Nothing but wait, and watch, and hope the foolish girl came to her senses and confided the secret of her enchantment to them, and soon.
“Who does she think she is?” Marianne was livid with rage. The flush made her look even prettier, but Poppy doubted that her friend would appreciate a compliment right now.
Lady Ella had indeed come to Marianne’s birthday ball, arriving late and in grand style in a large golden carriage pulled by a dozen gleaming white horses and attended by half a dozen handsome but mute servants. She had swept into the ballroom and gone immediately to Christian, who had dropped Marianne’s hand like a hot brick and instead squired Lady Ella during the opening dance.
The entire room, the entire manor, was silent with shock through most of that first dance. Then the babbling had broken out: the questions, the speculation, the compliments and insults. The gentlemen were even more enamored of Ellen than before, Poppy noticed, while the ladies were more vicious. But Poppy couldn’t blame them: not only was she stealing the limelight from Marianne, but she was dressed, purposely, to outshine her.
Rather than copying Poppy’s gown, this time Ella had copied Marianne’s.
“I don’t care how fond you are of her,” Poppy said to Roger as they stood to one side of the dance floor. Marianne whirled past them, partnered by her father now, her face red and eyes shining with unshed tears. “I might have to kill her.”
Lady Ella and Christian were leading the figures of the dance, a whirl of black suit and rose-satin gown. As Ella’s skirts swirled, tantalizing glimpses of her gleaming shoes were revealed. They were rose and gold, and once more looked like nothing so much as exquisitely blown glass. Her necklace and tiara were more opulent versions of Lady Seadown’s, worn by Marianne with such pride.
“This is not like her,” Roger said uneasily.
“No, this is not like your memory of her,” Poppy corrected him.
“I still can’t believe she would do something so deliberately cruel,” Roger said, shaking his head.
“People change,” Poppy said under her breath. “Let’s go have a look at her carriage. As soon as this dance ends, I want you to ask her to dance. Insist, if you must. And try to get some answers.”
Swallowing, Roger nodded and followed Poppy out into the night air to look at the carriage of gold with its silent coachmen and its even more eerily silent horses. As the cold air cooled Poppy’s hot cheeks, she tried to tell herself she was only upset on Marianne’s behalf, and not because Christian was making such a fool of himself.
Dizzy
Christian danced across the Seadowns’ ballroom with Lady Ella in his arms. Everyone was watching them, and he knew precisely why: Lady Ella was the most stunning young woman in all of Castleraugh—no, in all of Breton!
It was a pity that Marianne Seadown had tried to copy Lady Ella’s gown, but really, she couldn’t hope to compete. She looked quite sweet in her pink gown, but Lady Ella’s was so clearly of a richer fabric, the gold threads flashing boldly, that poor Marianne just looked washed out.
The only thing that dampened his enjoyment was that Lady Ella was being just as coy this evening as she had been at the royal gala. She would not tell him her family name or where she lived, and she wouldn’t make any plans to meet with him outside of the ball.
“Won’t you at least meet me in the park for a ride? Or if you do not ride, we could walk,” he wheedled.
“Oh, no, Your Highness,” she said with a flirtatious smile.“I’m afraid that my guardian is so very strict, she will not let me go anywhere!”
“She let you come here tonight,” Christian said with a burst of inspiration. “And without a chaperone!” He looked at her in triumph.
“Well, the Seadowns are old friends,” she replied evasively. “So of course I’m permitted to come to La—Marianne’s ball.”
Something about this nagged at Christian’s brain. If she and Marianne were friends, why did Marianne look so upset? And why had none of the Seadowns greeted Ella when she arrived? It all seemed quite irregular.
“I do wish people weren’t giving me such awful looks,” Lady Ella fretted.
“They’re just jealous because you are so beautiful,” Christian assured her.
Something silver and lavender flashed in the corner of his eye. Blinking rapidly, he had the unpleasant reminder of all those green flashes he had been seeing since he arrived in Breton. They had, thank the heavens, stopped a week or two ago, but the silver and lavender flash brought back the strange feeling of being watched.
