Princess of Glass (11 page)

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clearly wanted to dance with this odd young woman, and Christian wanted to find Poppy, but Ella seemed to have set her cap for the prince.

The awkward moment was saved by a small hand being laid on Christian's forearm, just where Lady Ella had slapped him with her fan. He looked down to see Marianne smiling up at him.

"I believe you promised
me
this dance," she said, smiling.

"Ah, Marianne, sorry to make you wait," Christian replied with relief, and whirled her away.

The dance had already begun, but it was a reel and anyone could join in. On the other hand, it was so fast that there was no way for them to talk. Christian wanted to ask where Poppy was, and Marianne kept questioning him about Lady Ella. In the end they excused themselves before the dance was finished, and went to one of the refreshment rooms to talk and drink lemonade.

"Where's Poppy?"

"Watching the jugglers in the gardens," Marianne said. "I came in to dance, and saw that girl and her gown." Her cheerful expression darkened. "Mama will be so put out! She specially wanted Poppy and I to have unique dresses, but it looks like someone bribed our dressmaker to copy one of them. Who was she?"

"She said her name was Lady Ella, but she wouldn't give me a family name. She looked familiar, and told me that we'd met in passing, but I just can't remember where."

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"Ella?" Marianne's brow creased. "Ella who?"

"Are you certain you don't know her?" Christian simply could not put his finger on it, but there was something about Lady Ella that nagged him.

Carrying her glass in one hand and resting the other on Christian's arm, Marianne steered them both back to the ballroom. She scanned the dancers until she spotted the lavish white and scarlet gown, watching the girl who wore it with narrowed eyes. Then she drank half her lemonade in one gulp.

"I don't know her," she hissed. "But someone here must! She's wearing more jewels than the queen, and Society is not that large."

"She claims that she and I did meet," Christian said. "But we weren't properly introduced." He blinked eyes a few times. His vision was filled with scarlet roses on white, swirling beneath the glittering lights. Lady Ella's shoes flashed like rubies.

"Very odd," Marianne agreed. "But why did she have to ruin Poppy's dress by copying it? What is her game?"

"Game?" Christian felt incredibly thick. Couldn't they just stand and watch the girl in the scarlet shoes twirling around and around? Why did Marianne have to talk so viciously about poor Lady Ella?

"Yes, what's going on?" said a voice behind them. "Someone told me I absolutely had to come in and view the dancing."

Christian turned to find Poppy standing there looking puzzled. Unconsciously he reached for the silk watch fob that Poppy had knitted for him, hoping she would notice that he

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was wearing it. The muzziness in his head cleared, and he could see that her dress was different from Ella's. The red was more subdued, and the flowers on the skirt were poppies, naturally, not roses. She also had a long red shawl draped around her arms, and her hair was thicker, her eyes larger. He couldn't believe that he'd mistaken anyone else for her.

"Look over there. Dancing with Roger Thwaite!" Marianne grabbed Poppy by the shoulders and turned her.

Still looking puzzled, Poppy looked out into the dancers for a moment, and tilted her head to one side. "Who is ... I can't quite see ..."

"What do you mean? She's right there!" Marianned pointed again.

Christian gave her an irritated look. She was disturbing his reverie. The red roses on white silk whirled by again.

Poppy muttered something, and then gasped in shock. "It can't be her!"

"You recognize her?" Marianne stared. "Where did you meet her? She introduced herself to Christian as Lady Ella, no last name." She wrinkled her nose.

"Interesting," Poppy said slowly. "I guess she did find a patron, but did she have to upstage my gown?" Poppy made a face.

Christian fought down a sudden urge to shake Poppy. Wouldn't someone tell him more about the fascinating Lady Ella? He brought himself up short with that thought, and took a drink of his lemonade. He felt very strange.

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"Not just that," Marianne said, and Christian realized that the two girls had more or less forgotten his presence. "But she's dripping with jewels! Why do I not know who she is?"

