A footman helped me from the carriage, and I fought the urge to jump down and run into the house.
I was home.
I studied the columns and countless windows of our mansion with a smile. Our house was three stories tall, four if you counted the basement. Servants repainted it every year, restoring the white plaster so the entire structure gleamed. Flowers, sculptures, and well-trimmed trees decorated the grounds. Behind the house, a rose garden shaped like the Merchant Guild’s crest filled the yard. This was what a respectable house looked like.
Father leaped from the carriage and helped Donna Senona step down. I watched her face, sure that it would light up when she saw the garden in full bloom. She had only visited our estate once while Father courted her. She simply had not had time to appreciate it. Surely she could see that the marble fountains and sculptures were superior to rows and rows of roses. A river sparkled at the bottom of the hill. Ships sailed by on their way to the ocean and beyond. We even had a view of the king’s castle, if you stood in just the right place and looked between the trees.
Donna Senona smiled at Father and let him pull her close. She did not look at the estate. She had eyes only for him.
Rosa hopped down from the carriage without waiting for the footman to help her. She held a small black traveling case.
“The footman will carry that for you,” I said. “There is no need to do it yourself.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“But it isn’t proper to-”
She walked towards the house, swinging the case in the most unladylike manner possible. I considered jogging after her to show her how to hold it properly, but followed Tía Teresa into the house at a respectable pace instead.
She brushed the tangles from my hair and snapped me into a visiting gown without asking. I grinned at her and hurried out of the house.
Now that I was back in civilization, it was time to find some civilized company.
I followed a footpath through our statue garden and unlatched a gate hidden in a hedge. Through the gate, the path continued through our neighbor’s estate. It looked similar to ours, as both were decorated in the best fashion. My Father held the gold medallion for the Merchant Guild. Martina, our neighbor, held the silver, and her husband Rafael held the bronze. Their daughter Mirella had been my best friend for as long I could remember.
She hadn’t attended the wedding, but she would be eager to hear about it.
I walked to the front door and rang the bell. A footman opened the door and bowed.
“Miss Alma. Shall I fetch Miss Mirella for you?”
“Yes, please.”
He gestured to a nearby servant who scurried away with my message, and I waited in the foyer. Mirella’s house had two staircases that curved around the edges of the front room. Ours had a single staircase in the middle. A bronze and silver chandelier decorated with the Merchant Guild seal hung between their staircases.
Our chandelier was gold.
“Alma, welcome back.”
Mirella’s mother, Martina, descended the staircase with the elegance of a queen. Her silver Merchant Guild medallion glittered at her throat. I curtsied.
“Is your father at home?” Martina asked. “I must speak to him at once.”
I nodded, and Martina gestured to the butler.
“Send word to Rafael and tell him to join me. This cannot wait.”
“Of course. Shall I also fetch Carlo for you?”
“No, not for this.”
The butler opened the door for her, and she swept out of the house.
“Alma!”
Mirella bounced down the staircase. Her hair was piled onto her head in a mass of braids and jewels. She had recently come of age and was taking full advantage of being able to wear her hair up.
“I saw the carriages pull in! Alma, you must tell me everything! Did you bring the wedding portrait?”
She dragged me up the staircase and into her sitting room. I pulled a canvas the size of my palm from my sleeve and handed it to her. Mirella examined it, and her face fell.
“Everything is so very plain!” she said at last. “Oh, Alma!”
“I know!”
I sat down, sweeping my skirts across the couch. Mirella sat next to me, sweeping her gown in an equally dramatic manner.
“The only guests were peasants and servants,” I said. “A few guild apprentices, but no masters. The judge was a country bumpkin. Look at the quality of the painting. Terrible! A wedding portrait by an apprentice!”
“They should have been married in the throne room,” Mirella said. “This ceremony! The Garden District! Why weren’t they?”
I tucked the portrait under my sleeve as if doing so could hide my shame. The truth was, Donna Senona wanted to be married at her estate. She had insisted on it. I had rehearsed excuses for her behavior on the carriage ride back to Castello.
“There was no time.” I paused to calm myself. “The king was too busy preparing for the Salarian ambassadors to officiate the ceremony, and Father didn’t want to delay the wedding.”
I had proposed numerous other plans. Donna Senona ignored all of them. There were other places in Castello to be married, and they hadn’t even asked the king if he would fit them into his schedule.
“That’s no reason to sneak off to the countryside,” Mirella said. “Why, it is practically an elopement! Are they sure it’s legal?”
“Yes, but her estate is horrid, Mirella. Nothing but roses as far as you can see. No town, no castle. The house is so small!”
I took a deep breath. I had saved the worst for last.
“Father wants to go back. He promised everyone he would.”
Mirella gasped and covered her mouth.
“But your quince is in two weeks! You’ll miss your first social season if you leave now!”
My eyes filled with tears. My quince marked my fifteenth birthday, my coming of age. I would be allowed to receive suitors and accept proposals, although I would probably wait a few years to get married. I would attend parties to meet the prospective suitors. I could host my own.
