The Beautiful (The Beautiful #1)(64)
“And ham and Dijon mustard, as well as tea, a crust of warm bread . . . and a piece of fresh honeycomb I filched earlier from a hive of glorious bees!” Pippa said triumphantly.
Celine could almost hear Pippa smiling. It was in these moments that she appreciated her the most. Philippa Montrose was sunlight and goodness. A honeycomb in her own right. Perhaps it sounded silly, but having a friend like Pippa helped Celine believe she was welcome in the eyes of decent society, despite everything that had happened in the last few weeks.
Grinning, Celine pinned her needle to the shimmering white fabric and shifted back from her makeshift workstation to stretch her arms above her head. Briefly she considered waiting to eat. It would be wise to take advantage of the tiny candle Pippa had finagled to finish the last bit of basting before retiring for the night. After all, a single week remained before the masquerade ball. Celine had never completed a gown in such a short amount of time, much less without assistance.
But she was famished. She’d already forgone dinner because she’d been so consumed with her work. When Pippa had suggested they pool their meager rations of light to make them last longer, Celine was beyond appreciative of the gesture. Ever since arriving to the convent less than three weeks ago, she’d lamented its dearth of oil lanterns.
Once the sun had set, Celine had moved her things to Pippa’s slightly larger cell, where Pippa had chosen to work on her watercolors while Celine stitched by the light of their shared candle flames.
Now Pippa bustled about the space, humming a familiar melody as she lit the short taper and positioned a stool in the center of the room, placing the tray on the seat to form a makeshift table.
On the opposite side of the cell, Celine stepped back to survey her work.
It pleased her how much she’d managed to complete in only two days. As soon as dawn had broken the past morning, she’d consulted with a carpenter on Rue Bienville, who’d been recommended to her by the Mother Superior. After Celine explained how the baroque-style panniers should look— extending sideways at each hip in an exaggerated fashion, the front and back silhouettes held close to the body—he suggested they use willow branches, as they would be light, pliable, and readily available. Perfect for constructing hoops that had been out of fashion for nearly a century. To Celine’s immense pleasure, he’d assured her he would have a sample for her to test in three days’ time.
Celine had proceeded to pour herself into fashioning Odette’s gown with a single-minded focus. It had helped distract her from the many unanswered questions spinning through her mind.
The first time Celine had visited Jacques’, she’d come to the conclusion that the members of La Cour des Lions were not ordinary humans. Of course that knowledge raised the question: if they weren’t exactly human, then what were they?
Celine didn’t have the slightest clue. Were they goblins or changelings? Witches or warlocks? Perhaps some kind of dark fairy or ephemeral sylph? These were among the more fanciful possibilities. The kind Celine borrowed from books or stole from stories she’d heard as a child. It felt safer to believe they were tricksters like Puck or fey gentry from a shimmering forest, like Oberon and Titania. Safer to think that than believe they might be creatures so terrible, the worst of Celine’s nightmares could never have conceived of them.
After all, if magic was possible, anything was possible.
The thought that alarmed her most was the likelihood that La Cour des Lions had something to do with Anabel’s murder. That Bastien intended to protect the culprit when he concealed the yellow ribbon.
Or that he was in fact the culprit.
Perhaps Celine lacked the stomach for the truth. Perhaps she wished to remain blissfully ignorant, a worry that disconcerted her all the more.
Her mind a tangle of thorns, Celine ran her fingers over the pieces of cut fabric she’d stacked in a neat pile atop Pippa’s rope bed. What had begun this morning as nothing more than a list of measurements and bits of scattered muslin had transformed into the beginnings of a grand ball gown.
Celine let her mind be consumed by the challenge. Welcomed the diversion.
The next part of the project could prove to be the most difficult task she’d ever undertaken. A portion of Odette’s masquerade ball costume was intended to be a surprise. Thusly Celine could not rely on her help to complete it. She would have to recruit assistance from elsewhere. Perhaps Pippa would be a good option. Her frame was similar in size and shape to that of Odette, despite their disparity in height.
“Have you finished for the evening?” Pippa asked while clearing away the last of her watercolor accoutrements.
Celine stretched again, a yawn tugging at her mouth. “More or less.”
“I’ve never seen anyone labor for such a long period of time without stopping. As if you would happily work well into the witching hour had you not been interrupted.”
“It’s true I’m enjoying myself.” Celine sent her a tired smile. “It’s been quite a while since I’ve had the chance to create something so grand. The masquerade ball is barely a week away. Usually I have months to make a dress this intricate. It’s fortunate Odette had in her possession a great deal of lace and beadwork for me to use.” She knelt before the makeshift table and poured a cup of tea for Pippa. “I didn’t see you earlier this afternoon. Did you go to the market with Antonia or to the milliner with Catherine?”