Just as well, then, that her dreams weren’t of marriage at all. Ella resolutely made her way out of the crowd and back up the grand staircase. The courtyard was a mad house, with carriages jammed in every which way. Ah well, she could walk if she needed to; it would give her an opportunity to make her plans for the week. Mrs. Minglesall had already placed her next order, as had Madam Fire Hair. She would start pulling fabrics for them in the morning.
She winced as her foot struck a small pebble. If only she’d worn shoes.
***
Max watched Ella leave. He wanted to take her home and tuck her in bed, while at the same time he longed to keep her here until dawn, just to enjoy her company. Ah well. Tucking her in bed would be highly inappropriate, and as for spending more time with her... he’d see her soon enough. He smiled in anticipation. When Ella had left, she’d completely forgotten her match basket. Some kind soul would need to return it to her, and he knew just the fellow.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Max was on his fourth attempt at tying his cravat. He hated the blasted things so much that he normally did without on all but the most formal occasions, but they were considered proper attire for gentlemen and this morning he heartily wished to be seen as such. A knock on his door broke his concentration and he crushed the pleats he had so carefully formed. With a huge sigh he picked up his fifth clean cravat.
“Come in.” Max was surprised to see the Duke of Yarrow entering his private chambers. “Father, I thought you were still at the palace.”
“I was, but the king has finally retired, after spending the entire ball firmly trouncing the rest of us at Baccarat. I thought I’d come see you before I sought out my own bed.”
“You’re lucky I’m having such difficulties with my cravat, or I would already be out the door.”
Nathaniel Wellesley laughed, “You’d do better if you had more patience.”
“You’re right, as always, my lord. Perhaps you would demonstrate for me? I do so enjoy learning from your example.” Max’s eyes twinkled. His father chuckled and took the fresh cravat from his son.
“You’re going to make an excellent prince, my boy. You’ll have all the lords dancing to your tune and thinking it was their idea to begin with.” His hands moved with calm sureness, and Max viewed the result with satisfaction. “I’m proud of you, Max. Someday your firstborn will sit on the throne of Albion, and your second born will hold the Duchy of Yarrow. I had always hoped that you and Vivienne would make a match of it, but for years I thought you were only friends.” Max squirmed a bit on the inside, but his father wasn’t done yet. “Just remember to always treat her well. A lady deserves to be well treated by her lord, whether she’s a queen or a laundress.”
“I try to be everything that Vivienne needs, father.” That was true enough, although sneakily non-specific.
“That’s all any man can do, son. Keep it up and you two will get on just fine.”
Another knock came at the door.
“I’m quite popular this morning, it would seem. Come!”
This time it was Mayhew, the butler.
“Lord Max, her royal highness has come to call. I have put her in your personal salon. She asked that I also relay the following message verbatim.”
“Yes?”
“Max, get your lazy arse out of bed and attend me.”
Max turned to his father and grinned. “If you’ll excuse me, sir, I’ve been summoned.”
“Go on, boy, it never does to keep royalty waiting.”
***
Vivienne was pacing the salon with great energy, and no outward signs that she had been dancing until dawn. As she walked she periodically kicked the furniture in frustration. It was all right. The furniture—large, sturdy pieces that were comfortable, rather than stylish—could take it. Her impatient foot swings were more perilous to the stacks and stacks of books that littered all the available surfaces, including the floor. Max had specifically forbidden the household staff from moving anything in his salon, and the maids were getting rebellious about the way they had to tiptoe around to do his dusting.
On hearing his footsteps, the Princess swung to face the door.
“At last!”
“Vivienne, be reasonable; I came as soon as Mayhew told me you were here, it can’t have been more than five minutes.”
“I do not have to be reasonable, Max, I am a princess. It is specifically in my job description that I be petulant and demanding.” Her attending guard made a sound suspiciously like a snort, and Vivienne glared at him. “Thank you, Rutgers. You may wait in the hall. With the door closed.”
Max waited until they were alone, and then looked at her with amusement. “Surely you didn’t come by just to exercise your royal privilege?”
“Where were you last night? I kept looking for you. I know it isn’t the done thing for us to be together during the balls, but I thought at least you might search me out to say hello.”
“I did my duty by you earlier in the day when I presented you with the first betrothal gift. I hope you like him, by the way.”
“Yes, the horse is magnificent, and I love the purple embroidery on the travel saddle. Well done.” Despite her praise she was tapping her toe with impatience. “But don’t think I haven’t noticed that you didn’t answer me. Where were you last night?”
“Obviously I was at the ball; you heard me announced.”
“Max...” her tone of voice warned that she would not be put off again.
“Fine, fine. I was hiding in one of the far rooms—with the food, if you must know.”
“All night? That must have been a dull time.”
“Honestly, I would prefer standing alone all night. Listening to all those bereaved mothers’ lamentations that I am off the market, while slyly hinting that it isn’t too late to change my mind, is enough to make me want to crawl under a table. Set your mind at ease, however; I had a companion for the evening, someone equally disinclined to brave the crowds.”
