I was rescued by an approaching servant, his face dismayed.

Coming close to my arm, he said, "Monsieur, I'm afraid there has been an incident."

I raised one eyebrow. "Of what sort?"

He grimaced. "I'm afraid your manservant has overindulged and pa.s.sed out in the middle of the kitchen floor. What would you have us do with him?"

I closed my eyes, my expression pained. "How terribly embarra.s.sing." To Genevieve, I said, "I hope your injury does not trouble you long, Madame. Perhaps we will cross paths again soon." I hesitated before adding, "My proposal would benefit you as well. Please think on it."

I followed the servant into the kitchen, where Chris was indeed lying snoring, in the middle of the floor. "Don't know what got into him. He was fine, then all of sudden he set to drinking as though this hour might be his last."

I scowled and nudged Chris with my foot, but he would not rouse. "Two of you get him up."

They took him round the back while I retrieved my hat and cloak, then the four of us went out to where a cab waited, the tired-looking horse standing patiently in the snow.

"Put him in the back."

"It's extra if he vomits," the driver declared.

"The Hotel de Crillon," I said, not bothering to grace the comment with an answer. I sat silently on the thinly padded bench until we were on our way, and then I said, "That was clever thinking."

Chris sat up, if somewhat unsteadily. "Heard Genevieve had arrived, and it was clear enough that you needed a way to escape." He hiccupped.

"Well, it worked. Did you learn anything of interest tonight?"

"Might be I did." Another hiccup.

"Well?"

"They were gossiping about you and Cecile. Apparently half the reason you're in Trianon is to rekindle your love affair."

"And the other half?"

"To take over the Isle with your frivolous spending of your father's hard-earned gold."

I smiled. "Anything else?"

"I..." Another hiccup, and his face went pale.

"Don't you..."

He summarily threw the liquid contents of his stomach up all over the floor.

"Dare," I finished with a sigh, then dug an extra few coins out of my pocket.

Forty-One.

Cecile

I was stirring my breakfast around my plate when a knock sounded at the door. Dropping my fork with a clatter that made my mother start, I bolted to the door before the maid would have a chance to answer it.

"A delivery for Mademoiselle de Troyes," the boy on the stoop said, holding out a box embossed with the name of a popular and very expensive confectioner, along with a card.

"Thank you," I said, the smile on my face threatening to crack my cheeks. "If you could wait a moment, I'll have you deliver a card for me."

Extracting a truffle from the box and popping it into my mouth, I flipped open the card and read.

Dearest Cecile, I hope this note finds you well and in possession of as demanding a sweet tooth as I remember. I have recently arrived in Trianon, but I find myself unable to enjoy the pleasures of this city for want of your delightful company. I've been invited to this evening's performance of the ballet, but feel I must decline if I cannot attend with you on my arm, for to be in the theatre that is your domain without you would render the experience lackl.u.s.ter. Please say you will find s.p.a.ce in your calendar so that I might retrieve you from your mother's residence at 6pm.

Yours, TdM

My skin flushed hot with pleasure and excitement a welcome change from the frustration that had been eating away at me more and more each day. I knew what we were undertaking was serious that we were deliberately attempting to incite a five hundred year-old witch into attacking Tristan, and in doing so, revealing herself. But it had been five days since I had seen him; I could not help the thrill of antic.i.p.ation I felt.

I'd never been courted. All the boys in the Hollow had known I was leaving and hadn't bothered, and for obvious reasons Tristan had been unable to do so in Trollus. In my more indulgent moments, I'd felt a bit robbed, and that made me want to enjoy this moment, despite the underlying motivations.

Eating another truffle, I went to the desk and extracted a card.

Monsieur de Montigny, Your taste in sweets is, as always, divine. It would be my pleasure to attend the ballet with you this evening. I shall see you at 6.

Cecile

I gave it to the delivery boy with a coin and instructions on where to bring it. Shutting the door behind me, I leaned against it and closed my eyes, licking the traces of sugar from my lips.

"I certainly hope you declined."