This brought Poppy's attention fully away from Lady Ella and onto Marianne. "You don't recognize her at all?"

"No! Who is she?" Marianne shifted uneasily. "And why is everyone staring at us?"

"Why wouldn't they stare?" Poppy said. "They want to know what I think of that gown!"

Christian threw up his hands. "Will someone please at least tell me why this girl shouldn't have a gown and jewels?"

Poppy patted his shoulder but her eyes were still on Lady Ella, as were the eyes of everyone there. "Sorry. It's just that... this girl... has no money. So how did she come by the gown and jewels? It's troubling." Poppy was running the edges of her stole through her fingers, staring at Lady Ella.

Christian didn't care who Lady Ella's patron was. He only knew that she was beautiful, and danced like a fairy creature. He wondered if Roger would mind Christian cutting in, even though the dance wasn't finished.

"Now, now, Your Highness!" A voice behind them boomed and someone clapped Christian on the back so hard that he nearly fell on his face. "No stealing all the young ladies!"

A large, florid man--Duke Something-or-other--was looking over both Poppy and Marianne with a roguish eye. "You're supposed to be looking for a nice Bretoner wife," he announced, blasting whiskey-scented breath at Christian. "So I'll take this one off your hands!"

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Without waiting to see if Christian protested or if Poppy agreed, the duke took hold of Poppy and spun her out onto the dance floor.

"Poppy doesn't dance, everyone knows that," Marianne said, bristling with indignation now that the initial shock was over.

Christian fought down a surge of jealousy. He'd been planning on convincing Poppy to dance with him--just once! And now this drunken duke had taken her off against her will. She would probably never dance again after this.

It was clear that Poppy was trying to get free of her partner's overzealous grip. Every time the dance called for a turn or spin Poppy tried to slip away, but the duke kept hauling her back to his side. It would have been comical but for two things: Poppy was such a skilled dancer that she made it look like part of the dance, and the expression of outrage on her face made it clear she was not attempting to be funny.

"What an odd person this Princess Poppy is," said Lady Ella, tripping up to Christian with Roger Thwaite in tow. "I can assure you, Your Highness, that I love dancing. Shall we?" Once more she held out her hand for Christian to dance with her.

Christian found himself reaching to take her hand without thinking about it. At the last second he remembered his manners and stopped to look inquiringly at Roger.

"I would like to speak with Lady Marianne," Roger said in a stiff voice.

"If I'm not imposing, then," Christian murmured, and took Ella's outstretched hand.

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Christian did his best, as they danced, to not be distracted by Poppy's situation. Ella was a good dancer, and she seemed more relaxed now. The smell of her perfume made him want to bury his face in her hair, and he concentrated on Poppy to avoid making an idiot of himself over the beauteous Lady Ella.

His partner, for her part, kept shooting the odd glance back at Roger and Marianne, who were deep in conversation on the opposite side of the room.

Christian wondered if it would be rude to ask her outright where she had gotten her gown, and why she had copied Poppy's, but he simply couldn't bring himself to do it. So he laughed heartily at the mysterious Lady Ella's forced jokes, and led her through the measures of the dance.

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***

Dance

Poppy could not believe that she was dancing for the first time in three years, and it was with this ... this ...

No epithet was strong enough to describe this horrible drunken clod, in her opinion. Adding insult to injury was the fact that he was such a terrible dancer.

She contemplated faking a faint, or a sprained ankle, but didn't want her boorish partner to turn heroic and try to carry her off somewhere. Hearing the titters of the other dancers who noticed her trying to slip away, she forced herself to relax. It was just one dance, and then she would hurry to the gardens before anyone else could try and pull her back onto the dance floor.

A flash of scarlet and white made her turn her head, and she saw Christian dancing by with Ellen. She forgot about her partner--the dance was an Analousian pavane, something she had been able to do in her sleep since the age of eight--and turned her mind back to the Ellen situation.

