Moss Forest Orchid (Silver and Orchids Book 1)

by Shari L. Tapscott

  Which is what you are.

  It hits me in this luxurious room that I’ve been very foolish thinking that Sebastian could ever have feelings for me, not the kind I’ve been feeling for him. Though we grew up so close, the fact is we are from different worlds. He’s related to royalty, albeit distantly, and I’m…not. He comes from class and money (not that his grandfather will share, mind you), and I come from chicken coops and vegetable pottage.

  I can put on airs, I can don fancy clothes made of expensive fabric, but it’s never going to change who I am. And even if Sebastian were to miraculously return my feelings, his grandfather would never, not ever, approve of me. He’d never give his blessing.

  Feeling foolish, and a bit heartsick, I laugh at myself. Flink glances over, surprised by the outburst, and cocks his head to the side, studying me.

  “I’m all right.” I pick the dragon up and cuddle him. He’s warm and soft, his scales still velveteen. When he’s older, they’ll harden and grow strong. But for now, he’s as soft as a kitten and just as sweet. He burrows his head into my wet hair and makes purring noises, completely content.

  “Please don’t grow any larger,” I beg him. “Stay this size.”

  I may have been fool enough to let myself believe that Sebastian might, at some point in time, love me, but I’m not mad enough to hope no one will notice if I walk a dragon who’s as large as a house about the provinces on a tether.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Chicken Couture

  I wait on the bench outside the bathhouse for Sebastian for so long, vital parts of my body begin to fall asleep. Finally, when I’ve almost given up on him, he strides through the door, his jaw freshly-shaved, his hair trimmed, and his clothing pressed. Apparently, the ladies will do a few domestic chores. If you look like Sebastian, that is.

  He strides to me, smiling in more than a refreshed way.

  “You have a wicked look on your face,” I say as soon as he reaches me.

  “Do I?” He adjusts the cuffs under his jacket.

  I point at his hair. “You let it get so long, I was beginning to wonder if you were hoping to grow it out so you could wear a fashionable tail. What did they take off? A sixteenth of an inch?”

  “Half an inch, if you must know.” He chuckles and then crosses his arms over his chest. “You need a new outfit.”

  Self-conscious of my old things, I look away. The comment brings to mind my earlier revelation. “Embarrassed to be seen with me, Sebastian?”

  The words are spoken flippantly, but they sound a smidgen too shrill.

  Sebastian leans down, making me look at him. “Never.”

  Instantly wary, I meet his eyes. “What are you up to?”

  “I’ve secured us a dinner invitation.”

  Startled, I ask, “With whom?”

  “Sir Arthur Draven. He just so happens to be a mapmaker. The man’s scouted the entire Grenaldian wildlands.”

  “What does that have to do with my clothing?”

  “I mentioned I was traveling with my sister,” he says in a rush. “They’ll expect—”

  “Your sister?” I ask, incredulous, even if that’s the relationship I, too, first explained to Avery.

  Sebastian crosses his arms. “It’s a bit complicated, Lucia. I don’t want to get into it right now. We must hurry before the shoppes close.”

  “Why didn’t you tell them I’m your business partner?”

  “Lucia.”

  It’s not difficult to see why we’ll never be together. But now he won’t admit that I’m his partner? Am I really that far beneath him?

  Of course, you are.

  “Fine,” I say in a way that every male knows means it is not fine. “Let’s drop it.”

  “You’re making a larger issue of this than necessary.”

  “I’m doing nothing of the sort. I don’t even want to speak of it anymore. Let’s buy me a new pair of trousers and a—”

  “Gown.”

  I gape at him, words lost.

  “You cannot wear trousers to this sort of dinner. It must be a gown.”

  “I don’t like you right now.”

  “That’s fine.” A smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “As long as you don’t like me while you’re wearing a gown.”

  “People are going to scoff at me. I’m going to look like a fool!”

  His expression softens. “You’ll look like nothing of the sort.”

