Page 66 of A Fragile Enchantment

“Right.” She smiled ruefully. “Careful.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt, Niamh. Even if you keep this quiet, it’s not an easy road ahead of you. Unless you’d be content as his mistress, you’re going to get your heart broken.”

She frowned. “His mistress?”

“It wouldn’t be a terrible life,” he said lightly. “It’s quite common for married noblemen to keep a lover. Most in polite societywon’t associate with you, but you’d have an allowance and your own home. And if you have any children, royal bastards have a better life than most.”

Would it be so bad? If Kit brought her family here, it would be a peaceful existence—on paper, everything she dreamed of. And yet,mistresswas a kind word for what Sinclair had described. It would not be what Gran or the crowds in Eye Park called her.

FraochÚn,at best.Fealltóir,at worst.

She didn’t know if she could endure that kind of scorn. If she worked hard to bring her family here, they could learn to bear living among their enemies. But if it was because of an Avlishman’s charity—a Carmine, no less… “My family would be ashamed of me.”

“Because of his title?” When she nodded, Sinclair hummed, seemingly lost in thought. “My father was Machlish. The one responsible for my existence, I mean.”

She put some distance between them so she could meet his gaze. “Really?”

“Yes. I suspect that’s why His Grace hates me so much. I was a bitter reminder that his wife debased herself with a lesser being.” He rolled his eyes, but true anger and hurt roiled beneath the surface. “I believe my father was one of his employees, at that. The duke runs a very profitable shipping company. The prince regent himself is an investor.”

She searched his face, as though she could find something new in his features. “Why did you not tell me before?”

“I should have, but it never felt right to bring up. I didn’t want to presume any connection with you I had no right to claim.”

“Of course you do.”

“Thank you.” He took one of her hands and squeezed it. “What I’m saying is… To a certain extent, I understand having complicated feelings about this place and these people. But I also understand more than most that family is what you make it—and so ishome. You have to choose your own happiness, whatever that looks like. You can’t live your life for other people.”

“I suppose not.” And yet, that was all she’d ever known. She did not know how to stop, but perhaps she could try. “Thank you for not judging me harshly. You’re a good friend, Sinclair.”

Stupidly loyal, exactly as Kit had said.

He smiled, but whatever memories he’d dredged up still lingered. Right now, he looked so terribly sad. He tucked the strand of white hair behind her ear. “I do try.”

18

The next afternoon, Niamh finished the first piece of Rosa’s bridal ensemble: a black veil, trimmed all in black lace. The fibers were woven in the shapes of roses: a tribute to both her namesake and the Carmine insignia. It’d taken Niamh days—and likely years of her life—to create the pattern. It was the most intricate thing she had ever made, and she couldn’t deny the swell of pride within her when she looked at it. She’d never imagined she would be patient enough to apply herself to something as time-consuming and laborious as lacemaking. She wrapped it in fine paper and packed it in a box. She was ready to show Rosa.

Well, mostly ready.

Rosa had told her she did not care for Kit—did not even wantto marry him, save for duty’s sake. Still, Niamh prayed her face did not give away what she’d done.

Once she chose a walking dress, Niamh made for the city on foot. Fewer people than usual milled on the streets, but the distant sound of a gathered crowd drowned out the noise of their chatter. Uniformed members of the Kings Guard patrolled the blocks nearest the park on horseback, their hands loosely resting on the pommels of their sabers. She accidentally made eye contact with one of them and nearly stumbled over herself in her haste to move on. All of Sootham seemed to be holding its breath, as if waiting for a storm to pass.

Jack, for his part, had apparently not left his quarters since they’d returned to Sootham three days ago. Niamh couldn’t help feeling… Well, she wasn’t sure what else to call it but disappointment.

When she arrived at the cozy townhouse on Bard Row, the housekeeper greeted her and ushered her into the princess’s chambers. Rosa was lazing on her favorite chaise longue like a well-fed cat, the one tucked under the sunniest window in the room. She looked as though she’d just awoken from a nap, her loose curls flattened on one side. The casual intimacy of her dishevelment struck Niamh somewhere unprotected.

Rosa trusted her.

Niamh was learning that her heart was just as treasonous as the rest of her body.

“I see you are still not feeling your best,” Rosa said with a stifled yawn. “What a drawn look you have. I shall send for coffee.”

Niamh forced herself to smile. “I’ll be fine, Your Highness. Shall I show you what I’ve made?”

She lifted the veil from its box and set to work pinning it on. Rosa’s hair slid like silk through her fingers, and Niamh did her best to twist the frizzed sections back into shape as she went. When she slid the last pin into place, she showed Rosa to the mirror.Niamh fussed with the fabric, letting it fan out behind her. The edges were delicately scalloped, like waves rolling in against the shore. Niamh clasped her hands together underneath her chin and drank in the sight of her. Rosa looked like a vision: mysterious, alluring, and tantalizingly out of reach.

Anxiously, Niamh asked, “What do you think?”