He turned to see where it had come from, and saw Poppy standing at the doorway of the ballroom. She gave him a brief look of something—pity? Annoyance? It was hard to say. Then she went out with Roger Thwaite on her heels.
Where were they going? Christian stumbled a little, trying to crane his neck to watch. Surely if they were sneaking off for a tryst they wouldn’t have left the ballroom together? He stumbled again, and stepped on one of Lady Ella’s feet. Letting out a faint scream, she collapsed against him.
Christian leaped back in embarrassment, holding the sagging Lady Ella by her elbows. “I’m so sorry! Are you all right?”
Several of the other dancers bumped into them, causing confusion and laughter from those watching. Mortified, Christian half-carried Lady Ella from the dance floor to a chair where she could rest.
“Did I break your foot?” Christian hadn’t stepped on the toes of a dance partner since his first ball at the age of twelve, and now he had probably crippled poor Lady Ella! What had he been thinking, letting his attention wander off after Poppy? As though Poppy’s relationship with Roger Thwaite was anything to do with him!
Dragging his attention back to Lady Ella, he knelt by her feet. “May I look?”
She was slumped back in the chair. “You must think I’m such a goose,” she said faintly.
“Not at all.” Feeling very daring, Christian delicately folded back the hem of her pink gown.
“What happened to your feet?” he asked in a hushed voice.
It made him blush even more, but he couldn’t help himself. Lady Ella wasn’t wearing stockings, which was rather embarrassing in and of itself. All along the edge of the shoes her feet were white, and not just the white of pale skin. But white like marble, and equally slick-looking.
“What is wrong with them?”
Lady Ella seemed to come to herself. She gasped and straightened in her chair, shaking down her skirts. Her pale cheeks turned as pink as her gown.
“Oh, Your Highness! Really, I am quite all right! There is no need for you to worry,” she babbled.
“If there is no need for you to worry, Prince Christian, then perhaps you had better go find your next partner,” Lady Margaret said sternly as she glided up to them. She gave Lady Ella a hard look.
“I think I should stay with Lady Ella,” Christian said staunchly as he stood. He smoothed his jacket and smiled at Lady Margaret, but she didn’t return the smile.
“Really, Your Highness,” Lady Margaret said, voice tight. “You don’t want the other young ladies to feel neglected! And all the young men want a dance with Lady Ella. Mustn’t be selfish.” This last comment should have sounded teasing, but coming through gritted teeth it sounded rather menacing instead.
“But His Highness has insisted on filling my dance card,” Lady Ella said, her eyes lowered demurely.
“But if you cannot dance,” Lady Margaret said with that same edge to her voice, “it is hardly fair.”
By now Christian was so uncomfortable he was fighting an urge to flee the ballroom. But he bowed gallantly to Lady Ella and then his hostess. “Why do you not take a rest, Lady Ella, and I will dance with Lady Marianne?”
“Lovely,” Lady Margaret said, grabbing Christian’s arm before he could change his mind.
“I shall return shortly,” he called over his shoulder to Lady Ella, who was looking bereft. He watched, almost stepping on Lady Margaret’s feet now, as a swarm of young men surrounded Lady Ella.
To his satisfaction, however, she continued to peer through the crowd of suitors after him.
“Marianne,” Lady Margaret said as the first notes of the next dance began. “Here is His Highness.” She practically shoved Christian into her daughter’s lap.
Christian took Marianne’s hand in his and led her onto the floor, feeling fuzzy and irritable. Lady Margaret was known for her grace and kindness, so why was she being so stern this evening? Nothing seemed to make sense, and he stumbled his way through a reel with Marianne—still red-eyed and looking daggers over at Lady Ella—having to guide him through the relatively simple steps.
As he saw Dickon Thwaite lean solicitously over Lady Ella, both he and Marianne nearly stumbled together. Then Lady Ella lifted the hem of her skirts just a little, to let Dickon see her feet. A flash of shining pink shoe, and Christian felt the floor rising up to meet him.
