The Chocolatier's Wife (82 page)

“Gods
smite,
dear,
they
don’t
smack. And
I
don’t
recall
any
of
either being i
n
volved.”

“Of
course
there
was!
Men
only
listen
to
violence
and
pain. Especially back
then.”

“You
have
a
point.”
She
wiggled
into
her
corset,
and
Cecelia
came and
tigh
t
ened
the
cords.
“To
answer
your
question, we
will
leave
for
the observances,
listen
to
the
speech
prepared
by
the
new
Bishop,
pray
for the new
year
to
be
a
kind
one,
then
come
home
and
spend
time
in
contemplation, much
like
your
people,
and
then
we
shall
finally
get
to
feast
and
exchange presents.”

“May we sit together? I
will nudge you if you fall asleep.”

“I
shall
be
honored, but
I
am
certain
that
the
speech
will
be
a
stirring reminder
of
our duties
to
God
and each
other
and an
adjuring
that
we
use this new year as an
o
p
portunity to become better people.”

“William
will be so pleased.”

“Let
me
get
that.”
Tasmin tightened
Cecelia’s
laces,
tying
them
neatly. “You
are
quite
right.
We
should
sit
near
William
so
we
can
watch
him
fidget. He’s a
man,
so he will have
to stand the whole time.”

A
maid
came
to
the
door
with
a
reminder
that
they
had
to
leave
for the
cath
e
dral
soon,
so
they
stopped
teasing
and
hurried.
Tasmin dressed herself
in
green
wool
with
pale
green
jacquard
facings
on the
jacket
and
cuffs.
It
was
not
exactly
the
thing
to
wear, but
if
she
was
to sit
on
a
block
of
ice
for
two
to
three
hours,
she
was
dete
r
mined
to
be
warm. Cecelia
wore
a
sunflower
gold
dress
with
black
cord
decoration,
and
as
they walked
out
of
the
house
to
join
the
rest
of
the
family,
Tasmin felt
as
if
she was half of a
rather
striking
pair.

“There
can be
no
help
for
it,
but
they
must
be
kept
separate.
William, stand
on
this
side
of
the
gathering,
Tasmin
will
stay
on
that
side.
As
long as
the
main
body
of
the
family
acts
as
a
separator,
all
should
be
well.” Henriette’s
voice
was
sharper
than
the
early
morning air.
Cecelia
nudged Tasmin,
who
was
trying
not
to
laugh
at
how
silly
such
care
seemed,
especially considering
where
she
had
spent
most
of
the
party
last
night.
Tasmin
sought William
out
with
her
eyes
alone.
He
wore
the
same
blue
clothes
he’d
worn the
first
time
she’d
seen
him
outside
of
jail,
and
she
thought
he
looked
very nice,
straight
and
tall
and
very
blue-eyed,
if
also
very
solemn.
He
winked at
her
from
behind
his
mother’s
back.
She
coughed
into
her
mittened
hand to
cover a
smile
and
joined
the
procession
at
the
back, arm
in
arm
with Cecelia.
From
then
on,
she
knew,
she
and
William
would
act
the
polite strangers.
She
could
tell
that
Henriette
didn’t
like
the
fact
that
Cecelia
had such
a
place
of
honor,
that
was
certain,
but
unmarried
women
were
allowed to
have
a
companion,
a
chaperone
and
close
friend
who
was
also
a
servant, so that the lady need never
be alone.

Behind
them
the
rest
of
the
family’s
servants,
along
with
Ayers,
trailed. Someone
started
singing
the
“Dirge
of
the
Dark,”
which,
when
done
well—and
the
man,
who
m
ever
he
was,
had
a
very
bardic voice—was
an
exciting tale
of
the
last
battle
before
the
Lord
of
Light
came
and
prevented
the
races from
destroying each other.

Henriette
and
Justin
walked
arm
in
arm.
Though
there
was
a
formality to
them,
always,
you
could
see
that
there
was
also
a bond
between
them, and
it
gave
Tasmin much
more
hope
for
her
future
with
William than looking at
Bonny, who
was
trying
to
keep
space
between
herself
and
her husband,
despite
being
on
his
arm,
while
Andrew
gently
steered
her
around ice
puddles
and
held
her
arm
as
if
it
were
something
pr
e
cious
and
delicate. There
was
no
sense,
really,
in
comparing
relationships.
They
are
what
they are,
made according
to experience.

The
night
before,
the
palace
had
been
a
place
of
romance and
magic. Today
it
had
changed.
Pews
had
raised
up
across
the
floor,
religious
symbols and friezes
now
dec
o
rated
the
walls,
and the
twin
thrones
had
become
an altar.
As
they
entered
through
the
tall
doors
purposely
frozen open
at
an angle
so
that
only
two
could
go
through
them
at
a
time,
Tasmin saw
her aunt
and
the
others
at
the
back. Her
aunt
gave
her
a
quick smile
before focusing
on
William,
obvious
for
who
he
was
since
he
was
the
only
one
who walked in
by himself of the group.