Garnet's Story (4 page)

I
DON'T SEE THE SURROGATE AT ALL OVER THE NEXT FEW
days, but I do get to see Annabelle more.

She tells me Mother has given the girl permission to walk about the palace freely. That goes on the list for Lucien. There's something she doesn't tell me, too—I always know when Annabelle is hiding something or has been forbidden from saying something because she purses her lips and scratches just under her right ear. I don't push it, though. I have no interest in getting Annabelle in trouble.

I do see a new cello being delivered, though, so I wonder if something happened to the first one. A punishment and then a reward, perhaps? That sounds like Mother.

I'm lounging in an upstairs drawing room one afternoon
when she finds me.

D wants you

“I haven't done anything,” I protest.

She only half smiles, and I see that my jacket is draped over her arm. Immediately, I'm on alert.

“What?” I ask.

She shrugs, her eyes downcast.

“Another potential wife?” I ask with trepidation.

She shrugs again.

Don't be late

“I know, I know,” I say. If I am, Mother will likely blame Annabelle. She holds out the jacket and slips it on my shoulders, brushing a piece of lint off the lapel.

Be nice

“Aren't I always?” I say, batting my eyelashes. That gets a full smile.

I pass the concert hall on my way downstairs. Strains of cello music can be heard clearly through the closed doors. I pause, wondering if I should peek in. But the music stops and I come to my senses and head down the main staircase to the foyer.

“Where to this time?” I ask Mother as the motorcar trundles down the gravel driveway.

“The House of the Downs,” she replies curtly.

“Coral?” I say. I've seen her at all the balls and some parties, of course, and she isn't terrible looking. But she doesn't seem all that interesting either.

“I will not tolerate complaints. Not today,” Mother snaps. Then she rubs her temples.

“Father giving you a headache again?” I ask. “Or is it
the surrogate now?”

“Both.”

I'm startled I get an actual response to that. I decide to press my luck.

“How's it going? With all . . . that?” I don't know what to call it. Baby-making? That sounds disgusting.

Mother levels me with a piercing gaze. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” I say quickly. “Just . . . it'll be strange to have a baby in the house.”

To my utter shock, she smiles. A real, actual smile, not the kind she usually gives me, where you can sense the poison dripping behind it.

“Yes,” she says. “I imagine it will.”

There's something unsettling about her sincere enthusiasm.

“So, is she, um, pregnant?” I ask.

“She will be,” Mother says. “Very soon.”

We ride the rest of the way in silence.

The palace of the Downs has a lake in front of it filled with swans, gorgeous, snow-white creatures that float around peacefully, unaware of my personal torment. How I envy them. They aren't forced into marriage at the tender age of nineteen.

Everything in the palace of the Downs is bird related.
Everything.
Lamps, vases, paintings, candlesticks, throw pillows . . . even the chandelier in the dining room is in the shape of hundreds of swallows in flight. The ends of the forks are crafted to look like mallard heads.

The Lady of the Downs greets us effusively, kissing
Mother on both cheeks and mercifully only shaking my hand. Coral looks very pretty in a pale pink gown, her blond hair curled and falling freely down her back and around her shoulders.

Lunch is going well, better than I expected, mostly because it's Mother and the Lady who do most of the talking. Also because they are serving roast pheasant, one of my favorites, with a plum sauce and truffle mashed potatoes, so as long as I'm allowed to eat and not speak, I'm perfectly content. Coral takes tiny, dainty bites and wipes her mouth with her napkin between each one. I keep glancing over at her, wondering what it would be like to kiss her. I can't seem to conjure up any strong emotion at the thought besides mild curiosity.

“But Pearl, his reputation cannot be overlooked,” the Lady of the Downs is saying.

“Your daughter has a reputation as well,” Mother shoots back.

“I love it when they talk about us as though we weren't here,” I say jokingly to Coral. Her eyes widen and she quickly puts a perfectly proportional bite of pheasant and potato in her mouth and then dabs her lips with a napkin. “You missed a spot,” I whisper, and you'd think I'd told her a wart had sprouted up—she starts wiping her mouth with a singular fury. “Sorry, it's gone,” I say, turning my attention to my own plate.

I suppose I can take sense of humor off of her list of potential qualities.

“And what reputation might my daughter have?” the Lady of the Downs demands.

“She is a simpleton,” Mother says casually, taking a long drink of wine. “She is not . . . unique in any way.”

“She is beautiful.”

