The duchess studied her for a long moment before smiling. “Have you met the Palmers yet, my dear?”
“No.”
“Let me introduce you to them before we’re seated for dinner.”
Caris and her family could only follow in the duchess’ wake, pulled into the delicate dance of introductions to some of the more well-known and respected bloodlines in Ashion. It was a stark contrast from the beginning of the evening, when they’d been relegated to the outskirts of what passed for high society within these walls.
But the duchess paved a way they couldn’t, and Caris found herself incapable of escaping from being judged by people she didn’t know. It was unsettling, in a way, but she stood tall beneath the many assessing gazes turned her way and hoped to do her parents proud.
Eight
MELERI
Meleri finished signing her name on a letter with a slight flourish when Lore poked her head into the study. “The steward informed me the Dhemlans are here.”
Meleri set down her fountain pen and put the letter aside to mail later. It wasn’t a missive needed by the Clockwork Brigade, merely a general correspondence to one of many received that morning. Their time spent at the debutante ball last night had served well as a reminder to the other families that the Auclairs could and would take an interest in high society’s children.
It’s something Ophelia had done, in her capacity as queen, and it left Meleri with a brief ache in her chest. She did her best to uphold the tradition best carried by those who sat upon the throne, but she was no queen. She had no desire to be. The North Star guided her down a different road, and it had finally led her somewhere with purpose.
“Excellent. Let’s greet them, shall we?” Meleri said as she stood.
For today’s visit, she’d chosen a simple, high-necked gown with minimal embellishments, but the color was a vibrant blue. Everything about it—from the bodice over the corset to the petticoats beneath the gown—was made of high-quality silk, tailored precisely to her frame. Sometimes it was the lack of adornments that could showcase a person’s wealth.
Meleri knew the Dhemlans were wealthy, courtesy of their business, but they extensively lacked social wealth. She’d begun the task of amending that deficiency last night and hoped it would continue if her plans worked out.
Meleri left her study for the hallway, where Lore waited for her. Meleri locked the study door behind her with the master key she carried in her pocket. No spells adorned the door or her study, because magic like that would only indicate she had something to hide. While Meleri made a business about keeping secrets, one couldn’t advertise that fact. Precautions were needed and executed within reason. The servants in the estate knew better than to enter where she worked.
“Nathaniel escorted them. He called upon Caris this morning, and apparently he wasn’t the only one,” Lore said as they started down the hallway.
“We did give her our favor. That was never going to go unnoticed,” Meleri said.
Lore glanced at her mother, the features of her face her own this afternoon. Half the time Meleri never saw her daughter’s face, hidden as it was behind a veil when she worked.
“Are you certain she’s the one?”
Meleri paused at the top of the stairs leading to the next level, one hand resting on the thin metal railing. She closed her eyes, mind drifting to the past and the life she’d once led in a glittering court only seen in photographs, paintings, and history books these days.
“She has her mother’s eyes.”
The same shade, the same shape, the same fiery stubbornness and curiosity that had existed in Ophelia’s burned in the girl’s. Meleri wanted to believe Caris was the long-lost princess, the one who could sit upon the starfire throne without being burned to ash.
The one who could save them from Eimarille and the Daijal court’s insidious encroachment of their sovereign right as a free country.
The one the North Star had promised her.
“Let us hope the stars haven’t guided us wrong,” Lore murmured.
Meleri opened her eyes and nodded in quiet agreement before starting down the stairs until they reached the ground floor. The pair of them swept into the parlor where the servants had gotten Caris, Portia, and Nathaniel settled. All three rose to their feet at Meleri’s arrival, and Nathaniel bowed while the other two curtsied.
Caris was not, Meleri noted, wearing a dress this afternoon but instead wore a stylish day jacket and trousers in a pale dove gray that offset her eyes. Rather than morning tails, a cape fell from her shoulders to just past her hips. The blouse she wore was cream-colored, the buttons pearlescent. Her brown hair was loose, falling a little past her shoulders in a tumble of thick waves. She held Meleri’s gaze well enough, no hint of artifice in her eyes. Perhaps there was something to be said of growing up in the outer provinces. Caris seemed far more practical than others her age.
“Welcome to my bloodline’s home. I’m pleased you could join us,” Meleri said.
“It’s an honor, Your Grace,” Portia demurred.
Portia had opted for a gown that was both fashionable and practical. She didn’t seem one to flaunt her wealth how some of the families did, perhaps because it wasn’t the custom back east or because she saw no need to.
Lore was still assessing Emmitt and Portia’s placement as cogs in the Clockwork Brigade, while Brielle was completing her due diligence on the Dhemlan bloodline. All that aside, Meleri had liked what she’d seen last night in how the family handled themselves amidst high society’s veiled teeth.
