Chapter Thirteen Rearing Horses

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Rearing Horses

"ARE YOU FEELING alright, my lady?"

Pauline stares at my reflection in the mirror. Worry creases her brow, and with the way I look, I can't claim it unjust. My face is pale, even without powder, my lips are dry, and my eyes are surrounded by faint, dark circles. I look like Anaella the last time I saw her. Weak. Sick. Beauty washed away by sleepless nights, anxiety, and guilt.

"I'm fine," I say, a fleeting grimace betraying a twinge of pain as Pauline's hairbrush tugs my head back. "Just didn't sleep well."

"Do you wish for a laudanum tea?"

"No, thank you," I say, though a stubborn cramp stabs at my abdomen. Mother used to swear by that tincture. I was so young, yet I still remember how, on similar mornings, she would quietly sip her tea before drifting into a tranquil, pain-free nap. It's been a few months since I even needed to think about such methods. Taking an opium tincture would surely stop the pain, but it's a luxury I cannot afford today. The concert demands my utmost clarity and focus, and after my latest failures, I cannot mess up again.

Pauline picks up a hairpin.

"Can we leave my hair down?" I ask before she can insert it. "I do have a headache. "

"Of course, my lady." Pauline puts down the pin, draping my hair over my shoulders instead. "Don't you worry, I'm sure the matinee concert will go smoothly. The garden party was always one of your cousin's favorite summer events."

For the past week, all everyone has talked about in between rehearsals is the garden party, a lavish event hosted by the Marquis de Canrobert at his private chateau on the outskirts of the city. Maestro Mette informed me that I would be singing at the event only two days ago, and he did not seem pleased about it. After only one week of rushed lessons with Lirone each night, I'm still very far from being a musical expert, and the Maestro will not forget my messing up so quickly. But the Marquis's wife asked for me personally after hearing me at the gala. With the entire social elite attending, this could be my chance to regain Maestro Mette's respect.

And the perfect opportunity to fire the coachman in public.

I've been avoiding any conversation with him over the last few days, and he hasn't approached me, either. But now that he has revealed his knowledge to me, I'm certain he won't stay silent for long. The paranoia has made me cling to Father's book even more, and I have been carrying my purse with me at all times. For all I know, he's already making plans to steal it and sell the truth about me to the highest bidder. I need to act quickly.

Layer after layer of makeup covers any cracks in the perfect mask of a lady I am cultivating, and when Pauline is done, I once again stare into a stranger's face in the mirror. She helps me into a light pastel dress with delicate gold trimmings, as pretty and sweet as a fine macaron.

Something in the design is familiar—the way the delicate ruffles weave together, how the chiffon gathers at the neckline. I can almost feel Father's arm over my shoulder, as if it were just a moment ago when we'd huddled together by the fire, studying famous designs. It is clear Miss Garnier has also done her homework.

Pauline pulls at my corset and I wince in pain. "Not so tight today. "

"Sorry, my lady," she says, loosening the grip and moving on to tying the strings of the bodice into perfect bows. But she doesn't let her hands fall. Instead, she bites into her bottom lip as if fighting the urge to speak.

"Pauline? Is everything okay?" I turn away from the mirror to look at her directly.

"Oh, yes," she blurts, and pushes away her long, fiery braid over her shoulder. "I just . . . wondered if you might want me to join you today. The former Lady Adley sometimes liked me to accompany her for events outside the city."

Eagerness plasters her face, shining in her round brown eyes. I'm certain it's the same hunger I used to display whenever I watched the ladies shopping on the grand avenues or strolling in parks. It's the hunger of a person wishing to belong in a world that can never be theirs.

I still don't know Pauline's full story, but from the little I've gathered it seems my first guess was right. She was born to a family of carpenters with multiple children, and a large part of her salary is going every month to support her younger siblings—yet more youngsters who will never know comfort. How different her life could have been . . . Instead, Pauline has to fend for herself out in the world.

All I want is to tell her to join me, to have her at the party, even just as a companion—to allow her a taste of the ambrosia I've tricked my way into sampling.

