“Wake up, Miss Agate,” the maid repeated.
Agate pressed her arm over her eyes, trying to hold onto the fleeting memory of her dream. But it evaporated, burned off like mist by morning. She sighed, and opened her eyes to sunlight pouring across her bed. Sparrows were bickering outside the window. It was time to face the day.
“I’m awake, Dorcas.” Agate slid her legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. “Is my bath ready?“
“As ready as it’s going to be, Miss. And I’ve laid out a fresh white muslin frock, as you requested.”
Agate pulled off her nightdress and stepped into the deep copper tub. The water could have been hotter, but it was not worth complaining. Dorcas would probably point out that it had been the perfect temperature half an hour ago, when she had first pulled back the bedroom curtains.
If I had mechanical servants, they would not talk back, even if I deserved it.
Agate smiled as she remembered scraps of her private dream world. It was a wonderful fairy-tale place, with a magical palace, a grumpy old wizard and a brave young servant girl who rescued a prince. And someday she would write books about it, and become a famous fantasy author. Everyone would ask her to sign their books, and she would write inscriptions for them, illuminated with little drawings of flowers. She would live in a pretty cottage in the country, with cats and respectful servants. There would be a garden and a stable with two beautiful horses, and she would gallop over the fields with the wind in her face. And her father would be miles and miles away, and let her live her own life.
Agate closed her eyes and relaxed in the water, arms hooked over the rim of the tub, legs floating. She wiggled her toes.
Dorcas coughed.
Oh, right. Breakfast. With her father the Duke, and that vagrant prince, who had spent the night in the guest room. It would not do to be late. If she were not there, they would definitely Make Remarks about her.
Agate held out her hand for the soap and washcloth and completed her morning ablutions. She rose from the tub (like Venus from the sea, she thought) and accepted the offered towel. Dry the hair, then dry the body. Now on to the serious business of life, which starts with donning clean silk undergarments, and moves on from there.
—
Beautifully attired in white muslin, Agate descended the stairs to the ground floor. Housemaids were arranging flowers and dusting furniture in the entry hall. Agate nodded graciously when they curtsied to her, and entered the sunlit breakfast room.
“Good morning, Father,” she said to the Duke, inclining her head in a graceful familial bow. “Good morning, Prince Erik.” She picked up a plate from the sideboard and studied the dishes on offer.
“Good morning, Lady Agate,” said the prince. “I trust you slept well?”
He had acquired some respectable clothes, and had obviously had a good bath and a shave, as well as a night’s sleep. Judging by his plate, he was now doing his best to make up for long starvation. Agate smiled and nodded. “Tolerably well. And yourself?”
“Like the proverbial log.” He buttered another slice of toast. “Do try the eggs. They are particularly fine.”
Agate lifted the lid of the silver chafing dish where the eggs basked over steaming water. They were scrambled today, mixed with cheese and mushrooms. They smelled delicious.
Agate inhaled the oddly familiar fragrance. The memory of her magical dream-world flickered, then dissolved again, just beyond her reach.
Still, you couldn’t argue with eggs and bacon for breakfast. And a rack of perfect toast, with butter and marmalade. And a pot of good, hot steaming tea.
Agate filled her plate to a ladylike level. She sat down next to her father, across the table from the visiting prince.
“Do you have plans today, Father?” she asked.
The Duke looked at the two young people, who seemed to be having a secret eye-conversation. He laid his fork, tines down, on his now-empty plate. “I do. When you finish your breakfast, I was thinking we might talk about the Wizard.”
—