Princess of Glass - Jessica Day George [73]
“I can’t believe that Roger Thwaite could do something so wild,” Christian argued. “Of course, I can’t believe that Roger could have a childhood sweetheart, either. Dickon yes, but Roger?”
“Well, they both do. So perhaps it’s a family trait,” Poppy said. “Dickon and Marianne really should be married with all possible speed. Look at them!”
They both twisted to look as they skipped through the steps of the current dance. Dickon and Marianne were trying to stay as close as possible, gazing into each other’s eyes like they had never seen anyone so fascinating, and all while they were involved in one of the more intricate Venezian caribas.
“They’re going to trip,” Christian agreed.
“And so is everyone around them, if they don’t start—”
But Poppy never finished her thought.
The enormous clock at the far end of the ballroom began to toll the hour: eleven.
“Oh,” Poppy’s voice was barely a whisper. “I suppose now we should … you will have to …”
“Er, yes.” Christian took her arm and they eased themselves out of the pattern of the dance, through the glass doors at the end of the ballroom, and onto the veranda.
Poppy leaned against the stone balustrade, her face unreadable behind her mask. The moon was full, and it dulled the colors of her brilliant costume and made her seem like some unearthly creature of the night. He went down on knee, and she loomed over him, her plumed headdress making her even taller.
“Poppy—,” he began, but she hissed and he stopped. He coughed, and tried to remember that this was part of a ruse and not a real proposal. “Ella, my love,” he said, trying to sound infatuated. “Will you do me the very great honor of, um, making me, I mean, becoming my bride?”
“Oh, la! I am too flattered!” Poppy’s voice was high-pitched, and Christian couldn’t tell if she was mocking Eleanora or frightened. “But of course I accept!” She smacked his shoulder with her fan as though knighting him.
Suddenly, there was a crash like a thousand plates smashing to the floor at once, and Poppy reeled. Christian leaped to his feet and took hold of her waist to steady her. Within the palace, all the clocks began to chime.
“It can’t be midnight,” Poppy gasped. “It’s only been a few minutes since eleven!”
“It’s the Corley’s doing!” Christian gripped her waist even harder as she started to pull away from him, her face contorted beneath the feathered mask. “What’s wrong?”
“She’s calling me … I have to go!”
Poppy slipped from his arms and ran, back into the ballroom, through the crowd of guests. No one was dancing, they were all milling about in confusion as the clocks continued to chime and chime.
As they tore through the front doors, Christian heard others following him. A quick look back showed Roger, Marianne, and the rest of their friends in pursuit. Outside, a golden carriage shaped like a round market basket was pulled up at the bottom of the steps, and the footmen were practically dancing in place with anxiety.
Poppy flew down the stairs, but tripped just as she reached the bottom. Christian reached out a hand, but one of the footmen all but threw her into the carriage. The coachman had the horses moving before she even sat down.
“Christian!” There was real terror in her voice as the carriage racketed away.
“This way!” Roger grabbed Christian before he tried to chase after Poppy on foot.
Another carriage had pulled up, and Christian saw Lord and Lady Seadown climbing into it, giving orders to the coachman to go straight to their manor at once.
“What’s that?” Marianne had stopped just as Dickon was trying to help her into the carriage. She was pointing at something near Christian’s feet.
The prince looked down just in time to avoid stepping on a high-heeled shoe of exquisite blue and gold glass. He bent and scooped it up, then leaped onto the seat of the Seadowns’ carriage beside the coachman.
Imposter
The golden carriage barreled through the rear