“Ah,” said Tess dully. Jeanne must have reported on Tess’s breath from last night. Us against the world, my fat behind. “Again, why did you bother? You might have asked me.”
“And gotten a lie in return?”
Tess shrugged. “I guess you’ll never know.”
Her mother took her arm, which Tess’s farthingale made awkward. Indeed, as soon as her mother bumped her perimeter, Tess felt a great pinch at her waist. She wondered whether she’d put the thing on properly. Her mother wore a more sensible unhooped gown of blue velvet. Papa had pawned the last of his library to buy it, assuring them that it was a worthy investment. Jeanne was nearly married; this dip in the family fortunes would soon be over.
Tess accompanied her mother down the stairs, taking scrupulous care not to wobble; her hawk-eyed mother would be scrutinizing her for unsteadiness, trying to gauge the degree to which Tess was drunk, making contingency plans, no doubt. Tess carried herself steadily, refusing to give the old woman any satisfaction.
Old. Feh. Mama was thirty-five. She’d been seventeen—same as Jeanne—when she’d married Papa. Years of disappointment, however, had put fine lines around her mouth and a dark sorrow in her gaze. Her hair was not yet gray, but you’d never have guessed. She kept it under a wimple like a widow or penitent.
Tess refused to pity her mother, either. This made her a hard-hearted, ungrateful daughter, she knew. She’d been told often enough.
A five-note trumpet flare gave everyone to know that it was time to come to chapel. Tess and her mother lingered behind the crowd; the families of the betrothed were to enter last. Tess gazed dully at her counterparts-in-law, Lord Heinrigh and Lord Jacomo, the mild-mannered, ginger-haired middle brother and the tall, fat, storm-cloud youngest.
At least Lord Jacomo had stopped glaring at her; he was pacing and reciting under his breath, practicing for the service.
The thinning crowd revealed a smiling Seraphina, who approached Papa and took his arm. “How are you feeling these days?” Papa asked his eldest.
“Like a pile of bricks,” she said in the low, quiet voice that always sounded like she was concealing a laugh somewhere. “You should see my feet. They’re puffed up like morning rolls.”
Papa chuckled, and Tess’s stomach twisted sourly. Nobody had considerately asked after her health when she’d been pregnant. Nobody would have been charmed if she’d complained of puffy feet. Seraphina was every bit as unmarried, but nobody seemed to mind. She was the exception to everything; rules bent deferentially to make room for her.
Mama, full of her own kind of envy, tightened her grip on Tess’s arm.
The families entered at last, walking in procession toward the gilt boxes at the front of the chapel. Lord Richard, decked out handsomely in a wine-colored doublet and slashed trunk hose, waited under the rotunda with Father Michael, the abbot of nearby St. Munn’s. While the families took their seats, Lord Jacomo stepped up beside the abbot and led the opening prayer. At last Jeanne came in, resplendent in gold and green. Mama, Papa, and Seraphina stood up to be her witnesses, though only Papa was to speak: Yes, this maiden has come to be married of her own free will, and not because we dragged her kicking and screaming.
Those weren’t the exact words, but Tess felt the sentiment behind them. Jeanne was a lamb brought to the knife, a bird to the cage. By her sacrifice would her family be redeemed.
Tess’s mind wandered during the ceremony, especially when Lord Jacomo read from the scriptures; she wasn’t sure what kind of student he was, but he’d mastered the “droning monotonously” part. Top marks for that. Maybe he was a natural talent. When he finally finished, the chapel disgorged everyone into the great hall, where servants had set up long tables for feasting and a merry band already played in the gallery.
Later, Tess barely remembered the feast, except that there was wine and that wine came as a relief, extinguishing the fires inside her. As soon as the guests finished eating, an army of servants dismantled the tables and cleared the room for dancing. Tess was a decent dancer, in fact, and her body merrily went through the motions, though her mind was disengaged. The room whirled around; the candles shone. It was pleasant, but she did not like being present.
In her vagary, she nearly ran into Countess Margarethe. “Steady on,” said the countess, hat plumes bobbing, holding her goblet out of range so it wouldn’t drip on her dress. “You’re Tess Dombegh, are you not?”
“Yes, milady,” said Tess, carefully giving full courtesy, pleased to have attracted the unexpected attention of such a highborn and fashionable personage. Countess Margarethe was equal in rank to Count Pesavolta, the ruler of Ninys, so she was practically a princess in Goreddi terms. Considering that Pesavolta had exiled or executed most Ninysh nobles over the rank of baronet, Margarethe was a rare bird indeed.
The plumed hat had obscured the view from above, but now at close range Tess saw that the countess kept her tightly curled hair very short and that it was the color of a copper coin, a shade lighter than her skin. Her gaze was unsettlingly frank and intelligent, and she stood with one foot slightly extended as if to show off her boots, which were highly polished and devastatingly pointy.
“I’m told you’ve studied a bit of natural philosophy,” said the countess incongruously.
“I’m sorry—what?” said Tess, who had not anticipated this line of conversation at all.
“And that you were particularly keen on megafauna,” the countess persisted.
Saying megafauna, though Countess Margarethe could not have known, was tantamount to slapping Tess’s face. Her cheeks grew red as if she’d truly been hit. “What are you getting at?” Tess said shakily.
“I’m mounting an expedition through the Archipelagos and as near the Antarctic as we can manage,” said the countess. “Departing as soon as the spring thaw reaches Mardou and we can sail.”
When Tess did not respond to this information, Margarethe smiled up at her confidentially. “I’m inviting you to come with us, Tess.”
Tess felt a kind of vertigo, as if the floor had been pulled out from under her.
“My uncle’s ship is large,” the countess continued, clearly unaware that the person in front of her was hurtling down a mental hole. “You won’t be in the way. There would be plenty of work you could assist with, to say nothing of new skills to learn—cartography, navigation, languages, zoology. Seraphina says you’re a clever girl, and that—”
“Seraphina made you invite me,” said Tess, apprehending the truth, or leaping to a conclusion, at least.
“She’s not in a position to make me do anything,” said Countess Margarethe, bristling. “But we discussed you, yes. She despairs that you’ve been painted into a corner, left with only two choices in life, governess or nun. That’s nonsense, of course. There are always more options, but sometimes we need a hand up. I’m offering you a place on my ship because I can.”