He had asked very nicely, Imogene reminded herself as she surveyed yet another ballroom two months later. And she had said yes. She didn't regret it, not for a second, but, as she was learning, it took hard work to become the kind of duquesse-in-waiting she wanted to be. She had a lot to learn. Luckily, Jean-Paul's parents were determined to help her. As was the man himself. Who was the reason she was standing here, sipping water rather than campenois because she had been given strict instruction from both her mama and the duquesse that it would be unsuitable to become tipsy at one's own betrothal ball.
The du Laqs had spared no expense. As many members of the court as could be squeezed into their ballroom were here. The house at Sanct de Sangre, their country estate, was large, but it wasn't as large as the palace. The emperor and empress were not here, but only because Liane had given birth two days earlier to a healthy baby boy. Liane had sent the extravagant sapphire earrings Imogene wore as an apology for not being able to attend. And the necklace that matched them as a betrothal gift. Imogene suspected the jewels were worth more than her parents’ house. They were extraordinarily beautiful, but she wasn't yet easy with wearing half a fortune around her throat.
"Can you believe this is finally happening?" Chloe said, standing beside her. She sipped campenois happily, her brown eyes sparkling as brightly as Imogene's necklace.
"What do you mean, finally? It's only been two months." Time had whirled by far too quickly for her. She'd barely had time to catch her breath, caught up in Jean-Paul and Ikarus and the changes in her life. "Little more than three since I met the man."
"True," Chloe said. "But you've been doing duquesse school for weeks. Between that and wedding planning and the army, I’ll be glad when tonight is over and you have some time back."
Imogene didn't have the heart to tell Chloe she wasn't entirely sure that was going to happen. Yes, they agreed to no wedding for a year. But duquesse school showed no signs of letting up. And she wanted to go on at least one more mission before the wedding. Somewhere warm this time.
"I'll be glad when we get through the formal part and I can have some of that campenois you're downing."
Chloe smirked and lifted her glass again. "Rank comes with responsibilities." She scanned the crowd, waving her glass at the assembled masses. "There's certainly a lot of them, aren't there?"
"Indeed," Imogene agreed. Chloe had gone above and beyond to join Imogene at many of the parties and balls and gatherings Imogene was attending as part of her introduction to the court, but she still had her own responsibilities and couldn't be out every night. "I'm not yet convinced they don't multiply overnight." An effect only amplified by the Sanct de Sangre ballroom, which was walled in mirrors, making the crowd appear infinite. The effect made her vaguely queasy. It was hard enough to keep them straight without having to sort reflections from reality.
She was starting to find friends amongst the court and to make sense of the information about its members being crammed into her head. But none of them would replace Chloe. So the court was just going to have to get used to Imogene's choice of best friend.
"Do you know who that is?" Chloe asked, tilting her fan discreetly to her right.
Imogene followed the direction of the fan and Chloe's gaze. The young man standing at the foot of the staircase, wearing a coat in a blazing shade of blue, was handsome in a way that bordered on pretty in its perfection. His dark hair was artfully arranged, and his blue eyes flashed as boldly as his jacket. She was sure she had met him during one of the relentless series of dinners and parties she had been attending in Jean-Paul's company, part of the du Laq "bring Imogene up to speed" campaign. She searched through the list of names she'd been committing to memory, seeking to match it with his face. It came to her soon enough.
"That's Charl de Montesse. He is nephew to the...Marq of Verneile, I believe." And good friends with the intense blond Truth Seeker who had questioned the Andalyssians. He, Imogene had been surprised to learn, was the heir to the Marq of Castaigne. And one of the many aristos Imogene had met in the last two months since she had saved the empress. Chloe wouldn't be particularly interested in who Charl was, but Imogene begun to grow used to thinking about where people slotted into the court. "Would you like me to introduce you?"
Chloe grinned at her, head only turning briefly to meet Imogene's gaze before turning back to watch Charl. "He's pretty. Yes, please."
"Very well." Imogene led Chloe across the room, performed the introduction, made polite small talk with Charl and Chloe until she was sure Chloe could handle the rest on her own, and then went in search of Jean-Paul. The formal part of the evening would commence shortly, and she wanted a moment to stand with him and remind herself why she was making this choice all over again.
She found him eventually, in one of the side chambers, speaking to Barteau, the du Laqs’ seneschal. "Are you hiding from me, Major?" she said as his face lit at the sight of her.
"From everyone but you," he said. "Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight, Lieutenant?"
"You have, but you can tell me again." She turned slowly so he could admire the dress. Its design had been an act of diplomacy in itself, one that had taken weeks. Imogene’s mama, after her initial stunned surprise when she’d been told that her daughter was to become a duquesse, had risen to the challenge and wasn’t afraid to match wits with the duquesse fencing deftly over the details of the wedding as though she’d been born noble herself.
Tonight’s dress seemed to be the topic of most debate. A fact which made Imogene nervous to contemplate how long it might take when it came to choosing her actual wedding gown. Both the duquesse and Imogene’s mama held strong opinions over what was appropriate. White for a betrothal, of course, but then there had been other colors to consider. The du Laqs’ were gold and blue, but the Carvelles didn't have any rank to warrant a crest or family colors. Which complicated deciding what needed to be incorporated into the design.
The clothier had, after exercising so much patience that Imogene was going to have to get Jean-Paul to pay her extra, suggested silver to represent the metal of Imogene’s father's work and pale blue and green for her magic. There were tiny beaded cog wheels and quills to represent the words of diplomacy—amongst the rioting flowers embroidered over the bodice and spilling down the skirt. They made her smile every time she found a new one. Jean-Paul had promised to kiss every one before he let her take off the gown tonight. She was looking forward to it. Much as she was looking forward to wearing the ring Jean-Paul had chosen with her. Gold and silver weighed down with a multitude of perfect sapphires and diamonds, set into the band so she could wear it safely during her work. He'd promised her a second more ostentatious one for when they needed to dazzle the court. Just what he considered ostentatious was daunting to contemplate. But rings and dresses were minor details.
The promise she was about to make was what was important. The promise and the man she would be giving it to.
She came back to face him. Her future. Her heart. She hadn't been looking for him, and it might not always be an easy thing that she had found him, but he was hers.
"You are beautiful," he said. "Always. I love you, Imogene Carvelle."
"I love you, Jean-Paul du Laq." She stretched up to kiss him fast, then broke away before they could get carried away and ruin the dress or her hair or anything else. She kept hold of his hand, though. "So let's go tell the world."
THE END