“Oh, please. So is my son.”

“She is agreeable to be around.”

“Is she?” Mother raises an eyebrow and glares at Coral, who shrinks a few inches in her chair. I can't blame her, having not grown up around that glare. “I see nothing particularly pleasing about her company. She is as mute as those birds you have swimming around in that pond outside.”

“She is—”

“Lapis, let us have no more of these tedious discussions of whose offspring is more appealing. We both know I would win such an argument. My House is a Founding House. An alliance would be beneficial for
you,
not for me. I have chosen you to unite with my family. Your grandson or daughter will be the next Duke or Duchess of the House of the Lake. What more is there to discuss?”

‘The Electress,” the Lady of the Downs says. “You are aware of her . . . feelings toward you.”

The Lady of the Downs is braver than I gave her credit for. I would never bring up the Electress in front of Mother. Coral is frozen in her chair, only her eyes moving, darting back and forth between the two women.

Mother laughs, a high cruel laugh. “Do you think I am afraid of that piece of Bank trash?”

Coral drops her fork and gasps. Mother turns to her.

“Yes,” she says. “I called her Bank trash. Because she
is
Bank trash. She does not frighten me. Do I frighten
you
, child?”

Coral nods mutely. Mother grins.

“Good.” She turns back to the Lady of the Downs. “I am satisfied with this match if you are. It will strengthen both your House and”—she clearly hesitates—“mine.” She addresses Coral again. “What do you think, my dear? Would you like to be the next Duchess of the Lake?”

“Oh . . . oh yes, Your Ladyship. Very much so, Your Ladyship.” Coral's head is bobbing up and down like it's on a string.

“Do I get to express an opinion on the matter?” I ask.

“No,” Mother replies without looking at me. She stands and I shove a last, delicious bite of pheasant into my mouth before she grabs my elbow and pulls me to the door.

She stops in quite the dramatic fashion and says, “We will await your response to our proposal until eleven o'clock this evening. Any later and the offer will be rescinded.”

I give Coral a sort of apologetic half wave before Mother drags me out the door.

“You and your damned reputation,” she mutters as the chauffeur opens the door to the motorcar. I know she's thinking the same thing I am—this could be so much worse. As far as the Jewel knows, I am an overly enthusiastic royal party boy. If any of them got their hands on Cyan's story . . . I'd be finished. Not even the daughter of the House of the Locks would want me.

“Lucien has kept his word,” I point out as we pull onto the main road.

“Thank the Exetor for that.” Palaces flash past as Mother takes out her compact and dabs some powder under her eyes. “If Lapis doesn't agree to this, we'll have to start
trying the second-tier Houses. So let's hope you made a good impression.”

“I barely said anything.”

“My point exactly.”

I
DECIDE TO TAKE MY DINNER IN MY ROOM THAT NIGHT.

I've had enough meals with Mother for one day. But when the door to my parlor opens it isn't George who brings in my tray. It's Annabelle again.

“Hey,” I say, my mood lifting. “Are you off surrogate duty this evening?”

She nods. Then I see that her eyes are a little watery.

“What's wrong?” I ask.

Annabelle places the tray of food on my breakfast table and hands me a thick, cream-colored envelope. The wax seal is broken, but I can see the feather printed on it clearly, signifying the House of the Downs.

My darling Pearl,
it reads.
Coral would be most happy to accept your son's proposal. Thank you again for your visit this afternoon. I look forward to the day when our Houses are joined by this beautiful marriage. Sincerely yours, Lapis, Lady of the Downs.

I sink onto the sofa, barely aware of Annabelle sitting beside me. The room is spinning. I can't get enough air. This can't be happening.

I half hoped it was merely some design on my mother's part to punish me. I thought it would take longer to find someone who wanted me. I thought . . .

I don't notice Annabelle has taken my hand until I feel a warmth in my palm. She doesn't need to use her slate—I
can read her eyes quite clearly and they are telling me how sorry she is.

“I . . . is this real?”

Annabelle nods. I read the letter again. It's not even from Coral. We didn't even speak to each other, not in any significant way. I don't know anything about her. And now I'm meant to spend the rest of my life with her?

“I don't want this,” I confess in a small voice very unlike my own.

Annabelle leans her head on my shoulder, like she did when I was ten and I cut my hand and the doctor had to stitch it up.