But her presence could undermine the task ahead of me. She knows the coachman too well, and I cannot have anyone around who might speak on his behalf.

"Thank you." I try to keep my voice level. "But I think I'll be fine on my own today."

Pauline darts her gaze to the floor. "Of course, my lady. I'll go check if the carriage is ready for you."

A pang of guilt passes through me as she curtsies and hurries out of the room. But I cannot let that distract me. Not today .

Lirone didn't tell me the details of his plan, insisting the less I know, the more believably I'll react. I tug on my dress, fighting the impulse to rip it off and go back to bed, but my wishes don't matter. Failure is not an option.

Taking a deep breath, I turn back to the mirror. "I can do this," I say to my own reflection.

My stomach twists as the carriage rolls over the bumpy road, each jagged stone and shuffle sending a wave of pain through my abdomen. The crowded streets of the city have given way to wide-open country, with rolling hills, and large trees swaying in the summer breeze.

I squint as the sun shines through the foliage. The fresh air is sweet, intoxicating, carrying within it the essence of the flowers dotting the greenery. I can't remember the last time I left the city. Perhaps when Anaella and I were still children. I remember a checkered blanket spread out on the grass, a basket full of fruits, cheese, and bread, and ringing laughter as Father taught us how to roll down the hill. Mother shook her head as we ran back up, our dresses covered in fresh grass and twigs in our hair.

The urge to jump out of the carriage and run up the hill takes hold of me, the wish to return to that lost world burning within.

The road turns, and we pass through an arched gateway. Soon, a cacophony of hoofbeats and rolling carriages fills the air as we circle an immense fountain. The commotion is such a contrast to the quiet road that I find myself retreating farther back into my seat.

But before I can even take a breath, the carriage jerks and I jolt forward. My purse flies from my grasp, the string attaching it to my wrist threatening to snap. I scream, and the horses rear up, while shouts from outside echo my alarm. The carriage is shaking, and to my utter terror it starts tilting, threatening to fall on its side. I grasp my seat, bracing myself for impact, when the doors fly open. Arms grab me and pull. Suddenly, there are people all around .

The horses are surrounded by men holding their reins and attempting to calm them. Someone asks after my well-being, but I'm focused on the large crowd that has gathered right ahead, circling someone on the road.

I push through, blood pumping in my ears as I ignore the voices calling my name.

Stretched out on the dirt is a child wearing a simple stable boy's uniform. He writhes in pain, holding his elbow close to his chest in clear agony. My pulse quickens, cold spreading through my veins. Did the carriage hit him? Has anyone called for help? Then his eyelids fly open, and his familiar, unblinking eyes stare right at me, a malicious smile flickering on his lips.

Lirone.

I go numb.

The coachman pushes through the crowd. "My lady! I'm so sorry, my lady! I don't know how . . . He came out of nowhere."

I gawk at him, but no words come out of my mouth.

"What's this?" someone calls. I turn to see a man holding out a flask that he clearly just unearthed from beneath the coachman's carriage seat. Opening the cap, he takes a whiff and wrinkles his nose. "He's a drunkard."

Mutters rise from all around, and Lirone lets out another well-timed cry of pain.

"No . . . That's not mine. I've never seen that in my life." The coachman's eyes widen.

"You're drunk," I spit, hating myself as the words leave my lips.

He takes a step toward me, hands outstretched as if ready to strangle me or grab my skirts and beg for mercy. Two men snatch him by his arms before I can find out which.

"His jacket reeks of alcohol," one of them says.

"No one can trust a word that comes out of your mouth." I lift my chin, throwing him a look I hope is full of disdain. "I never want to see your face again. "

"My lady!" He drops to the ground while the men still hold him, his eyes full of tears.

"Leave at once! And know that I will make sure you never find work in the city again." My voice trembles, but it doesn't matter. All everyone can see is a lady shaken to her core, firing a drunk servant. "Be grateful I don't call the police."

