The next afternoon, Niamh finished the first piece of Rosa’s bridal ensemble: a black veil, trimmed all in black lace. The fibers were woven in the shapes of roses: a tribute to both her namesake and the Carmine insignia. It’d taken Niamh days—and likely years of her life—to create the pattern. It was the most intricate thing she had ever made, and she couldn’t deny the swell of pride within her when she looked at it. She’d never imagined she would be patient enough to apply herself to something as time-consuming and laborious as lacemaking. She wrapped it in fine paper and packed it in a box. She was ready to show Rosa.
Well, mostly ready.
Rosa had told her she did not care for Kit—did not even want to marry him, save for duty’s sake. Still, Niamh prayed her face did not give away what she’d done.
Once she chose a walking dress, Niamh made for the city on foot. Fewer people than usual milled on the streets, but the distant sound of a gathered crowd drowned out the noise of their chatter. Uniformed members of the Kings Guard patrolled the blocks nearest the park on horseback, their hands loosely resting on the pommels of their sabers. She accidentally made eye contact with one of them and nearly stumbled over herself in her haste to move on. All of Sootham seemed to be holding its breath, as if waiting for a storm to pass.
Jack, for his part, had apparently not left his quarters since they’d returned to Sootham three days ago. Niamh couldn’t help feeling … Well, she wasn’t sure what else to call it but disappointment.
When she arrived at the cozy townhouse on Bard Row, the housekeeper greeted her and ushered her into the princess’s chambers. Rosa was lazing on her favorite chaise longue like a well-fed cat, the one tucked under the sunniest window in the room. She looked as though she’d just awoken from a nap, her loose curls flattened on one side. The casual intimacy of her dishevelment struck Niamh somewhere unprotected.
Rosa trusted her.
Niamh was learning that her heart was just as treasonous as the rest of her body.
“I see you are still not feeling your best,” Rosa said with a stifled yawn. “What a drawn look you have. I shall send for coffee.”
Niamh forced herself to smile. “I’ll be fine, Your Highness. Shall I show you what I’ve made?”
She lifted the veil from its box and set to work pinning it on. Rosa’s hair slid like silk through her fingers, and Niamh did her best to twist the frizzed sections back into shape as she went. When she slid the last pin into place, she showed Rosa to the mirror. Niamh fussed with the fabric, letting it fan out behind her. The edges were delicately scalloped, like waves rolling in against the shore. Niamh clasped her hands together underneath her chin and drank in the sight of her. Rosa looked like a vision: mysterious, alluring, and tantalizingly out of reach.
Anxiously, Niamh asked, “What do you think?”
Rosa stood before her reflection, shrouded in black lace. A very tentative smile played on her lips. “I think you’ve outdone yourself.”
Niamh couldn’t help it. She rose onto her toes, feeling as though she could take flight with joy. “Thank you!”
“Saints,” Rosa muttered. “That was loud.”
“Sorry!”
“What on earth is going on in here?” The door to the adjoining suite swung open, and Miriam appeared. She froze where she stood, her lips slowly parting. “Oh! Rosa, you look absolutely stunning.”
Rosa’s entire demeanor changed at the compliment, and a light went out within her. She resumed her usual slouch, and her voice flattened. “We were just finishing up here. Shall we go and watch clouds?”
Miriam made a face. “I have sat idle far too much today. Why don’t we go shopping? If you are on your very best behavior, perhaps we can go to the palace, and I will ask someone to row us out to the center of the lake.”
Rosa’s eyes rekindled with interest. Niamh hurriedly began removing the pins from Rosa’s hair. When she succeeded in freeing the veil from her curls, she folded it carefully back into its box. “Have fun! I should go home and finish some work.”
Rosa clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “Give yourself a moment of respite. I mean no offense, but you look like you need one.”
“Yes! You should join us,” Miriam agreed warmly. “It is far too lovely a day to spend it inside.”
“While the point stands, I must disagree with your assessment,” Rosa said gravely. “It is far too bright to be lovely.”
“How did you turn out this way?” Miriam asked despairingly. “Castilia is always sunny.”