“A companion?”
“A most charming girl by the name of Ella.”
“Max!” Vivienne was alarmed. “You can’t be seen spending evenings with another woman, we’re supposed to be engaged!”
“So I can’t even talk to other women?”
“Don’t be an idiot, Max; there’s a world of difference between chatting with the ball goers and lingering an entire evening with one girl. If my father finds out, he’ll be suspicious, and I need him to—”
“Relax Vivienne, we weren’t seen. If we were, you would have heard about it by now. And it was harmless; we just talked, mostly about the food and some of the dancers’ costumes. I simply enjoyed having someone to chat with who didn’t recognize me or ask me any details about our upcoming wedding.”
Vivienne gave him a wary look, but let it go. “All right Max, feel free to keep hiding at the balls, if you must. Just please, be more circumspect. Now, I have news about our plans.”
“Your plans, Vivi. I’m only going along with this because I fear your mighty wrath.”
“Fine then, my plans, oh timid one. I’ve spoken with my guards...”
“Not all of them, I hope?” Max was alarmed.
“Of course not. Rutgers is definitely loyal to King and country, not to Princess and crazy Ducal Heir, and there are several whose loyalties are unclear. I spoke to Martin, Verit, and Wallace, though.”
“Did they agree?”
“To a man. They will request the first shift on the night of the final ball. That should go well enough, since my other guardsmen will all want to attend.” Vivienne had known that would be the case. She had concocted this whole crazy scheme just to manipulate her father into throwing a ball—the one time her guard was light and schedule requests were almost always honored. “I’ll be away before the shift change at midnight, and they’ll join me once they’ve gone off duty. None of them own their own horses, though, and they don’t want to steal from the royal stables, so we’re going to have to buy them mounts and hi
de them outside the walls. When I say we, I of course mean you. You are the one who wants me to take them along.”
“Vivienne, we’ve been over this. You are a bright, intelligent woman. Your skill with your bow is remarkable, and you have absorbed as much of woodcraft as you possibly could from your library. But you have never spent the night outside the palace walls before, and you are going to need an escort. Without your guards this would be suicide. You would never make it to Toldas.”
Vivienne stuck her tongue out at him, but didn’t argue. She knew her trip would be difficult enough even with the three guards along for assistance. “I still wish you would come with me.”
“If we’re both absent from the final ball, someone will come looking for us. My attendance is your best chance to escape cleanly. Besides, I have responsibilities here. I am the heir to my father’s duchy, you know.”
“Aren’t you the least bit curious, though, Max? My mother was only supposed to be going home for a state occasion, but she never returned. My father tried for ages to find out what happened to her, and then one day, he ended the search and refused to speak of it ever again. It’s like a forbidden subject. I haven’t heard anyone other than you even mention her name since I was six. Don’t you want to know what happened?”
“Of course I do, Vivienne, but she wasn’t my mother. No one wants to know as badly as you do. You go find your mother’s kin and ask them all about it, then you can write and share all the details with me.”
“Fine, but I’m going to pout about it.”
“Pout all you want Princess, but you’ll have to do it alone.” Max grabbed up a wicker basket filled with matches. “Right now I have an errand to run.”
***
Ella sat at her shop’s counter, patiently basting the sleeves of a costume for the Travelers’ Ball. She had been awake for hours, first making sketches for her patrons’ costumes for the ball, and then pulling fabrics from her attic workroom. The Travelers’ Ball featured costumes from around the known world, and the variety of styles and fabrics was much greater than the Paupers’ Ball. Ella was looking forward to working with all those rich materials. By mid-morning she had her work for the day packed up to bring to her shop front, and since she’d opened the store she’d been making patterns and carefully cutting and basting pieces together. Mrs. Minglesall, Madam Fire Hair, and all three of her other new patrons had been pleased with their Paupers’ costumes and immediately placed orders with her for the next ball; and this morning she’d taken two new orders, from patrons sent her way by Madam Fire Hair. While she worked she thought frantically. True, she needed the work to build her shop, and desperately needed the money to save her home, but the previous week had been difficult enough. She was going to be rising with the dawn and working far into the night to complete these orders.
Ella stretched her shoulders out and then bent back to her task. At least there was a bright side of things. The butcher’s bill would be due in a few more days, and after postponing twice she would finally be able to settle the account. The rest of the funds from her first round of costumes would cover the cost of the materials she needed, and when payments were made for the Travelers’ costumes she would have a lump sum left over to put towards the first payment on the mortgage. Ella had started to hope that she could pull her family out from under the hideous debt Millicent had incurred, if only she could keep up her momentum. Somehow she was just going to have to find enough hours to finish it all.
Ella had to rummage through the felt bag she had used to carry her sewing implements to the shop. It took her several long seconds to find her pinking shears, and her frustration grew. This morning she had discovered that she’d left her sewing basket at the ball the night before. She’d owned the basket for years, and was going to miss it, not to mention she could ill afford to replace it. In her mind she was going over the many “artistic” endeavors of her stepsisters to see if any of them would do as a replacement, when the little bell over her door tinkled sweetly.