I grip my purse tighter; the incriminating evidence that caused all of this is tucked safely inside. If only he hadn't found Father's book. Then none of this would be happening. Fear is written in every line of the coachman's face, and a slight tremble weakens his knees. I wish there were another way, but it's too late. I've gone too far.

"Take him." The words come out as a broken whisper.

"No, my lady, you have to believe me! It was an accident!"

But the men are already dragging him away, and his cries are muffled by the rising voices of the crowd.

I have just condemned a man's life.

My head spins. This is all wrong. This was a horrible plan. Even if he was going to extort me. No man deserves that. But I can't undo any of it.

I grab my stomach helplessly, my breath comes in short bursts as Lirone is carried away as well. I can only hope the carriage drops him off at the nearest theater after the doctor finds nothing wrong with him—he missed his calling as an actor.

"Lady Adley!" A woman taps my shoulder.

I spin and wobble on my heels. A lady wearing a flowery dress with an excess of frills is by my side. A bonnet sits on her light sandy curls; it's adorned with bows and roses, making it seem like she's carrying a garden atop her head.

"Are you alright, dear?" She bats her eyes at me. "You must be completely shaken. Please follow me inside. We'll get you some water and you can sit down for a bit."

I manage to nod, though the world is spinning around me. She takes me by the arm, waving her other hand for a servant to follow us. Even with my dazed head, I still register the grandeur of the house. By comparison my estate is shabby. My throat makes a choking sound, something of a mortified chuckle. Back home, Anaella is still sleeping in a stuffy room at the back of a dusty shop, drinking gray water.

Am I a horrible sister? Am I a horrible person?

"Sit down, dear," the lady says, and I sink into a velvety sofa.

A maid hands me a glass of water and I take a timid sip, but all it does is make my stomach lurch.

I fired the coachman and ruined his life to keep my secret.

I did it to save my sister. To make sure she can join me in this lavish world. I did it to keep her safe.

I had to do it.

But even as I cling to these words, all I can see in my head is the coachman's face as they dragged him away.

And though I'm sitting, the room whirls around me, the world disintegrating into blackness.

Then Madame's face is inches from mine.

"Oh, thank heavens." Relief is written in her eyes.

I'm still on the couch, but somehow I'm now lying down. "What happened?"

"You fainted."

I push myself up, heat rushing back to my cheeks. "I'm sorry . . ."

"No need to apologize, dear!" The short lady is still here, smiling at me warmly. "After what you've been through, I'm surprised you even made it into the house. I would have fainted on the spot. One simply cannot trust servants these days."

A lump rises in my throat, but I push it down. I cannot think about the coachman now or I won't be able to go on.

"The boy will be alright," Madame says. "Looks like nothing was broken. Now, let's get you home."

"Home?"

"Well, I assumed— "

"I wish to stay. I have a concert to give."

Madame presses her lips together. But my mind is made up. I did not come all this way just to fire the coachman. I need to gain back Maestro Mette's respect, or all of this will be in vain. I need to find Vicomte Lenoir and get closer to him. I need to prove to Dahlia that I'm worthy, and that I've established my position among the Elite well enough for her to allow my reunion with Anaella. I need to make all this madness worth it.

I stand and nearly lose my balance again. "I feel fine. I just need some fresh air."

"Well, we have plenty of that in the garden," the short lady says. "I haven't even introduced myself. I'm Madame la Marquise de Canrobert. It's a pleasure to meet you at last, Lady Adley."

The Marquis's wife, the marchioness, the woman who insisted on my presence. I drop into a deep curtsy, though the need to lean against the couch to stand back up smears my attempted elegance. "The pleasure is all mine, your ladyship."

"The ensemble has already set up in the garden and the concert can start whenever you're ready," Madame says. "I have already told Véronique that she will open the event instead of you. I had better go find her."

"Don't worry about it. I don't mind singing after her." The last thing I need now is extra drama with Véronique.

Madame raises an eyebrow but nods. "Shall we go outside, then?"

I plaster on a smile, ignoring the painful cramps in my stomach as I follow her and the marchioness out the door.