The herbwitchs apprentic.., p.4
The Herbwitch's Apprentice, page 4
There was an audible silence when the two of us reentered the banquet hall. Time passed agonizingly slowly as the waiter lifted my chair right side up and gestured for me to sit. I shoved his jacket into his hands. He leaned over to set the water pitcher before me.
“Enjoy the banquet, Miss Amarante.”
He winked and departed. I sat for a second to compose myself before looking up. I hoped the exchange went unnoticed, but the curious face of Genevieve, the suggestive one of Tori, and the disapproving look on Samantha’s were clear signs that it hadn’t.
“Heavens. You were flirting with him,” Samantha accused.
“I was not,” I said, affronted.
“Looked like he was flirting with you,” Tori said.
I flushed. “No, he was not.”
“Looked a bit like he was,” Genevieve admitted.
“Nobody was flirting!”
I didn’t realize how loudly I spoke until the words were out of my mouth. A few debutantes looked my way and I ducked my head, praying that the clinking of silverware was enough to cover my voice further along the table. Heavens forbid the duchess heard! Genevieve stifled a laugh.
Samantha looked at me haughtily, her expression not unlike Narcissa’s. “Don’t you know better than to tangle yourself with the likes of him? The whole point of the Season is to find an eligible match,” she said.
Tori turned to her with a sharp look. “What are you trying to say? Working class is dirt to you?” she said. Samantha huffed and turned away.
Tori shot her one last glare before addressing me. “It’s a shame nobody here appreciates a working man. If you want to flirt with that waiter, flirt all you want,” Tori said generously.
“Thanks, I suppose,” I said in a strangled voice.
“There will be no flirting in my presence, ladies,” a commanding voice said. I jumped.
The duchess was standing behind me, looking down at us. Her lips were pressed into a thin line. I craned my neck to look at her.
“I-I’m sorry, Your Grace,” I stuttered, startled at being directly addressed by the duchess herself.
“I expect you all to behave like proper young women tonight.” She did not sound pleased. Her eyes flicked to my place card. “Especially you, Miss Amarante Flora.”
I bowed my head. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“I’ve heard about you,” the duchess said, looking at me through her lashes. “You caused quite a scene in your own backyard, yes?”
My face burned. I could already see Julianna’s smug face.
Duchess Wilhelmina took my silence as confirmation. She shook her head. “I cannot blame you for being uneducated, coming from such a family. It is unseemly to isolate yourself with such lowly personage, Miss Flora. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes, but Your Grace, you told me to go with him.”
Not even a clink of silverware interrupted the silence that ensued. I wished I hadn’t said anything. Arguing with the duchess? I must have gone mad.
“Stand up,” the duchess said softly.
My legs stood on their own accord, barely able to support my weight.
“Look at me when I address you, Miss Flora.”
I lifted my chin. The duchess’s gaze was steely, intensified by her slate-colored irises. I made out the harsh creases between her brows. Hers was not a face that had seen much joy.
“Repeat after me,” she said crisply. Her voice rung out in the banquet hall. “I will not flirt with inconsequential men.”
My breath caught at my throat. “B-But, Your Grace—”
“I said, Miss Flora, repeat after me.”
I clasped my hands behind me, wishing that the silence weren’t so deafening. “I...I will not flirt with inconsequential men,” I said.
“Louder, Miss Flora, for the young ladies in the back.”
“I will not flirt with inconsequential men.”
Snickers sounded from the head of the table. Julianna’s was the loudest. I hated how my eyes prickled.
“Very good. Do well to remember that.” The duchess swept away, heels clicking against the marble. She clapped her hands. “Now, let us start dessert.”
THROUGHOUT DESSERT, Genevieve threw me concerned looks I pretended not to notice. Tori opened and closed her mouth, as if wanting to speak but thinking better of it. It was a good thing she did because I was too mortified to do anything but eat my slice of cake, hoping that each swallow would push down the tears that threatened to spill onto my plate.
Why should I cry? It wasn’t as if I wanted to impress the duchess in the first place.
