Servant of the Crown (The Crown of Tremontane Book 1)

by Melissa McShane

  They separated again, briefly, and North held her at a distance for several steps longer than he should have, his eyes caressing her as his hand had done. “You are incredibly beautiful,” he said, his words a little slurred. “Do you realize how beautiful you are?”

  A mask of ice descended over her face, her lips. “Modesty requires I not answer that, your Highness.”

  He laughed and drew her close again, finally, breaking the rhythm of the dance. “Oh, you’re beautiful,” he said, his breath hot on her ear. “But I’ll wager you’re even more beautiful with that dress off. I would love to see you without—”

  Without thinking, Alison whipped her hand out of his grasp and brought it around hard to slap the Prince’s face. The sound of her bare palm striking his cheek carried unnaturally far in the crowded, overfull ballroom. The dancers nearest them stopped to stare, and their stillness spread outward until half the floor was occupied by unmoving figures. The music went ragged and then stumbled to a halt. The Prince stood with his hand pressed to his cheek, his eyes wide and unblinking in surprise. Alison felt her breath coming in short, quick pants that left her dizzy. Her hand throbbed. “How dare you, sir,” she snarled, and pushed past him at a near-run, shoving her way through the forest of observers without caring whom she bumped into. She lifted her skirts and fled up the stairs, feeling propelled by the attention of everyone in the ballroom as if their combined gazes were goading her to greater speed. By the time she reached the top of the steps, she was running as fast as her dancing shoes would allow.

  With the help of a few liveried servants and a lieutenant on her way to a shift change at the east wing door, she eventually found the Dowager’s apartment, flung the door open without knocking, to the surprise of the guards, and ran to her suite, where she began tearing at the knots securing the tapes of her skirt. They were too tight, Belle had tied them too well, there was a knife somewhere in the vanity table and she would cut the damn thing off.

  “Milady, what’s wrong? Let me do that for you,” Belle said. Her eyes looked sleepy; Alison still didn’t know what time it was, but if she’d left the ball an hour ago, none of this would have happened. She let Belle remove her bodice and corset and sucked in a great deep breath of flower-scented air. She was never wearing a corset again, if only because the Dowager would probably send her home after this. Alison stripped out of her chemise and drawers and yanked her nightdress over her head, then realized her hair was still elaborately arranged on the top of her head. Blotchy again with fury, she yanked pins out while Belle watched, her eyes wide with astonishment. Good for Belle not to interfere. Alison needed something to destroy right now. She flung the last pin away as if throwing a spear at Anthony North’s lecherous heart and dragged a comb roughly through her curls, not caring how it tugged.

  Someone pounded on her suite door. “Alison Quinn!” the Dowager shouted. “How dare you enact such a scene? I have never been so humiliated in my entire life!”

  She was humiliated? Alison flung the comb so hard at the vanity table that two of its teeth snapped off and went flying wherever the pins had gone. She stormed through the dressing room and the tiny sitting room, but in the sliver of time between throwing the comb and putting her hand on the doorknob, rationality reasserted itself. The Dowager was not at fault here. As guileless as she was, she might have no idea what her son was like. So Alison drew in another wonderfully deep breath and opened the door quietly. The Dowager was alone. She had her hand raised to knock again and looked a little surprised at Alison’s appearance.

  “Milady, I apologize,” Alison said before the Dowager could do more than open her mouth. “My behavior was shameful and I deeply regret how it reflected so poorly on you, because you’ve been so kind to me. The Prince offered me such an insult that I reacted without thinking. I’ll pack my things and leave in the morning.”

  The Dowager’s eyes narrowed. “What insult?” she said.

  “I’d rather not repeat it—”

  “What insult?”

  Alison dropped her gaze to look at the Dowager’s right hand, with all its rings, that was now twisting the folds of her orange-gold gown. “He said he would like to see me with my clothes off, Milady.”

  The hand clenched. “My dear, I am so sorry,” the Dowager said, her voice quiet and subdued. “Was he terribly drunk? I’m afraid I never notice, anymore.”

