The Queen's Bastard (16 page)

Which was what now allowed her to dare step out of Belinda’s reach and say, firmly, “You must be out of bed before you may have your tea, my lady. You always spill on the sheets and the stains never come out.”

“Nina.” Belinda utterly failed to reach a threatening tone. The serving maid widened her eyes, innocent as the newborn day.

“And besides, my lady, it gets you out of bed. You must be in at least a dressing gown before your guest arrives.”

Belinda groaned again and struggled for the edge of the bed. Eliza would not only arrive on time, but she would already be dressed. The maid was right. Turning out in a dressing gown would be bad enough. Eliza would mock her with those lovely dark eyes, and Belinda would deserve it. “All right, all right.”

She climbed out of bed and dropped her sleeping gown to the floor, absently touching the thread that held her dagger against the small of her back. Nina had gaped once at the tiny weapon and forevermore seemed not to see it, even when Belinda strode across her bedroom naked as a babe, as she did now. An elderly gentleman lived across the street. Belinda never looked, but always hoped he might have the presence of mind to be watching from his own bedroom windows when she got up in the morning. She thought of herself as less prone to exhibitionism as she was an appreciator of voyeurism. Nina made distressed clucking sounds as she did every morning when Belinda insisted on putting on such a display, and managed to shake a chemise down over her lady’s shoulders while Belinda stood in front of the wardrobe trying to select a gown.

“How dreadful is my hair?”

A calculating silence left Belinda smiling as she reached for a gown. Dark amber, it brought out the warmth of her hair. She hesitated over it, then selected a less flattering dress. Eliza might find herself tempted to plume a sparrow well, but presented with a peacock she was likely to snap in the other direction.

“It has seen better mornings, my lady,” Nina said judiciously, and then in dismay, “And that color will not help at all, my lady. The amber is better.”

“I know. Don’t argue, girl.” Belinda brushed away her complaints with a snap of her fingers and spread her arms so Nina could wrap the corset around her. The overdress was of pale green; half a shade truer and it would be springlike, lovely, complimenting Belinda’s complexion and making her hair dark and soft. Instead it bordered on the color of limes, too startling to flatter a woman of Belinda’s skin tones. She thought, briefly, of Ana in Aria Magli, and wondered at the stab of regret. “I’ll be trying on dresses. A hat won’t do to hide my hair today.”

Patience filled Nina’s voice. “Don’t worry, my lady. I’ll have you presentable in time to make a fashionable entrance.”

The girl was as good as her word. Belinda came down the stairs within minutes of Eliza’s arrival, as properly bedecked as she could be. Her hairstyle wasn’t extravagant, but neither was it unfashionable, swept up in a twist that emphasized her forehead and the length of her neck. Belinda felt quite smug until she saw her guest.

Eliza’s close-shorn locks were hidden beneath a wig of such fine blackness that Belinda was certain it was her own hair. She wore it down, against fashion, but it made not the slightest difference; the dark shining waves coiled around her bare shoulders in a seductive manner that made even Belinda want to brush it away from pale skin and drop a kiss against the delicate bone there. She wore blue so dark it bordered on purple, the cut of the gown more than simply fashionable, but predating fashion: Belinda knew within weeks the women of Lutetia would be wearing such gowns, and that Eliza set fashion with Javier’s help and approval. She must: the gown’s hue itself was a challenge and an admission both, stating her closeness with the prince and daring Belinda to make anything of it. For all of the woman’s callous and deliberate disregard of her own beauty the night before, today the rules were different, and it was clear Eliza intended that Belinda should know that.

“My lady Beaulieu.” Belinda curtsied more deeply than necessary, her own acknowledgment that she was far outstripped in looks and attire alike. “You look well recovered from the night’s revelries.”

Eliza’s eyes glittered with suppressed irritation. “I’m not made of such delicate stuff as most women, Lady Irvine. I’m surprised to find you up and about.”

“Blame my excellent servants, rather than my sturdy constitution,” Belinda suggested, then tilted her head. “You haven’t eaten, have you? I would like to breakfast with you, if not…?” She gestured toward the morning room, trusting that Eliza would remember the invitation made the night before.

Eliza nodded graciously and preceded Belinda into the arboretum. It was small, hardly enough to be granted such a lofty name, but its size made it warm, and morning light encouraged greenery that would make the air fresh and scented even in the coldest months of the year. Eliza glanced around perfunctorily, then turned to Belinda. “I ate some hours ago, but tea would be lovely.”