When the banquet ended, we all were escorted outside to wait for our carriages. The night air and hazy lights eased the tension in my throat and I managed to join Genevieve and Tori’s lighthearted debate on whether Lady Hortensia’s gown was lime green or chartreuse. My comfort, however, was short lived.
“What a humiliating performance!” Julianna’s voice pierced through the murmur of conversation as she sauntered toward me. A few debutantes stopped and stared.
“Julianna,” Genevieve said, crossing her arms. “We were talking.” My stepsister looked almost hostile, which I would have marveled at if I weren’t dizzy with indignation.
“I cannot imagine what Madam Lydia was thinking, letting you attend the Season,” Julianna said, tossing a curl behind her shoulder. She sneered at me, her eyes lingering on the wrinkled, wet stain at the front of my dress. “Flirting with the staff. Really, Amarante, have you no shame?”
Tori stepped forward. “Have you no shame bullying people when you know perfectly well they did nothing wrong?” she said.
Julianna scoffed. “And who might you be?”
“Lady Victoria Strongfoot, daughter of Lord Strongfoot,” Tori said.
“Oh. The blacksmith’s daughter. You say those titles as if they mean something, peasant girl,” Julianna said.
“Repeat that and I’ll—”
I pulled Tori back before she did any damage. “What do you want, Julianna?” I said, glaring. Hadn’t she humiliated me enough?
“I wonder what the Sternfelds would think if they hear about this,” Julianna said with a sly smirk. “How improper for a soon-to-be lord to be associating with such...promiscuous young ladies.” Her eyes slid from me to my stepsister. It didn’t take long for me to get her meaning.
She was jealous of Cedric’s interest in Genevieve. What would happen once news of my blunder spread to the neighborhood? Genevieve and I would be labeled as shameless flirts. Lord Gideon made it evident last week that he disapproved of us. The gossip would no doubt push him over the edge and Cedric would no longer be able to look at Genevieve without judgment.
And Lydia. What would Lydia do once she discovers that my mistakes cost Genevieve her reputation and the affection of a rich suitor?
Julianna grew even more smug at my reaction. I had never wanted to box her face so badly. Even so, I controlled myself. Starting a brawl at the palace wouldn’t improve my situation.
“So? You’ll gossip whether I want you to or not,” I said steadily, though I was anything but.
Genevieve took my hand. “The Sternfelds have better judgment than you think, Julianna,” she said coolly. “It’s your word against ours.”
I squeezed my stepsister’s fingers, beyond relieved to have her support though her reputation was on the line because of me. My only hope was Julianna would buy our bluff.
Julianna’s face grew tomato red. “Forget the Sternfelds! They clearly have no taste in good society,” she said, narrowing her eyes at me. “Just you wait, Amarante. Everyone who is anyone will hear about your behavior tonight.” With that, she harrumphed and stomped away.
I let go of a breath. It was just me she wanted to humiliate now, but I still couldn’t afford to have Lord Gideon or Lydia hear about this. Whether she meant to or not, Julianna would ruin Genevieve’s coming out if she ruined mine.
“Nicely handled,” Tori said as she watched my neighbor’s retreating figure.
Genevieve touched my arm. “Don’t worry, Amarante. She probably doesn’t mean it.”
How I hoped that were true.
5
The cold mornings grew shorter and the sun began to cast its sweltering rays on the earth below. June was fast approaching and with that the Debutante Ball, marking the commencement of the dreaded Season.
A week had passed since the Welcome Banquet Disaster with Duchess Wilhelmina. Lydia had no clue of my blunder as Genevieve left it out when recounting our time at the palace. I spent days brewing over Julianna’s threat. I almost expected to wake up to taunts and rotten eggs thrown at our windows, but I was only met with silence. It was the silence that worried me.
It could only mean Julianna was waiting for a bigger, wealthier audience. An audience like the guests of the Debutante Ball. No doubt she decided that exposing me in high society was the more satisfying option.
My mind swam with thoughts of water spills, Duchess Wilhelmina’s disapproving face, and the ball of humiliation that loomed over me. I prayed that Papa would write back and tell Lydia I cannot go, that I was too young or he was too poor. But fate disregarded my hopes.
