extravagant, and not fashionable, at least not according to Lutetian standards, it was small enough to be cozy and warm. For this room, her private bedroom, she had forgone the cool yellow and blue silks that brought the rest of her little house up to local expectations. Here she had decorated in the colors of Lanyarch, rich greens and reds, the wall-hangings of sturdy wool that didn’t flutter with the open windows. The maids clearly thought her eccentric, but she paid them on time and made relatively few demands, and so they found no cause for complaint.
Nina came back to the side of the bed, a silver tray in her hands. “There is tea,” she said. Belinda reached greedily for a cup. Nina took one precise step backward and clucked her tongue. She was pretty, as nearly all serving maids were, and had been caught servicing her former employer’s son in ways that ruined her reputation. Belinda felt a fierce sting of sympathy for the girl, too familiar with the pattern that women with no means of their own were so often caught in. One could not refuse the lord and master, nor his son, but neither could one afford to accept their advances. The price of seduction always lay on the woman, never the master.
And so when a neighboring wife had made passing mention of the little slut who’d whored herself to her son-a fine, upstanding young man, who could never be tempted by such raw and primal behavior if it were not for little bitches like Nina twitching her skirts at him-Belinda had requested to hire the girl to begin at her household the very next morning. The neighbor’s eyes, already beady to begin with, had all but popped out of her head, while Belinda shrugged with imposed calm. There are no men in my household, she’d said. There is nothing to tempt a girl to wayward behavior, and her reputation need not be destroyed. And she’d smiled apologetically and offered, Perhaps we Lanyarchans are a peculiar lot, and the woman had no choice but to hastily agree to the hiring, or to insult her new neighbor. It had been an excellent choice: Nina was grateful for a new place in a reputable household, and believed her employer to have an inexplicably soft side.
Which was what now allowed her to dare step out of Belinda’s reach and say, firmly, “You must be out of bed before you may have your tea, my lady. You always spill on the sheets and the stains never come out.”
“Nina.” Belinda utterly failed to reach a threatening tone. The serving maid widened her eyes, innocent as the newborn day.
“And besides, my lady, it gets you out of bed. You must be in at least a dressing gown before your guest arrives.”
Belinda groaned again and struggled for the edge of the bed. Eliza would not only arrive on time, but she would already be dressed. The maid was right. Turning out in a dressing gown would be bad enough. Eliza would mock her with those lovely dark eyes, and Belinda would deserve it. “All right, all right.”
She climbed out of bed and dropped her sleeping gown to the floor, absently touching the thread that held her dagger against the small of her back. Nina had gaped once at the tiny weapon and forevermore seemed not to see it, even when Belinda strode across her bedroom naked as a babe, as she did now. An elderly gentleman lived across the street. Belinda never looked, but always hoped he might have the presence of mind to be watching from his own bedroom windows when she got up in the morning. She thought of herself as less prone to exhibitionism as she was an appreciator of voyeurism. Nina made distressed clucking sounds as she did every morning when Belinda insisted on putting on such a display, and managed to shake a chemise down over her lady’s shoulders while Belinda stood in front of the wardrobe trying to select a gown.
“How dreadful is my hair?”
A calculating silence left Belinda smiling as she reached for a gown. Dark amber, it brought out the warmth of her hair. She hesitated over it, then selected a less flattering dress. Eliza might find herself tempted to plume a sparrow well, but presented with a peacock she was likely to snap in the other direction.
“It has seen better mornings, my lady,” Nina said judiciously, and then in dismay, “And that color will not help at all, my lady. The amber is better.”
“I know. Don’t argue, girl.” Belinda brushed away her complaints with a snap of her fingers and spread her arms so Nina could wrap the corset around her. The overdress was of pale green; half a shade truer and it would be springlike, lovely, complimenting Belinda’s complexion and making her hair dark and soft. Instead it bordered on the color of limes, too startling to flatter a woman of Belinda’s skin tones. She thought, briefly, of Ana in Aria Magli, and wondered at the stab of regret. “I’ll be trying on dresses. A hat won’t do to hide my hair today.”