The next thing he knew, Poppy and Marianne were bending over him, and Roger Thwaite was shouting for everyone to step back and give Christian room to breathe. Everything seemed to swirl, and Christian shut his eyes again. When he opened them, there were three dark-haired girls leaning over him, and he thought he might be sick.
The girl with the blackest hair and a gown of purple and silver, though he could not remember her name, was trying to pull up his sleeve. He opened his mouth to ask her what she was doing, and she frowned at him.
“Wear this,” she said curtly. “And stop making a fool of yourself!” She tied something itchy on his wrist, then patted the back of his hand. “I hope this works,” she muttered.
“What? Where is Lady Ella?”
Poppy lurched to her feet and, taking Marianne’s arm, drew the other girl away. Their dark heads were inclined toward one another, and both girls were very pale.
Christian didn’t even have time to look at the thing on his wrist before Roger Thwaite was holding a tumbler of something odorous to his lips. Christian gagged, and Roger poured the stuff down his throat and then pushed the empty glass into Christian’s hand. Christian thrust the glass away, and it shattered on the polished floor of the ballroom, the broken pieces disappearing almost at once.
Christian wiped his mouth on the back of his hand as his vision cleared, and accepted Roger’s hand up. He was so embarrassed by the evening’s events that he wanted to crawl under a sofa and hide. Lady Ella fluttered around him, and he was pleased to see that she appeared none the worse now for his having trod on her toes.
“Are you quite well, Your Highness?” She brushed at his lapels and straightened his hair for him.
“Yes, I feel fine.” Her touch on his head was soothing, and he felt a surge of energy course through him. He disengaged himself from Roger’s hand. “Thank you, I’m all right,” he said stoutly to the older Thwaite brother, who was looking at him with deep concern.
“Are you certain?”
“Oh, I feel fine!” Christian straightened his jacket. “In fact, I should apologize to Marianne, and let her pick another dance. I don’t want to ruin her birthday ball!”
Roger blinked at Christian in surprise, and Christian wondered what was wrong with him. This was Marianne’s night, and he owed her an apology. Roger, with his impeccable manners, should appreciate that.
“And I’m still trying to get Poppy to give in and dance with me,” Christian continued.
Now both Lady Ella and Roger were staring at him.
“But remember, Your Highness,” Lady Ella broke in. “You promised to dance all the dances with me. And my foot has quite recovered!” She tapped him fiercely with her fan to call his attention to her fully.
“Are you hurt?” Roger’s sharp eyes were on Lady Ella in a heartbeat. “Should you be dancing?”
“I—I’m fine,” she stammered. She opened her fan and began waving it vigorously in front of her face, avoiding Roger’s gaze. If Christian hadn’t known better he would think that she had feelings for Roger.
“Well,” Christian said, “as I’ve said: I would hate to be rude to Marianne on her special night. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind so much taking to the floor with Roger on this next dance, while I make things up to Marianne at the least?”
More vigorous fanning, and then a sigh.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Lady Ella said, almost reluctantly. “But you and I were to dance all the dances tonight. Together.”
Her voice faded out on the last word, and Christian felt even more confused than he had been over Roger’s and Poppy’s behavior. He couldn’t believe that he had been so dizzy he’d forgotten Poppy’s name. He was profoundly relieved that he hadn’t said something to give his momentary lapse away. She would have teased him for months!
The reel had ended and another dance began: a Bretoner jig. Neither of them very enthusiastic, Christian and Lady Ella joined the other couples on the floor. His dizziness and that strange feeling of having his brain packed in wool had faded, but Lady Ella still winced when the steps of the dance were too strenuous. He wished he had a moment to take off the bracelet Poppy had given him. It itched like mad, and only good manners kept him from dropping one of Lady Ella’s hands so he could scratch it properly.
Spy
Marianne still didn’t want to ruin the effect of her gown by putting on the bracelet that Poppy offered her, but after Christian fainted, Poppy managed to drag her friend into the ladies’ salon. There, to the various looks of shock and amusement from the other ladies, Poppy at last convinced Marianne to hike up her skirts and wind it around her left garter.
