simpler, were no less beautiful, and identified them as nobles. Although, Eleanor doubted wearing diamond earrings could mean being simply dressed.