“I can't get married,” I say, standing abruptly and pacing around the room. “Not to her. Not to anyone. I'm only nineteen!” Not that that matters in the Jewel—Jasper's mother has been trying to arrange his engagement for a year, and I know Mother married Father when she was only sixteen. But there's a difference between knowing something is going to happen in the future and having the future stare you right in the face. “She can't make me do this. She can't.”

She can

I know. Of course I know. She can do whatever she wants. She's the Duchess of the Lake.

“I could pretend to have some terrible illness,” I say, wild ideas springing into my head. “Something very contagious. Maybe then—”

But Annabelle gives me a stern look.

Won't work

“I have to do something,” I say. “She's taking away my freedom, Annabelle!”

Annabelle sighs and hunches over her slate. She scribbles furiously for several moments then holds it up.

What freedom? Never had freedom. Always your fate to marry

“Well, at least I had the illusion of it,” I grumble.

She gives me a sad smile.

“Want to trade places?” I suggest.

That makes her laugh, though a tear falls onto her cheek. She brushes it away, embarrassed.

You make terrible l-i-w

I have to smile at that. I sit down beside her and look at the envelope again.

There's a long pause.

“So . . .” I say, turning it over in my hands, “can we burn this?”

Annabelle eagerly sets about building a fire in my fireplace. She takes the envelope and I take the letter. When the flames are rising high in the grate, we toss the expensive paper in and watch it curl and smoke.

I sigh. Burning the letter doesn't change its intent.

“Can you stay for a while?” I ask.

She smiles shyly and nods. Then her eyes brighten.

Halma?

I groan. “Okay, fine. But I'm going to crush you this time, I swear. So watch out.”

Annabelle just smirks.

O
VER THE NEXT TWO DAYS, THE HOUSE IS IN AN UPROAR
preparing for my engagement party.

Thankfully, Mother lets me stay in my room and doesn't ask me for opinions about china or flower arrangements or any of that. She is far more excited about this party than I am. The whole palace is buzzing. I bet the entire Jewel is drooling over the news.

The one time I don't want to be the center of attention.

Annabelle must be busy with the surrogate because I don't see her again. Though I'm not getting out much.

George brings me my lunch the day of the party and tentatively asks, “Would you like to take a walk in the garden, sir? Get some fresh air?”

I glower at him and he retreats swiftly, back to the safety of the kitchen, where I'm sure all the rest of the servants are having a delightful time gossiping about me. The rogue royal son, finally pinned down and forced to follow the rules.

There's been no communication from the House of the Downs since the letter. What am I even supposed to say to Coral? Usually when I'm with a girl, she's from the Bank and the flirting comes naturally because I already know I am wanted. Coral must want me, right? I'm Garnet of the House of the Lake. I'm rich, I'm good looking, I have the title . . . Even still, I feel nerves squirming like little caterpillars in my stomach. I splash some water on my face and stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

“You can do this,” I tell myself. “It's just one night.”

But it's not just one night. It's my whole life.

I pour myself a little whiskey, to calm my nerves. It doesn't really help. By the time George comes to help me dress, I'm sweating.

He secures my cuff links and slips my tuxedo jacket on without a word, brushing away any stray hairs and bits of lint. I tie my own tie. I appreciate George's silence, because I don't feel much like talking at the moment. I don't feel like talking at all tonight. And I've got to go downstairs and smile and laugh and pretend that this is the greatest thing that's ever happened to me, when all I want to do is hide out here for maybe the rest of my life.

“All set, sir,” George says. We both look at my reflection in the floor-length mirror.

“Well done,” I say. My throat feels tight. “Thank you,
George.”

He hesitates then says, “I'll give you a minute alone, sir.”

I nod. Once he closes the door, I take a few deep, steadying breaths.

“Don't be such a coward,” I say out loud. I hitch a brilliant smile on my face and leave my room.

George is waiting for me, so I suspect Mother instructed him to escort me to the ballroom, ensuring I wouldn't bolt. The Lord and Lady of the Downs are already there, with Coral, of course. Her blond hair is extra curly this evening. She blinks up at me with wide blue eyes and I'm reminded of a porcelain doll.

“Good evening,” I say, bowing to her. “My lord, my lady.”

Mother looks satisfied. I don't know what she was expecting. I do have
some
manners.

It appears that neither Coral nor I is expected to talk much. Mother and the Lady of the Downs discuss where and when the wedding should be, and who should cater it; I try to block out their words and think of something else. But there's nothing else to think about. My future wife is standing right next to me and I can't come up with a single thing to say to her.