“Must it always be about yarn with you?” Marianne complained. “Besides, it’s itchy.”
“It’s wool,” Poppy said. “And drink this for good measure, please.” She reached behind a potted plant and retrieved a glass tumbler full of something that smelled like a combination of peaches and bacon and old stockings.
“Ugh! Why do I have to drink that… what is that?”
“Something Roger concocted, just to make doubly sure you are untouched by the enchantment,” Poppy said, holding the glass as far from herself as she could. “Plug your nose and it won’t be too bad. I drank some earlier.”
“What enchantment?” Marianne was turning faintly green as the smell reached her.
“Exactly,” Poppy said, swirling the contents of the cup a little. The liquid was sluggish and made a glopping noise. “It will be over in one gulp, and then you’ll see what’s really happening.”
“All right,” Marianne said doubtfully. She plugged her nose with one hand, took the glass with the other, and drank. “Oh, it’s awful!” She thrust the glass at Poppy.
“Break the glass,” Poppy said, refusing to take it.
“What?”
“Throw the glass down and break it, to finish the spell.”
“All right,” Marianne said, sounding as though she were just humoring Poppy. She dropped the glass on the carpeted floor without much enthusiasm. It bounced, rolled against an iron table leg, and cracked.
Marianne gave an unladylike grunt and looked at Poppy as though she’d been struck between the eyes. “Ellen is Lady Ella! She copied my dress! I’ll brain her!”
Poppy let out her breath in a whoosh of relief.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Marianne turned on Poppy in indignation.
“I did try,” Poppy protested. “You didn’t understand. It’s part of the spell, so remember: do not take off that thing I knitted you! That’s what’s keeping you from succumbing to the enchantment again. The stinky drink might wear off in a day or so; we’re hoping the bracelets will extend its protection. Tell me or Roger if you start to feel strange.”
“All right,” Marianne said. “Have you got something for my mother and father?”
“Your father doesn’t need anything,” Poppy said. “The enchantment doesn’t work on him.”
“Why is that?” Marianne goggled at Poppy as they went back to the ballroom.
“I don’t know,” Poppy said, squinting at the dancers. “But Roger and I are doing
all we can to—There she goes, quick!”
The dance had ended. Lady Ella had looked at the clock at the end of the ballroom and was now excusing herself to Christian. Poppy checked the clock, too, and saw that it was a quarter to midnight; roughly the same time that Lady Ella had left the gala the week before.
The princess saw Roger standing near the entrance hall and signaled to him with her fan. The ballroom was crowded and people were taking notice of Marianne’s return to the party. Poppy wasn’t sure she would be able to make it to the door in time to see where Ella went.
But Roger faded out through the doors just before Ella got there, with Christian as well as several other satellite admirers still trailing her. Poppy turned Marianne over to the sympathetic ladies who surrounded them, and aimed herself at the door out of the ballroom with as much speed as she could muster, considering the people in her way and the heavy gown she was wearing.
Poppy got outside just as the strange, basketlike gold carriage was leaving with Lady Ella. Roger was sitting in his own small buggy, which he had had brought around just behind Lady Ella’s carriage and held at the ready. Poppy scrambled up onto the seat beside him, cursing and hoping fervently that she didn’t ruin her new gown, and Roger whipped the horses forward.
He was wearing a large cloak over his evening clothes, and an old-fashioned three-cornered hat he had borrowed from a coachman. He took the reins in one hand and pulled a dark carriage rug from under the seat with the other. Poppy spread it over her light-colored gown.
Earlier, before Christian had fainted, Poppy and Roger had gone outside to see if they could get any information out of Lady Ella’s servants. The carriage was easy enough to spot: no one had ever seen the like before and the horses gleamed so bright and white that they didn’t look real.
But not only were all of Lady Ella’s servants mute, their expressions were so hostile that Poppy found herself backing away, and the coachman went so far as to brandish his whip at Roger when the young man continued to snoop around the carriage. So Roger had a groom get his buggy ready and slip it into the queue of waiting carriages so they could follow Ella when she left.
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