Christian wondered if it would be rude to ask her outright where she had gotten her gown, and why she had copied Poppy's, but he simply couldn't bring himself to do it. So he laughed heartily at the mysterious Lady Ella's forced jokes, and led her through the measures of the dance.

115.

Dance

Poppy could not believe that she was dancing for the first time in three years, and it was with this ... this ...

No epithet was strong enough to describe this horrible drunken clod, in her opinion. Adding insult to injury was the fact that he was such a terrible dancer.

She contemplated faking a faint, or a sprained ankle, but didn't want her boorish partner to turn heroic and try to carry her off somewhere. Hearing the t.i.tters of the other dancers who noticed her trying to slip away, she forced herself to relax. It was just one dance, and then she would hurry to the gardens before anyone else could try and pull her back onto the dance floor.

A flash of scarlet and white made her turn her head, and she saw Christian dancing by with Ellen. She forgot about her partner--the dance was an a.n.a.lousian pavane, something she had been able to do in her sleep since the age of eight--and turned her mind back to the Ellen situation.

116.

She didn't for a moment think that Ellen had found some wealthy Society patron. No, she had gotten herself caught up in some sort of an enchantment, which Poppy considered far worse. No wonder Marianne couldn't recognize her own maid: just trying to look at Ellen had made Poppy's eyes blur, and she was wearing protective talismans. It wasn't until she had said a rhyme that Galen had taught her that she had been able to see Ellen clearly.

Now Ellen's soot-covered ramblings through Seadown House were explained, but not entirely. Who or what was helping Ellen? Nothing human could have made a gown that elaborate in less than two days, and no one but the dressmaker and his a.s.sistants had seen Poppy's gown before it was delivered.

And that was when Poppy began to worry. The jewels that Ellen wore gleamed in a way that was almost taunting, and so did her gown. Ellen dipped and spun as the princess watched her, and Poppy caught a glimpse of her dancing slippers.

They looked to be made out red gla.s.s, but Poppy clearly saw them bend with Ellen's foot. The sight of them seared her eyes, and she almost had to veil her gaze with her shawl to clear her vision.

"Quite stolen your thunder, hasn't she?" Poppy's partner practically shouted in her ear. "You're pretty enough, no need to scratch her eyes out!"

"Excuse me?" Poppy gave him a cold look.

"Have to ask her for a dance myself," her partner went on, oblivious. "Quite the looker, quite the looker."

Poppy stared at him in disbelief. This really went beyond 117.

boorish, she thought. Good manners dictated that a man not admire another woman in front of his current dance partner. And his voice had been loud enough for half the room to hear!

"Why don't you ask her to dance right now?" Poppy snapped.

She finally freed herself from the duke's grasp and stalked off the dance floor. She looked over her shoulder just once, briefly, and saw her partner doing just as she had suggested-- walking straight through the rest of the dancers on his way to Ellen without so much as a glance back at Poppy.

Her faced burned, and she peeked at the bystanders nearest her to see who else was witnessing her shame. But no one was even looking in her direction. They were all fixated on Ellen, Christian, and the duke as he attempted to interrupt the dance and take Ellen's hand away from the prince.

To Poppy's great satisfaction, Christian handed over Ellen with only a moment of reluctance. Then he immediately sought out Poppy. He had a bemused look on his face, however.

"An unusual girl," he muttered as he reached Poppy's side.

"Very," Poppy said curtly, and straightened Christian's jacket for him. She saw that he was wearing the watch ribbon she had knit for him, and she warmed slightly. "I don't want to tell tales, if she wants to be incognito, but I will venture that she's done something she's going to regret to get that gown."

"If you're going to keep dropping mysterious hints ...," Christian said with a warning in his voice.

"You'll do what?" Poppy asked archly. Then she made a 118.

face. "But truly," she said hesitantly. "I'm worried. I have ... experience with what happens when you make bargains you shouldn't... in order to get what you want."

"Even more mysterious," Christian said.

"Well, I--" Poppy hesitated again, uncertain.

If she told Christian the details of her family's story, what would he say? And would it help matters? The more she watched Ellen in her fabulous gown, covered with a queen's ransom in jewels, the more she was certain that something was about to go terribly wrong.

"There's something you should know. I--that is, my mother--," Poppy began, but Christian stopped her.

"Here comes Marianne, Roger, d.i.c.kon, and Lady Margaret." He pointed over her shoulder. "And Marianne looks to be in deep dudgeon, as the Bretoners say."

Poppy turned and saw that it was true. d.i.c.kon and Lady Margaret just looked confused, but Marianne was indeed in deep dudgeon while Roger Thwaite's handsome face was creased with concern. Poppy sighed, half with relief and half with regret. She wasn't about to spill the story of her mother's mistake in front of such an audience, which felt simultaneously like a reprieve and a disappointment.

