The Belles (The Belles #1)(17)
“I do.” I pull her back toward me. “Stay. Don’t leave.”
She sinks back under the covers with me. Her skin is still warm with anger. I roll over and bury my face in the pillow. She hugs me from behind, and twists a few of my curls around her finger like they’re ribbons on a pole. She whispers, “I’m sorry,” and then we’re little girls again, slipping in and out of each other’s beds, full of worries and wishes, falling into dreams of the future.
I wake to sounds of steaming water splattering into a porcelain bowl. The scent of lavender mixed with rose drifts through my bedcurtains. My eyes flutter. The curtains are drawn slightly.
“Good morning, Lady Camellia,” a servant whispers. She looks just like the others—pale white skin, brown eyes, rosy cheeks—except she has freckles.
She helps me out of bed, careful not to wake Amber, who is sprawled out across the covers. I look around the room at the five other beds. The curtains around them remain closed.
“Wash up, and I will take you to Madam. She’s waiting in the main salon.”
I wipe the sleep from my face, and slip into the turquoise day dress set out for me. She returns and pulls my hair up into a simple, unadorned Belle-bun, and ties a cream-colored waist-sash around my middle.
If this were a morning at home, the sound-box would’ve woken us. Breakfast would be served on the veranda. Hana would be the last one out of her room and the first to complain about cold hotcakes and picked-over fruit. We would bathe, dress, then rush off for lessons, where Du Barry would have a list of assignments for us.
But this is the first day of my new life.
The Belle-apartment corridor buzzes with activity. Flower garlands droop from the ceiling like beautiful spiderwebs. Morning-lanterns drift overhead. Teapots cry out with steam. People move in and out, carrying parcels and linens and trays.
“What’s your name?” I ask the servant.
“It doesn’t matter.” She looks down and continues to move forward.
“Yes, it does. Please tell me.”
“Bree, my lady,” she whispers.
“Nice to meet you.”
“And you, too, my lady.”
We pause before the main salon doors. I shiver.
“She’s waiting,” Bree whispers.
I shift my weight from left to right, right to left, as she leads me forward. “How angry is she?”
“She’s eaten a whole tray of citron tarts.”
She opens the door. Du Barry sits in a high-backed chair, facing the fireplace. She clenches a jade cigarette holder between her fingernails. The end burns as bright as the flames in the hearth. She grunts, inspecting a tray of Belle-pots and rouge-sticks, and gives notes to Elisabeth.
Bree leads me forward and into the adjacent seat. She pats my shoulder before slipping out of the room.
“The testers are complete. The windy season’s colors are in: bright cobalt, misty mauve, cognac, purple-red wine, radiant orchid, cypress green, and storm gray. Madam Pompadour sent her daughters with new pomander beads to consider for the cold season. The scents will be lovely. Juniper berry, lavender, and snow-melons. They’ve used sky pearls from the Glass Isles to hold the perfume. Every woman in Orléans will want these for her toilette box,” Du Barry says. “Aren’t they gorgeous, Elisabeth?”
“Yes, Maman. Will fetch many leas,” Elisabeth says.
I ease into conversation with them. “When will the queen release her official announcement regarding toilette-box allotments?”
“Soon, and we shall be ready when she does.” She waves at the servants to take the tray from the side table. Then she faces me, her eyes full of disappointment. “You did not follow protocol last night, Camellia.”
Elisabeth gulps down her tea and starts to cough, then apologizes. I swallow and tell myself not to break eye contact with Du Barry. Her steely blue eyes burn into mine. I try not to be the little girl who always jumps as soon as she walks into a room. I try to be the girl who isn’t afraid of anything. Or anyone. But a twinge of fear grows inside me despite myself.
“Though your exhibition was quite enchanting and clever, I’m concerned. And I’ve spoken with the Beauty Minister.” The servants display a platter of sweets before her. She pops a raspberry cream puff in her mouth, chewing quickly, then takes three madeleine cookies. “You were told to use the second arcana to provide the look laid out in your carnaval dossier. Small changes that demonstrate you’re ready to serve the great land of Orléans. Nothing more. Nothing less.
“Your blatant disregard for the rules, Camellia, in front of the entire population of Orléans, has put us in a compromised situation—do we disqualify you from being the favorite, or allow you to be considered despite this? In order to be a successful Belle, you must be able to follow instructions. It was reckless, and reminded me of all the low marks you received during your training because you simply ignored the rules. You just can’t—”
“The crowd loved it.” The words bubble up and brim over my lips. Elisabeth puts a hand over her mouth. Servants re-enter the room with tea carts. Bree serves me tea and almost drops the teacup in my lap. I gently take it from her. I worked so hard to get that response from the crowd. I won’t let her erase it like a picture wiped from a chalkboard.
Du Barry’s shoulders crumple like I’ve hit her. Her sharp eyes narrow, waiting for me to look away, but I don’t. Anger rises inside me. I thought she would be happy with the crowd’s response.