The Painter's Apprentice

Chapter 2

The faint mumbling of voices wakes me, along with the yeasty smell of fresh bread. A steaming loaf sits on the table right inside the door to my apartment. I didn't dare venture beyond the studio and its connecting apartments, but it only took me minutes to learn them. From the organization of the brushes and pigments to the placement of each piece of furniture, the rooms feel like Morel's.

I rise from the bed and savor the movements that release the scent of his eau de cologne, which has yet to fade from the down bedding. It feels like he isn't gone. Maybe that's why I haven't cried yet.

Listening to the pad of feet, I eat slowly and wonder who would be in the studio at this early hour. I'm careful not to overfill myself since I'll have to wrap myself in my stays soon. I removed the complicated gown on my own, but I'm not quite sure how I'll get it back on. A gentle rap of knuckles on my door interrupts my thoughts.

"Come in," I say hesitantly. My voice is still rough with sleep.

A girl enters with a dress draped over her arms. I try to catch her gaze, but her eyes don't leave the floor. She helps me put on the gown of thick, gold silk with a pregnant silence that makes the small chamber suddenly stifling. This dress comes all in one piece, but it's much more elegant than the practical gown that now lays over the chair beside my bed.

A musical laugh cuts across the quiet hiss of fabrics as they slide over each other. The girl picks up her pace. She drops into a curtsey when she finishes and runs from the room. I wonder how many others she has to dress. My room has a mirror, a luxury I've never been afforded, so I stop to pinch my cheeks and bite my lips before I hurry out to the studio.

Three men stand before the unfinished canvas. The first is shorter than me, I think. He gestures to the painting with stubby hands and strokes his bulging chin between the exaggerated movements. His voice is garbled and I can't understand what he says to the others. Lord Gardet stands to his right and the unwelcome sight of him makes my blood cool. The third man stands at attention, but distinctly separate from the others like he doesn't belong — or doesn't want to.

His back is to me so all I can see is his dark, curling hair and contrapposto stance, which curves away from the others. He is uncomfortable standing beside Lord Gardet. If the three of them were a painting, this man would draw the eye.

I clear my throat to announce my presence. Three sets of eyes turn to look at me, but one pair stops my breath in my throat. The third man's eyes are too blue for someone with such dark hair. They are light like Morel's eyes and it takes a surprising amount of effort to look away when he does not. He's clearly handsome, but not in the fashionable ways. His fair skin is too tanned to fit among courtiers and he's far too lean. The angles beneath his frac coat hint at a body that sees more motion than the average nobleman.

"Here's our petite apprentice," Lord Gardet says. He wears the same false smile, but today he wears it for the short man who looks like he's been squished by a giant hand.

I straighten at his words. "I suppose I can't be called an apprentice anymore." I wouldn't call myself a master, but I don't appreciate being belittled.

Lord Gardet's brows shoot up towards his powered hairline and I realize this is what Morel meant about my tongue getting me in trouble. A smile twitches on the dark-haired man's lips. It takes a moment for me to realize it, but I quickly come to the conclusion that correcting someone above my station is not tolerated here. Survive. Live another day. I offer a demure smile and hope my ignorance will be forgiven.

"Yes... Mademoiselle Florette, I would like to introduce you to our benevolent King, Louis the Sixteenth." Lord Gardet gestures to the squat, red-faced man.