“That is why I am moving here.” She gestured vaguely at her closet. “Borrow one of my umbrellas if you’d like, Miss O’Connor. You’ll burn to a crisp in this weather.”
That was how Niamh found herself walking the streets of Sootham with three of Rosa’s shopping bags around her arm and a black parasol in hand. While it blocked out the sun, it did little for the heat. Her gown clung uncomfortably to her skin, and sweat dripped down the back of her neck.
Miriam and Rosa walked arm in arm beside her, peering through the shop windows and chattering in an effortless mix of Castilian, Avlish, and a third language Niamh did not at all recognize. She laughed softly to herself. Out here, away from the eyes of the royal family, they bickered like young girls, utterly carefree.
When Rosa declared that she’d “surfeited on sunlight,” they stopped at an ice shop in the square. The confectioner—who immediately recognized Rosa—foisted three orange-dyed ices on them, each one molded into the shape of a perfect sphere. They even had a sprig of mint and a shaved-chocolate stem affixed to the top.
“How quaint,” said Rosa, in her bland, understated way. However, her dark eyes sparkled with genuine delight. “It tastes like home.”
What a bright and happy home it must have been: citrus and sweet cream, chocolate and the barest hint of rum. Niamh sighed in contentment. For a few minutes, only the burbling of the fountain filled the companionate silence between them.
But then the stares began.
Then the tittering.
People walked by with The Daily Chronicle tucked under their arms, others with their noses buried in it. Niamh’s stomach coiled tight with dread. Over the roaring of her heart, she caught only fragments of conversation.
“… the two of them together…”
“… the gall of it…”
“Do you think she knows?”
One woman stared at them for so long, she nearly tumbled headlong into the fountain.
Rosa let out a frustrated little sigh and patted her lips primly with a napkin. “I trust there is nothing on my face. Do I want to know what this is about?”
“Umm…” Niamh and Miriam said in unison.
“Great,” Rosa drawled. “I do love surprises.”
“Whatever they have written today,” Niamh blurted out, “I swear to you, it isn’t true.”
Miriam grimaced. Admittedly, she could have handled that better.
Rosa did not look impressed. “What have you two kept from me?”
Miriam seized Rosa’s hand across the table. “Perhaps we should head back and discuss this at home. Or perhaps we should forget it entirely. You know how the Avlish are about their gossip.”
Rosa calmly extricated herself from Miriam’s grasp and rose from the table, a shadow unfurling against the brightness of the square. She moved with purpose toward the nearest paperboy, who almost fled at the sight of her. A flash of coins in the sunlight, and the column was in her hands. Niamh fought the urge to flee herself—or perhaps to grab it from her hands and pitch it into the fountain.
Rosa returned and dropped into her seat in a spill of black fabric. Miriam tried to snatch it away a few times before Rosa swatted her with it. She scanned the Lovelace column, then relinquished it to Niamh. Her expression did not change. “I don’t understand the Avlish’s fascination with this nonsense. They think they are so coy and cutting. But the only insult here is that I would be angered by something as trivial as this.”
While I am not one to report on society gossip, I did hear an interesting account from a Certain Someone’s bucolic retreat. It seems there is turmoil brewing among a Most Illustrious Family. While I have not ferreted out the reason behind the brothers’ quarrel just yet, what intrigues me is the aftermath. When our Wayward Son stormed off, a woman snuck off after him into the woods. I have to wonder now if those rumors from the inaugural ball were indeed true, and that this is the same woman Lady E reported seeing with him on the balcony. What a scandal, to dally with a man like WS in such unseemly places. I’d owe Lady E an apology, but then, I would need to overlook the embezzlement incident from two years ago. Alas, I cannot.
Forgive me this one petty indulgence. One has to maintain a sense of humor in this complete and utter madness. I confess, I cannot help wondering what this portends. I will be watching the situation with Lady R and her father closely. If the engagement is broken, perhaps it will be a blessing. God knows a Certain Someone could afford to focus less on parties and more on what is unfolding just underneath his nose.
Niamh knew it was ridiculous to feel betrayed by someone she’d never met—a gossip columnist at that. Yet seeing herself written about so flippantly, almost mockingly, by someone who purported to care about people like her … It stung. But that pain paled in comparison to the violation of what she’d held so dear. The precious, tiny flame of that memory in her hands went as cold as ashes. Even this one moment of joy had been taken from her. Perhaps she was a fool to believe it’d ever been hers at all.
