Princess of Glass - Jessica Day George [27]
It was all too uncomfortable for words, and Christian counted himself lucky to have found so many friends so quickly in Breton. He was always welcome at the Thwaites or Seadowns, and other invitations came often. Of course, the latter came from households with eligible young ladies, but anything was better than the palace.
It was quite easy to ply Roger for information about the Westfalian princesses over tea. Although not someone who enjoyed gossiping, Roger clearly believed this to be more a matter of sharing possibly vital knowledge. Most of what he knew was hardly a secret, however. The princesses had worn out their dancing shoes in some mysterious fashion nearly every night, and the princes who tried to uncover their secret died afterward, but never on Westfalian soil.
What Christian and Dickon had never heard before, though, was that a dark sorcerer had been involved, and that Rose’s husband Galen had been working with some benevolent magicians to end the princesses’ curse.
“How do you know this?” Christian stirred his tea but didn’t drink, too engrossed—almost sickened—by the story.
“An herbalist from the Silk Road region of the East was with the ambassador for a time, just before I came home. His Lordship suffers terribly from the headache,” Roger explained. He added sugar to his tea and sipped it in his elegant way. Really, he was one of the most self-contained, even graceful, men that Christian had ever seen. “Lon Qui knew the white magicians who aided this Galen Werner.”
“What did you say about Galen?”
The parlor door had just opened, and Poppy and Marianne stood there. Marianne’s mouth was open in surprise, but Poppy looked murderous. She clutched at her reticule as though it contained a weapon. Realizing that it probably held some very sharp knitting needles, Christian reflected that it did.
“Ah, Your Highness!” Roger actually seemed nonplussed. He got to his feet hastily, his napkin falling from his knee to the floor. Christian and Dickon rose as well, but all they could do was stand there looking guilty.
“What did you just say about Galen?” Poppy demanded an answer when none of the gentlemen would offer one.
“We were merely, ah, talking,” Roger said evasively.
“I am well aware of that, and you seem to be talking about my family.” Poppy’s voice was icy.
“Roger was just telling us that there was magic involved, when your brother-in-law… the slippers … and all that,” Christian babbled. There was something in Poppy’s face. She wasn’t angry … she looked hurt. There was a great deal of gossip about her family, and he imagined that it never got any easier to walk into a room and find that you were the topic of discussion.
“And what does Roger know about it?”
“I am acquainted with an Eastern herbalist, Your Highness, who knew the magicians who assisted your brother-in-raw.” It didn’t take long for Roger to regain his composure; Christian had to give him that.
“How nice for you,” Poppy snapped. “Marianne? I’m leaving; do you wish to stay?”
“No,” Marianne said. She flashed a confused look at Dickon, who could only open and close his mouth like a fish. “Good day, gentlemen.”
Before Christian or his companions could react, Poppy and Marianne were gone again, a footman trailing in their wake and looking as embarrassed as Christian and the Thwaite brothers.
Gown
I’ve changed my mind,” Poppy said.
“What, again?” Lady Margaret’s voice was amused and calm.
She was always calm. Poppy had to admit that she found herself behaving better in the face of Her Ladyship’s sublime tranquility. Even now, refusing to go to the ball she had tentatively agreed to attend, Poppy was trying for serenity rather than fleeing the