Prologue
“OUR MOST HUMBLE WELCOME.”
Back straight and knees bent at just the right angle, the black-haired maid greeted the two visitors with a perfect curtsy, if ever there was one. Yet the visitors were too flabbergasted to appreciate it.
“This is Luciana’s estate, isn’t it?” one of the visitors breathed, eyes darting around.
The other visitor was just as astonished. “When last we visited, it was practically—”
“A haunted house?”
The visitors’ heads jerked up. “Luciana!” they called out in unison.
A woman stood at the top of the stairs opposite the front door, the lady of the manor herself and their host, Lady Luciana, daughter of Count Rudleberg.
“Welcome, Beatrice, Milliaria.” Lady Luciana descended the stairs with graceful, deliberate steps. She wore the sort of smile others of her station could only aspire to. “I’m so glad you could come. You grace us with your presence.”
“L-Luciana, is that you?” stammered the girl with the long chestnut braid—the Honorable Beatrice, daughter of Viscount Lillertcruz.
“You look…simply stunning,” said the starstruck girl with violet hair—the Honorable Milliaria, daughter of Baron Faronkalt.
Lady Luciana’s guests blinked up at her like they could not believe the girl standing before them was truly their oldest friend. She neither looked nor acted like the Luciana they remembered growing up with, so how could this be?
The Rudlebergs were by no means second class, only outranked by such esteemed individuals as marquesses or dukes, but theirs was not a successful countship. Generations of incompetence had drained their finances; they could not even afford a proper upbringing for their own daughter. Yet Luciana looked every bit the lady she was meant to be.
Green gems shone on her dress, a garment so fine and vibrant it must have been new. Her hair flowed down her back like water reflecting the sun. Flawless skin; full, peach-colored lips; aquamarine eyes—she bestowed upon her guests the very image of beauty as she dipped into a curtsy.
“Once again, I welcome you. Please, do make yourselves at home.”
The girls let out enraptured sighs. They stood in the presence of perfection given human form.
“Melody,” this vision of beauty said in a lilting cadence, “would you be so kind as to prepare us some tea? We’ll be out on the terrace.”
“Yes, my lady,” the maid replied with a bow.
The women promptly made their way outside. The Rudlebergs’ secondary residence, situated conveniently in Theolas’s capital, looked brand new—at least it did to guests who remembered its previous state.
Not so haunted anymore, they thought in unbeknownst unison. They had come for tea just two weeks ago, but at that time this residence seemed better suited to spirits than the living, much less living nobility. It was practically falling apart.
“What in the world has happened here?” Beatrice wondered aloud. “What do you think, Milliaria?”
“I’m not sure,” she replied. “We’ll have to ask once we get to the terrace.”
“I suppose we have to. Reluctant as I am…”
“Likewise. The interior is lovely, but, well…”
Memories best forgotten sprang to mind: a dead and dilapidated garden. A lopsided table, held upright only by creeping vines. Weeds. Weeds everywhere and no gardener to pull them. And the spiders… Oh, the spiders.
“My goodness!” Beatrice cried. “It’s like something out of a fairy tale!”
“It’s so beautiful. Somehow, it feels even bigger than my garden back home,” Milliaria gasped.
The forest of nightmares had vanished, replaced by a work of art. Trees stood at deliberate points, manipulating perspective to enlarge the entire space. A tasteful dollop of sunlight trickled through the well-kept branches. Shrubbery masterfully sheared into the shapes of various animals enlivened the spectacle.
Beatrice took a sip of the tea the maid had brought, its subtle aroma tickling her nose. She smiled. “Lovely.”
“It tastes wonderful,” Milliaria agreed. “The leaves weren’t too expensive, I hope.”
Nobility and tea went together like clouds and the sky, but such a fine brew could prove to be an expensive luxury. On their last visit, they had been served the lowest of low-quality tea, and no amount of friendship or good manners could persuade them to take more than a single sip. Yet another puzzling discrepancy.
Luciana tittered, a hint of pride in her tone. “Oh, it’s the same old variety we always use.”
The girls’ jaws fell open. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t. The fullness of the aroma, the oh-so-delectable taste, the way it lingered in the throat—this wasn’t the lowest of the low. It didn’t make sense!
“But how? If I didn’t know better, I’d call you a liar,” Beatrice said.
“I don’t begrudge your doubts,” said Luciana. “As it turns out, one doesn’t need high-quality ingredients to make high-quality tea. Isn’t that right, Melody?”
The lady turned to the spectator observing all of this with an unwavering, placid smile.
“Precisely, my lady,” the maid replied. “Money can buy the best tea leaves, but it can’t buy technique, and only one of those is crucial to a perfect brew. It’s what separates a maid from the masses.”
Beatrice and Milliaria gaped in amazement at the maid Melody. They didn’t recall seeing her here during their last visit; she must have been new to the estate.
“Okay, it’s time you explained!” Milliaria blurted.
“Agreed. I can hardly recognize this place. How can so much have changed in just two weeks?” Beatrice demanded.
What was going on here? The estate was brand new, the tea was incredible, and Luciana was practically glowing.
The latter simply grinned and held a finger up to her lips. “My secret.”
“You are the worst!” the girls cried.
Nobles and their secrets. It came with the job, in a sense. Even among friends, the upper class was ever fond of its secrets, so they could not complain if this was one Luciana preferred to keep close to the chest.
“Have it your way,” Beatrice said. “The least you could do is drop the act, though.”
“Please,” Milliaria agreed. “You’re very ladylike, yes, we can all see that. Now what did you do with the real Luciana?”
Luciana turned to her maid, who smiled and nodded, and then she heaved a sigh. “Okay, but I had the prim-and-proper thing down. You have to give me that.”
Her regal and subdued smile gave way to a toothy grin.
“There she is,” Beatrice laughed. “I was starting to suspect someone had kidnapped you and stolen your identity.”
“It was an excellent act, but I do like this you much better,” Milliaria said.
“Yeah? Heh! Thanks!” Luciana beamed. “I’ll stash Fancy Luciana away for the Spring Ball.”
The lady stood, bent at the knees, and curtsied in her typical, idiosyncratic way—that is to say, with the grace of a flamingo.
The tea cups stood empty, and Luciana’s guests were preparing to take their leave.
“I suppose we won’t see each other again until the opening ceremony at Royal Academy, will we?” Beatrice said. “Until then, Luciana.”
“And then after that, the Spring Ball. We’ll officially be out there with the rest of high society,” Milliaria said excitedly.
Luciana grinned. “See you guys at the ceremony.”
After escorting her friends to their carriage, Luciana let out a held breath. At last, it was over. She’d survived.
From inside the manor, Melody awaited her lady’s return.
“Your hair could use some freshening up before dinner,” the maid said. “Shall we detour to your room?”
“Oh, Melody…”
Luciana’s hair was a bird’s nest of flyaways and frazzled bangs mussed by an impudent breeze with no respect at all for hair styling. Melody’s request was perfectly normal and reasonable, a common duty among maids, but she was the first in Luciana’s experience to actually take up the task. Most maids were far too busy with their other concerns to see to the personal care of their masters, so could anyone really blame Luciana for being startled and delighted at the unexpected suggestion?
No, Luciana decided, they couldn’t.
“You’re the best!”