Standing on a low podium in only a thin silk shift, I watched in the looking glass as the dressmaker deftly wrapped a tape measure around my waist. Her fingers brushed against the thick scar on my ribs, and I flinched as her hands twitched away from the unexpected flaw on my body. “You’re thinner,” she said to hide her reaction. “All the gowns will need alterations and the busts will require padding.” She wrapped the tape measure around my breasts again, glanced at the measurement, and sighed as her original assessment was confirmed.
Against my will, my cheeks warmed. Her assistant smiled pertly at me, but I kept my chin up and met her eyes. “I’ll have another one of those cakes, please.” To the dressmaker I said, “You needn’t go overboard – I’ve been unwell, but I’m sure I’ll be back to my usual self shortly.” Sadly, my usual self would still require the padding.
It was true that I was feeling better. The King’s compulsion was still with me, but it no longer felt desperate, no longer consumed me. While I’d be a fool to say we were back in control, our circumstances no longer felt so dire. With Tristan free, Lord Aiden was no longer a threat, and we had a plan, albeit an uncertain one.
Tristan would have stayed up all night plotting, but I’d insisted he rest. He’d not complained about his injuries, but there was no mistaking how much they troubled him. I wanted to offer to try to heal them, but I was hesitant to do so. It would require my channeling his magic, bending it to my will, and I did not think he’d tolerate that, given recent developments.
A night’s sleep had done me a world of good: my head felt clear and my appetite had returned with a vengeance. All of which made me very uneasy. I wished I could believe it was Tristan’s presence that was the cause of my improvement – that having him at my side had cured what ailed me.
But I couldn’t even allow myself to think such drivel. I’d no doubt it was his freedom that had eased my mind, but not because he and I were happy about it. It was because the King was happy about it, which meant all was going according to his plan. Tristan had left to talk to his father this morning, and I was worried about how that conversation had gone.
The assistant returned with a slice of cake while the dressmaker was helping me into another creation my mother had commissioned. It was the newest fashion, all layers of petticoats and flounce, the bodice and sleeves tight, and the square neckline low. It was the sort of thing my mother would wear, and I felt uncomfortable. There were six of them waiting for me to try on, all of which must have cost her a small fortune.
I’d a sneaking suspicion that my new wardrobe indicated her desire for me to take my place in the salons of Trianon – at the Marquis’ side. There was no other reason for me to have dresses this elaborate and in these dark colors. Their completion was timely, but not for the reasons she thought.
Taking the tiny plate with its cake, I nibbled on it while watching the entrance to the fitting room. Tristan and Chris should have made it to the hotel by now, but I was waiting for word that they were ready before I put my part of the plan into action. The bell on the door of the shop rang, and moments later, Sabine walked into the room. She raised an appreciative eyebrow at my appearance, then, ignoring the dressmaker, stepped up onto the fitting podium and whispered into my ear, “They’ve taken rooms at the H?tel de Crillon.”
“Is that so?” I murmured, but loud enough for the women to hear. “In a suite?”
“The most expensive rooms.” Her breath tickled my ear as she leaned closer. “Chris is all polished up and dressed as a manservant, and he’s got his own room. Looks about ready to fly out of his own skin from discomfort, but Tristan seems in his element.”
“How exciting.” I gave her a wicked little smile. “It’s been ages since anyone interesting came to the city, and there are none more interesting than him. Be a doll, and see if you can discover anything about his calendar. We’ll go for tea when I’m finished here and you can tell me the details.” I kissed her cheek, and watched her leave, hoping my nerves didn’t show.
“Have you any performances planned, mademoiselle?” the dressmaker asked around the pin in her mouth. She sounded disinterested, but I knew better. She sewed for the wealthy bourgeoisie and a few of the minor nobility, but what she primarily traded in was gossip.
“A few,” I replied, after swallowing my last mouthful of cake. “But I’ve found reason to keep my calendar open.”
“Oh?” She used the one word like a crowbar, prying for information.
“There’s a gentleman arrived who has a fine taste for the arts.”