The Lords Ball
The bell over the door jangles as I step into the shop. No one sits behind the counter, but I hear the rustle of someone rising in the back room. I push the hood of my cloak off my head and smooth my hair while I wait. It’s sure to be a mess by now.
Mistress Corthope steps into the entry. Her lips turn down when she recognizes me.
“Good afternoon,” I say. I’m willing to be polite, or at least start that way.
“If you’re looking for your job back, I’ve already replaced you.” She props a hand on her hip and squints.
“Oh no—I’ve got quite enough to occupy me.” I step further into the shop, rubbing my hands together for warmth. “I’m here to collect my wages.”
Mistress Corthope’s forehead wrinkles, and her voice is sharp when she speaks. “What wages?”
“The ones you stole,” I say pleasantly. “You remember.”
She looks away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do. But if you’d prefer to have the minister of finance look over your books, I suppose he could.”
“The minister of finance!” Mistress Corthope scoffs. “As if he’d care about a complaint from a chit like you!”
I reach a hand into my pocket. “He would, actually.” I pull out a letter and slide it across the counter. The king’s seal, set in bright red wax, winks up at us. “I know it’s your word against mine,” I add apologetically, “but you see, my word means more to the royal family than yours does.”
Mistress Corthope looks from me to the sealed letter and back again. “Did you steal that?”
“Open it and read it, if you want.” I shrug. “Although it would probably be easier if you just give me my wages now, and don’t get the minister involved.”
She snatches the letter, slits the seal with her thumbnail, and scans the contents. Lucas had written it for me, of course. He would have skipped this step altogether and just sent the auditor over, but I’ve been in a gracious mood the past week.
She growls when she finishes reading and stuffs it back in the envelope. Her moneybox clangs when she pulls it out and counts my missing wages. She slams them onto the counter, pushing the letter back over to me.
“I suppose I can guess how you got the ear of the prince,” she sneers.
“I very much doubt it!” I collect the money, counting carefully to ensure it’s all there, and tuck it away. “Would you like to keep the letter?”
The noise she makes indicates that she does not, in fact, so I collect that too. “If Jinna is still here,” I say, raising my voice, “let her know that there’s a place for her at the palace, if she wants it.”
I am sorry to report that Mistress Corthope uses some less-than-couth language. But she has no power over me anymore, so I pull my hood back up and step out of the shop, letting the bell clang behind me for the last time.
I scan the street. Chemmy should be done with work soon, but I don’t spot her in the crowds yet. I do see a little flowergirl huddled by a lamppost, and I wend my way over.
“What do you have?” I ask, bending down to her.
She shows me her basket of pansies.
“I’ll take them all.” I rummage in my pocket for the money Mistress Corthope just gave me and press it into her cold hand.
The girl’s eyes widen when she sees the amount I’ve given her. “All of it, miss?” she squeaks.
“Well, your pansies are very nice!” I say, gathering the wilted purple bundles. “More than worth the cost.”
She grins a gap-toothed smile and takes off running, dingy blonde braids flapping as she goes.
If I’m to be a princess, I’ll buy flowers every day.
“Hester?”
I look behind me. Chemmy is exiting Mistress Hardinge’s, two doors down, and has spotted me. Her face turns from surprise to delight. I rush to meet her.
“Chemmy!”
She wraps me in a hug, questions tumbling out as fast as she can speak them. “You’re back! How? Are your parents well? When did you come? Where are you staying?” She releases me and holds me at arms’ length, looking me over for answers. “Why didn’t you send word?”
“My parents are as well as they can be,” I say. “We left Ramsfeldshire last week, but just got here yesterday. I didn’t send word because there just wasn’t time.” Lucas had arranged everything for us. We traveled slowly, for Dad’s sake, and Lucas got him into the care of the best physicians as soon as we arrived in the city.
“A week? That’s plenty of time,” Chemmy scoffs.
“Well, yes, sort of,” I say. “But I wanted to tell you everything in person, anyhow.”
She loops her arm through mine so we can walk down the street together. “Tell away, then.”
Where to start? “It might take a while to sort through all the details,” I say, “but the most pressing issue is this: will you help me get ready for the ball tonight?”
Chemmy slows her steps. “What ball?”
“.”
“Hester,” she begins, “you may have been able to pass in the Commoners Ball, but even I can’t dress you as a noble!”
“I have a dress,” I say. “The queen is lending it to me.”
“The what? ”
“But I still want you with me, if you’re not otherwise occupied.”
Chemmy turns so she’s facing me head on. “I think you’ve skipped a few details, Hester!”
“I’ve skipped oodles,” I agree, “which is why I want you to come with me. We can talk while we’re getting ready.” I twist my mittened fingers together, suddenly shy. “I’m getting married, Chemmy. The engagement will be announced tonight.”
“I knew he’d ask you!” Chemmy crows. She nearly tackles me with the force of her embrace.
We hug, and giggle, and say silly things, and generally behave nonsensically, ignoring the people rushing by and the cry of the merchants closing their shops.
“Your turn next,” I say. “Lucas can help Ungus set up for himself.”
Chemmy flushes. “If he could—”
The clopping of horse hooves interrupts us. We scuttle to the side of the street, but the clopping slows and stops. “Oh!” I say, recognizing the driver. “That’s our carriage, Chemmy!” I tug her over to it, and the driver hops down and hands us in. I lay my bundles of pansies on the seat next to me. “Do you suppose you could put these in my hair?”
Hours later, primped and preened, I stand at the top of the stairs in the palace and peer out a large window. Outside, the gaslit drive shows a steady stream of carriages rumbling up to the palace door. Each has its own crest, but I don’t know one from another yet. Hordes of lords and ladies alight and climb the steps to the front door before disappearing from view.
I tug at my gloves, smooth my silk skirt, pat my piles of curls and pansies, and try to ignore the self-consciousness writhing in my gut. I really can’t dance. I hope I won’t be an embarrassment to Lucas.
He’d invited Mum, but she didn’t want to leave Dad at the infirmary by himself. I feel a bit rotten leaving him, too, but the king—who is nearly my father-in-law—insisted that the engagement be announced immediately, so here I stand, waiting for my prince to appear and escort me downstairs. Chemmy is holed up with the maids, eating snacks and enjoying all the palace gossip. I knew she’d fit right in. Hugh hasn’t been seen since he left me at the chapel in Upper Splott; he might be wandering around Ramsfeldshire, offering prophetic advice about Folk wards, or he might be causing mischief somewhere else. Lucas has given me permission to box his ears next time I see him, and I intend to do it.
Behind me, I hear a rustle and a clearing throat. I spin and see Lucas, immaculate in cravat and tailcoat. He lets his eyes trail over me slowly, and a different sort of self-consciousness rises.
“You look lovely,” he finally says.
“Better than that masquerade, at any rate.” I smooth my skirt again. It’s a deep emerald green, without a ruffle in sight.
“You were lovely at the masquerade, too.”
“Liar,” I grin.
He walks over and lifts a gloved hand, pressing a kiss to it. “I thought you wanted me to lie.”
“Only sometimes.” I meet his gaze and melt. Why would I be self-conscious when I have this man by my side?
“Here is something true, then,” he murmurs. He bends and kisses my lips, warm and slow. He smiles as he draws away and brushes a curl off my forehead. “Well, my love,” he says, offering his arm, “shall we go to the ball?”