Servant of the Crown (The Crown of Tremontane Book 1)

by Melissa McShane

  “You could just stand and be admired,” Belle offered.

  “That would be a nightmare. Don’t wait up if you’re tired, I’ll wake you. And thank you again.”

  Simone was the only other woman in the antechamber. She looked up at Alison’s entrance and her eyes went wide. “Sweet heaven,” she said. “Don’t stand anywhere near me, please. I’d like to have a few partners tonight, and no one will even look at me if you’re there. Even if you blush like that.”

  “I think there was a compliment in there somewhere,” Alison said, but inside she cringed. Her body was the only thing anyone was going to see of her tonight, especially with the corset exaggerating her figure.

  “Oh, definitely,” Simone said. “Carola, Marianne, come and look at Alison’s gown. I wish I’d thought to have the dressmaker do that pattern with my pearls.”

  “Look at how beautiful we all are!” Carola said. “We will all have any number of partners, I’m sure.”

  “I imagine your friend the Prince will admire you greatly,” Elisabeth drawled. “Was that your intention?”

  “The Prince is still out of town,” Alison said, fighting an urge to slap the woman, “and I’m sure he would admire me as much as every other man will.” Elisabeth’s smile disappeared.

  “Now, ladies, remember this evening is to honor your Queen,” the Dowager said. Her short dark hair was topped by the coronet the Dowager Consort was entitled to, and her gown was wider and more ornate than any of her ladies’. “Being admired is very nice, but our appearances are intended to show how much we respect her. Though, just between us, Zara has always said she wished her birthday celebration were not quite so formal. Still, things are what they are, and I hope you will all remember to behave yourselves.” Everyone except the Dowager looked at Alison, and she blushed hotly. The scandal might have died down outside the palace, but it was unlikely her fellow ladies-in-waiting would ever forget what she’d done.

  Alison paused at the top of the ballroom stairs to admire the transformation. Thin, nearly transparent navy blue silk and silver toile draped the walls, making it look like an underwater fantasy. The Device-lit chandeliers had been lowered and their lights softened to provide a brighter, cooler light across the floor. Alison had to look away from that quickly because the effect made the imaginary curve of the floor steeper. She saw no chairs, which was probably a concession to the ladies and their rigid skirt frames, only tall tables that stood at exactly the right height for someone to set a wine glass on temporarily. That probably meant they would be just a little higher than was comfortable for someone her height. Well, she was accustomed to being the short one.

  The sweet scent of lilacs came faintly to her nose, and as she reached the foot of the stairs she saw vases bearing white lilac bushes at intervals throughout the room, blooming out of season as if Zara were powerful enough to command the trees. Alison had no doubt the Queen could manage it. They must have come from a greenhouse somewhere in the palace—no doubt Anthony knew where it was, and he might show her. When he returned. The thought dampened her spirits further, and she pushed it aside and exerted herself to be cheerful. She already knew so many men, and none of them had made her feel awkward, and she would eventually be able to dance comfortably in this awful skirt, and she refused to feel miserable and frozen.

  She had to walk a little faster to catch up with the Dowager and the rest of her ladies, who’d kept moving while she dawdled to look at the flowers. The silence that arose as she passed made her blush, though it was likely the rest of the guests were responding to the ladies as a group rather than to her as an individual. She ascended the three shallow steps of the dais to make her low curtsey to the Queen, who sat in a high-backed chair upholstered in red velvet and carved with spirals, its back topped with the triple peaks of Tremontane. Zara wore North blue velvet trimmed with silver and a choker of silver leaves, with a slimmed-down version of the Tremontanan crown in silver and sapphire. She gazed at them all, unsmiling, and nodded once to indicate they could rise, then came forward to embrace her mother. Over the Dowager’s shoulder, she caught Alison’s eye, and Alison nearly choked when the Queen winked at her, the barest droop of an eyelid.

