Princess of Glass - Jessica Day George [9]
In fact, it had nearly kept his father from sending him. When the letter outlining the travel arrangements had arrived, King Rupert had mentioned that one of his cousin’s daughters would also be present. He had probably meant to show how generous and peaceable he was, but it had alarmed King Karl to no end.
“Witches loose in Castleraugh!” Karl had ranted. “You cannot go!” It was only when his wife and Christian had both pointed out that to back out now would insult both Westfalin and Breton, and perhaps cause the very international breach that this heir-swapping was to prevent, that he calmed down.
“Poppy says she’s worn out enough dancing slippers for five lifetimes,” Marianne said. “So she never dances.” She gave a little laugh, which let Christian know that his unintentional insult had been forgiven. “If there’s a card room, though, she usually plays.”
“Really?” He wondered if it were different here in Breton—back home the card rooms at balls were only for the gentlemen.
“It’s quite shocking,” Marianne assured him, guessing at his expression. “But she says there’s no point in being a wall-flower when she can earn some pin money off the gentlemen.”
“Is she good at cards?”
“I don’t think she’s ever lost a hand,” Marianne told him, as proud as if she were the one who’d taught her cousin to play.
“Really?” Christian decided that he wouldn’t mind meeting this odd Westfalian princess. She didn’t look at all like a witch, nor did she sound like the scheming heartbreaker he’d expected.
But he never got a chance to meet Poppy that night. Since George had insisted they arrive fashionably late, the valse with Marianne turned out to be the supper dance, so he escorted her in to the meal. It was quite sumptuous, and Marianne was good company. After supper he did his duty by dancing with the Laurence granddaughters.
After the third (rather bucktoothed) young Lady Laurence, Christian sat down by a window to catch his breath. He dozed for a time, something that would embarrass him later when he could think more clearly. What woke him was the sound of a struggle, followed by a young woman’s voice saying, “Get away from me, you fool!”
He sat up straight and looked around, finally locating the sound as coming from the garden behind him. There was no door in sight, and he was still somewhat groggy, so he simply went to the open window and half-leaped, half-fell out of it.
Christian landed on top of a burly young man who swore and punched him in the ear. He had a dim recollection of a bluish white skirt flickering away as the young lady ran off, and then a better punch from the burly young man connected with his nose and he lost consciousness.
Gossip
When the strange young man fell out of the window and started to fight Jasper Antwhistle, Poppy went to find a stick. She had no interest in getting a black eye trying to separate them, and their flailing around made it very likely. She thought that a fallen tree branch would be just the thing to jab at them until they separated.
Unfortunately, the Laurence garden was so well tended that there were no loose sticks lying around, and the fight had ended by the time she had gone into the ballroom and borrowed a walking stick from an amused older gentleman. There was quite a crowd gathered around the pair. The window-leaper was out cold, with blood streaming from his nose, and Antwhistle was claiming that he had been attacked without provocation.
Poppy did not quite know what to do. If she admitted that she had been in the garden with Antwhistle she would be branded a flirt or worse. But she didn’t want whoever this poor boy on the grass was to get the blame, either.
Then it turned out that he was a prince.
“Thank heavens,” she sighed to Marianne in the carriage on the way home. “One of the privileges of royalty: everyone wants to think the best of you.”
“Unless they don’t like you,” Marianne pointed out, accidentally reminding Poppy