Page 127 of The Sainted Duchess
“Never been to a festival?” Violet sounded appalled, but then quickly controlled her reaction. “Well, this is a rather lovely first one to go to.”
Maria wished that she could get herself to sound more excited about everything, but in earnest, everything felt like a horrible chore, and she would much rather lock herself in the privacy of her room.
And not speak to anyone.
Or think.
Or eat.
Or just simply spend all of her days sleeping.
“What is the point of them, anyway?” she found herself questioning in a dull voice.
Nicholas frowned. “The point is cheerful diversion.”
“The point is ribbons,” Violet corrected. “It is the distraction that Maria needs.”
They moved with the morning traffic, the city shrugging itself awake. As they turned into the square by the river, the noise rose happily around them: fiddles trilling, children shrieking with laughter, the pop of a toy seller’s string of flags catching wind.
Violet’s eyes lit.
“Look at the ribbons! I haven’t seen that shade of blue since Penelope’s dreadful spring ball.”
“It was not dreadful,” Nicholas said automatically. “See, now you are the one who is being a pessimist.”
“It was,” Violet said, already tugging him toward a stall striped in red-and-white. “Do keep up, both of you. We do not wish to be late.”
Maria hung back a pace, letting them lead. The square was all movement, and she tried to let the cheerfulness rub off on her, but it slid away.
Perhaps she was too far gone to be saved after all.
Nicholas noticed, of course. He had been keeping a careful eye on her all this time.
“You’re quiet,” he said, falling into step beside her.
“Am I?” she asked lightly.
“Yes,” he said, “I would finally like to ask you why.”
“It’s very loud for the morning,” she gave an excuse for an answer.
“It will be less loud if you answer me.”
“Will it,” she murmured.
“Maria,” he said softly, “I am only trying to help.”
“I know,” she said, careful. “But please, let’s walk.”
They walked. Violet bartered for ribbons with seriousness, then pressed a length of deep blue into Maria’s hands.
“This,” Violet decreed, “for your hair. It will look devastating.”
“That seems ambitious for a ribbon,” Maria observed the fabric.
“Ambition is essential to fashion,” Violet said. “Nicholas, pay the nice woman.”
Nicholas paid, and Maria drifted toward the edge of the square. A boy with a wooden hoop reeled past, his laughter a golden thing that did a complicated hurt in her chest.