  Having made their obeisance, the ladies separated to drift through the ballroom on their unmoving silken skirts. Now people were staring at her. She felt like a jeweled butterfly, with the eyes of a thousand lepidopterists on her, waiting for her to alight so they could pounce and carry her away for their collections. She saw no one she recognized, and the few men whose eyes she met had the all-too-familiar expressions that made her wish she could cover herself or run and hide. There was no way she could leave the ballroom without being noticed, in this dress that stood out from her body by a hundred feet. She walked a little faster, hoping she might meet someone she knew, but the Dowager’s party had arrived early, and by the look of these strangers’ formal dress, most of these people were minor nobles from the outlying regions of Tremontane who would have traveled for days to arrive here and would not have wanted to miss one second of the gala. She neared the bottom of the stairs, turned left—sweet heaven, one of them was approaching her, a too-appreciative smile on his lips, his eyes fixed on her bodice, and she couldn’t think of a reason to politely avoid him—

  “Surprise,” said a wonderfully familiar voice, and she spun around so fast she made her skirt swing wide around her legs. “I think you might be able to sweep the floor clean with that skirt,” Anthony said, taking a step backward to avoid it. He looked wonderful in his formal knee breeches and waistcoat of North blue and the fitted black frock coat that hugged his broad shoulders and made him look taller than he was.

  “I thought you weren’t coming back for another two days,” Alison said. The lump of ice in her chest melted like snow on a hot stove.

  “No, didn’t I say? Zara depends on me to take some of the social burden at this thing, what with all the foreign dignitaries. I am assigned to squire Prince Takjashi Kerish’s harem tonight. The entire harem. Not one of them younger than forty and all of them filled with questions about the history of the palace. It took some doing to escape them, but I think it was worth it.”

  She knew she was smiling too broadly, but she felt so happy at his appearance that she didn’t care. “I can’t imagine anyone better qualified to answer those questions,” she said. “But it seems a little hard, you having to spend the whole evening playing politician.”

  “Oh, never fear, I intend to dance with at least one woman here tonight, if she will promise not to slap me.”

  “If you will promise not to deserve it, I think she could control herself for the length of one dance.”

  Anthony laughed and clasped both her hands in his. “Then I will see you later, milady Countess, and no more despondent face, if you please. It’s a celebration, after all.” He was gone before she could reply to that, his broad back swallowed up by the increasing crowd. She couldn’t stop smiling. He would return eventually, and his eyes hadn’t left hers the whole short time they’d spoken, and she began to feel she could endure this evening after all.

  “I must say, you’re the most beautiful thing in this room,” someone drawled at her, and she turned to see the man who’d been approaching her before Anthony appeared. He held two glasses of wine and offered one to her; she took it automatically. He smiled, and made no secret of the fact that he was examining her body. He was tall, and lean, and handsome in a tall and lean way, and she looked back at him—and laughed.

  “Excuse me, sir, but do you know who I am?” she said, kindly.

  He looked a little startled, and shook his head. “Just that you’re the woman I’m going to dance first with tonight,” he said.

  In her memory, Anthony smiled at her again, and she felt buoyed by it. “What is your name, sir?” she said.

  He bowed. “Bartholomew Lester, milady.”

  “Good evening, Bartholomew Lester. My name is Alison Quinn, and I am the Countess of Waxwold,” she said, and watche
d the poor man go white. “That’s a title you recognize, isn’t it? Well, sir, I would be happy to dance with you, because I can tell you thought you were being charming just now, and I won’t hold it against you. But I dislike being referred to as a thing, and I dislike more the way you just looked at me, and if you persist in doing either of those actions I will personally tell every woman in this room you have sweaty palms and a tendency to pass wind at both ends. Now, I hear the musicians tuning up; shall we dance?”

  She removed the glass from his hand and set both glasses aside, then held out her arm, and he took it automatically, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open the tiniest bit. She patted his hand. “I’m really not offended, Bartholomew Lester,” she said. “And just think how good you’ll look hanging on my arm.”