Opening my eyes, I saw my mother standing next to the desk, Tristan's note in her hands. I'd left it there knowing she would pick it up, because as much as this ruse was for a.n.u.shka's benefit, it also required luring my mother in. "Of course I didn't. Why should I have?"

She grimaced and was silent for a long moment. "Accepting a last-minute invitation makes you appear eager. Desperate. Boring. None of which are attractive qualities."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. He knows me well enough to have made his own judgments."

"Which is rather interesting, given that you've never mentioned him before."

"I didn't think I'd ever have the opportunity to see him again," I said, sorting through the sweets so that I wouldn't have to look her in the eye as I lied. "I met him in Courville this summer. After I was injured, I didn't even have the chance to say goodbye before the Girards whisked me back to the Hollow. I didn't even know he knew I was in Trianon until I received his letter."

"And just how well do you know this young man?"

Her inflection and her meaning were obvious and my cheeks burned. "Not that well, mother."

Relief flooded her face. "Small mercies."

Catching her by the arm, I led her to the settee and pressed a salted caramel upon her because I knew they were her favorite. "I thought this was what you wanted for me," I said. "You yourself said this is what you had me trained for."

"He is a poor choice."

"Why?"

She set the candy on the table. "After you told me the two of you were acquainted, I took the liberty of tracking him down, Cecile. He is not right for this purpose. He's too young, too handsome, too used to having everything he wants. I've met his kind before: his affections will be fierce, but fleeting. And he will not be discreet. There are better options."

"Like the Marquis." My tone was sour.

She nodded. "He will provide what you need at very little cost to your person. And no risk of heartbreak."

I picked up her candy and ate it myself.

"This young man will only end up hurting you," she said, taking my hand. "He'll eventually take a wife and his attentions will turn to her. And there is no chance of it being you. You are not of the same cla.s.s, and whether he says so or not, he considers himself better than you. Is that really a path you want to go down?"

The caramel was sticking in my teeth and tasted overly sweet. "What if it is?"

"Then you're making a mistake."

"You don't know that."

She caught hold of my chin, forcing me to look into her eyes. "Are you in love with this man, Cecile?"

I jerked my chin free. This conversation had gotten away from me.

"Well, that explains a great deal."

I got to my feet, retrieving my box of candies and Tristan's note. "This is my life, Mama, not yours. Sometimes I think you forget that. Now I'm going to get ready for rehearsals. It would not do to keep everyone waiting."

The clock bonged six times, and I fought the urge to go to the window to check for any sign of the carriage.

"He's with Bouchard, who is chronically late," my mother said, from where she sat reading a book. She'd switched strategies from this morning, now employing pa.s.sive-aggressive indifference in her attempt to dissuade me from this path. "Don't fret."

"I'm not fretting," I said, smoothing my lace gloves over the rich blue velvet of my dress. The bodice was both tight and low, revealing the slight curves of my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, which were amplified by the added padding. It was one of my new gowns, and I could not help but admire the sleeves, snug to my elbow and loose in a spray of lace that hung to my wrists. The crinoline puffed the skirts out from my hips, the velvet slashed to reveal the lace petticoat beneath.

My shoes were matching brocade with ribbons that wrapped around my ankles, and I wore sapphire and diamond earrings that Sabine had deemed a perfect match to the dress. She'd fixed my hair so it was up, a few curls left loose to frame my face, and rimmed my eyes with kohl and tinted my lips.

A knock sounded at the door, and I leapt up. "I'll answer it," my mother said, rising far too slowly for my tastes and then ambling toward the door. "Good evening, Monsieur de Montigny," she said. "Please do come inside. Winter is truly upon us."

"How is your hand?" Tristan asked, but whatever she answered went unheard in my ears as I adjusted my dress for the umpteenth time. When I glanced up, he had rounded the corner with her, and our eyes met.

His disguise was in place, eyes grey instead of silver and skin altered to a duskier, more human hue. But all else was the same, and even if he had made himself unrecognizable I still would have known it was him. I loved him; so much so that my chest felt tight and my breath short, and everything else in the room seemed wan as a faded painting.

"Mademoiselle de Troyes." He smiled, glanced at the floor and then back up to my face. "Memory, it would seem, is a pale comparison to reality."