  Without giving me any other choice, he whisks me to the closest boutique. The mannequins in the windows wear white tea gowns with short, puffed sleeves, bedecked with colorful ribbons. The waists are cinched, and the skirts are full. They’re beautiful and lovely, but it wouldn’t take me half an hour to spill something on them.

  The woman behind the counter smiles radiantly when she sees Sebastian. She’s young and perfectly beautiful—auburn hair, soft curves, pink cheeks. She looks like a painting. Her smile flickers when her eyes sweep over me.

  “It’s chicken chic,” I say, unable to help myself. I slowly move a hand parallel to my bodice as if I’m showing it off. “All the rage where we’re from.”

  She blinks at me, unsure how to answer.

  Sebastian gives me a light elbow in the side and says to her, “My sister needs a gown.”

  I’m not sure we needed to start that ruse yet.

  At Sebastian’s words, the woman’s horrified expression softens, and she turns her attention fully to my partner. “I am more than happy to find whatever you may require.”

  “What about this one?” I point to a short black skirt/trouser combo with silver threads and a coordinating leather sheath belt. It’s gorgeous, actually. I long to touch it, to feel the soft, fine velvet against my skin.

  “Are you hunting?” the woman asks, confused. “I thought you were looking for a gown. For a soiree, perhaps?”

  “Tell me,” I say, laughing as I rein in my disappointment. “What’s the difference between tracking a wild beast and securing a husband?”

  Sebastian snorts, startled, as the seamstress sucks in a horrified breath.

  “One for an intimate dinner party this evening,” Sebastian says, taking over before I can open my mouth again. “And I believe we’ll need another for a ball tomorrow.”

  It’s my turn to look horrified. The woman, who’s decided to ignore me completely, turns again to Sebastian, impressed. “Duke Eldemyer’s ball?”

  “That’s right.” He leans in marginally closer. “If we can secure an invitation this evening.”

  “You must be rather confident to buy the gown today.”

  She bats her eyelashes and nibbles on her bottom lip in an absurdly come-hither fashion.

  “My brother is nothing if not confident.” I make sure I have Sebastian’s attention, and then I roll my eyes.

  As if remembering I’m here, the woman looks at me and frowns. “I’m afraid I cannot tell if you have a figure under that” —she waves her hand at me— “garb you are wearing. I’m sure you have a waist somewhere, but you’ll just have to try a few things on, I suppose, so I can see what I’m working with.”

  “Joy.” I dart Sebastian a murderous look, but he only presses his lips together as if he’s trying not to laugh.

  “You, sir, would probably be more comfortable in the gentlemen’s shoppe down the street.” She eyes me like I’m a difficult project. “This may take a while.”

  “Lucia?” he asks.

  “Go.”

  He leans close, his lips near my ear. “I believe I’m leaving you in competent hands.”

  “I hate you.”

  His laugh lingers in my head long after he leaves.

  ***

  After being poked, prodded, cinched, and tsked over, I’m finally acceptable for a night among nobles. It only took two hours. The seamstress, whose name I learn is Adeline, laces me into an undergarment she calls a basquine. It should be as illegal as Avery’s daggers. On the upside, Adeline did, to her great relief, find a figure under the garmen
ts which she stole away and told me she was going to burn. I believe her, too; she never brought them back.

  She’s now finished with me. What I’ve naturally been endowed with is shoved as high as it will go, and my waist is ridiculously small.

  I look into the mirror, trying to connect the person staring back at me with the peasant from the bathhouse. The seamstress didn’t choose a big, fluffy gown, to my surprise. Instead, she put me in a simple dress with a flowing skirt and a bodice that showcases things I’ve never put on display before. The color is emerald, and the fabric shimmers when it catches the light. It’s beautiful…if not a bit scandalous.

  “Are you sure this is appropriate?” I tug at my bodice.

  She gives me a hard look.

  “All right.” I hold up my hands in a surrender.

  “I’ll have the other gown sent to the inn where you’re staying.” She turns away, intentionally not looking at me. “Have your brother return tomorrow, and we’ll settle the payment then.”

  I try not to roll my eyes. Before I leave, I turn back to the mirror and begin to pin my hair up.