  Lester was a good dancer, though Alison took more pleasure in his stunned expression than in the dance, and at the end he bowed to her and said, with a self-deprecating smile, “You are far more gracious than I deserve, Countess,” before walking away. She danced the next three dances with men she had met before, then the next two with strangers, all the time trying not to search the ballroom for the one person she truly wanted to see approaching to solicit her hand. By the time the tenth dance had come and gone, and she had accepted a glass of sparkling wine from her latest partner, she began to suspect Anthony’s harem was rather more demanding than he’d expected, and he might not be able to dance with her at all. She smiled and laughed at a joke her companion told and tried not to feel disappointment. She would almost certainly see him tomorrow, and they could go for that ride, or look at the greenhouses.

  She finished her wine and was swept away by her next partner for a dipping, swaying dance that, combined with the wine, left her feeling a little dizzy. Perhaps just one more dance, and then she should leave. She had no idea what time it was; after midnight, probably, and she was tired and a little low in spirits. She smiled as brightly as she could at the next man who approached her, and held out her hand toward him.

  Hands grasped her about the waist and swung her away from her would-be partner. “Sorry, friend,” Anthony said over his shoulder, “but the lady is engaged to dance this one with me,” and he carried her a few steps and set her down to clasp both her hands just as the music started. She laughed with delight.

  “That poor man,” she said. “Losing his partner like that.”

  “Oh, he’ll find someone else. And who’s going to argue with the Crown Prince?”

  “So high-handed of you.”

  “I’ve sacrificed my evening to my sister’s government. I intend to have at least a little pleasure tonight.” He led her through a set of complicated steps, then handed off the lead for her to do the same for him. “I hope you don’t mind that I kidnapped you.”

  “I was beginning to wonder where you were,” Alison said. “Was your harem—excuse me, I don’t think this gown is compatible with this dance.” The steps of the dance had brought them close together, pushing Alison’s skirt back so the whole frame flew up three feet and exposed her petticoats. Anthony took a few hasty steps back.

  “This really is a ridiculous costume,” Alison said. “I wish the Queen would declare a new fashion for court apparel.”

  “I’m pretty sure she told you to call her Zara. And it has its merits.”

  “It does? What are they?”

  “I’d tell you, but you despise compliments.”

  “Only the insincere ones. I think I can trust you to know the difference now.”

  “Can you?” Anthony said. “Trust me?” He’d been smiling at her, but the smile fell away, leaving him with a serious expression that made her uncomfortable. She made herself smile, and nod, and say, “Of course.”

  He looked away from her, across the ballroom, and she waited for him to speak, but he was as silent as if they were strangers who just happened to be following each other through the complicated steps of the dance. She waited, growing more nervous as the seconds passed, and was about to speak when he spun her away from him, drew her back, and said, “That dress makes you the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and if I have any regrets about this evening, it’s that I didn’t wait for a dance that would let me put my arms around you, because I can’t imagine anything else in the world that would make me happier than I am right now.”

  She nearly tripped over her own feet. He’d gone from looking away from her to being fully intent on her face, with a look in his eyes that said he was waiting for some response from her. She felt, not frozen, but numb, her thoughts in confusion, incapable of understanding what he wanted. Most beautiful woman—let me put my arms around you—make me happier replayed in her memory, clear and unambiguous as her own thoughts were not. That intent look, so serious, made her wonder what she looked like, circling around him with her eyes wide and her mouth open in astonishment. He was waiting for her to say something. She had no idea what that should be.

  The music ended with a flourish, and all around them, men and women bowed to each other. Anthony had hold of both her hands and made no move to bow. Alison stood unmoving, unable to look away from those blue eyes. No, she thought, I refuse, and she pulled her hands free of his, curtseyed, and walked away at a normal pace, merging with the crowd and then walking out of it, putting one foot in front of the other until she reached one of the little doors shrouded in blue and silver mist, went inside, and closed it behind her.

