The assistant returned with a slice of cake while the dressmaker was helping me into another creation my mother had commissioned. It was the newest fashion, all layers of petticoats and flounce, the bodice and sleeves tight, and the square neckline low. It was the sort of thing my mother would wear, and I felt uncomfortable. There were six of them waiting for me to try on, all of which must have cost her a small fortune.
I’d a sneaking suspicion that my new wardrobe indicated her desire for me to take my place in the salons of Trianon—at the Marquis’ side. There was no other reason for me to have dresses this elaborate and in these dark colors. Their completion was timely, but not for the reasons she thought.
Taking the tiny plate with its cake, I nibbled on it while watching the entrance to the fitting room. Tristan and Chris should have made it to the hotel by now, but I was waiting for word that they were ready before I put my part of the plan into action. The bell on the door of the shop rang, and moments later, Sabine walked into the room. She raised an appreciative eyebrow at my appearance, then, ignoring the dressmaker, stepped up onto the fitting podium and whispered into my ear, “They’ve taken rooms at the Hôtel de Crillon.”
“Is that so?” I murmured, but loud enough for the women to hear. “In a suite?”
“The most expensive rooms.” Her breath tickled my ear as she leaned closer. “Chris is all polished up and dressed as a manservant, and he’s got his own room. Looks about ready to fly out of his own skin from discomfort, but Tristan seems in his element.”
“How exciting.” I gave her a wicked little smile. “It’s been ages since anyone interesting came to the city, and there are none more interesting than him. Be a doll, and see if you can discover anything about his calendar. We’ll go for tea when I’m finished here and you can tell me the details.” I kissed her cheek, and watched her leave, hoping my nerves didn’t show.
“Have you any performances planned, mademoiselle?” the dressmaker asked around the pin in her mouth. She sounded disinterested, but I knew better. She sewed for the wealthy bourgeoisie and a few of the minor nobility, but what she primarily traded in was gossip.
“A few,” I replied, after swallowing my last mouthful of cake. “But I’ve found reason to keep my calendar open.”
“Oh?” She used the one word like a crowbar, prying for information.
“There’s a gentleman arrived who has a fine taste for the arts.”
“Recently arrived?” She didn’t pause in her pinning and tucking.
“Today. Although I’d heard about his impending arrival some days ago. I was fortunate enough to make his acquaintance this summer, and he sent me a letter explaining his intention to take up residence in Trianon.”
“From where?”
I handed my plate to the assistant. “That was beyond delicious! Would you be a dear and retrieve me another?” I waited pointedly for her to exit, knowing with absolute certainty that she’d be listening from outside the door.
When she was gone, I leaned down. “From an estate in the south, near Courville. He’s apparently grown weary of the reclusive nature of his family, which is why he’s in Trianon.” I smiled mischievously, hoping my eyes glittered with the promise of the best of gossip. “He’s rich as sin and stands to inherit his family’s entire fortune.” I licked a bit of frosting off my bottom lip. “He’s also handsome enough to drive even the most moral of women to become sinners.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “Titled?”
I shook my head. “No, but I think that will change soon enough.” Which was the polite way of saying he was here to find himself a titled wife. The dressmaker did not miss my point, and I could see the wheels turning in her eyes as she considered which eligible young noblewomen came from families in need of coin—as well as the value of knowing the girl who stood to become said gentleman’s mistress, if she was not already.
She turned me to face the mirror, fussing at the lace that dangled from my sleeve. “What is his name?”
I hesitated, telling myself that the pause would increase the drama. But in reality, I was afraid. The moment I revealed Tristan’s name would be the moment I painted a target on his back for Anushka. But it had to be done.
“Yes, darling. Who is this young gentleman of whom you speak? And why is it you haven’t mentioned him before?”
I froze. Very slowly, I looked over my shoulder and met my mother’s piercing gaze. “Mama! Returned so quickly?” Rattled, I turned back to the mirror. I was in a heap of trouble with her, but I couldn’t afford to have her curb my freedom now. “Are you feeling better?”
“Much.” Her voice was cool. “But don’t keep us in suspense, dearest. Who is this gentleman?”
My tongue felt dry, and I fussed with the neckline of the dress. But withholding the information now would seem strange. “His name is Tristan de Montigny.”
39
Tristan
Relying half on Cécile’s vague instructions and half on false confidence, I managed to check in at the Hôtel de Crillon without exposing my complete lack of knowledge about such activities. The first thing I did, once I was ensconced in my rooms, was to shut all the draperies against the brilliant afternoon sun. Then I let my disguise go, the warmth of magic falling away from my face.
“Trying to set the mood?” Chris asked, examining the tower of teacakes sitting on one of the tables before selecting one for himself and one for the dog.
“I’m starting to wonder about you, Christophe,” I said, opening one of the chests of gold so that I could look at the gleaming metal the servants—no, the porters had struggled to carry up. All the coins were identical to those created in the Regent’s mint for ease of spending. The mint in Trollus had the capacity to create the coinage of any of the continental kingdoms we traded with, and we paid the merchant and pirate captains in the currency of their choosing. To do otherwise would invite questions, and importing all the food Trollus required without attracting the broader attention of our human neighbors was complicated enough.
I turned back to my co-conspirator. “You called me pretty three times on the drive back to Trianon. I can’t recall the last time I received so many compliments in such quick succession.”
“Being called pretty as a girl isn’t a compliment, you know,” Chris said around a mouthful of his third cake.
“And I’m sure if I had a predilection for strapping farm boys, my heart would be broken by your insults.” I picked up a handful of coins, the motion sending pain lancing up my arm. I’d regained much of the mobility in my hands, but the wounds in my wrists remained black, seeping, and awful. “Here.”
He stopped chewing and eyed the glittering gold. “You think I’m fool enough to take that? Troll gold got for nothing is bad luck.”
“It isn’t got for nothing,” I said, dropping the coins on the table. “It’s for helping us.”
He shook his head and stared at his feet. “I don’t make that in a year, much less in the couple of weeks you say this will take.”