Page 85 of The Scarlet Ball

It was easiest to call Mielle my lady’s maid when she had to be called anything, but she had no set hours, no responsibilities. She was in and out like a cat, and she had a cat’s willful possessiveness about my mending, my jewelry, sometimes my powder and rouge. The only times I was certain she’d be present were before large events, when she would tolerate no question to her authority over my wardrobe.

Finally, she nodded.

“All right. It will do what it needs to do.”

“Cover her nakedness away from me,” Sebastian guessed, and Mielle shot him a cool look. They would never be easy with each other, but I took her impatience with some of the things he said as a good sign.

“It must adorn and impress. It must show off her wealth and her strength, and it must be perfect.”

Sebastian yawned. He had grown to like it as a signal that he had become tired of a subject or that he had been out late on some errand for me.

“She already is. They should know that by now.”

I laughed at them both, because who in the world had ever lived like this before?

“I like the dress on and off, thank you.”

Before I could say more, the butler came to let us know the guests had begun arriving. Mielle disappeared, but she would be back to give me a final touch-up later. It was time for me and Sebastian to hold court in the drawing room, where we were entertaining a small and informal gathering of personal friends before the ball that night.

Among them were Martha Bouchard, née Webster, and Hugette, now an Ingles, with their husbands in tow. Tilly was still a Manchester, demanding a long engagement and trying to remember as much about herself as she could before she became someone else, but she was there as well, escorted by her fiancé. Mrs. de Lange was there, cool and not altogether approving, and Mrs. Webster, Martha’s grandmother with the rockslide beside her, a big blocky man with a habit of tapping his fingers together to produce a clattering sound. We greeted them all, asked about this new house, that old grudge. Martha and I spoke briefly about the renewal society we had founded together, centered on rebuilding after the great storm this past winter.

Finally, we proceeded to the dining room, and before I took my seat at the head of the table, I set my new porcelain face aside and faced them with a smile on my real one. Sebastian watched me from across the room, eyes on me, eyes always on me, waiting for what would come next.

“Welcome,” I said. “I am Judith Ban, and I rule here.”