Page 20 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

Silence is her only reply.

“I thought so,” I mutter.

The moment we’ve entered the haven of my bedroom, I collapse beneath the sheer white canopy of my bed and lay with my arms and legs in every which direction.

“I’m so hungry I could eat this quilt,” I groan. “Look at how shaky my hand is!”

“You cannot lose every ounce of curve in three days of fasting,” Mary says.

“No, but I can become a little gaunter and paler.”

“It’ll be impossible for you to be hired if you’re gaunt and pale. And shaking so much! Being a servant is hard work, and you must be able to manage it.”

“I’ll make it work.”

Mary sighs, shaking her head. But then she pulls something out of the pocket of her petticoats. She holds it up to me. “I was up almost all night working to get it done.”

I study the handstitched garment. “Is that . . . what I think it is?”

“A substitute to starving yourself? Yes, indeed. Try it on.”

The chest binding is sturdy, yet thin and easy to fasten by myself—which is a very necessary feature. Mary pulls my ensemble out of the back of my wardrobe, hidden beneath my lacy stockings and drawers. I quickly don everything and stand before the mirror after Mary locks my door.

Her eyes widen. “Oh, saints have mercy.”

“Flat as a board! Look at your stitching! This thing could flatten a pregnant belly!” I’m almost laughing, forgetting my starvation for the span of a few glorious seconds.

“Now you’re flattering. But it’ll work, you think?”

“Ohyes, this will more than work!” I sling my breeches a little lower, so they sag on my hips and belt them. “Add a little grime to the face and cut the hair—and I’ll be the perfect—”

“Little boy of twelve.”

I snap my fingers at her. “That’s brilliant. Without the cloak I use for my raids, I cannot pass as a grown man, but perhaps a child? Especially with the dirt—”

“You cannot be completely caked in grime, or else no one will hire you. No one wants filthy urchins serving them.”

“Maybe I should cut across my face and then I’ll have a scar that—”

Mary’s gaze turns fierce. “If you do that, I will take that chest binding and rip it to shreds.”

“It’s not like having a scarred face will ruin my marriage proposals,” I say, laughing. “I could have a dozen extra toes in unfortunate places, and no one would care.”

“Some men don’t care about money,” Mary says.

“When you find one,” I call over my shoulder as I get back into my regular clothes, “introduce me.”

Chapter 7

Kat

ThelastnightbeforeLord Boreham comes to propose, I’m quiet when I come down to dinner, claiming well from myillness.

Just play the submissive, dutiful stepdaughter,I tell myself.This is the last time you have to see them.

“Reuse the lace?” Bridget is saying, aghast, to Edith. “Maybeyouare fine looking like a pauper, but if there isone thingto spend money on, it is always fresh lace. That design screams last year. I could never—”

The conversation between my stepfamily dies when I enter the dining room. I don’t want to look at any of them, but I want them to believe all is forgiven and that it is highly likely I intend to accept Lord Boreham’s proposal. So I glance at each and muster what I can of a smile.

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