Starting with the quince celebration itself. Donnas usually held balls at the palace when they turned fifteen. Mine would be at our estate. Tía Teresa and I had been planning it since I could talk.
“I can’t allow it,” Mirella said. “You must stay with me if they insist on going back to the middle of nowhere.”
“Really?”
Something like hope spread through me. Mirella nodded.
“We can go to parties together. Now, forget the Garden District and that horrible wedding. I have something that will cheer you up.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“No really, it will.”
She pulled a small scroll of canvas from her sleeve and presented it with a flourish.
I unrolled it and gasped.
The most handsome face I had ever seen gazed up at me. The subject of the portrait was about my age, possibly a little older. He had clear bright eyes, a straight nose, and lips curled into a half smile. His wavy dark hair was just long enough to cover his forehead and ears. His jawline narrowed to a square chin. His skin glowed with health.
“Is that-”
I lost my breath and couldn’t finish the sentence.
Mirella giggled.
“Who else would it be?”
“Prince Lorenzo,” we sighed in unison.
She leaned closer so we could both see.
“Where did you get this?” I asked.
She reached for it, and I reluctantly gave it back to her.
“Dark Market,” she said. “Definitely not guild approved. There was a salesman in an alley, and-”
“Mirella! You went to the Dark Market?”
“Well, it was worth it, wasn’t it?”
It was. We both stared at the portrait.
“Of course,” I said, “He probably doesn’t look exactly like that.”
Mirella sighed.
“No one has a
nose that straight.”
“Or eyes that bright.”
“But still, thank you Alessandro!”
“You think Alessandro painted this?”
“Not this canvas specifically, but this is based on his painting! It must be!”
The court painters of Castana were known for embellishing the truth. Alessandro, head of the Paint Guild, was famous for finding the beauty in any face. As a result, he was commissioned to paint all the royal portraits.
“But still,” I said, “if he is half that handsome.”
“I know.”
“Wedding portrait?”
Mirella’s brother Carlo bounced through the door. Mirella stuffed the portrait of Prince Lorenzo in her sleeve, and I pulled the wedding portrait out to show to him. If he noticed the switch, he did not comment.
“Your father looks very happy,” he said.
It was kind of him not to mention the simplicity of the ceremony, and I smiled at him to show my gratitude. Carlo was a few years older than Mirella. He had recently passed his apprenticeship and been accepted into the Merchant Guild. If his language magic kept improving, he could join his parents as a guild leader someday.
“I understand why they wanted to marry soon,” Carlo said, “But it is a shame they couldn’t have been married here. It would have cheered the Merchant Guild to celebrate such a happy time.”
I blinked at him.
“The Merchant Guild needs cheering up?”
“The Salarians have everyone on a knife’s edge.”
“Carlo, enough business talk,” Mirella said. “You’re boring us.”
“Alright then, I won’t tell you what I heard at the guild meeting last night.”
We leaned forward.
“Is it interesting?” Mirella asked. “Or is it business?”
“Both I suppose. Perhaps you don’t want to hear it.”
Mirella and I exchanged a glance. Carlo was probably teasing us, but as a guild member he also heard a lot of news before it was common knowledge.
“Tell us,” Mirella said with a sigh.
“If you’re not interested-”
“Tell us!”
Carlo raised his hands in surrender.
“If I must. The king is hosting a welcome ball for the Salarian ambassadors. He invited the leaders of the Merchant Guild.”
“I knew this was about business!”
Mirella grabbed a pillow off the couch.
“And their families!” Carlo said quickly. “He invited the heads of the Merchant Guild and their families!”
Mirella lowered the pillow.
“But that means us.”
Carlo nodded.
“The ball’s tomorrow, and you’re invited.”
“If you’re tricking me-” Mirella shook the pillow at him.
“No tricks! The official invitations will arrive this afternoon.”
“We’re not noble,” I said. “We can’t attend a ball at the palace. We never attend.”
“I believe the idea was that we could help make the ambassadors feel welcome since our parents have traded with Salaria. The king thinks we’re more aware of Salarian customs than the nobles.”
Mirella and I stared at each other with wide eyes.
“Do you know anything about Salarian culture?” I whispered.
She shook her head.
“But Prince Lorenzo will be there.”
We squealed. A flash of panic shot through me.
“I don’t have a dress!”
“Neither do I!” Mirella wailed. “Carlo, how long have you known about this? You could have given me some warning!”
She hurled the pillow at him. He dodged with practiced ease.
“I should get back,” I said. “I need to make plans with Tía Teresa. A ball gown by tomorrow night. That’s no time at all!”
Mirella nodded.
“My seamstress is so slow! We’ll have to remake my quince gown. I’ll have to help her!”
Carlo frowned at Mirella.
“Help her? What could you possibly do to help her?”
While Carlo had studied language magic and apprenticed under his parents, Mirella and I had chosen not to pursue a trade. Being noble did not always mean you were rich, so there were plenty of dons eager to marry the daughters of wealthy guild leaders. And since we hadn’t studied magic, we were perfectly suited to become donnas.
