Princess of Glass - Jessica Day George [64]
“But in order to let this play out,” Roger argued, “Eleanora will have to attend the masked ball.”
“Not necessarily,” Poppy said suddenly. “It’s a masked ball. Someone wearing glass slippers will have to attend, and be proposed to by Christian.” Her eyes met Marianne’s, and the color drained from the other girl’s face.
“I—I—I couldn’t possibly! No!” Marianne clutched at Dickon, who put his arm around her.
“Out of the question,” Dickon said. “I’m not letting Marianne risk her life standing in as a decoy!”
“It’s all right, Marianne, I’ll do it,” Poppy said. “I’m more of a height with Eleanora anyway. No one will even know the difference.”
She looked back at her knitting as though the decision were only of passing importance. On the mantel, the clock ticked loudly as everyone else in the room stared at her, in admiration, in horror, in speculation.
Despite her nonchalance, in her head Poppy kept hearing the voice of the King Under Stone: “You are prey.”
Confused
Wandering from room to room in Tuckington Palace, Christian did his best to stay out of the way of the bustling servants. The weather had turned stormy, with great gales of wind and torrents of rain pouring down, preventing him from riding. Even Hermione and Emmeline were too busy with the fittings for their costumes to plague him.
But the entire palace was taken up in preparations for the masked ball. All the bedrooms were being aired out, floors were scrubbed and waxed, laundry boiled and hung to dry indoors so that the servants’ quarters and kitchens looked like an army camp with pristine white tents every two paces. The kitchen servants wove in and out around the sheets and towels with expert skill, whisking and baking and icing thousands of little cakes, bonbons, and other delicacies for the refreshments. The regular meals suffered because of it, and Christian had made a solemn vow that if he was served cold meat pie one more time he was going to start taking all his meals at the nearest pub, and never mind the proprieties.
After finding himself yet again halfway down a hallway he didn’t recognize, and unable to think what he was doing there, Christian finally just went back to his room. He started a letter to his parents, tore it up, started a letter to his sisters, and tore that up as well. There were green sparkles in the corners of his eyes again, and his head throbbed. The bracelet Poppy had given him itched worse than anything he had ever worn, yet he didn’t want to take it off.
Poppy had made it, just for him, as a sign of friendship … or something more? The letter to his parents that he had just cast into the fireplace had started out as a request that Poppy be invited to Damerhavn after her visit to Breton was over. He’d discarded it because he didn’t know how to describe his feelings about Poppy to his parents … or to himself. Were they just friends? Or did he care more deeply for her? What did she feel for him? He hoped that spending time with her in his home, with his family, would help him understand.
But Ella will be there, a little voice nagged in his head. And she might not like having Poppy around.
Christian frowned and shook his head. Ella? Why would Lady Ella be there? She wasn’t a pawn in this grand marital game, like himself and Poppy.
His cheeks went hot at the idea of introducing Poppy to his family as a potential bride. He imagined her riding through the streets beside him, though, still awkward on horseback but determined not to show it. And she would love the Danelaw: it was very near to Westfalin and she could visit her family. Perhaps he would get to meet them as well.
There was a sudden zing through his body, as though he had been struck by lightning, and hot guilt poured over him. How could he have been thinking of courting Poppy? He hoped that Lady Ella, his