Guests begin arriving, so Mother's attention is drawn elsewhere. Coral and I stand together as a small receiving line begins to form. It's all variations on “Congratulations,” and “I'm so happy for the two of you.” Empty words from empty people. Half of them only care that they were invited at all. The other half are probably hoping I'll do something
gossip worthy.

Carnelian comes up with her companion.

“I guess I owe you ten thousand diamantes,” she says with a smirk, clutching the arm of her escort. She must be enjoying this. It's unusual for her to be the happy one while I'm the miserable one.

“I won't hold you to it, cousin,” I say. “Wouldn't want you to lose all of your money in one go.”

Her face falls slightly and I feel a little bad. But she can't insult me and expect me not to retort.

“I wish both of you every happiness,” the companion says, and it takes a lot of effort not to roll my eyes.

“Thank you, Mr. Lockwood,” Coral gushes. How does
she
know his name?
I
don't remember his name and he lives in my house. Then I notice that many of the women in this room keep glancing over at him.

I really don't understand the appeal of companions at all.

They move along to let others come with their fake pleasantries. I overhear snippets of conversation while smiling woodenly and shaking hands.

“. . . seen her tonight yet.”

“Do you think she's pregnant?”

“No, we would have heard.”

“I hear the Electress is growing nervous.”

“Nonsense. The Electress has nothing to worry about.”

“But if the Duchess wishes for her daughter to marry—”

At that moment, the Exetor and Electress arrive. Everyone bows low and all conversation stops. The ladies I was eavesdropping on move to fawn over the Electress. It
sounded like they were talking about Mother's surrogate.

I feel a pinch of guilt as I see Lucien. I haven't told him about the new cello or what Mother said in the motorcar the other day. But I don't really care about the surrogate at the moment.

I don't notice her arriving, but at some point, I see her in the crowd. She stands next to Mother, who is speaking with the Lady of the Downs and the Electress. Lucien hands the Electress a glass of champagne and his eyes light on mine for a moment.

My chest seizes up, an unpleasant sensation gripping me. I feel trapped, helpless. Everywhere I turn, there are expectations and demands being made on me. I want to rewind time, to go back to when my life revolved around parties I actually enjoyed attending, to when surrogates were just little pawns on a chessboard, silent things at their mistresses' sides. A bead of sweat trickles down the inside of my thigh and I scratch my crotch, not caring that I'm in public. What more can Mother do to me?

“So,” I say to Coral, when at last the receiving line dwindles to nothing. “That was fun.”

I mean it sarcastically, but she smiles up at me with enthusiasm.

“Wasn't it? I've never had so much attention from so many people before. And doesn't everyone look lovely? I can't believe this is all for us!”

I'm so taken aback by her sincerity that, for a moment, I'm speechless. Does she not understand that we are entertainment for them? No one is here because they care about us or our marriage. Mother didn't even invite any of my
actual friends. We are the current circus attraction. In a few days, we'll probably be replaced with something else.

The saddest part is, I used to really enjoy being the current circus attraction.

“Yeah,” I say, because I have a feeling if I told her what I was really thinking she might start to cry. The music swells and the dancing begins. Carnelian takes her companion out onto the floor, moving awkwardly in his arms. Mother dances with everyone, the perfect image of a perfect hostess, laughing and cheering with her champagne, looking for all the world as if she were truly happy for her son.

The lies, the falseness of it all . . . I grew up surrounded by it, but it never truly made me sick until this evening.

“Ash Lockwood is a very desirable companion,” Coral says, nodding to where my cousin is stepping on his feet. “Carnelian was lucky your mother bought him for her.”

“Mm,” I say.

“I had a lovely companion,” Coral says dreamily. “His name was Rye. He was very funny.”

I'm not sure what to say to that. Fortunately, now that we are freed from the restraints of our mothers and the duty of the party, Coral doesn't seem to require an active participant to keep a conversation going.

“I collect miniature tea sets, you know,” she says. “I've got almost two hundred of them. The largest collection in the Jewel.” She lifts her chin proudly. “Some of them even date back to the time of Diamante the Great.”

Miniature tea sets? She couldn't just read books or do needlepoint like a normal girl? Isn't that what normal girls do?

She's in the middle of describing one set in particular, light blue with tiny detailed paintings of a flock of birds in flight, when I'm rescued by Mother and Father coming over to us. Mother calls for silence.