"Please promise you'll continue your story later," Christian said in an undertone as they were joined by their friends.

"We'll see," Poppy said.

"Poppy knows who she is," Marianne was saying. "Don't you, Poppy?"

119.

Lady Margaret squinted at the drunken duke and his mesmerizing dance partner. "But Marianne, I don't know what you're talking about," she said. "I would recognize anyone Poppy had been introduced to, and I have no idea who that young woman is. I'm quite put out that she managed to copy Poppy's gown, but other than that... Will you look at those slippers? How breathtaking!"

Lady Margaret applauded with the rest of the company as the dance came to an end and Ellen breathlessly curtsied to her partner. Already the girl's eyes were searching the crowd for Christian. But, Poppy noticed, they stopped for a moment on Roger Thwaite before skipping on to the prince. Roger, for his part, couldn't take his gaze from Ellen. But rather than the avid expression that everyone else in the room seemed to be giving her, he had a look of mixed longing and unease.

"Roger," Poppy said quietly, putting a hand on his arm. "Do you know her?"

The older Thwaite brother looked down at her, his brows knit tightly together. "Yes," he said simply. "Do you?"

Poppy drew him aside before saying, "She's our maid. But Marianne and Lady Margaret don't recognize her--I almost didn't myself. Something is very wrong here."

"Your maid?" maid?" Roger's mouth turned down even farther. "Poor Eleanora!" His eyes sought out the girl whose hand had just been claimed by another partner before she could reach her clear goal: Christian. "I had no idea ... after her mother's death she just disappeared!" Roger's mouth turned down even farther. "Poor Eleanora!" His eyes sought out the girl whose hand had just been claimed by another partner before she could reach her clear goal: Christian. "I had no idea ... after her mother's death she just disappeared!"

120.

"You knew her before?" Poppy stared at Roger, and watched him swallow as his eyes followed Ellen around the room.

"We were very close as children," he said after a long pause.

Feeling awkward, Poppy clenched her fists in the edges of her stole. Clearly Roger still cared for his childhood friend. And, just as clearly, whatever glamour Ellen had placed over the rest of the a.s.sembly did not extend to him.

She wondered what resistence to magic Roger had, that he could see her clearly. Poppy had been so nervous about attending the royal gala--not that she would have ever let anyone know--that she had taken extra precautions. Rather than her usual silk garters, she had fastened her stockings with garters she had made from virgin wool. They had been knit with silver needles that had been blessed by her family's bishop, and then she had boiled the garters with nightshade and basil. They itched terribly but she hoped they would protect her from harm and permit her to see through any enchantments. And they had.

"How is it you recognized her?" Roger had torn his eyes from Ellen.

"I'm wearing protective ... garments," Poppy said. She had been on the verge of saying "garters," and it was a measure of how much propriety she had learned from Lady Margaret that she bit her tongue just in time.

"I was given one by a Far Eastern magician," Roger said gravely. He patted the breast of his shirt, and Poppy could vaguely see the outline of a small lump there. "A bone from 121.

some strange beast that has been rubbed with sacred oils and hung on a raw silk cord."

"I should like to see that sometime," Poppy said, thinking that it sounded much more comfortable than her own protective talismans. "But we really must find out where Ellen-- Eleanora, that is--got her gown.

"You know somewhat of my family's curse," she went on, fighting back her still fresh hurt over finding Christian, d.i.c.kon, and Roger gossiping about her over tea. "So you know how making a deal with a magical being can turn on you."

"Indeed," Roger said. "But perhaps here is not the place. I don't think Eleanora will answer any of our questions, at least not tonight. She pretended not to know me, and looked most distressed when I questioned her. I do not think that she is under magical constraint not to answer, merely that she prefers to be Lady Ella here and now."

"Let's hope so," Poppy said fervently. "I for one would like to ask her some questions, and get some straight responses out of her."

Roger looked surprised, and Poppy gave a tight laugh. "Let me guess: your friend Eleanora was so sweet-natured, and would never have hidden a secret from you?" She didn't even wait for his confirming nod. "Well, Ellen Ellen is of a different temperament." But then Poppy did pause, remembering her own ordeal, and grimaced. She didn't exactly feel pity toward Ellen-Eleanora, but she felt more charitable. "Or it may just be too painful for her to speak to you." is of a different temperament." But then Poppy did pause, remembering her own ordeal, and grimaced. She didn't exactly feel pity toward Ellen-Eleanora, but she felt more charitable. "Or it may just be too painful for her to speak to you."

