Glitter (Glitter Duology #1)(45)
“Glitter,” Lord Aaron says, reading the sticker on the pot I’ve just handed him. I was pleasantly surprised that Reginald provided a subtle, elegant font for the label. I feared a gauche, glitter-enameled name in Comic Sans.
“Fitting, I think,” I say with a smile.
A few nights ago, under the pretense of visiting my father, I set everything up in his office. It wasn’t very difficult; the inverter hot plate melted the cosmetic bases in less than a minute, and the scale worked beautifully to measure out the tiny doses of Glitter. So small were the doses that most batches of makeup required additional costume glitter to achieve the right look.
It was odd to look at the little pile of Glitter sitting on the scale. “Better too little than too much,” I muttered to myself. Easier said than done. Less than in a spoonful of sugar, such as one might add to a single cup of tea, and it was literally hundreds of doses. The mathematician in me is impressed by the sheer profitability of such a substance.
The most time-consuming part was using the pipettes to carefully transfer a mere two grams of the liquid mixture into fifty empty makeup pots. It seems like such a meager amount, but Saber suggested that the ideal dose to sell is a single week’s worth. If anyone would know, he would.
The guilt has set in, sharp and cutting as an actual blade. I truly did consider my endeavor as a matter of simply giving a harmless high to the lords and ladies of the court and fleecing them for the cost. And it will be for only a few months at worst. But Saber’s warning, and his disdain, have been holding me back like invisible hands, and though my path is clear, I struggle to move forward.
With a forced smile, I paint Molli’s lips the sparkly red that matches mine and let Lord Aaron apply just a touch of glittering rouge to his cheeks at the small mirror by the closed doors. When he tries to hand his back, I suggest, lightly, that they both keep the little pots I’ve given them.
“You’ll be toasted as trendsetters by the end of the week,” I say with a wink. “Now shoo, the both of you, and get food.” With lips and cheeks ashine, they acquiesce, Molli with an adorable giggle so perfectly happy and innocent it makes my heart twinge.
About a minute after I’ve commanded M.A.R.I.E. to open the doors, a hovering footman announces Lady Cynthea Lefurgey. It’s a delicate balance, being on time without being early, and I’m sadly unsurprised that she strikes it well.
I am surprised, however, that she chose to wear red. Not the best color against her auburn hair, but a gorgeous ensemble clearly designed to outshine my own outdated red dress from the assembly last Wednesday. As lovely as it is, she now clashes rather terribly with the pink décor.
“Lady Cyn,” I say with my most demure smile. “So very pleased you could attend. And your sister.” I drop a perfect curtsy and trust that Lady Cyn will be paying close enough attention to realize I aim my bow only at her sister. Her younger sister.
The flush at the top of Lady Cyn’s cheeks tells me she noticed.
“Please,” I say, gesturing, “give your wrap to one of the bots and help yourself to refreshments.”
Lady Cyn says nothing, just turns toward the chaises and settees forming a large semicircle around the actual coronation throne I’ve had dragged forward and draped with white satin and pink bows as my own seat of honor. An eyelash’s width from truly over-the-top, but I think it works. Lady Cyn’s little sister, who currently outranks me, drops an unnecessary curtsy before scurrying after her horrible sibling. By the time I turn from her retreating back, there’s a line of six guests waiting to be greeted.
The younger brides of various board members follow behind Lady Cyn, then a handful of nobles’ daughters nearer my age. There are three other gentlemen—including, of course, Sir Spencer, for Lord Aaron’s sake. I’m unsurprised when the two of them bunch together, and I suspect they’ll be inseparable for the duration of the soirée.
Lady Mei arrives in the middle of the crowd, and I squelch the guilt that sprouts within my chest at the sight of her. I opted against bringing her early with Lord Aaron and Molli—she’s just so notoriously indiscreet. I have to draw the line somewhere.
None of this lessens the ache as she blows me a kiss over her lace-clad shoulder and turns to squeal over the miniature macarons.
Lady Giselle barely glances at me as she completes her greeting and goes straight to Lady Cyn’s side like a magnet, but Lady Nuala pauses to grip my hand. She leans forward and whispers, “I must apologize again for my behavior at the assembly. I know you must have realized what was actually meant to happen.”
I raise my eyebrows, insinuating agreement without actually saying anything.
“I considered it later, and you were absolutely right. Even if you had been more embarrassed by my…my actions, it would still have reflected badly on me. I should never have agreed to a scheme from which I had nothing to gain.” Her face is red, and I don’t dare glance at Lady Cyn to see if she’s watching us.
“Indeed.” I hold her stare but let a firmness slip in. “This isn’t the first time you’ve been so used. I recall another encounter with Lady Cyn.”
Lady Nuala’s face drains of blood until her cosmetics look garish on her ashen skin as she plainly remembers that awful day. “I should not…I should not have—”
“No,” I say, gently now, letting her a little off the hook. “Despite a certain lady’s opinion, one cannot tell someone’s potential by their current court ranking. An enemy can be quite expensive.”