Page 55 of The Black Key

“Is she showing yet?” the head assistant asks.

“Yes, she’s gotten quite big.” Coral puts down her china cup.

“So remarkable that the Duchess managed to orchestrate the engagement before the sweet little girl is even born,” the tall girl says, moving closer to be a part of the gossip. “How ever did she manage it?”

“You know the Duchess,” Coral says airily. “If she wants something, she will do whatever it takes to get it. She wanted me for her son and look how that turned out!”

All the assistants laugh.

“Now, girls, give the ladies some air.” The woman who enters from the back of the shop is style personified. She wears a floor-length, plum-colored gown that hugs her curves perfectly, accentuating her hips and breasts. The detail is astounding—beads are sewn into the bodice and skirt in a wave pattern, taking up one whole side of the dress like an ocean of blue and silver and lilac. A simple shawl is draped around her shoulders, giving the effect that she just threw this outfit on without really thinking about it. Her hair is a vibrant red, at sharp contrast with her midnight-black skin. Like the Duchess, this is a woman with the power to silence a room.

The three attendants hush and back away.

“Coral, how delightful to see you again,” Miss Mayfield says, swooping down to kiss both of Coral’s cheeks. “And, Carnelian, you’re looking lovely.” Her gaze lands on me. “Ah, did you get a lady-in-waiting at last?”

“She’s mine,” Coral interjects before Carnelian can respond. “Garnet bought her for me.”

Miss Mayfield gives her a feline smile. “Your husband is a good man. Though I do wish he could help with our little Key problem here in the Bank. I’ve had to repaint the walls of my shop twice already.”

“Vandals,” the head assistant agrees.

“He’s doing his very best,” Coral says, and I can’t hide my smirk at that. Fortunately, no one except Carnelian sees me, her face turning curious. I quickly smooth out my expression.

Miss Mayfield nods. “Well, let’s not drag ourselves down with depressing matters. We have gowns to see!”

She claps her hands and her assistants scatter like well-trained mice. The tall one opens up a set of wooden doors and the bushy-haired one wheels out a mannequin in a blue dress, the head assistant following behind her with a pink one.

“It’s beautiful!” Coral gasps, reaching out to touch the soft fabric.

“I thought mine was going to be red and black,” Carnelian says, looking disdainfully at the blue chiffon as it’s wheeled in front of her.

“Yes, darling, but unfortunately, the Duchess pays the bill and she felt your chosen color scheme was a bit too . . . intense.” Miss Mayfield pats Carnelian’s shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she says in a low voice, “it’s going to fit you like a glove.”

That was the exact phrase Lucien used when he allowed me to choose my own dress for the Auction. For a moment, I’m back there in the prep room, staring at my face for the first time in four years.

A bell tinkles as the front door opens. A Bank woman and her daughter enter. The little girl can’t be older than five or six, with thick black plaits in her hair and a cute little hat with a yellow ribbon.

“I’m so terribly sorry, Mrs. Linten,” Miss Mayfield says. “But we are closed for the afternoon.”

Mrs. Linten looks miffed before she sees Coral and Carnelian.

“Your Ladyships,” she says, making a little curtsy and nudging for her daughter to do the same. “I did not . . . I am so sorry. Of course, Miss Mayfield, we will come back tomorrow.”

She wheels out of the shop, dragging her daughter with her. I guess Carnelian counts as a ladyship in the Bank, even if she doesn’t in the Jewel. Miss Mayfield turns a sharp eye on the head assistant, who in turn glares at the freckled girl, who runs over to lock the door and hang a “Closed” sign in the window, pulling a shade down over it.

“Now,” Miss Mayfield says, “where were we?”

Quickly, the three assistants strip the royal girls of their gowns, leaving them in only their slips. Miss Mayfield helps Coral into the stunning pink number, a gown with a sweetheart neckline and a subtle skirt bolstered by a layer of tulle. The only ornamentation is around the waist, tiny flowers made of diamonds and rubies.

“What do you think, Imogen?” she asks, twirling for me.

“It’s perfect, miss,” I say. And it is. She really does look lovely. All three assistants scatter once more and return, each carrying a full-length mirror. They move this way and that in perfect unison, almost like a dance, so that Coral can see every inch of herself.

“I love it,” she says, and Miss Mayfield looks pleased.

Carnelian is next. As she steps into the blue gown, Miss Mayfield herself fastens the dress up.

“Oh!” Coral gasps. “Carnelian, you look . . . beautiful.”