  “He was moderately drunk, I believe.” Alison risked looking at the Dowager’s face and saw only sadness there.

  “Not that it’s an excuse,” the Dowager said. She moved past Alison and lowered herself into the sitting room’s only chair. “You were completely right to take offense, much as I might wish it hadn’t been so very public, for your sake.”

  “I’m leaving in the morning, so it won’t matter what people think.” The idea of going home, of being free from this sentence—not that it was all that onerous a requirement—made the ice in her chest melt away. No more corsets, no more Elisabeth Vandenhout, no more skeletal librarians…she could have her life back, and none too soon.

  “Oh, no, please don’t leave!” the Dowager exclaimed. “I would miss you terribly if you left.”

  “But, Milady, you can’t have a companion who’s known to be quick-tempered and violent!”

  “Don’t worry about that, dear. True, it will be embarrassing for a time, but eventually it will be forgotten. And you were sorely provoked; I can hardly blame you for reacting as you did, even if Anthony is my son.”

  Alison saw her untrammeled future begin to vanish into the distance and she made a last grasp at it. “But all anyone will know is that I slapped the Crown Prince in public! I really can’t allow your reputation to be so tarnished.”

  The Dowager waved her ringed hand as if shooing a fly. “My reputation is more robust than that. Please, Alison, don’t leave. I know none of the other ladies would want you to either.”

  I bet Elisabeth would pack my trunk for me, Alison thought, but said, “All right, Milady. I just hope neither of us regrets this.”

  The Dowager rose and kissed Alison lightly on the cheek. “I’m sure it will all work out very well in the end. I’ll see you at breakfast, won’t I, dear?”

  Alison shut the door behind her and leaned against it. Staying was a bad idea, but she’d agreed to it, and she would just have to weather the gossip until it died away or was supplanted by someone else’s scandal. She went to wash her face and then climbed into bed and pulled the white and gold counterpane over her ears. The memory of the Prince’s stunned face rose before her, and to her surprise she giggled at it. The throb and stinging pain in her palm had been worth it. Probably dozens of other women who’d been the objects of his lascivious attention were cheering her right now. She fell asleep cheerfully grasping that memory.

  She woke a little late and hurried through her toilette, dressing in a white muslin day gown and asking Belle to arrange her hair in a simple style. The other ladies would no doubt want to know the details of her very public assault on the Crown Prince, and Alison wanted to be as comfortable as possible when they pressed her on the subject.

  Someone knocked quietly on the suite door, and Belle left Alison with her hair pinned only on one side to answer it. She returned with a folded and sealed piece of paper which she handed to Alison. “It was someone in North blue,” she said, “and he didn’t say anything, just gave me that for you.”

  The wax seal bore no imprint, just the mark of a thumb pressing into the hot wax. Alison broke the seal and unfolded the paper. She felt her fingers go numb with horror. “It’s from the Queen,” she said. “She wants me in her office in half an hour.”

  Chapter Three

  Alison had never given any thought to what Queen Zara’s office might look like, but if she’d been forced to make a guess, she would have pictured old stone, vaulted ceilings, narrow stained glass windows that curved to a point at the top, heavy three-hundred-year-old furniture that should be in a museum, and possibly statues carved of worn
granite so old it had a soapy patina. She wouldn’t have imagined a tall, narrow room hung with faded tapestries picturing extinct or imaginary animals, or a single bookshelf crammed with bound ledgers that had papers sticking out of them. She wouldn’t have guessed Zara would have a sleek, modern desk of ash illuminated by brass light Devices, or an armchair with no cushion that had two owls carved into the knobs tipping its back. The chair Alison sat in looked like it might have come from a kitchen somewhere. There was an identical one next to her, unoccupied.

  Queen Zara sat at her desk, leaning back a little, her fingers interlaced and resting on the surface in front of her. The Queen had the same dark hair and blue eyes as her brother, but her face had a sharpness to it that gave her a direct, intense look, as if to say whomever she was speaking to had better not be wasting her time. Alison opened her mouth to say something and the Queen raised a finger to her lips, shushing her. Alison subsided. What could the Queen possibly have to say to her, aside from “thank you for humiliating my family, leave now and never return”?