The day before the Debutante Ball, Rowena handed me a letter from Papa.
Theodora and Rowena,
Thank you for writing to me about Amarante. I agree with Lydia that it is time for her to attend the Season. It will be an opportunity for her to grow and learn. Though I regret I will not be there with her, I know she will make me proud.
Business is booming here in Aquatia—the local merchants are eager to purchase my stock of Deliberan silk. I cannot find time to reply to all my correspondence. Please apologize to my family on my behalf.
The letter cut off. I flipped the paper over.
“Where’s the rest?” I asked.
Rowena scuffed her feet. “He was rambling about business matters. I didn’t think you’d care for it.”
I set the paper on my nightstand, sick to my stomach. Papa wanted me to attend the Season. He believed I would make him proud.
If only he knew the mess I had gotten myself into already.
“What’s wrong, dear?” Rowena asked.
“What if Papa doesn’t care about me anymore?” I said. It sounded harsher out loud, but it was a reasonable conclusion. He had always been there to stop my punishments. Just a few years back, he refused to have Lydia ship me off to a boarding school for troubled young ladies. Why would the Season be any different?
Rowena tutted. “Don’t say that. He’s just busy, that’s all. Look how hard he works to support us.”
“I suppose so,” I muttered.
I didn’t want to overwhelm her with my real thoughts. Perhaps it was ungrateful of me, but I was more aware of Papa’s absence than the wealth that crept into our home in the form of new furniture and ornate rugs.
“Here. Your father sent this too,” Rowena said brightly. She set a large box with a satin bow onto my bed.
Inside was a magnificent ball gown of marigold yellow with intricate beading and gauzy fabric. Though beautiful, it solidified my doom, just like the bracelet of silver bells.
As I ran my fingers over the embroidery on the bodice, I recalled the last conversation I had with him.
“Ah, my flower,” Papa said, smiling as I brought in his nightly tea. His desk was in disarray, his fingers stained with ink. “You look like quite the young lady.”
The porcelain clinked when I set it down. I made a face. “Really?”
“Why, you act like it’s a bad thing,” he said.
“My old governess used to call me that.” I recalled Mrs. Handel’s voice. She reminded me of Julianna, haughty, condescending, and shrill.
Papa took his tea and inhaled its earthy fragrance. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “ever since Mrs. Handel left you’ve been quite idle.”
I sunk into a leather armchair and slumped over the side. “She was a terror. Besides, Genevieve doesn’t have a governess. She’s doing just fine.”
Papa chuckled. “That’s because Lydia is tutoring her. And since you refuse to be taught by your stepmother, Mrs. Handel was the only solution. Though I wouldn’t have chosen her as your governess if I’d known she would swipe the antiques.”
I grinned, recalling the look on my governess’s face when Lydia’s bronze cat figurines fell out of her purse. I had flirted with the idea of getting rid of her in some way or other, but I didn’t expect the old hag to do it herself. It had been four months since I’d received any sort of schooling at all, since Papa was too busy to find a replacement.
In the absence of having to recite historical events or embroider a fish, I spent my time helping Rowena in the garden, lounging outside with Genevieve, and sitting with Papa whenever he was home. The break was a blessing.
Papa took a sip of his tea. “What do you think about attending the Season this year?”
I jerked up. “Papa!”
“Genevieve is going. You won’t be alone,” he said, adjusting his spectacles. He usually did that when he fancied his own idea.
“I don’t want to go,” I said. A whine escaped into my voice—hardly becoming for someone my age—but I didn’t care. I was not going to the Season, with its socials and dancing and courtship.
“Why not?” Papa said. “It’s something a young lady of your status would have to attend sooner or later.”
I crossed my arms and scowled. “I choose later.” How I wished Papa hadn’t gotten so rich, so I wouldn’t have to attend at all!
He sighed and gave me a look I couldn’t quite read. “I suppose you can wait another year. But promise me you’ll spend your time more wisely, my flower. Nothing rots the mind like idleness.”