Bitch,
Belinda thought, almost cheerfully. Let Eliza be superior in her morning habits. It might get Belinda that much better of a gown. “Then tea it shall be. And fruit, if you care for any. The strawberries are very good.” Real pleasure crept into her voice; Belinda had missed the fresh fruit of more temperate climes during the months she’d been in the Khazarian north plotting Gregori’s downfall. She was spoiled, she reminded herself as she sat. Eliza sat across from her, accepting the fruit—not just berries, but apples and pears as well—with more enthusiasm than Belinda expected.

Belinda studied the cut of Eliza’s gown as they ate, letting the envy that was appropriate to her role bubble over a little. “I wager I’ll find nothing of that ilk in the dressmakers’ shops. You’ll set fashion on Friday, at the opera.” The envy was real, as was the admiration. “I have never dared to break the mold myself.” It was true; her position was to be unremarkable, to hide in plain sight. Risking a gown with the daring cut plunging between her breasts, the slightly shortened waist that turned a figure from a
V
into an hourglass, would draw attention. Aulun, and therefore Belinda, could never risk such a show.

And so the truth of it lay in her eyes as Eliza frowned at her, then shrugged. “It’s easy enough to do when someone like Jav supports you.”

“I lack such support,” Belinda said so wryly that Eliza almost smiled.

“Not for long.” The smile fell away into rivalry and dislike again. “Jav doesn’t make a habit of inviting everyone who comes along to the opera with us.”

“Should I make a refusal, then?” Belinda asked, sensing a chance. “I think you won’t believe me, but I really have no wish to intrude.” She kept her voice quiet, seeking guidance with such earnestness even she believed it. “You four are clearly a close-knit group. I wouldn’t presume to interfere.”

“You presume by thinking you could,” Eliza said, sharply. “Jav made the offer, I won’t gainsay him. You’re welcome enough.”

As welcome as a bout with the plague, perhaps. Belinda caught her breath, held it long enough to still the smile she felt, then nodded. “Your candor is…appreciated.”

Eliza’s eyebrows snapped up and she stared at Belinda for a few long moments. Belinda, wrapped in the safety of stillness, waited, and Eliza relaxed. “Thank you for the fruit, Lady Irvine. Perhaps we should take our leave—the dressmakers get busy after noon. When most of the women of town are finally prepared to leave their homes.” She didn’t try to disguise her disdain, and Belinda found herself smiling.

“We should all take lessons from you, M’mselle Beaulieu,” she said with absolute sincerity. “The world would be a more interesting place.”

Eliza gave her another sharp look, and Belinda smiled again as they gathered themselves to leave.

The carriage was Javier’s own, marked subtly with his signet. Belinda, allowing the coachman to help her down from the steps, knew she had been outdone: no one delivered to a dressmaker’s shop in the prince’s carriage would be allowed to pay for her own gowns. A tailor would bankrupt himself giving away wares, if it meant even the briefest notice in the royal household. He might gnash his teeth and pull his hair later, but in the moment, he would find himself without a choice.

And such was the expression on each owner’s face as they explored the row of dressmakers and tailor shops. Gratitude, delight, dismay, relief. There were gowns by the dozen to admire; Belinda asked for more than one to be set aside so she might consider it, but it was Eliza’s approval she waited on, and the street-born woman’s eyes remained shuttered, and no purchases were made. Not until the row was exhausted and the carriage regained did Belinda turn to Eliza with a curious tilt to her eyebrows. “I saw them, Lady Beaulieu. I saw their eyes on your gown, on the cut and workmanship. None of them have anything like it; they would have brought it out. Now they’ll copy it, but my lady, who designed the original?”

Hidden pleasure lit the brown of Eliza’s eyes, although she turned her head away to mask it. “No one who can make another soon enough for the opera.”

“I would not presume,” Belinda said, surprised by her own vehemence. “Fashion is yours to set, my lady. You are the prince’s friend; it is to you all eyes will look for guidance as to the season’s garments. I would not presume.” The passion left her and she exhaled more quietly. “But it seems nothing in these shops met with your approval. Shall I purchase a gown without your guidance?”

“Javier would know.” Wry irritation tinged Eliza’s voice. Belinda’s eyebrows rose.

“How?” Could it be that Javier shared the
knowing
that sometimes overwhelmed Belinda? The
knowing
of thoughts and desires that had so overwhelmed her in the Maglian pub? Hairs lifted on Belinda’s arms, remembering the unasked for intimacy in the overheated room. She shivered. Her thoughts had been unquiet all night, not letting her sleep until too close to dawn, but she had only considered the portent of Javier’s indominable will and how closely it seemed to match the silence she wore within herself like a shield. She hadn’t thought to wonder if that sense of self he’d tried to impose on her might run more deeply, might give him an uncanny awareness of the emotions that swam around him. Fascination and unwarranted hope shot through her, and she turned her attention to Eliza’s response with more interest than anticipated.