  “No, not like that,” she scolds, swatting my hand away. “Let me.”

  She twists sections of my hair, working quickly.

  “I surrender to your superior knowledge in these things.” I watch as she forms an intricate braided crown.

  “There. You look like a completely different girl.” She narrows her eyes. “How is it your brother dresses so well, but you came in here, looking like a goose?”

  “You say that now, but wait. In two years, the peasant fashion will sweep your province as well.”

  She almost laughs, giddy that her tortuous task is complete. “Good luck with your ball invitation.”

  I walk out the door with a wave. “Let’s just focus on tonight.”

  ***

  Besides being forced to stand unnaturally straight—something my mother would be proud to see—I don’t feel any different as I walk down the street. But I must look different.

  Men bow their heads and stand to the side of the walkway, allowing me to pass. They say things like, “Pleasant evening, My Lady” and “That’s a lovely brooch you’re wearing.”

  Perhaps I’m jaded, but I don’t believe it’s my brooch they’re looking at.

  Not thinking twice, I open the door to the gentlemen’s shoppe where Sebastian should be waiting for me and stride in. The room goes quiet. The men, some seated in upholstered chairs and benches and others at the bar, stop mid-conversation to gawk at me. This isn’t a shoppe at all, as I had assumed, but a tavern. But unlike the taverns I’m used to, it’s clear money owns this establishment.

  Sebastian sits at a table in the middle of the room, playing a game of chance. His brow is furrowed with concentration as he studies his cards. He’s one of the only men who hasn’t turned. Realizing his partners are distracted, he glances up. When he spots me, he fumbles his hand. His expression is two parts horrified and one part gobsmacked. Horrified because I’m standing in a gentlemen’s only tavern. Gobsmacked because…well. Again, I resist tugging at my bodice.

  I clear my throat, opting to be cheeky instead of humiliated. “I suppose this is one of those establishments where women aren’t allowed?” I try to look contrite—which isn’t difficult. “I hope you’ll forgive me for the interruption.”

  Nearby, a young blond-haired man practically leaps from his seat and scurries to take my hand. “We are at your service, My Lady.”

  Truly, a girl could get used to this.

  “I’m looking for…” I pause when I see a look of panic cross Sebastian’s face. I eye him, hoping to converse silently. Unsure, I say, “My brother…?”

  The words come out as a question, but there’s no helping that. Sebastian’s shoulders sag with relief, and he stands, taking his earnings with him. I glance around for Flink, terrified Sebastian may have sold him off. But the dragon’s asleep, curled in the empty chair next to my partner.

  I retrieve my hand from the man standing gallantly in front of me, and I give him a smile to let him down gently. Before I go, he asks, “Will you be attending the duke’s ball?”

  “I’m not sure we’ve received an invitation just yet,” I say quietly, wondering if this man might invite us, unsure if he’s in the position to.

  Twenty minutes ago, a ball sounded as enjoyable as attending a funeral. Now I’m undecided. These people aren’t treating me like an impostor; they’re not sneering at the country bumpkin pretending to be one of their own. They have no idea.

  Before the man can answer, Sebastian’s at my side. Flink blinks in his arms, still half asleep. I take the dragon, glad to have him back.

  “We must be going, Lucia,” Sebastian says in his “I’m speaking around nobility” voice.

  He looks slightly agitated. My grand entrance embarrassed him, and I feel the heat of shame creeping up my neck. It’s one thing to torment him on purpose, it’s another to do it because I didn’t bother to read the sign outside.

  I give the room a little wave as we leave, apologizing for the interruption. The men are all laughs and hearty goodbyes. They don’t look that put out, honestly.

  “You can tone it down a bit,” Sebastian says, his voice wry.

  We step into the street, and cool air greets us. It’s going to be cold later.

  “I’m sorry, Sebastian,” I say, truly meaning it. “I had no idea.”

  “It’s all right.” His eyes travel my gown. “You look lovely.”

  “Good enough to be your sister?”

  He clears his throat and looks at the walkway in front of us. Then, as if he’s reassuring himself more than me, says, “It will be fine.”

