His Lordship snorted. “Touché, boy.”
Dinner went on in this way, Lydia asking questions, Cedric answering, and Lord Gideon throwing in rude comments. I was beyond relieved when dessert was cleared from the table.
Cedric escorted us back home and apologized profusely for his grandfather, but Lydia still muttered about Lord Gideon’s ill manners when the doors closed behind us. Genevieve lingered at the threshold, claiming she needed air.
I would’ve teased her, but the earlier talk of the Season unsettled me. In a few days, I would have to attend the dreaded welcome banquet.
The thought of meeting the Season mentors, especially Duchess Wilhelmina, struck a chord of panic in me. Genevieve and I grew up reading about her. Endless magazines and newspaper articles lauded the duchess as a pioneer of both fashion and politics. Julianna had often told stories of Her Grace as if she were a hero of mankind instead of a duchess. How I would act in the scrutiny of such a woman, I did not know.
My invitation came three days later.
“You will cherish this forever, Amarante,” my stepmother said, handing me the crisp white envelope and gold embossed box. Nestled within was a bracelet of silver bells. It chimed when I took it out.
It was an old Olderean custom. Debutantes wore silver bells to mark the beginning of possible courtship. Young men tied gold ribbons around their wrists so the ladies knew they were interested suitors. By the end of the Season, if a couple decided to pair up, the two ornaments would be woven together as a pretty—but useless— symbol of courtship.
As I fastened the bracelet around my wrist, I vowed that a ribbon would not be looped through the chain under any circumstances. I was not attending for courtship, and even if I was, there was little sense in keeping such an ornament.
Lydia had kept hers all these years, locked away in her jewelry box. The ribbon intertwined in her chains, now faded of its luster, was not Papa’s.
4
The west wing of the palace was a sprawling mass of marble arches and sky-high windows that extended beyond my vision. It was the only part of the palace open to the public, or the part of the public that could afford to rent the place.
I had only been there once for a soirée hosted by a particularly illustrious personage, but it had been ages since I’d stepped foot inside the banquet hall. A grand crystal chandelier that rivaled the Sternfelds’ hung above a long dining table set with twenty-five places of glittering dishes and silverware.
A handful of girls were already seated. I felt smaller and smaller as Genevieve and I approached.
“Relax, Amarante,” Genevieve said.
I loosened my grip on her hand, my palms clammy. “I’m sorry. I’m sweating all over you.”
“Don’t worry. This isn’t officially the start of the Season. Stepfather will let you withdraw before the Debutante Ball, I’m sure of it.”
I was glad for Genevieve’s assurance, but doubt still gnawed at my mind. Everything looked official enough.
A gasp sounded from behind me.
“Amarante? Who let you in the palace?” Julianna demanded. She marched toward me in a gown of tangerine orange, a lace fan clenched in her hands.
This was icing on the cake.
“You did,” I retorted. “I have to spend two entire months attending these dull events because you threw a tantrum in my backyard.”
Julianna glared. “I wouldn’t have if you didn’t ruin my hat and make me drink dirt! And you!” she said, turning to Genevieve. “You seduced Mr. Sternfeld!”
Genevieve was at a loss for words. I scowled. Seduce Mr. Sternfeld? Charm, delight, and captivate, perhaps, but not seduce.
“Don’t you dare talk to my sister like that.”
“Oh?” Julianna said, waving her fan in front of her nose. “You aren’t going to start a brawl at the palace, are you?”
I gritted my teeth, tempted to rip the ribbons off her hair and see what she had to say to that, but Genevieve touched my arm in warning.
“Just leave us alone,” I said, turning on my heel. But my march away was cut short when I stumbled over something black and furry. A yowl echoed through the banquet hall.
“Misty!” An auburn-haired girl in a scarlet dress rushed over to the black cat I had unceremoniously tripped over. She shot me a venomous glare.
“I-I didn’t mean to,” I stuttered. The girl’s beauty would’ve been entrancing if she weren’t scowling at me like I was something stuck to her shoe.
Julianna pushed me aside. “Don’t mind her, Narcissa,” she said to the girl. “That’s Amarante. The one I told you about.”
Whatever Julianna had told her, it brought a sneer to Narcissa’s face. “Oh. Her,” was all she said.
Without another word, the two of them glided off to the table.
I was ready to pounce on all three of them, the cat included, before Narcissa settled herself next to the head of the table.
“What is she doing so high up?” I asked, aghast, as Genevieve and I took our seats. At the entrance, Cedric Sternfeld came in with Olivia trailing several feet behind, as if this were the last place she wanted to be. I couldn’t relate more.
“It appears she’s a high-ranking lady,” Genevieve whispered.
“More like a high-ranking b—”
Genevieve shot me a look.
“...brat,” I finished.
“Some guts you have insulting the duchess’s daughter,” came a cheery voice.
A girl with mousy-brown hair grinned at us from across the table. She wore a frilly peach dress, which looked rather out of place against her plain features and thick arms.
“The duchess’s daughter?” I said. It made sense. Julianna was a favorite of the duchess’s, so it was natural she and the duchess’s daughter were friends.
“Lady Narcissa Celeste Whittington,” the girl said, enunciating each syllable as if savoring it. “Heard she’s spoiled rotten. Rumors have it she and the crown prince are engaged.”
Genevieve and I stared.
“Apologies, let me introduce myself. I’m Victoria Strongfoot, but you two can call me Tori.” She stuck hands over the table, one