“Thank you all for joining me in celebrating this very special occasion!” she exclaims. It doesn't escape my notice that she leaves Father out the picture. “Let us raise a glass to the happy couple—Garnet, of the House of the Lake, and Coral, of the House of the Downs.”

Glasses are raised and people cheer.

“And now,” Mother continues, “my surrogate will perform a short program for you. Shall we proceed to the concert hall?”

I see her getting whisked away by William and then Mother is leading me out of the ballroom, Coral on my other side, and the entire party follows us up the main staircase and into the concert hall.

“Your mother's surrogate played so wonderfully at the Exetor's Ball,” Coral says. “I didn't know she was playing for us tonight!”

“Me neither,” I say.

We take our seats in the middle of the front row. I notice the Electress makes sure that the Exetor sits on her left, as far away from Mother as possible. A chair, a music stand, and the cello are already onstage. There are some whispers among the audience, and I see Carnelian murmur something to her companion that makes him frown a little.

Then the surrogate walks on and the whole theater erupts in applause. I hope she plays that song she played at the Exetor's Ball again. At least something good will come
of this evening.

She seems less nervous, maybe because she's already done this before, and in front of a whole lot more people. She sets the cello between her knees and looks out over the sea of faces, like she's Reed Purling or some other famous musician, like she's been paid to be here. As if she is in command of this stage, at least for the moment.

I have to respect her for that.

She turns a page on the music stand, picks up her bow, and begins to play. To my delight, it
is
the same song from the Exetor's Ball. I let the notes wash over me in a waterfall of sound. I think of my own cage again, of the course my life is on, and what I could do with it if I wanted, if I were free to decide. Who would I choose to marry? I think about all the girls I've ever kissed or smiled at or flirted with, and not one of them makes me feel anything. Aren't you supposed to feel
something
? Or is that just an antiquated notion that got into my head from reading too many fairy stories as a child? There is certainly no love between my mother and father, or any of my friends' parents, for that matter.

It just never occurred to me how sad that is.

The song ends and I applaud loudly along with everyone else. I glance down the line and see Mother looking smugly satisfied and Father looking bored. Carnelian is sulky as always, but her companion is frowning deeper, which is strange. I didn't think they were allowed to frown.

The surrogate reaches out to turn the page for the next piece and winces a little. She begins the next piece and something is clearly off—she seems to be sweating and her mouth is pressed into a hard line. Suddenly, her bow
screeches across the strings and falls to the floor. She looks down at her lap in horror.

The cello falls with a jarring crash, and everyone jumps. We can all see now why she faltered.

Blood has seeped through her dress, bright red, and it keeps coming, sinking into her skirt, dripping to the floor. Her hands are sticky with it. I see her mouth something, and I think it might be “help.” I stand without thinking. She falls, and before I can even move, a white blur flies in from offstage.

Lucien catches her before she hits the ground.

“Get the doctor!” he shouts. Women start screaming, everything becomes confused.

“What's happening?” Coral asks.

I don't know. What
is
happening?

Mother runs up to the stage, followed quickly by the Exetor, and I hurry after them as the crowd swells up around me. I hear the surrogate moan as Lucien lays her down gently. Blood has pooled on the stage, and her skirt is more red than green. Mother looks terrified.

“The doctor is in the Bank,” she says.

It occurs to me then that the surrogate could
die
. I know surrogates get killed all the time, but it's one thing knowing it and another thing seeing it.

“We'll send for someone immediately,” the Exetor says.

“There's no time, we have to stop the bleeding.” Lucien is frantic. The calm exterior he does such an excellent job of maintaining has cracked and beneath it I can see a jagged slice of utter panic and fear. And I realize that Lucien loves this girl.

“My lady, where is your medical room?” he asks. Mother can only stare. I've never seen her so undone. “My lady!”

She starts. “This way,” she says.

Lucien lifts the girl up carefully, as if she were made of glass, and carries her past Mother, past me, through the throng of royals looking both shocked at the turn of events and eager to spread the news of Garnet's Bloody Engagement Party.

Then Lucien and Mother and the girl disappear out of the hall. Father looks at a loss.

“Well,” he says, clapping a hand on my shoulder, “shall we . . .”

He nods out at all the guests.

“I'll do it,” I grumble, because Father can be so useless at formal events.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I call, and the hall falls silent. “Thank you so much for coming to my engagement party. I apologize for cutting the festivities short, but clearly, my mother's surrogate is unwell. This is a time for family privacy.”