Chapter 18
And that was how I first encountered Millicent Vaneeri, the nineteen-year-old duchess who, with all the grace of a hawk circling its prey, pursued the innocent seventeen-year-old me, pressing us scandalously together, breasts and all. Crude.
Shaking off the memory, I averted my gaze from the couple playing chase in the park and resumed my journey to the market. Kyle would be home soon, and I had promised him carrot soup.
Upon arriving at the carrot stall, I found myself immediately accosted, not directly, but by the sheer volume of two young commoners gossiping beside me. Their loud voices grated against my ears as I tried to select the least offensive carrots. Ignoring them proved impossible, for their chatter was as persistent as a summer fly.
"Oi, you hear 'bout the duchess of Ivoryspire?" one of them said with excitement.
"Course I did," the other replied. "They say she's been visitin' the palace. Reckon she's here for Prince Kaldric."
"Romantic, innit? Imagine comin' all the way just for 'im," the first one added with a dreamy sigh, as though he were the duchess herself.
"Long-distance and all. Must be rough, that," the second mused. "Heard she's leavin' soon, though."
I selected three carrots and promptly left the market. Truly, how anyone could linger there in the oppressive summer heat while gossiping as though it were the height of leisure was beyond my comprehension. Did they not have jobs? Responsibilities? Or even a shred of self-preservation? The sun was merciless, and here they were, voluntarily suffering under its gaze.
When I finally arrived home, I checked the mailbox perched beside our modest porch, as was my daily routine. Normally, I would find letters requesting my tutoring services… ah, bless those misguided souls for if it wasn't for them, I would be coinless. But today, there was something different. A letter from the portrait shop, addressed to me. My mind immediately conjured visions of silver coins spilling from the sky. Payment, surely.
Eager, I entered the house, placing the carrots on the table with little ceremony before seating myself at the chair. In my excitement, I forgot to rest my cane against the table properly, and it clattered unceremoniously to the wooden floor. I ignored it, all my focus on the envelope in my hand. I tore it open, my eyes scanning the page hungrily.
And then I froze. Squinting, I leaned closer to the paper, tilting it this way and that way as though the light might somehow render the scrawled words legible.
For fuck's sake, what manner of creature had written this? A chicken with a quill strapped to its talon? It was a desecration of ink and parchment alike.
"An insult," I muttered. "To the paper, to the quill, to the ink, and to my very intelligence."
At last, after much effort and a mental battle of wit and will against the abominable penmanship, I deciphered the contents of the letter. A wide smile spread across my face, for the news was most delightful. It appeared that the diamond I had so gracefully modeled for had been purchased by Baron Edward Fondy. Moreover, my portrait had also been acquired by the esteemed baron. Well, if it pleases him to hang my image upon his walls, who am I to deny him such satisfaction? Let the man bask in the glory of my immortalized face.
But that was not the part that thrilled me. No, the true jewel of the letter lay further down where Jack Inns, oh bless his meddling and gossipy soul, had apparently mentioned my tutoring ventures during a conversation with the baron. And lo and behold, Baron Fondy had offered to hire me as a tutor for his seven-year-old son. Three hours a day, three days a week, for the princely sum of twenty silvers per day. Yes, silvers! Not coppers. Coppers were dead to me. Ancient history. I was ascending to a silver-lined life now.
The letter concluded with instructions for me to visit Baron Fondy's estate in the city if I were to accept the offer. I turned my gaze to the three carrots sitting on the table, their dull orange skins staring back at me. Carrots? Who needed carrots? I could eat gold-dusted soufflés now, for all I cared.
I leaned down to retrieve my cane, gripping it with newfound determination, and headed straight for the address provided in the letter. Opportunity awaited, and I was not about to let it slip through my fingers.