The Duke of Snow and Apples Read Free Page A

mirror image of the aesthetic chaos of the building’s exterior. Green carpet and pink-striped damask. Gilt furniture gleaming against blue silk. Hand-painted Fionese wallpaper and elegant mahogany. Eventually, they found a drawing-room, its less flamboyant decorating scheme of pastel shades identifying it as one of the more private rooms at Charmant Park.
    Two older women looked up from their work at Charlotte’s entrance. One sat at the pianoforte, a neat row of dog-eared sheet music before her and a considerably less neat pile crumpled at her feet. Due to her tiny stature, her feet didn’t reach the floor but rather swung to and fro in childish distraction. She had a sweet, soft, grandmother’s face, weathered with lines and dusted with light powder. Her hair remained a burnished gold, minimally mingled with strands of silver.
    The second woman sat closer to the fire, her iron-gray hair tucked into a mobcap. As they entered, she lowered the book she’d been reading into her lap, the pages marred with extensive handwritten notes and marginalia. She had a hard, lean face, relatively smooth for her obvious age, as if her years and experience had stretched her tighter. Her intimidating appearance was somewhat undermined by the blob of ink darkening the corner of her mouth from chewing a much-maligned quill.
    “My Diamonds, I have someone I would love you to meet,” Aunt Hildy said, feathers bobbing as she came forward.
    “I thought we were the Dowagers,” said the woman at the pianoforte in a breathy, musical voice.
    Aunt Hildy’s smile slipped a fraction. “I believe we eventually settled on calling ourselves the Seven Diamonds .”
    “Oh,” said the woman. “I must have forgotten.”
    “You didn’t,” the hard-faced lady by the fire corrected. “We took a vote and decided on the Seven Dowagers.”
    “But afterward , I thought we’d all agreed that diamonds are so much more romantic than dowagers ,” Aunt Hildy continued, voice chilling with every word. “And besides, we are not all dowagers.”
    “But we’re not a romantic group, all things considered,” said the hard-faced lady, unapologetic.
    “I am not a dowager, I am a diamond!” Aunt Hildy reddened.
    “You can be both,” said the woman at the pianoforte.
    Aunt Hildy released a loud sigh of tolerant suffering. She gestured toward Charlotte. “May I introduce my grandniece, Miss Charlotte Erlwood?”
    As Charlotte came forward, the two women rose to their feet. The hard-faced lady bobbed a curtsey and extended her hand.
    “Charlotte, this is Lady Margaret Helverston, Marchioness of Alderley.”
    “How do you d-do?” Charlotte asked, blushing. In the caricatures of the Trinidon Eyeglass and the Allmarch Journal Lady Alderley was a ludicrous figure, exaggeratedly tall and thin like a piece of stretched taffy, with a hooked nose and clawed fingers that loved nothing better than to pinch the bottoms of upstanding male politicians.
    Charlotte was hard-pressed to decide which figure was more terrifying. “I read your article about the ‘Righteous Responsibilities of Woman’.” She neglected to add, Right before Stepmama set it on fire.
    “Excellent!” Lady Alderley cried, her face brightening with girlish pleasure. “I love meeting a fellow Lady Warrior.”
    “Oh, y-yes,” said Charlotte. The Trinidon Eyeglass depicted the Lady Warrior Who Fought for the Rights of Womanhood with a saucepan in one hand and a feather duster in the other.
    “It’s simply ridiculous that Pure Blooded women can own titles and land but have no voice in government! We’re just as much descended from the Fey as our brothers and fathers. We’re not underfolk.”
    “Indeed.” Charlotte fiddled with the pinkie finger of her glove.
    “And now the House of Blooded would disallow women to become peeresses in their own right! They would have us become Selencia—and we all know what happened to Selencia!”
    “Um…”
    “The Blight! That’s what happened!