The teashop door opened behind her. Jone came out with her bonnet and her pelisse. He looked around and spotted her, and came over, handing them to her. She took them, looking down so he couldn’t see tears in her eyes. He led her away from the door, and they walked along the street a bit. It was brisk and cold so high above the harbor, and the sun played hide and seek with the scudding clouds.
It was nice to just walk with Jone, she thought. He was comforting. Safe. A friend.
“I’m such a fool,” she managed, sniffing back the tears.
“I don’t think you’re a fool,” he said. “I think Mirandine is oppressively eager to expose herself as daring, and it gets too much.”
Tesara smiled, wan. “It wasn’t Mirandine or the brandy,” she said. “It was just a memory from school. Nothing important.”
He stopped her, his eyes serious. “Is school where–” He broke off. His eyes flicked down to her hands. She nodded. Shrugged. When Jone spoke again, his voice was low. “I would like to thrash the person who did that to you.”
It was what she feared the most. Pity. “I must go,” she said. She swung her pelisse around her shoulders, and carefully tied the strings. “Tell Mirandine thank you, and I’ll see you tonight.”
“I’ll walk you home,” he said.
“No!” She held up a hand, her good hand, and shook her head when he would protest.
She turned on her heel and walked away, head high.
Tesara barely noticed her surroundings or the crowds as she walked home in the late afternoon. She let herself into the kitchen. The house was silent. Her mother and father had gone out, and Uncle was no doubt on the docks. Mathilde had finished her chores and gone home. Dinner waited on the kitchen table, covered with a cloth until the family was ready to sup.
Tesara went upstairs and stopped short at the door of her bedroom.
The rose-pink gown had been cleaned and pressed, blotted and ironed, and was laid out on her bed. A small note lay on top of it.
You have the invitations. Now you have something to wear.
MA
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Yvienne was thoroughly exhausted when she opened the front door of the house on Kerwater. It was past six and she was ravenous. It had been a long day. After a morning of lessons, a short luncheon, and a walk for exercise along the Crescent, Yvienne had a headache brought on by anxiety, hunger, and thirst. She had not dared to allow herself more than a small bite of the noon meal and had nothing to drink lest she have to run to the water closet too often. The last hour of her day had been the most wearisome. The girls had continued through the afternoon, reading their history and then studying Vranz. She had set them to practicing an amusing little Vranz song, about a clock, and a flower, and a pretty maid, and her swain. The song was a quick way to practice all of the declensions and tense changes, and Maje quickly learned to play the melody on the piano.
The whole household was upturned when Dubre came home from his first day at the Academy, a whirlwind of energy and mischief. Then Mr and Mrs TreMondi came home and Yvienne presented the day’s account to them. The account finished with the girls singing the Vranz song, and the parents said it was a lovely diversion. Yvienne had a blinding headache by that point, and she had to curtsey and accept thanks as well as admonitions to not be too easy on the girls, they wanted a true education, and by the time she had made her escape out the servants’ entrance into the long shadows of the summer evening, she wanted nothing more than to go home, curl into bed, and sleep the day away. But even that was denied her.
“Yvienne!” her mother called, upon hearing the front door open. “Are you home?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Good. Come into the parlor, dear, and tell us all about it.”
Yvienne closed her eyes and prayed for strength.
The inquisition over dinner was almost as in-depth as that of the TreMondis’. Her parents exclaimed over everything, with Alinesse taking umbrage at slights perceived and actual and Brevart telling her over and over again to give her notice. Uncle Samwell made his own interjections, mainly asking whether she had nosed about and found any indications of pending business deals. At intervals Tesara would make an observation, her parents would respond to her with impatience, and Yvienne would get a bite or two before it all started up again. She was relieved when the long dinner was over, Tesara volunteered to clean up, and she could escape to the bedroom.
She lay back on the bed and let out a long sigh, her eyes closed. Her head throbbed. She had not planned any mischief that night and was glad of it. She would have to wait until Tesara went out to one of her salons anyway. Tonight, she thought, Port Saint Frey was safe from the Mederos sisters.
The door opened and her sister came in. The mattress sagged as her sister sat down next to her. Tesara placed a cool wet cloth on Yvienne’s forehead. Yvienne smiled.
“Oof,” she said. “That feels heavenly.”
“Was it dreadful?” Tesara asked.
“Not at all. The girls are good girls.”
“Rest, then. I’ll tell Mama and Papa you went straight to bed and not to disturb you. I’m going out tonight – I’ve been invited to another salon, and I don’t want them checking on us. We were damned lucky the other night.”
Drat and blast. Yvienne struggled to sit up, the cloth falling into her lap. She peered in the dimness at her sister. She
