Page 83 of The Favourite

“Did the ambassador from Kloberg not appreciate your Klobergian hat?”

He smiled reluctantly at her words. “How could he fail to?” He shrugged. “He is a dull-witted fellow, but he has eyes in his head.”

Jane snorted. “Are you staying for the tailor’s consultation?”

“But of course, I am, Jane. You have not the smallest notion how to dress yourself.” He forestalled her reply by throwing up his hand. “He has arrived,” he said, though Jane had heard no sign of it at this point. Sure enough, moments later, three loud raps were heard.

It was Robert who showed the master tailor in. He looked a little confused and bleary-eyed and Jane guessed the knocking on the door had disturbed his slumber. “Can I fetch any refreshment, my lord?” he quavered.

“Ah no, not for me,” the tailor said quickly. He seemed eager to settle to business at once, setting down a bag from which he extracted papers and ink. Alisander looked to Jane, who also declined, and Robert was sent back to the sanctuary of his room, likely to finish his nap.

To Jane’s surprise, the tailor’s consultation took up most of the afternoon. Alisander treated Monsieur Barbier with the utmost respect, and it seemed they were long acquainted, for he had only to say, “Something along the lines of that cloak you made me that time, in that dusty lavender shade,” and Barbier would nod at once in complete understanding and start scribbling notes. Considering how vast his wardrobe was, Jane thought this quite a feat.

She had tried to listen at first when her husband had explained his vision for her, but once he had stressed that all her new clothes were to have either blue or gray undertones, she lost interest. It did not seem terribly exciting after that. “Observe the pale blonde of her hair,” he had said, and Monsieur Barbier had turned to look at her with the critical eyes of an artist.

“Her skin, though,” the tailor had ventured uncertainly. “Do you not think such ashy shades would wash her out?”

“No,” Alisander cut in firmly. “You must not consider it.” When Barbier looked as though to argue, he added, “In social situations, my lady’s color grows considerably warmer.” Jane felt her skin start to prickle with embarrassment. “You see?” he said as Jane felt her face grow warm.

The tailor nodded in agreement and bent his head over his notebook. Jane sent a resentful look at Alisander, but he was not attending. “All save one dress,” he was saying, “which I desire in a bold emerald green. For the neckline”—he appeared to consider, and Jane held her breath—“my lady prefers them high,” he concluded. Jane breathed out in relief.

“High?” His tailor frowned. “But—”

“High,” Alisander repeated firmly. “And you will adorn both bodice and sleeves with elaborate beading giving the semblance of shapes from nature.”

Interest flickered in the tailor’s eyes. “Decorative beading?” he repeated thoughtfully. “Generally speaking, in women’s attire, such decoration is but tastefully employed, and more discreet than men’s.”

“Not in this case,” Alisander said decisively. “These motifs will be in the bold style I favor. The muted color of the gowns will allow for greater adornment. I want them heavily beaded. You know the sort of thing I like Barbier, animals and fruits. Maybe, in this case, flowers might be appropriate.”

“The motifs should be neither flowers nor fruits,” Jane heard herself disagree. “But serpents.”

Both men turned their heads sharply to look at her. “Serpents?” Alisander repeated blankly.

“Serpents?” the tailor said in an altogether different tone. He sounded intrigued and she focused on him, affecting not to notice how Alisander was staring at her. “Serpents,” the tailor repeated thoughtfully, nodding slowly at first but with increasing enthusiasm. “But yes, we could vary the design, and have them coiled or intertwined differently for each gown. I think, my colleague Dunoyer, will be very excited to work on this. It is something different. Something unique.” Jane noticed he treated her with rather more respect after that; where before, he had looked only to Alisander, now he made sure to include her.

She made a concerted effort to respond to this, gazing at his sketches and nodding, though nothing they depicted made her feel particularly enthusiastic. After the tailor finally departed, Alisander was quiet, retreating more into his thoughts than she was used to. Then again, she had not yet spent sufficient time in his company to anticipate his moods, so she tried not to dwell on it.

It was not until after supper, that he seemed to perk back up. Jane had just finished her own wash and been helped out of her dress by a subdued Ayleth when he joined her in the bedchamber and started sloshing water about as he set about his ablutions. Ayleth’s eyebrows shot up, but she held her tongue as she draped Jane’s mantle across her shoulders and picked up her discarded clothes.

“Will you want me to take down your hair, milady?” she asked punctiliously, though it was clear she was keen to leave the room before Alisander started stripping off.

“No, thank you, Ayleth, that will be all.”

Jane remained thoughtful as her maid bowed her head and showed herself out of the room. “Ayleth must have taken her supper in her own room,” she said aloud, “for she did not join us at table this eve.” She sat on the side of the bed and began removing her hairpins. “Unless she has an acquaintance elsewhere in the palace.” Now she came to think of it, that would not be so very strange. After all, she had resided here for almost a year before Helen had been sent away.

Alisander was not attending her. Instead, he was gazing down at his tunic with a look of disgust. “Ugh,” he commented, flicking a limp-looking tassel. “I hope Barbier did not notice the state of my tunic. It is no longer fit to be seen in.” Jane directed a speaking glance at him. “What?”

“You practically fed Bertrand that tassel, to spare your pendant,” she pointed out, setting down her hairpins. “I saw you do it.”

“But Jane, what else could I do? Only imagine if he had swallowed one of my precious pearls. I could never look at it the same, once it had passed through the dreadful child’s digestive system.” He shuddered elaborately. “Horrible thought.”

“Spare me your dissembling,” Jane told him sternly as she took down her hair. “I have seen full well that you are fond of Bertrand.”

He turned from the basin and batted his eyelashes at her before he started rubbing his face and neck vigorously with a cloth. “Who? Oh, is that the boy’s name?”

“And you prevented him from a hazardous choking fit, most efficiently.”

“I think you’ll find, I was preserving my necklace,” he said sotto-voce.