These brothers! She hated them all. Richard, for being perfect enough to marry Jeanne; Heinrigh, for seeming friendly while being ready to think the worst of her; and Jacomo, for knowing and judging. The young men were very close in age, less than a year between each of their birthdays, what Goreddis called “Ninysh twins.” It was funny because the Ninysh were amorous. Tess, being half Ninysh and an actual twin, found the term a bit offensive—and anyway, in the case of these brothers, they were surely Ninysh triplets.
Jacomo looked oldest, being tallest, which had turned out to be lucky. Tess, the taller twin, had to pass herself off as the younger so that Jeanne should reasonably be married first. Tess had worried that no one would fall for this, but the Pfanzligs had already set the precedent. Jeanne had gone to court first, everyone who mattered knew her longest, and it was that easy.
So you’re the elder twin. You’ve deceived us.
Tess scoffed. “Not about anything that matters. It’s not like Lord Richard’s marriage contract specifies ‘the elder Dombegh twin,’ and we’re planning to pull the old switcheroo in the bedroom tonight.” She swayed a bit on her feet, grinning absurdly. “Although wouldn’t that be a laugh. Jeanne goes behind the screen to change, and changes into me.”
Tess’s dance partner stopped cold, and the next sarabanding couple in line nearly ran into them. “If your family would lie about something this trivial, what else haven’t we been told? Is your sister truly a virgin?”
“Wha—? Of course she is,” said Tess, horrified by the question. Nobody could doubt Jeanne’s virtue. Nobody. Who was this doubting lout?
She’d been dancing with Lord Heinrigh, but he’d become regrettably blurry, so she hadn’t realized. She’d been thinking thoughts but had ended up speaking them aloud. How had that happened? What had she told him?
“I’m not a romantic like Jacomo,” said Heinrigh, his congenial face congealing into a scowl. He squeezed her arm painfully. “I don’t care if Richard loves her. This isn’t about Richard. This is about our family, and the deceit you’ve been spinning around us.”
“Oh no,” said Tess, the world swirling around her like it was rushing down a drain. “Please. Don’t punish Jeanne for my sins. Don’t ruin my family. This marriage is going to save Papa, and send the little boys to school, and make Mama smile again, and…”
But she was speaking to the empty air. Heinrigh had flounced off, in search of the duke and duchess.
* * *
All the yelling happened in the third parlor, the peach-colored one nobody liked, far from the guests. Duchess Elga stormed back and forth before the cold hearth, terrible in her rage; the duke was solemn and stern. Lord Richard sat on the couch with his arm around a weeping Jeanne. Mama and Papa found opposite corners of the room to stand in.
Jacomo and Seraphina took the last chairs, leaving Tess nowhere to settle. She staggered around and vomited in a vase.
Lord Heinrigh, buzzing like a hornet, demanded of Jacomo: “What else do you know?”
“This isn’t enough for you?” said Jacomo wearily, running a hand over his double chin.
“You implied there was worse! You have a duty to your family.”
“You weaseled it out of her, you hero. I’ve nothing to add.”
Tess was too drunk to appreciate what he wasn’t saying. She lay down on the floor; the room did not stop spinning.
“Why would they lie about something this trivial, if not to cover up something worse?” Duchess Elga’s shouts seemed to travel through water to reach Tess’s ears. The ensuing discussion arrived from afar; words lapped over her in waves.
The only argument she heard distinctly was Seraphina’s: “My father’s first instinct is to be thorough and change the records. That’s how he kept me safe. He didn’t need to, here, and shouldn’t have, but putting Jeanne forward was the right decision. Tess isn’t temperamentally suited for marriage. I mean, look at her.”
Tess was crawling toward the window. She leaned out and vomited into a bed of tulips.
There was more yelling; Tess shut it out, concentrating on the cool night air upon her face. It was the only thing keeping her from catching fire.
Richard apparently pleaded eloquently for his bride, and since the ceremony had already gone forward, the marriage stood—provisionally. The wedding night still had to be fulfilled, and if at the end Jeanne’s purity was in doubt, the whole thing might still be declared null and void.
To ensure there was no cheating, the duchess invoked her terrible Samsamese right of Breidigswaching. She would have stood over the bed like a vulture, watching everything herself, but Jacomo (one of the cooler heads in this crisis, though he glowered like a bulldog) interceded and volunteered, and everyone agreed that maybe the duchess’s righteous rage would only make things more unpleasant than they already were.
From the distaff side of the marriage, Seraphina offered, but Jeanne tearfully requested Tess, and their parents decided this was a just consequence. Tess, to her everlasting regret, was given a cup of tea and time to sober up a little. This entire mess was her fault, and they weren’t going to let her forget.
The bride and groom climbed the decorated staircase at midnight, in the Samsamese fashion; Tess and Jacomo were secreted up another, darker stair.
She was directed behind a carven screen, unadorned rosewood full of small perforations shaped like four-leaf clovers. The grand canopied bed was visible through them if she squinted. Tess resolved to look that way as little as possible, turning her gaze instead to the distressingly narrow bench where she was to sit. She was still drunk enough that the world wobbled, and the gilt bench seemed to buckle under the weight of her stare, as though it might tip at the slightest provocation and send her sprawling.
She edged toward it, one hand ready to wrestle her farthingale into submission, the other hand—the one with the teacup—extended for balance. The bench cringed as she sat gingerly, like a sparrow on a fence.
Fat Jacomo plunked himself violently beside her. The bench was springy and bounced; Tess barely kept all her tea in the cup, and nearly went over backward.
Tess regained her balance and glared at Jacomo. He’d had every opportunity to reveal her shameful history to his parents. Maybe he’d kept quiet for Richard’s sake, or maybe he meant to make her suffer. He could hold his knowledge over her like an axe, keeping her ever in fear of the day it would fall.
She made an ugly face at him. Jacomo ignored her, drawing his beetling brows and squinting at the scene beyond the screen. His fleshy mouth puckered in distaste.
Tess couldn’t help it; she looked. Richard, doublet off, his pleated shirt hanging loose around his trunk hose, led Jeanne by the hand across the room. She’d been undressed by maids (this was no longer Tess’s job, nor would it be again in this lifetime; that door had closed) and wore only a white linen shift. She followed her new husband reluctantly, glancing back at the screen with a look Tess knew only too well.