  I won’t lie. His response stings, and it puts me in a cantankerous mood. “Are we walking to our dinner engagement? Is that dignified enough for you, Lord Thane?”

  “Do you have a carriage in the folds of your gown?” When he sees the sour look on my face, his expression softens, and he chuckles. “It’s fine, Lucia. Even courtiers may take a stroll on a nice night.”

  And stroll we do. We walk at a moseying pace that makes me want to clutch Sebastian’s arm and drag him along. However, as I look about, I realize others are doing the same. They socialize in little groups, taking their time when they part. Many of the passing women carry munchkin dragons, actual ones, and they peer at Flink, curious. He’s still sapphire and quite handsome. Seeming to like the attention, the dragon trots on his lead, tail swishing, wings laid nicely at his sides—jaunty as a little creature can be.

  I wonder what our dinner guests will think of him. Perhaps he could do party tricks—roast bits of meat, heat drinks that have grown cold. I laugh under my breath, imagining how displeased Sebastian would be.

  Just before sundown, we arrive at a manor that’s every bit as nice as Baron Malcomny’s. I concentrate on my hands, commanding them to be still instead of tugging at my dress. I’ve never been this self-conscious. I feel like a child, playing pretend.

  The only familiar things I have to take comfort in are my dagger and old boots. Both are hidden by my floor-length skirts.

  Before we reach the doors, they swing open, and an estate steward strides forward, eager to greet us.

  “Lord Sebastian Everette Thane, I presume?” he asks. When Sebastian nods in acknowledgment, he turns to me. “And this must be your sister, Lucia.”

  “How do you do,” I say, mimicking all the snooty girls I’ve watched Sebastian with over the years.

  “Sir Arthur Draven is expecting you. Please, follow me.”

  When the man turns, I tilt my nose slightly in the air, just for Sebastian’s sake, and follow the steward into the manor.

  “Promise me you’ll behave,” Sebastian whispers behind me.

  I spare him a glance over my shoulder. “Don’t I always?”

  Before he can answer, we stop in the manor’s main entry. I try not to gape; I really do. But the house is magnificent. Unlike Baron Malcomny’s strange and steam
y greenhouse foyer, this one is bedecked in tapestries, art, and dozens of framed maps. They’re everywhere, some protected under glass, others on the walls.

  A massive stairway travels up both sides of the grand room, each ending on the same platform. Above us hangs a crystal chandelier, already alight with dozens and dozens of candles.

  Just as the steward leads us up the left staircase, a man appears at the top of the landing. He doesn’t look past fifty, but his trim beard and mustache are stark white. In tan-colored trousers and a short-sleeved shirt—no doublet—he looks as if he’s ready, at this moment, for an expedition into the wilds. He even has a pair of daggers sheathed at his waist.

  Behind him, just hanging back, stands a girl about our age. Golden blond hair falls in gentle waves past her shoulders, and her eyes are bright with curiosity. Like me, she wears green, but her gown is the light color of spring.

  “Sebastian!” the man declares. “So glad you could make it.”

  Sebastian steps forward. “It’s a pleasure to be here. Sir Arthur, may I present my…sister, Lucia.” He stumbles over the words, but I don’t think anyone notices but me.

  “Lucia!” Sir Arthur exclaims, coming forward and claiming my hands. “Sebastian forgot to tell me how lovely you are.”

  “Thank you,” I murmur, unsure how else to respond.

  “And this is my treasure, my Olivia.” Sir Arthur steps back, motioning toward the girl. “Olivia, this is the man I was telling you about earlier.”

  She comes forward, almost shyly, and curtsies in front of Sebastian. “It’s true. My father has been telling me impressive things about you, sir.”

  I glance from Sebastian to the girl, and then to Sir Arthur, who beams at the two in a fatherly, but calculating way. And two things click into place.

  The first: Sebastian was only able to secure us a meeting with the mapmaker because Sir Arthur wanted to show off his beloved daughter. The second: to assure my presence is in no way threatening to the matchmaking father or his lovely daughter, Sebastian transformed me into “the sister.”