—
The following morning,Andra comes to my room as I’m getting dressed for the day.
“Just in time to help me.” I gesture to the buttons along the back of my burgundy velvet dress. It’s one of my more demure pieces, despite the sumptuousness of the fabric, tight in the bodice, but flowing into a wide skirt. The neckline dips low, but the cap sleeves provide a small amount of coverage.
She raises her eyebrows but obliges. “This is quite a look for midday.”
“Lady M has requested my presence at a meeting.”
“Perhaps you should try to hide at least some of your disdain for the new lady of the house.”
I snort. “Haven’t you heard, ladies no longer exist?”
She snorts right back, popping the final button in place. “I’ll keep that in mind,LadyCaterine.”
“We missed you at breakfast this morning.” I head toward the mirror above my dressing table to check my lip paint.
For a second, Andra’s face pulls into a tight grimace, but by the time I turn from our reflection, she’s smiling. “I wasn’t hungry.”
I take a moment to study my sister, noticing the hint of a shadow underneath her eyes. “Is everything all right?”
She doesn’t get the chance to answer before there’s a knock on my door.
Lady M doesn’t wait for permission, opening the door and pushing into my room. Her eyes rake me over and she gives one single, imperious nod. “Our guest has arrived.” Her eyes flit to Andra, whose cheeks pale under the weight of her gaze.
It’s a small enough reaction that no one but me would notice, but I don’t have time to inquire further with my twin before LadyM is ushering me out of the room and down the stairs. I make a mental to note to stop by Andra’s room later and figure out what’s going on.
For now, I walk slowly down the grand staircase and into the formal sitting room, trailing behind Lady M. An unfamiliar young woman stands with Harold, glasses of whisky in each of their hands. The gold brocade curtains have been pushed back to let in the daylight, though the gas lamps and candles are still lit for ambiance. Heavy wood accents the room, from the massive fireplace to the masculine furniture, lending an air of oppression to the space. It’s one of my least favorite rooms in the club, one I avoid whenever possible. Of course this is the room Lady M chose.
The unfamiliar woman turns as I enter, her bright eyes roving over me, though her head-to-toe perusal feels more appraising than salacious. She’s gorgeous, with strawberry-blond hair and blue eyes that immediately bring to mind the handsome stranger from the night before. I wonder if I will continue to see him everywhere, and for how long. It is unlike me to linger on someone who clearly had no interest in lingering on me.
Harold steps forward. “My dear Caterine, may I please introduce you to Her Royal Highness Dominique Reid, Princess of Scota?”
Everyone in this room knows that Dominique is no longer a princess, not technically anyway, but that doesn’t stop me from dipping into a low curtsy.
“Your Highness. It is an honor.” It’s a lie, is what it is. Scota might pretend to have the best version of royal leaders, but I have personal experience with the so-called benevolent ruler of my home province that proves otherwise. I will never forget that it was as a ward of the province under her father’s rule that my sister and I suffered, forcing us to flee to the streets as children young enough to barely survive on our own.
But I wipe any traces of those memories from my face.
The princess tosses back the rest of her whisky in a very un-princesslike manner. “We both know I’m no longer a princess, and even when I was, I didn’t bother with any of that nonsense.”
I arch one eyebrow, trying and failing not to be charmed by her candor. “You look familiar, Your Highness. Have you been to La Puissance before?”
She grins and it brightens her already shining eyes. “Several times. I have always enjoyed watching you perform. And please, call me Dom.”
“Her Royal Highness has come to us with a most interesting proposition, Lady Caterine.” Lady M, as usual, directs the conversation. She doesn’t seem to catch—or care about—the way Dom grimaces.
I gesture to an emerald-green velvet divan. “Shall we sit so I can hear all about it, Dom?”
The four of us settle, Lady M and Harold on armchairs, Dom and I on the divan, though I note she leaves as much space between us as possible. Maybe I’ve misread the spark of flirtation. Or maybe whatever it is the princess has to ask requires propriety.
“How may I be of service to you?” I clasp my hands in my lap and gaze at her as demurely as I’m capable of.
“I’m actually here to inquire about your services on behalf of my brother.”
“Oh?” My interest is piqued, though I try to keep my feelings under wraps. Not much is known at La Puissance about King James’s would-have-been successor. Unlike the other provinces’ princes—and apparently, his sister—who frequent the club regularly, he has never blessed us with his presence. “And what can I do for your brother?”
“Callum.”