  The door behind Alison opened. The Queen raised the same finger and crooked it, beckoning forward whoever had just entered. Alison tilted her head just enough to see Anthony North take his seat beside her. Turning her head fully to look at him was unthinkable. She could tell he was dressed haphazardly, as if he’d only just risen from bed, and she could again smell stale brandy on him. He rested his hands palm-down on his knees and turned his head just a little to look at her. Alison quickly faced forward, trying not to meet the Queen’s blue-eyed gaze, a glare that could have cut diamond.

  The Queen still said nothing. She tapped her finger on her lips and looked from Alison to North to Alison again. Alison was sure the Queen could hear her heart hammering away like a fleeing rabbit inside her chest. Say something, she pleaded inwardly, anything, just get it over with.

  “Well,” the Queen said, lowering her hand. “You disrupted the ball rather spectacularly, didn’t you, Countess?”

  Alison nodded, feeling her cheeks go blotchy with remembered humiliation. Why hadn’t she had more control? Heaven only knew what stories were being told about her today.

  “Your lack of self-control embarrassed my mother and, I might add, made you appear quick-tempered and haughty. Not a good impression for your first public appearance as my mother’s lady-in-waiting.” Alison nodded again.

  “But,” the Queen continued, “I understand you were provoked.” She turned her stare on her brother. It was North’s turn to look away. “And I feel I must apologize to you for my brother’s crass behavior.”

  “I—if you must, your Majesty,” Alison said. The idea that the Queen of Tremontane might apologize to her for anything struck her as ludicrous.

  “Unfortunately, you appear to be the villain in this melodrama, and I see no way of spreading the truth of the matter without exposing you to further humiliation.” The Queen paused, then added, “And I would prefer the name of North not be dragged any more through the mud than it already has been.” Again she glared at her brother. His gaze fell to his lap.

  “After some reflection, I have come up with a solution I’m sure neither of you will like, but has the advantage of redeeming your supposedly stained reputation, Countess.” Queen Zara put her elbows on the desk, leaning forward on them. “I’m going to require the two of you to appear in public together, once a week, until I judge the situation has passed. Anthony, you will be on better than your best behavior and make it clear you hold no grudge against the Countess. Your ladyship, you will endure my brother’s company with a smile and demonstrate that you do, in fact, have self-control. I don’t care if you like each other or not so long as you act as if you do.”

  “Zara, you can’t seriously expect me to—”

  “You listen to me, Anthony,” the Queen said in a low, intense voice. “I grow tired of cleaning up your messes. You have insulted this woman in a way that gives her no recourse to defend herself. You will do as I say or by heaven I will make your life more miserable than it already is.”

  Alison’s cheeks heated again. She wished she hadn’t heard what should have been a private reprimand. She wondered that the Queen, who had a reputation for intelligence and cunning, should be so careless as to humiliate her brother in the presence of someone who’d humiliated him already. She still couldn’t bear to look at the Prince, who must surely resent her now.

  North said, “Very well, Zara.” She heard him turn in his chair, so she finally looked in his direction. He didn’t look nearly so handsome as he had the night before. His eyes were bleary and he hadn’t shaved yet. She felt a moment’s satisfaction that she’d now seen him without the glamour he’d worn the night before. She felt as if it restored some kind of balance between them. “Countess,” he said, “I will call on you later today, if I may.”

  “Thank you, your Highness,” she replied. No I look forward to your visit or I will be happy to receive you. She felt the sting of Queen Zara’s punishment, and she had no doubt it was a punishment, and a weary dread fell over her. Endure her brother’s company indeed.

  “But why did you slap the Prince?” Marianne said, needle in one hand and thread in the other. “He’s so handsome, I wish he’d danced with me.”

  I wish he’d danced with you, too, Alison thought. “I’d rather not discuss it.” She turned her attention to her embroidery frame, hoping her skin had not gone too blotchy with embarrassment.

