eating away at me more and more each day. I knew what we were undertaking was serious – that we were deliberately attempting to incite a five hundred year-old witch into attacking Tristan, and in doing so, revealing herself. But it had been five days since I had seen him; I could not help the thrill of anticipation I felt.
I’d never been courted. All the boys in the Hollow had known I was leaving and hadn’t bothered, and for obvious reasons Tristan had been unable to do so in Trollus. In my more indulgent moments, I’d felt a bit robbed, and that made me want to enjoy this moment, despite the underlying motivations.
Eating another truffle, I went to the desk and extracted a card.
* * *
Monsieur de Montigny,
Your taste in sweets is, as always, divine. It would be my pleasure to attend the ballet with you this evening. I shall see you at 6.
Cécile
* * *
I gave it to the delivery boy with a coin and instructions on where to bring it. Shutting the door behind me, I leaned against it and closed my eyes, licking the traces of sugar from my lips.
“I certainly hope you declined.”
Opening my eyes, I saw my mother standing next to the desk, Tristan’s note in her hands. I’d left it there knowing she would pick it up, because as much as this ruse was for Anushka’s benefit, it also required luring my mother in. “Of course I didn’t. Why should I have?”
She grimaced and was silent for a long moment. “Accepting a last-minute invitation makes you appear eager. Desperate. Boring. None of which are attractive qualities.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. He knows me well enough to have made his own judgments.”
“Which is rather interesting, given that you’ve never mentioned him before.”
“I didn’t think I’d ever have the opportunity to see him again,” I said, sorting through the sweets so that I wouldn’t have to look her in the eye as I lied. “I met him in Courville this summer. After I was injured, I didn’t even have the chance to say goodbye before the Girards whisked me back to the Hollow. I didn’t even know he knew I was in Trianon until I received his letter.”
“And just how well do you know this young man?”
Her inflection and her meaning were obvious and my cheeks burned. “Not that well, mother.”
Relief flooded her face. “Small mercies.”
Catching her by the arm, I led her to the settee and pressed a salted caramel upon her because I knew they were her favorite. “I thought this was what you wanted for me,” I said. “You yourself said this is what you had me trained for.”
“He is a poor choice.”
“Why?”
She set the candy on the table. “After you told me the two of you were acquainted, I took the liberty of tracking him down, Cécile. He is not right for this purpose. He’s too young, too handsome, too used to having everything he wants. I’ve met his kind before: his affections will be fierce, but fleeting. And he will not be discreet. There are better options.”
“Like the Marquis.” My tone was sour.
She nodded. “He will provide what you need at very little cost to your person. And no risk of heartbreak.”
I picked up her candy and ate it myself.
“This young man will only end up hurting you,” she said, taking my hand. “He’ll eventually take a wife and his attentions will turn to her. And there is no chance of it being you. You are not of the same class, and whether he says so or not, he considers himself better than you. Is that really a path you want to go down?”
The caramel was sticking in my teeth and tasted overly sweet. “What if it is?”
“Then you’re making a mistake.”
“You don’t know that.”
She caught hold of my chin, forcing me to look into her eyes. “Are you in love with this man, Cécile?”
I jerked my chin free. This conversation had gotten away from me.
“Well, that explains a great deal.”
I got to my feet, retrieving my box of candies and Tristan’s note. “This is my life, Mama, not yours. Sometimes I think you forget that. Now I’m going to get ready for rehearsals. It would not do to keep everyone waiting.”
* * *
The clock bonged six times, and I fought the urge to go to the window to check for any sign of the carriage.
“He’s with Bouchard, who is chronically late,” my mother said, from where she sat