Princess of Glass - Jessica Day George [17]
“Is that a horse or a large ottoman?”
“Oh hush, we can’t all ride creatures like that,” she retorted. He had just mounted a bay stallion with wild eyes and flared nostrils. “He looks like he might eat me.”
“Best not get too close then,” Christian said.
Poppy made a face at him.
The three of them rode down the street to Rother-Hythe Park, where all the fashionable folk rode. Poppy was pleased to see that she wasn’t the only young lady riding a horse suitable for children and old people. Although she did notice that most of the young ladies riding such horses looked singularly brainless, and made a resolution to become a better rider.
Sensing her distraction, Christian gave her a quizzical look. “Is something wrong with your fat, elderly steed?”
“Oh,” Poppy laughed. “I was thinking that it really is a shame I’m only riding this poor thing. If my brothers-in-law had been cavalry men, I’m sure I’d be jumping hedges by now.”
“Your brothers-in-law?”
“I’m dying to meet them myself,” Marianne said. “Galen and Heinrich sound like fun. Poppy can spit and swear and gamble like a soldier.” Then a blush stained her cheeks. “And you know that I mean that in a good way, Poppy,” she hastened to add.
“I know,” Poppy said, blushing herself.
“Really?” A grin tugged at Christian’s mouth. “So it’s true that you really do play cards during balls?”
“It can get very boring, watching other people dancing,” Poppy told him. She wished her fair skin didn’t show her blushes so easily.
“You’re a very fine dancer,” Christian said in puzzlement. “I don’t see why you have to watch.”
Poppy winced. She knew she shouldn’t have brought up dancing again. “I don’t see dancing as entertainment,” she said in a low voice. “I see it as something I used to have to do, whether I liked it or not.” She stared past Christian to the trees, briefly imagining a forest of silver, stirred by a wind that no other creature felt. At least her blush had been chased away.
“Oh,” Christian said, still puzzled. “I see.”
Marianne defused the tension by chiming in with the story of Poppy’s first ball in Breton. “She walked right into the card room on the arm of Dickon Thwaite! Have you met Dickon, Your Highness? I mean, Christian? He’s very amusing, you are sure to like him,” she burbled.
“He’s also very handsome, and sweet on Marianne,” Poppy said out of the corner of her mouth.
“Everyone was staring,” Marianne went on, ignoring Poppy. “So Papa came to her rescue and actually played some hands with them. And he hasn’t touched a card in years!”
Poppy still found that puzzling. “But he’s very good, and he was sitting in the card room when we went in. Are you sure he doesn’t play anymore?”
“Oh, he used to play all the time,” Marianne said. “And he never lost. But it bothered Mama a great deal, so he stopped.” She shrugged. “Most of Papa’s friends play, so he sits in the card rooms at balls to speak with them.”
Christian appeared to accept this explanation readily, but Poppy still wondered about it. Lord Richard had been expert in his handling of the cards on the few occasions she had played with him. She had beaten him every time, but narrowly, and at least once she suspected that he had let her win.
This had infuriated her at the time, but now it made her curious. What had happened to Lord Richard to cause him to give up something he loved? Lady Margaret was wonderful, but her disapproval must have been harsh indeed to have had this effect. For now Poppy saw that Lord Richard didn’t lose to be polite: he had lost because he truly did not want to win.
Or perhaps he was afraid to win.
Gleaming
Come in, Prince Christian, come in.” King Rupert of Breton beckoned his young guest into his study.
Christian entered, bowed, and waited for the king to give him permission to sit. King Rupert was fond of ceremony and refused to drop Christian’s title. In fact, his own children called him “Sire” and once Christian had heard Hermione greet her father as “Your Eminence.” It made meals