Princess of Glass - Jessica Day George [16]
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” said the Dane prince. “I understood we were to go riding this afternoon. But if the ladies would rather dance …” He offered his hand to Poppy, who was too flustered to take it.
“Oh, girls, I forgot completely!” Lady Margaret clapped her hands. “His Highness asked to take you both riding, since he so enjoyed meeting Marianne and has not had time to make Poppy’s acquaintance.” And Lady Margaret proudly introduced Poppy to Prince Christian.
Poppy smiled politely and gathered up her knitting. “Let’s go change into our riding clothes, Marianne. We won’t keep you waiting long, Prince Christian.”
She took Marianne’s arm and hurried upstairs. Once back in her own room, she used all the best soldiers’ curses she knew.
Now that they had seen her dancing and knew that she was not a hopeless stumblefoot, as so many had assumed, people would be after her to dance all the time! The Seadowns were kind, and she knew that they suspected it was some emotional pain that kept her from dancing, but Marianne was too sunny in nature to ever truly understand. And the prince? He would naturally assume that she was snubbing him if she did not dance with him at the next ball.
Her riding habit fastened in the front, which was a blessing since her language would have scorched the ears of any maid who came to help. She got herself into it and pulled on her boots in record time. Checking in the mirror she saw that her hair looked tidy enough. She didn’t have a lady’s maid, and so when she needed help dressing she would have to ring the bell and take the assistance of whichever upstairs maid answered the call. It was just as likely to be the hapless Ellen as Gabrielle, Lady Seadown’s formidable Analousian lady’s maid, and so Poppy had been dressing herself a lot lately.
As she walked down the stairs to meet Marianne and Prince Christian, Poppy searched her feelings to decide why it was that Ellen so fascinated her. She thought it was perhaps because she wanted to pity Ellen—it would be horrible to go from a life of privilege to being a servant—but the girl’s attitude made it impossible. And there was guilt, too. Guilt that she had wealth (though not as much as most princesses), guilt that her father and her sisters were still living. Yet she still could not feel completely charitable toward Ellen.
“You look a bit… what’s the word? Oh, ‘pensive,’ Princess Poppy,” said Prince Christian when she joined him. Marianne was still changing. “I hope that I did not offend you when I burst into the ballroom. The butler seemed to think that it would be all right.”
He spoke Bretoner with a light accent not unlike Poppy’s own, and had bright blue eyes and an engaging smile. Poppy found herself smiling back, her mood lifting.
“Oh no,” she said, waving a hand airily. “I was thinking of something else entirely.”
She studied him frankly, having no doubt that he was used to it. After all, she was. He really was handsome, she decided. Perhaps two years older than she, and his family had neither lost a son to her family’s curse nor threatened violence against them during that bad time. A knot of tension in her stomach that she hadn’t even known was there loosened.
“We are equals,” she said, “though I am not my father’s heir. Why don’t you just call me Poppy.” She had always thought that “Princess Poppy” sounded too much like a name for a small dog.
“And you must call me Christian,” he said, giving her an even warmer smile. Yes, he was terribly handsome.
“Oh, pooh!” Marianne said as she came down the stairs. “I’ve taken too long and now you’re dear friends and I shall be left out.”
“That will teach you to spend all day primping,” Poppy said, winking at Christian and taking his arm. “Five more minutes, and we would have eloped.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Marianne said, with a pretend pout. “Shall we?” And she led the way out to the drive, where Christian took in Poppy’s mare with great amusement.
“Yes?” Poppy raised one eyebrow. She was not a good rider, but the Bretoners seemed to