But right now, she had more pressing matters to deal with.
“Infanta Rosa, I am so sorry, I—”
“Why are you sorry?” she asked. “Someone had to comfort him. Far better you than me.”
It shocked her. There was not a hint of anger in her voice, nor jealousy. Rosa watched her with the same, flat look in her dark eyes. Rosa is quite an understanding person, Miriam had told her. But Niamh hadn’t expected that meant she would not even bat an eyelash.
“You’re not angry with me?”
“No.” Rosa smoothed her hands over her skirts. “It is too much effort to be angry over every little thing. Besides, you two seem to be friends. I will be his wife, not his whole world.”
“Thank you.”
Tears stung at the back of her throat. Rosa’s compassion, as understated as it was, moved her. But she didn’t deserve it. She felt hot all over with humiliation—with anger, not only at Lovelace but with herself. She’d been naive to believe she’d gotten away with it. Jack would doubtless make the connection sooner rather than later. If he took it seriously, it could jeopardize her job. And Kit … After everything he’d told her about his past, how could she be so careless as to embroil him in another scandal?
She’d done nothing but hurt everyone around her.
Before she could well and truly spiral, Rosa said, “Miriam, will you send for the carriage? I suddenly have found myself quite exhausted.”
“Why can’t you do it?” Miriam protested. Niamh couldn’t see Rosa’s face from this angle, but the two girls seemed to confer with nothing but their eyes. Miriam plastered on a smile. “Of course. I’ll be just a moment.”
As soon as they were alone, Rosa turned to her. “So. Shall we speak candidly?”
Niamh’s stomach bottomed out. How foolish she was, to think anyone could be so merciful. “Your Highness, I swear to you, nothing happened—”
“Do not lie to me.”
“I’m sorry,” Niamh whispered. “I do not know what came over me. I—”
Rosa’s hand rested softly on her knee. “Don’t apologize for that.”
Niamh snapped her gaze to Rosa’s. Her weary face blurred behind Niamh’s damp eyelashes.
“Once we are married,” Rosa continued, “I don’t particularly care what you do. If you choose to pursue whatever this is between you, then you have my blessing. If he buys you a townhouse right next to Sinclair’s and does not come home most nights, I will look the other way.”
They couldn’t possibly be having this conversation. Niamh would not complain if the ground swallowed her up and spat her back out in the sea. “I … I could not do such a thing to you.”
“You are a sweet girl.” Rosa leaned back in her chair. “However, I’ve told you before that this is not about love. It is nothing but a very complicated game, one I intend to win. I have played it out in my mind a thousand times. But you have proven to be a most unexpected obstacle.”
“What do you mean?”
“Lovelace has the right of it. My father is a conservative man. He already thinks the prince regent is an incompetent buffoon. If he feels I am being mistreated or made a fool of, he will renege on his agreement. It will not take much to jeopardize this union. Nor will it take much to remove you from the board entirely.” Rosa didn’t say it unkindly, but the threat in her words was plain. “I say this as a friend. Tread carefully. It is not only the column you need to worry about. The whole country is watching us. A war on two fronts is not something one should fight alone.”
She knew that well now. Niamh couldn’t escape her nature. She was silly and naive and scatterbrained. She’d never stood a chance against the nobility, and she never would. Ever since she arrived in Avaland, she’d been caught in the tempest of these nobles’ whims. But while Rosa might have imagined a thousand outcomes of this Season, Niamh’s end had always been a foregone conclusion: she could never come away unscathed.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“There are no hard feelings between us,” Rosa said. “But I don’t want to see you in that column again. Do what you must to ensure that.”
“I understand.”
“Good.” Rosa tipped her face toward the sky, and some of the tension eased from her shoulders. The clouds skated overhead; the soft wisps of white spread like the wings of a dove. “There is Miriam with the curricle now.”
When Niamh climbed in, she nearly sank to the floor and wept. Until today, she’d never realized that shame was a solid thing. It sat as heavy as stones in her pockets.