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She didn't for a moment think that Ellen had found some wealthy Society patron. No, she had gotten herself caught up in some sort of an enchantment, which Poppy considered far worse. No wonder Marianne couldn't recognize her own maid: just trying to look at Ellen had made Poppy's eyes blur, and she was wearing protective talismans. It wasn't until she had said a rhyme that Galen had taught her that she had been able to see Ellen clearly.

Now Ellen's soot-covered ramblings through Seadown House were explained, but not entirely. Who or what was helping Ellen? Nothing human could have made a gown that elaborate in less than two days, and no one but the dressmaker and his assistants had seen Poppy's gown before it was delivered.

And that was when Poppy began to worry. The jewels that Ellen wore gleamed in a way that was almost taunting, and so did her gown. Ellen dipped and spun as the princess watched her, and Poppy caught a glimpse of her dancing slippers.

They looked to be made out red glass, but Poppy clearly saw them bend with Ellen's foot. The sight of them seared her eyes, and she almost had to veil her gaze with her shawl to clear her vision.

"Quite stolen your thunder, hasn't she?" Poppy's partner practically shouted in her ear. "You're pretty enough, no need to scratch her eyes out!"

"Excuse me?" Poppy gave him a cold look.

"Have to ask her for a dance myself," her partner went on, oblivious. "Quite the looker, quite the looker."

Poppy stared at him in disbelief. This really went beyond

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boorish, she thought. Good manners dictated that a man not admire another woman in front of his current dance partner. And his voice had been loud enough for half the room to hear!

"Why don't you ask her to dance right now?" Poppy snapped.

She finally freed herself from the duke's grasp and stalked off the dance floor. She looked over her shoulder just once, briefly, and saw her partner doing just as she had suggested-- walking straight through the rest of the dancers on his way to Ellen without so much as a glance back at Poppy.

Her faced burned, and she peeked at the bystanders nearest her to see who else was witnessing her shame. But no one was even looking in her direction. They were all fixated on Ellen, Christian, and the duke as he attempted to interrupt the dance and take Ellen's hand away from the prince.

To Poppy's great satisfaction, Christian handed over Ellen with only a moment of reluctance. Then he immediately sought out Poppy. He had a bemused look on his face, however.

"An unusual girl," he muttered as he reached Poppy's side.

"Very," Poppy said curtly, and straightened Christian's jacket for him. She saw that he was wearing the watch ribbon she had knit for him, and she warmed slightly. "I don't want to tell tales, if she wants to be incognito, but I will venture that she's done something she's going to regret to get that gown."

"If you're going to keep dropping mysterious hints ...," Christian said with a warning in his voice.

"You'll do what?" Poppy asked archly. Then she made a

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face. "But truly," she said hesitantly. "I'm worried. I have ... experience with what happens when you make bargains you shouldn't... in order to get what you want."

"Even more mysterious," Christian said.

"Well, I--" Poppy hesitated again, uncertain.

If she told Christian the details of her family's story, what would he say? And would it help matters? The more she watched Ellen in her fabulous gown, covered with a queen's ransom in jewels, the more she was certain that something was about to go terribly wrong.

"There's something you should know. I--that is, my mother--," Poppy began, but Christian stopped her.

"Here comes Marianne, Roger, Dickon, and Lady Margaret." He pointed over her shoulder. "And Marianne looks to be in deep dudgeon, as the Bretoners say."

Poppy turned and saw that it was true. Dickon and Lady Margaret just looked confused, but Marianne was indeed in deep dudgeon while Roger Thwaite's handsome face was creased with concern. Poppy sighed, half with relief and half with regret. She wasn't about to spill the story of her mother's mistake in front of such an audience, which felt simultaneously like a reprieve and a disappointment.

"Please promise you'll continue your story later," Christian said in an undertone as they were joined by their friends.

"We'll see," Poppy said.

"Poppy knows who she is," Marianne was saying. "Don't you, Poppy?"