Finally, it’s our turn. The coolness of the modiste’s shop is a relief after so many hours in the heat. Stacia plunks herself on a tufted velvet chair.
“I am afraid I cannot accommodate any additional orders before the ball,” the dressmaker says. I hang back, trying not to stare at the finery dripping from every surface while self-consciousness roils my insides.
A mannequin in the corner is draped with the most beautiful gown I have ever seen. Not that I see many. The overskirt on this example is pale pink silk so fine it reminds me of a cloud, dotted with winking gems. The underskirt is a froth of ivory silk, the waist nipped in, and the bustline is cut just a shade lower than socially acceptable.
This is the gown of a confident woman who embraces her femininity. Whomever she is, I can tell by her choice that she’s beautiful and she knows it. She wouldn’t accept anything less than the love she deserves. She wouldn’t stand for the kind of treatment I endure.
A fantasy gown, for a lady who doesn’t exist. Certainly not for me.
As if to reinforce my thoughts, Cilla narrows her eyes at me. “Stop staring at it, Mouse. You’d look awful in that dress.” She tuts and eyes my flaming braid. “Not with that hair.”
Hurt squeezes my heart. Let me dream for a moment, at least.
Coins jingle in Tremaine’s pocket.
“Are you certain you can’t squeeze in two more?” he says.
Two?
My mouth falls open. “Three,” I insist. The modiste looks at me. Tremaine glares, but I ignore him and push forward. “It’s my money. I am required to attend. I need a gown.”
“The maid isn’t right.” He gestures to his head. “We employ her out of the goodness of our hearts, but she cannot be left alone.”
The modiste looks at me, then at him.
“He is my stepfather. He’s spending my dowry. The very least he can do is purchase me a dress for one night.”
Her gaze skims down my body, taking in my patched, ragged dress, my worn shoes, and the dust clinging to places where I perspired out in the hot sun. Shame sears through me.
They exchange a glance. She takes the coin and snaps at her seamstresses. “I’ll see what we can do for the two young ladies.”
I risked my dowry for nothing.
The tears I’ve been fighting all day leak hot trails down my cheeks. I turn and dart out into the street, heedless of the direction I’m going—or who’s coming.
A huge white horse startles and rears over me. I gasp.
His hair is golden like a prince out of a fairy tale. His shoulders are broad and his features handsome, or would be, if he weren’t fighting to gain control over his horse. Two hooves paw the air inches from my face. I throw my hands up to protect my face.
When the blow doesn’t come, I flee, glancing back once to find his gaze burning into mine.
* * *
Alistair
“Find her!”I shout at my useless guards. “Someone must know where she went.”
My new head guard, Othmar, shakes his head. “No, sir. She is not from the city, apparently. No one has ever seen her before.”
“Keep searching.”
Fuming, I ride back to the castle and pour wine into a goblet, pondering my options as I wait for my father to join me at dinner.
I could pull all the guards from their details and send them scouring the countryside looking for her. But that would only draw attention to my plan to secure a meek and obedient queen by passing off a commoner as a highborn lady.
It rankles, but I must let her go. One last impulsive attempt to exert a measure of control over my own life. Rudely, I prop my elbows on the table and drop my face into my cupped palms. Heaviness settles over me.
What does it matter what kind of woman I take to wife? The only requirement is that she be fertile enough to bear children. I need heirs. Any youthful female will do.