Mirella glared at her brother.
“I can hold pins, organize ribbons, pick colors. All sorts of things. Alma helps her seamstress.”
I nodded.
“I like helping Tía Teresa design my dresses. I might even keep doing it once I’m a donna. No one has to know.”
“Once you’re a donna.”
Mirella grinned at me, and I grinned back.
“We both will be soon. Maybe sooner than we thought if we make a good impression at the ball.”
“I should see if Tía Teresa knows yet. Please excuse me.”
I curtsied and hurried home. I raced up the stairs and down the hall to the sewing room.
Rosa was being fitted in a pale yellow gown with full-length sleeves. She glanced at me when I came in, then turned her attention back to a small black book she held in one hand. A tailor, presumably one Donna Senona had hired since I didn’t recognize him, fluttered around her making adjustments. He asked her questions about what sort of style she preferred, but Rosa did not look up from her book. Finally, he threw his hands into the air and snapped pale green ruffles onto the dress. The fabric glowed with magic. Rosa ignored it.
Tía Teresa burst into the room.
“There you are!” she gasped. “The welcome ball! You’ve been invited! Tomorrow night!”
“I know! What will I wear? Mirella is wearing her quince gown, but I need to save mine for my quince!”
Tía Teresa glanced at Rosa with alarm. The tailor kept adding ruffles, and Rosa kept ignoring him. The dress resembled an overgrown shrub and kept growing. It meant more work for her, but Tía Teresa never trusted hired tailors to make my gowns. Those ruffles were proof she’d made a wise choice.
“I have just the thing,” she said. “Come with me, Hija.”
We walked through corridor after corridor, past art galleries and sitting rooms. Tía Teresa descended flights of curving stairs into the basement.
“I’ve been asking around,” she said, pausing to catch her breath. “This ball will be full of single noblemen. It may be your best chance to meet a husband, so be ready to charm them. I heard from the coachman that someone named Don Diego needs a wealthy bride as soon as possible. He’s young, and his father won’t stop spending money on horses.”
“I’m not of age yet, Tía.”
“But you can still dance with him. You can drop hints about who your father is. Casually mention your dowry. He’ll be willing to wait two weeks to propose if it means he doesn’t have to worry about a dwindling inheritance.”
We walked down a long hallway, then down more stairs.
“Are we going to the cellar?” I asked.
“We’re almost there. Trust me.”
I did.
The hallways got darker. The stones were rough-hewn instead of polished. Finally, we reached the end of the corridor. Tía Teresa pushed back a heavy wooden door. A smell like baking bread spread through the musty air. I followed Tía Teresa into the room, and a golden glow enveloped me.
A red dress trimmed in pink floated above a pedestal. A cloud of magic surrounded the fabric to keep it fresh. The lace sleeves were too ruffled for current fashion, but it was still beautiful. Gems and silver filigree decorated the fabric. A single silk rose rested on the waistband.
“Oh,” I breathed.
Behind the dress, a portrait of a girl wearing it hung on the wall. She looked just like me, and my breath caught in my throat. I read the name on the plaque even though I already knew what it would say.
Benedetta, Fabric Guild, fifteen years old.
“Your mother, Hija,�
� Tía Teresa said. “This was her quince gown.”
I reached into the golden cloud and touched the sleeve.
“Why is it here?”
“This was also her masterpiece. The dress that won her a place in the Fabric Guild. She was saving it for you. After she died, I kept saving it.”
I walked around the dress, admiring every detail.
“She had exquisite taste,” I said. “I-”
I had never seen anything like it.
“She met your father the day she wore this,” Tía Teresa said with a wink. “He gave her that.”
A Rosas Rojas glittered in a glass case beneath the picture. I studied the enchanted rose. The magic of a hundred roses glittered in the flower, making it glow and sparkle like a gem.
It was beautiful, but even it couldn’t keep my attention away from the gown.
“Will it fit? I don’t want to cut it. She was taller than me, wasn’t she? She must have been taller than me.”
Everyone was taller than me.
I stood beside the dress, trying to measure myself against it. Actually, we seemed to be about the same height.
Tía Teresa pulled a measuring tape from her apron and wrapped it around the waist of the dress.
“You’re more fully bloomed than she was, but it will fit if we lace your corset a bit tighter.”
I nodded, fighting back tears. I remembered my mother as a blur of smiles and silk, but here was a part of her I could touch. Something she had made with her own hands. It was like having her blessing at the ball. Almost as if she were going with me.
“Now then, there’s a lot to do, Hija.”
Tía Teresa took my hand and pulled me away from the gown.
“First, I’m going to rescue Rosa from that tailor. She needs to look decent since she’ll be going with you. Not too good, but decent.”
Chapter 3
I had no interest in watching Tía Teresa make Rosa look decent. I walked away as fast as was proper. The door to Father’s study was open, and voices echoed through the hallway.
“But you must see the danger,” Martina said. “Arturo, you must see the damage this treaty could cause!”
“We haven’t read the treaty yet,” Father said. “We don’t know the terms.”
Lady Alma Page 2