There in her doorway stood Max, her sewing basket hung nonchalantly over one arm. Ella felt her stomach give a queer leap at the sight of him, framed by the sun streaming in the doorway. Last night they had stood in the shadows. He seemed even more handsome by the light of day, as though the sun loved him and did her best to make him shine. The cut of his coat, the line of his trousers, the sheen of his boots, all confirmed what Ella had suspected last night. This was a man of quality.
His appearance was so unexpected that she sat stunned for a moment, and then smiled broadly. She could hardly believe that he had taken the time to come and return her basket to her. Quickly she schooled her face into an exaggerated scowl.
“Ah, at last we see the real reason for your skulking in shadows. You, sir, are a thief.”
“It’s true.” Max sauntered forward. “But I was overcome with remorse and intend to mend my evil ways. Please, kind lady, forgive me, and allow me to make good my most grievous error.” At this grand pronouncement he knelt down and presented to Ella her basket, still full of matches. Ella looked down at him, and the giant, sorrowful eyes he was making caused her to lose her fake scowl and dissolve in giggles. When she could speak again she beamed at him with real gratitude.
“Max, thank you so much. This basket was one my father gave to me when I was little, and I’ve been using it as my sewing basket for years. I was so disappointed to think I had lost it, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you for bringing it back.”
“It was nothing.”
“No, truly, you must let me show my appreciation somehow.”
“Well, if you insist...”
“I do.”
“I could really use a costume for the next ball.”
***
Ella was shocked. Truly shocked. Men always went to male tailors, and women, while occasionally employing a man as a designer, would always actually be fitted by a female employee. The reason was simple, really; at many points in the measuring and fitting process the patrons had to disrobe. For Ella, who had no employees, taking on a male patron would mean that she would see that man stripped down to his small clothes—a highly improper situation.
Max was somewhat shocked himself at his suggestion. He’d had no intention of it when he searched out Ella today, but when he’d opened his mouth to suggest some way she could repay him—something small and easily accomplished—this wild idea had popped out instead. He thought about withdrawing it, pretending it was a joke, but he realized that, despite the impropriety, dressing him could be a wonderful opportunity for her. If her career would have been helped by making the novitiate’s costume it would be catapulted if he was seen to appear in her work.
Max chose not to think about why he was eager to help her. Last night he’d made up his mind to see her again, and to find out, if possible, what had caused those moments of tension and strain. It had taken some time to find her small shop, partly because he’d walked past it several times without noticing it. It was a small, unprepossessing little place with a narrow door and some sparse window displays. Her name was picked out in plain lettering on the door front, and beneath it read the legend: Fine Dressmaking and Millinery. Standing on the street outside he had been beset by nerves, and had almost turned away. Then, realizing how ridiculous he was being, he’d pushed on inside. At first she’d seemed taken aback at his being there, and he’d almost wished he’d let his nerves get the better of him, but then she’d smiled, and that smile... Well, Max would have done a lot for that smile. Clearly the smile, combined with the giggles at his joke, had made him lose his senses, otherwise he’d never have suggested something so preposterous as having her costume him for the Travelers’ Ball. Now that he’d had the idea, though, he was going to stick with it. If she wanted to demur that was her choice.
Ella’s mind whirled. She knew that the rags he’d worn last night were costly, and she’d pegged him right away as a noble, although he hadn’t mentioned his title when he’d introduced himself. Dressin
g him could launch her into the realm of the highly sought after couturiers, if she did a good job. She knew her face was probably bright red, but she also knew that embarrassment was no reason to turn down an offer that could be so important for her career. Still, she waffled.
“Had you considered a particular costume?” Even to her own ears the question sounded very prim. Well, let it. She was a professional, after all. It was proper to be... proper.
“Hmmm... I really hadn’t. Any ideas?”
“You could go as an acrobat in the circus. Those tights would probably look quite dashing on you.” As soon as the words left her mouth Ella bit her tongue. That hadn’t been very decorous.
“Perhaps you’re right. But then, a week seems such a short time in which to learn to tumble.” He gave her a teasing look, and again Ella spoke without thinking.
“Naughty rogue, I’m sure you’ve already taken many a tumble.” Max let out a bark of laughter at her saucy reply, but Ella’s eyes widened in horror. No, no, no, she was not standing here flirting with him. That would not be calm and proper at all. Before she could figure out what appropriately calm and cool thing she could say, Max rescued her by returning to the safer topic.
“Honestly, I’ve always thought I would love to take to the sea. What about something nautical?”
Ella grabbed her dignity with both hands and forced it to stay put.
“Perhaps a sailor?”
“No, not grand enough.”
“A captain, then?”
“Not exotic enough.”
“I could dress you as Sinbad.”
“From the Thousand and One Nights? Rather too exotic, I should think. We don’t want women fainting away at the sight of my bare chest.”
Ella laughed, and relaxed a bit. “How about a Castillian Admiral? Very grand, vaguely exotic, and fully clothed.”
Before the Midnight Bells Page 5