I relaxed into the armchair. “Very well, Papa. I promise.”
I never kept my promise after he left for Aquatia, so perhaps I deserved the punishment.
Lydia’s thrill over Papa’s approval was nothing when she saw Genevieve in her ball gown. My stepsister looked like a princess in her gown of pale rose dotted with seed pearls. Lydia cried for a whole evening after the fitting.
I was happy for Genevieve. She was clearly excited for her coming out, but I knew she was suppressing her emotions for my sake. Still, as much as I tried, I couldn’t keep my sour mood from showing during the long carriage ride to the palace. My ill-fitting corset dug into my ribs and the embroidery on my dress itched. I hated that something so beautiful could be so painful.
When we arrived, Lady Hortensia met us debutantes in the courtyard and told us we had to rehearse our entrance before the ball. The year before, a debutante tumbled down the stairs, for she did not know the proper way to descend a royal staircase. I doubted there was a difference between descending a regular staircase versus a royal one, but I followed Lady Hortensia into the ballroom nonetheless.
All twenty-five of us gathered behind the grand steps, each moving forward as the herald called our names. He was a short man with a monocled eye, a bald head, and the most piercing voice I ever heard, second only to Julianna’s.
“Miss Amara...Amaran...tee—”
“The ‘e’ is silent, sir,” I said, already halfway down.
The herald sniffed. “Very well. Er...Miss Rachel Estelle!”
A tall girl in a blue dress descended after me at his squeaky call. Her hands were shaking, though the ballroom below was empty aside from the servants setting the refreshments table.
“Posture, dear!” Lady Hortensia trilled from the bottom of the steps. “Remember Rachel, you are a swan gliding along a lake, not a pigeon pecking crumbs on the road. And speaking of pigeons, Mr. Packington,” she said, turning to the herald, “are you sure you cannot do anything about those awful birds? They’re nesting in the chandeliers.”
The herald peered up. A band of gray-blue pigeons perched on the golden arms of the chandelier above him. They stared back with round, unblinking eyes. Mr. Packington shuddered. “Like I told you milady, the servants have tried everything. They simply wouldn’t leave.”
“I don’t like it. It seems like some sort of...witchery.” Lady Hortensia shuddered, wiggling her plump, bejeweled fingers.
“Nonsense!” Mr. Packington puffed up his scrawny chest. “We do not speak of such things here, milady. I’m sure that much you know.”
The lady frowned a frown that rivaled Lord Gideon’s.
By the end of it, we were led into a sitting room near the ballroom to wait for the start of the ball. Many debutantes spent the time chattering. Genevieve, Tori, and I sat in our own corner. We asked Olivia to join us, but the girl shied away from any interaction and buried her nose in a book.
Perhaps she would disappear again, like she had at the welcome banquet. We decided to leave her be.
As dull minute after dull minute dragged on, Tori excused herself to the lavatory, Genevieve sketched aimlessly on a napkin, and I settled on eavesdropping.
“How did pigeons get into the ballroom anyway?” Samantha asked from the other side of the room.
“I heard from one of the servers they entered through the kitchens,” Tessa Donahue said, patting her coppery curls. “Someone must’ve left a window open.”
“How irresponsible.” Julianna scoffed. “Narcissa, why don’t you have your cat take them down?”
The duchess’s daughter was perched on an armchair. She narrowed her eyes. “Misty is above that,” she said. “It’s the servants’ job to take care of such things.”
Julianna looked cowed, but she masked it with a laugh. “You’re right. Work like that is reserved for clumsy waiters and girls who flirt with them.” She threw a glance at me. A few debutantes giggled.
“Ignore them,” Genevieve whispered, smoothing her napkin. Julianna’s laughter was still ringing in my ear.
“I can’t believe she’d do this,” I muttered, blood rushing to my face. It was true that I had grown used to Julianna’s antics. She spread all sorts of rumors about me as a child—that I had a beard I shaved off every morning, that I ate bird droppings, that I had freckles because I was cursed by a witch. At some point I’d learned to tolerate it by playing pranks and giving empty threats, but this was different.
