Page 7 of The Exile's Curse

"All the more reason not to let anything make you waste another second of yours," Imogene said.

She looked up as the door to the parlor opened and one of her footmen appeared bearing a tea trolley. He was followed by Albeir, Imogene’s seneschal. Imogene stayed quiet as the tea service was set up, then took up the pot when the servants left them alone again. "Still sugar and lemon?"

Chloe nodded and took the delicate china cup gratefully. The scent of the rich black Sisiian brew was wonderful. Once they both had tea and had investigated the plates piled high with enough artfully arranged frou-frous masquerading as cakes to feed them for at least half a day, Imogene settled back on the sofa.

She sipped tea, dispatched several tiny cakes, then faced Chloe once more. "You do need to deal with the de Montesse family at some point."

Why was she so concerned with the estate? Maybe it was an aristo thing. The obsession with inheritance ran deep in the noble families. "Possibly. But, as I said, there is no urgency to the matter."

"A smart woman does not give up resources that belong to her."

Chloe narrowed her eyes at her. "A smart woman also does not stir up old troubles for no good reason. I don't need their money."

"Let me at least task Jean-Paul's lawyers with doing a little investigating as to whether there was an estate," Imogene said. "They are fiendishly effective and utterly discreet. No one will get wind that you’re looking."

She wasn't going to drop the subject. Chloe wrinkled her nose. "You have become more ruthless as a duquesse."

"Did you not become more ruthless in Anglion?"

"I survived."

"Being a duquesse is something of a game of survival, too. There are ample opportunities to do good with the power it grants me, but only if I am able to wield it with authority. And seize opportunities." Imogene sipped tea again and reached for a cake glazed with pale green icing and violet-shaded sugar flowers. "I should hire a worse cook. Eat some of these so my ball gown does not grow too tight."

"Are you bribing me with cake to let you have your way?" Chloe asked, rolling her eyes, as she took a gold-and-aqua cake of her own. It smelled like lemons and somehow, also of summer.

"I would give you cake regardless," Imogene said. "I will also continue to try to convince you to let me help."

Chloe took a tiny bite as a delaying tactic. Her father would, she had no doubt, say much the same if she asked him. That she should pursue the matter. He would be willing to pay for a lawyer, too. Her family were not poor. Henri's position at the Academe had seen to that. However, her mother's illness had been expensive. Knowing her father, and her mother's ongoing need to dote, they would insist on contributing to her expenses for some time as well. And her father would never hear of her repaying him. Whereas Imogene, on the other hand, might eventually allow her arm to be twisted in that direction if Chloe insisted. So Imogene was, perhaps, the more palatable option. For now.

"If I eat the cake and give in now, am I less likely to wind up with indigestion?" she said with a smile.

Imogene swallowed the last of her cake. "I never gave you indigestion," she said indignantly.

"Only tried to turn my hair gray a time or two before I was even twenty," Chloe said.

That earned her an eye roll. "Your hair is no more gray than mine. And you are a young woman still. No reason you can't do whatever you want with your life. A new career. Another husband and children—" She held up a hand as Chloe began to protest. "If they are what you choose," she finished. "Do not give me that look. No one is going to force you to have babies. You have enough earth magic to avoid that as long as you wish."

"Is that what you've been doing?" Imogene and Jean-Paul had been married a long time. The lack of an heir to the duq's estates couldn’t have gone unremarked upon.

Imogene's expression turned thoughtful. "It has never seemed quite the right time. For either of us. We have discussed it, of course. I told Jean-Paul he was going to have to support me if we decided to delay. Otherwise, all the nosy old biddies at court would be saying I was barren and a terrible choice."

"But you do intend to have children?"

"Yes, Goddess willing. I knew that when I agreed to marry the man. Now that my navire project has reached a degree of success and the Anglion issue has been resolved, we may have peace enough for a time to do something about it." She smiled at Chloe. "And, of course, you are home to be an aunt to them now."

Chloe had had her share of dealing with younger brothers and sisters when Ana had been ill. She’d met her nephews and nieces over the last few days, but she didn’t intend to become one of their minders, as adorable as they were. "I have forgotten all I know about babies," she said firmly and took another cake. This one was pale peach and blue, but inside was seila berry jam that burst across her tongue.

"I'm sure it will come back to you," Imogene said with a satisfied smile. "Now, let us discuss your gowns."

Chapter 3

"Does that sound reasonable, my dear?" Henri asked two days later.

Chloe started. She’d been thinking of her morning with the clothier and had completely lost track of the thread of the conversation. Given the topic at hand was how she might refresh her studies at the Academe, it was somewhat mortifying to realize her thoughts had drifted. Perhaps it was only that she was hungry, having spent most of the morning standing in the middle of a fitting room, being assessed and measured and pinned.

Imogene worked fast. Chloe didn't want to know what she had done to secure an appointment with one of the most famous clothiers in the city so quickly.

Helene de Signy had been fascinated by what Chloe had been wearing and keen for detail of the fashions of Anglion. Her brother Marx had delicately dug for gossip while looking slightly askance at the serviceable gray wool of Chloe's dress. But they were professionals and whirred into action when Imogene mentioned the deadline for the ball gown.

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