  The room was dimly lit by a pair of Devices in sconces on the wall. There was probably a switch somewhere to turn up the lights, but the darkness was comforting, like a blanket during a thunderstorm. She felt as if she’d been in a thunderstorm, been struck by lightning and barely lived to walk away from it. A sofa and a wingback armchair stood perpendicular to each other, their upholstery dark gray in the low light. She sat in the chair and felt the wooden frame of her skirt bend and pop, so she quickly stood and walked a few steps until she was in the center of the room with her back to the door. She hugged herself tightly and closed her eyes. That was no good. She could picture him still, the way he’d looked at her, and she still didn’t know how to answer the question that had been in his eyes.

  That hadn’t been flirtation. He’d been entirely serious. He didn’t want friendship from her.

  And she didn’t want friendship from him.

  How embarrassing that she’d lied to herself so successfully. She’d actually believed he was just a friend. Of course she’d been unhappy while he was gone; of course she felt content when she was with him. Apparently her too-trusting heart had found a way to fool her sensible, cynical brain. You can’t trust him, you know what will happen, he’s no different from the others and you are telling yourself a damn lie if you believe otherwise, her horrible inner voice said, and she couldn’t convince herself it was wrong. She didn’t want to fall in love. It had only ever brought her misery. She didn’t have love, and now she didn’t have friendship, either.

  The door opened behind her, then shut, quietly. “Alison,” Anthony said, and she felt tears come to her eyes that she blinked away, hard. “Alison, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I should never have said that, but I thought—you looked so happy to see me tonight, I hoped it meant you felt…I’m sorry. I’ve ruined everything.”

  “You weren’t wrong,” she said, a little thickly because the tears were falling faster now. “I was stupid not to understand why I missed you so much. But I can’t love you. You can’t ask that of me.”

  She heard him take a few more steps. “I thought of you every day I was gone,” he said. “There was always something I wanted to ask you, or show you…it took me three days to realize why I felt so bereft all the time. I love you, Alison. I love how your eyes light up when you get excited about something and I love the sound of your laugh and I love that you don’t blush well and it doesn’t stop you from crying at the theater where everyone can see you. I wish to everlasting heaven I’d never been crude to you when we first met, because I want to tell you how beautiful you are and how muc
h I love the way you walk, like you’re about to take on the whole damn world at once, and how much more I love your wonderful, vibrant spirit that makes you who you are. That makes me want to be a better man. So tell me why you can’t love me, because I will do anything to make that change.”

  She turned around. He was standing about five feet away, leaning on the balls of his feet as if he wanted to close that final distance but was afraid to. “There’s no point,” she said in a low voice, and wiped away tears. “There’s never any point. Falling in love has only ever made me miserable. It’s not going to happen again.”

  “I swear I’ll never make you—”

  “That’s what they all said.” She turned away again. “‘Oh, Alison, you’re so beautiful, you’re a wonderful woman, I love you.’ And the only thing they really loved was what I could do for them. Make them my consort. Give them my money. Let them—” She couldn’t bring herself to say With a body like that, you can’t expect a man not to think of you naked in his bed, even though she’d never forgotten those words or Eric’s face when he’d said them.

  “You know I’m not like that.” He was close now, right behind her; she could feel his nearness like a brand threatening to scorch her flesh.

  “Do I? How well am I supposed to know you after only eight weeks? I don’t even know what you want from me.”

  “I don’t want anything, except to be allowed to make you happy. Alison, listen to me.” He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around, gently, so she could look up at him. “I’m not those men, Alison. I don’t need your fortune. I have a better title than you do. And at the risk of sounding vain, I’m by far the most handsome man you’re ever going to meet, so maybe I should be worried you’re only interested in me for my body.” He gave her a crooked, self-deprecating smile that was so comical it surprised a smile out of her. The crooked smile turned into a real one, and he wiped some of her tears away with his thumb. “I can’t promise to be perfect,” he said, “but I can promise I won’t betray you. And I can promise my heart is entirely in your keeping.”