Ch#80
Meisel gazed into the mirror, arrayed in a resplendent gown of rose hue.
The gems embroidered along the hem tinkled softly with each shift, yet dissatisfaction lingered in her eyes.
“The center feels barren. Stitch in more jewels.”
The two young noblewomen summoned to attend her exchanged weary sighs from behind.
Daughters of lowly barons—ordinarily, Meisel scarcely spared them a look.
Today, however, she had hauled them here solely to lavish praise and mimic the duties of proper maids in the dressmaker’s shop.
Ladies of loftier station would never deign to trail after her to such a place.
Thus, the pair had endured hours of effusive compliments—“How lovely!” and “Utterly divine!”—their voices hoarse from repetition.
“The summer silk is delicate,” the dressmaker interjected with practiced calm, in stark contrast to the fatigued girls. “Extra weight might rip the hem.”
“What’s your verdict?” Meisel inquired, flicking a glance their way.
They straightened at once, enthusiasm reignited.
“Stunning!”
“Only Lady Meisel could command such elegance in the entire Empire.”
Their adulation prompted a pensive tilt of her head.
With the Duchess’s arrival, a grand ball or feast was inevitable this summer.
As the North’s envoy and prospective Duchess, she must outdazzle them all.
Far superior to her previous gown, she mused with a surge of pleasure.
Tempted though she was to embellish further, the dress already tugged heavily at her waist.
“Very well. It stays as is,” she conceded finally, resolving to select a bolder necklace afterward.
She slipped behind the screen to disrobe when a recognizable voice echoed from the shop.
“Lady Cecilia.”
“Madam!” Cecilia Terito’s retort sliced through, edged with irritation.
“Deliver those sketches to the lakeside this afternoon. His Grace requires them for the council.”
“Certainly, but why make the trip yourself—?”
“I was headed lakeside regardless. Ah… it’s been ages,” Cecilia remarked upon entering.
The barons’ daughters with Meisel traded awkward courtesies.
Ideal—tidings from the ducal household, Meisel reflected.
The prior scheme had vanished without a trace. The Merchants’ Guild had supplied the manpower at her behest, yet she’d withheld the full scheme. Provided Marzella held her tongue, no peril loomed.
Marzella appeared too terrified to reach out anew, though…
If only she could extract details from Cecilia here.
“Hurry it up!” Meisel whispered fiercely to her changing aides, then stole a glimpse through a gap in the screen.
What was this?
The shopgirls beamed.
“Lady Cecilia!”
They regarded her like a star descended among them.
Why such fawning? Meisel seethed inwardly. They’re always so dour when tending me.
The shopkeeper chided them sharply.
“That’s enough. You’re imposing on Lady Cecilia.”
“Oh, no trouble at all… but why…?” Cecilia ventured, bemused.
A shopgirl advanced, eyes alight with wonder.
“You’re truly ‘Cecilia’?”
“Pardon?”
“The creator of Cecilia’s Recipes! Is that you?”
Cecilia paused, then inclined her head.
“Yes… sort of. The dishes draw from various contributors, but…”
The shopgirls erupted in delighted shrieks, brandishing their scrapbooks.
“We adore Cecilia’s Recipes!”
“I’ve collected them all from the very first!”
“The honey-glazed meat pie is my absolute favorite—I’ve baked it countless times!”
They clustered close, eagerly thumbing through the pages.
The shopkeeper exhaled wearily.
“They’ve been beside themselves since the whispers of your visit began.”
“Truly? That warms my heart,” Cecilia replied, her face radiant.
Meisel almost strangled on her outrage.
They idolize her? That Cecilia?
Her laces barely secured, she thrust the screen aside and emerged.
“Why, Lady Cecilia! Ages since our paths crossed,” she cooed, feigning warmth.
Cecilia’s features hardened, her stare piercing—like an unspoken accusation of your schemes.
A shiver raced down Meisel’s spine, freezing her in place.
Yet Cecilia merely offered a courteous nod.
“…Lady Meisel.”
Her customary reserve. Likely just nerves playing tricks.
Exhaling in relief, Meisel flashed a smile and appraised her head to toe.
“I heard you’ve taken up as a lady-in-waiting…”
So, the Duchess’s servant now—yet she seemed utterly unchanged. Almost admirable, in its way.
“With your absence from soirées lately, I wondered how you were faring.”
“Quite occupied,” Cecilia responded tersely.
“Naturally. Shadowing Her Grace amid such uncharted high-society waters—endless lessons to absorb.”
Meisel adopted a sympathetic gaze.
“Should you require guidance, I’m at your disposal.”
“Appreciated, but I’ll manage,” Cecilia said flatly, her refusal unequivocal.
That expression! That infuriating, aloof mask!
It fueled Meisel’s loathing.
All the effort Meisel devoted to salons, alliances, couture—Cecilia brushed aside without a flicker. As if scorning every triumph.
“You’re certain you’ll thrive?” Meisel pressed with a sly curl of her lip.
“A lady-in-waiting ought to grasp gowns and gems at minimum, yet fashion never stirred you, did it?”
“No matter. Her Grace shares my disinterest,” Cecilia countered evenly.
Bragging, is she?
“She’s occupied with vital endeavors,” Cecilia continued.
“Vital endeavors?” one barons’ daughter ventured, intrigued.
“The new marketplace, perhaps?”
“Precisely. It’s Her Grace’s brainchild,” Cecilia affirmed.
The second girl, eager to curry Meisel’s approval, snorted.
“But… is it truly hers? A venture that grand—”
“How dare you,” Cecilia cut in icily.
“Are you impugning the Duchess?”
The girl stammered, unnerved.
“N-no, merely… she can’t be handling it solo, not with the Duke and officials aiding…”
“Must she drive every peg herself for you to credit her?” Cecilia shot back, brows knit.
“Countless hands contribute, including Madam here on the furnishings. Yet the blueprint, the dream—that’s Her Grace’s alone.”
All eyes swung to the shopkeeper, who dipped in a modest bow. Her mien stayed impassive, though pride gleamed faintly.
“His Grace supplies her every whim. Should she desire it, he’d yield not merely the lake, but the ocean too.”
The barons’ daughter lapsed into abashed quiet.
Meisel gnawed her lip, fury mounting.
Then Cecilia tossed out airily, “A preview festival precedes the grand unveiling.”
“A preview festival?”
“Indeed. Notices go out shortly.”
“Wonderful!” The young ladies sparkled with anticipation.
The marketplace buzzed as the Empire’s prime sensation. No one would spurn such a summons.
Even Meisel perked up.
The Duke would undoubtedly appear… time for an exquisite day dress.
Cecilia’s follow-up quelled the thrill.
“Keen to attend? Consult Northern News. A handful of tickets go to loyal readers.”
Her grin turned mischievous.
“Of course… should fortune smile upon you.”
In essence: Don’t count on one from me.