Patience filled Nina’s voice. “Don’t worry, my lady. I’ll have you presentable in time to make a fashionable entrance.” The girl was as good as her word. Belinda came down the stairs within minutes of Eliza’s arrival, as properly bedecked as she could be. Her hairstyle wasn’t extravagant, but neither was it unfashionable, swept up in a twist that emphasized her forehead and the length of her neck. Belinda felt quite smug until she saw her guest.
Eliza’s close-shorn locks were hidden beneath a wig of such fine blackness that Belinda was certain it was her own hair. She wore it down, against fashion, but it made not the slightest difference; the dark shining waves coiled around her bare shoulders in a seductive manner that made even Belinda want to brush it away from pale skin and drop a kiss against the delicate bone there. She wore blue so dark it bordered on purple, the cut of the gown more than simply fashionable, but predating fashion: Belinda knew within weeks the women of Lutetia would be wearing such gowns, and that Eliza set fashion with Javier’s help and approval. She must: the gown’s hue itself was a challenge and an admission both, stating her closeness with the prince and daring Belinda to make anything of it. For all of the woman’s callous and deliberate disregard of her own beauty the night before, today the rules were different, and it was clear Eliza intended that Belinda should know that.
“My lady Beaulieu.” Belinda curtsied more deeply than necessary, her own acknowledgment that she was far outstripped in looks and attire alike. “You look well recovered from the night’s revelries.”
Eliza’s eyes glittered with suppressed irritation. “I’m not made of such delicate stuff as most women, Lady Irvine. I’m surprised to find you up and about.”
“Blame my excellent servants, rather than my sturdy constitution,” Belinda suggested, then tilted her head. “You haven’t eaten, have you? I would like to breakfast with you, if not…?” She gestured toward the morning room, trusting that Eliza would remember the invitation made the night before.
Eliza nodded graciously and preceded Belinda into the arboretum. It was small, hardly enough to be granted such a lofty name, but its size made it warm, and morning light encouraged greenery that would make the air fresh and scented even in the coldest months of the year. Eliza glanced around perfunctorily, then turned to Belinda. “I ate some hours ago, but tea would be lovely.”
Bitch, Belinda thought, almost cheerfully. Let Eliza be superior in her morning habits. It might get Belinda that much better of a gown. “Then tea it shall be. And fruit, if you care for any. The strawberries are very good.” Real pleasure crept into her voice; Belinda had missed the fresh fruit of more temperate climes during the months she’d been in the Khazarian north plotting Gregori’s downfall. She was spoiled, she reminded herself as she sat. Eliza sat across from her, accepting the fruit-not just berries, but apples and pears as well-with more enthusiasm than Belinda expected.
Belinda studied the cut of Eliza’s gown as they ate, letting the envy that was appropriate to her role bubble over a little. “I wager I’ll find nothing of that ilk in the dressmakers’ shops. You’ll set fashion on Friday, at the opera.” The envy was real, as was the admiration. “I have never dared to break the mold myself.” It was true; her position was to be unremarkable, to hide in plain sight. Risking a gown with the daring cut plunging between her breasts, the slightly shortened waist that turned a figure from a V into an hourglass, would draw attention. Aulun, and therefore Belinda, could never risk such a show.
And so the truth of it lay in her eyes as Eliza frowned at her, then shrugged. “It’s easy enough to do when someone like Jav supports you.”
“I lack such support,” Belinda said so wryly that Eliza almost smiled.
“Not for long.” The smile fell away into rivalry and dislike again. “Jav doesn’t make a habit of inviting everyone who comes along to the opera with us.”
“Should I make a refusal, then?” Belinda asked, sensing a chance. “I think you won’t believe me, but I really have no wish to intrude.” She kept her voice quiet, seeking guidance with such earnestness even she believed it. “You four are clearly a close-knit group. I wouldn’t presume to interfere.”
“You presume by thinking you could,” Eliza said, sharply. “Jav made the offer, I won’t gainsay him. You’re welcome enough.”
As welcome as a bout with the plague, perhaps. Belinda caught her breath, held it long enough to still the smile she felt, then nodded. “Your candor is…appreciated.”
Eliza’s eyebrows snapped up and she stared at Belinda for a few long moments. Belinda, wrapped in the