  “I suppose it’s the sort of reaction Kingsport manners demand,” Elisabeth said, “for even the smallest slight, isn’t that true, Alison?”

  “Now, ladies,” the Dowager said, causing the women to curtsey as she entered the room and took her place at the center of their circle, “dear Alison was simply overwrought and took issue with my son’s behavior. Please don’t tease her anymore about it. It’s simply not worth discussing. Now, I believe it is Philippa’s turn to read to us.”

  As Philippa’s dull voice droned its way through the classic Eironos, Alison tried and failed to focus on her needlework. North had said he would call, but surely he meant he would send an invitation? If he showed up on his mother’s doorstep, she wasn’t prepared to face him yet. Once a week, only once a week¸ she told herself. Only five months and three weeks left. She’d begun to think of it as a prison sentence. Philippa’s voice set her nerves on edge. Surely this sewing time wasn’t meant to be a penance? Alison picked up her needle and stitched the outline of a pansy, willing it to calm her. The Prince would not appear. She had nothing to worry about.

  When the two hours of reading were nearly up, one of the Dowager’s servants entered and said, “Miss Alison has a caller.”

  Alison froze. She looked at the Dowager, who was clearly prepared for this. “Alison dear, you may be excused early,” she said.

  The Prince stood in the entry hall, once again groomed and handsome. He had the nerve to smile at her as she approached. “Good afternoon, Countess,” he said, and if his eyes didn’t exactly caress her body as they had the night before, they were certainly appreciative. She swallowed a sigh. “I wish to apologize for my behavior last night. I should not have appeared in public in that condition and I certainly should not have said anything so crass to you. I hope you will be able to forgive me. It will make things so much easier if we can be friends.” He extended his hand to her.

  After a moment’s thought, she accepted his hand, which he shook rather than conveying it to his lips as she’d feared. “I accept your apology,” she lied. “I hope I can be better behaved toward you than I was last night.” She would not let her temper get the better of her again, no matter what provocation he offered. He would not see more of her than the frozen mask.

  “I’ve taken the liberty of reserving us a table at Francel’s,” he said. “It has the advantage of being very public as well as being an excellent dining establishment. If you don’t mind, I’ll call for you just before seven o’clock. A trifle early, but despite my sister’s instructions I’d rather we not be st
ared at by too many people, this first week.” He smiled again. “And I admit I’m looking forward to sharing your company, now I’m sober enough to appreciate it.”

  She gave him a smile that barely tugged at the corners of her frozen mask. “Thank you for arranging matters. I’m sure I will enjoy it.” The way I would enjoy a broken leg.

  He bowed politely and left the room. Alison closed her eyes and her fists and willed herself composed, then returned to the sitting room. Philippa paused in her reading, and all eyes except those of the Dowager turned to her. Alison took her seat and again picked up her needlework without saying anything. As soon as she sat, the Dowager stirred and said, “My goodness, is that the time? I’m afraid I was so interested in the story I didn’t realize how late it was. Girls, you’re excused for the evening as I have no other plans. Alison, a word with you, dear?”

  The other women put away their needlework and left, alternating glances at Alison with glances between themselves. When the door was shut behind them, the Dowager patted the seat where Philippa and her book had been just moments before. “Zara explained the situation to me,” she said. “I know this must be hard for you, but you have to admit we cannot allow you, as one of my ladies, to seem uncontrolled and quick-tempered.”

  “I’m so sorry I’ve made you look bad,” Alison said.

  “Not to worry, dear. Zara is clever and I believe she’s right that your appearing to be friends with Anthony will help both of you. I simply wanted to assure you that you have my support. Please don’t hesitate to tell me if I can do anything to help, perhaps extend my son an invitation, or if you need to be excused from attending me? Within reason, of course.”

  “Milady, you are too good to me,” Alison said.

  “Nonsense. I simply—” The Dowager cleared her throat. “I do love my son, you know,” she said, and it seemed she was controlling her tears. “I know he isn’t always…the man I might have wished him to be, but he has a good heart. I hope you might become real friends, if you are willing to overlook the wrong he’s done you.”