And Eliza shrugged, easy dismissive motion. “He knows my tastes. We’ve been friends for a long time.”

Belinda let go a breath of laughter, and with it a sting of disappointment. Javier was a prince, and his strength of will likely born from that, not any childish recognition of her own defenses mirrored in another’s eyes. “How long, my lady? If asking is not presumptuous.”

Eliza’s eyes glittered darkly as she glanced at Belinda. The carriage was moving through streets Belinda didn’t know; she hadn’t heard Eliza give the destination. The houses beyond were still wealthy, though, the streets mostly clear of beggars. No one here would accost the prince’s carriage, whatever their destination might be. Belinda let her gaze flicker back to Eliza’s, aware that the other woman studied her mistrustfully.

“Since I was ten,” Eliza said, “and he was eight. The entire city seems to know the story, so I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. I wanted a pear. I’d never had one, and they talked about them being grown in the royal gardens. My mother forbade me from fetching any, as the price for trespassing is imprisonment or death.”

“Certainly not for a child,” Belinda said, startled. Eliza made a small gesture with her hand, very much like the one Javier used. Belinda wondered if it had been Eliza’s first, or if she’d copied it unconsciously from years of exposure to the prince. She guessed the latter; there was grace to the motion that seemed inherent to royalty, although the prejudice of that made Belinda smile faintly.

“I could say that was what I thought.” Eliza shrugged again, watching the streets outside. “But truthfully, I never imagined I’d be caught. And I wasn’t, not by guard or gardener.”

“Javier.” Belinda smiled. Eliza gave her a sharp look and she realised with a start that she’d used the prince’s name with no honourific in an appallingly familiar fashion. Heat rushed to her cheeks, enough admission of guilt that Eliza went on without taking further note of the transgression.

“Javier. I was scrambling back over the wall when he asked, very politely, if I needed assistance.” Eliza’s mouth curved in a smile, gaze distant out the window. The smile, unexpectedly, reduced her beauty. It took her from untouchable to merely extraordinarily pretty, warming her eyes to a considerable degree. It made her approachable, Belinda thought curiously. She had seen many women in whom laughter brought out beauty, but never one in whom it brought out something more ordinary and human. “I fell off the wall,” Eliza went on, “and landed on Jav. I had bruises for a week, but he had a broken arm.”

“Oh!” Surprise pulled laughter from Belinda. “Oh no!”

“I’ve had pears any time I wanted, since that day. Jav made them let me stay all through his convalescence, and we’ve been friends ever since.” Eliza glanced at Belinda as the carriage drew to a stop. “You’re home, my lady.”

Belinda blinked and tilted to look out the window at the building beside her. “But a dress—?”

“One will be delivered to you on Friday.”

Belinda straightened, excitement speeding her heartbeat. She felt heat come to her cheeks again, and thought that Beatrice Irvine was a somewhat silly woman, to be so unexpectedly thrilled at the prospect of an unseen gown as a gift.

The coach door opened, the coachman offering his hand to help Belinda step down. Summarily dismissed and caught between offense and amusement, Belinda accepted it, inclining her head to Eliza as she stepped from the carriage. Vanity caught her and she turned back. “But if it needs alteration—?”

“It won’t,” Eliza said. “Good afternoon, Lady Irvine.”

It didn’t.

Eliza’s vanity had won through as well, pluming a sparrow too enticing a challenge to pass up, or her relationship with Javier too genuine to embarrass him with a poorly dressed companion at the opera. Three days was too little time to dye fabric, to make the cuts and sew the gown together, but color and size alike seemed to whisper that the dress had truly been made for her. The fabric was green silk, shot with counterwoven threads of brown, until the shade echoed and strengthened Belinda’s eyes. The cut was less daring than the gown Eliza had worn—no doubt than the gown Eliza
would
wear—but it flattered and was fashionable, the lines clean and long. There were fewer layers to it than she was accustomed to, the petticoats abandoned for a more natural shape, making the weight of the gown so slight as to be all but unnoticeable. It reminded Belinda a little of the gown Ana had worn—she could ride a horse astride in this dress without its weight pressing her thighs. She never would; it would damage the silk beyond belief. But the sense of freedom in the dressing was there, and made her smile breathlessly at her own reflection.