122.

"But why? She seems to speak to Christian freely enough." Once more, Roger looked toward the girl who was again dancing with the prince in her gown of red roses on white silk.

Poppy, too, was looking at them. Her hands were clenched so hard in the edges of her stole that the silk squeaked. Christian was looking down at "Lady Ella" with a dazed expression.

"That, as you Bretoners say, is part and parcel of what we need to discover," Poppy said.

123.

Midnight

When the enormous clock at the far end of the ballroom struck half past eleven, Ellen felt a wave of relief wash over her. She hadn't thought it would be so: the gala would last until dawn, and hearing that her G.o.dmother expected her to be home by midnight had been a disappointment.

But then the gla.s.s had been melted onto her feet. Despite the tingling lotion that her G.o.dmother's maid had slathered over them, the heat of the molten gla.s.s had been shocking. Just the sight of that glowing, smoking stuff coating her white skin had made her dizzy.

"Courage," her G.o.dmother had said, a broad smile on her plump face. "Courage." And with delicate golden instruments her G.o.dmother had shaped the gla.s.s into an elaborate pair of high-heeled dancing slippers.

"You must return to me by midnight," her G.o.dmother had told her. "My power in the outside world fades once night begins the turn toward dawn."

124.

And so as soon as the Bretoner reel she had been dancing with Prince Christian ended, Ellen curtsied to the prince and bid him good evening. It was quarter to twelve now, but if she hurried she wouldn't be too late.

"But wait--why?" Prince Christian reached out to reclaim her hands. As the evening had worn on, he had become more and more enthralled by her.

A pleased thrill ran through Ellen, and she hoped that people were watching. Rather than grinning in triumph, as she would have liked to, she kept to her G.o.dmother's advice to remain aloof and mysterious.

"I must go," she said, trying to make her voice light and caressing. "But perhaps there will be another ball, and another opportunity to dance ..." She slipped her fingers free of his grasp and turned away.

Smiling what she hoped was an enigmatic smile, Ellen walked through the crowd and through the grand arched entrance of the palace ballroom. The crowd parted before her, making her escape dramatic and also quite fast.

Which was good, because as the clock ticked closer to midnight, something was happening to her shoes.

Down the palace steps, into the waiting carriage--a strange thing like a large round basket woven of gold, and pulled by an excess of horses. The mute coachman cracked his whip urgently, and the dozen white horses shot forward. Sensing his pa.s.senger's discomfort--or needing to get back to his mistress with just as much urgency--the coachman used his long whip to clear the road, while the horses with their crashing 125.

hooves and shrill whinnies made the noise that their driver could not.

Sitting back on the white silk cushions, Ellen flexed her feet and groaned. The shoes were first hot, then cold, and tremors ran up her legs. The pliable gla.s.s was stiffening, and she reached down to take the shoes off but couldn't. Her feet cramped, and she whimpered.

An eternity later, but what was surely only minutes considering that Seadown House was just a few streets away, they reached the stable yard behind the manor. A bonfire had already been lit by a mute groom who was waiting nearby to toss a bucket of water on it.

The horses ran into the steam and soggy ash, and Ellen squeaked as the ground dropped away beneath them. The wheels of the carriage struck the gla.s.s floor of her G.o.dmother's palace with a crash, and she fell off the seat.

Her G.o.dmother rushed forward, clucking her tongue. "Cutting it fine, cutting it fine!" Her tone was both playful and scolding. "I hope this means that you were enjoying yourself, my lovely."

"Yes," Ellen said tremulously as a pair of footmen helped her out. "But the shoes!" "Of course, my darling!"

Her G.o.dmother pulled out a small golden hammer and rapped it sharply on first one shoe, then the other. The pliable gla.s.s had grown quite hard as midnight came, and now the beautiful ruby-colored slippers shattered into a million tiny shards. Ellen's feet no longer tingled, instead they seemed numb 126.

and cold, and her G.o.dmother had to help her step out of the circle of broken gla.s.s.

Then the silent servants rushed forward to divest the girl of gown and jewels. They jerked her housemaid uniform over her head and sent her back through the ashes into the garden without even fastening it.

Ellen didn't have time to say good-bye to her G.o.dmother, or thank her, before she staggered into the manor, dazed and half-dressed, to see that it was now two minutes past midnight. Her feet were still icy cold and she carried her underclothes, stockings, and shoes jumbled together in her arms. She had just enough time to put herself back together before the Seadowns arrived home, full of questions about Lady Ella.

127.

Confused

Was her father an earl?"

"I don't know, Your Majesty," Christian said. "A duke? A knight?"

"Honestly, King Rupert, I don't know. She wouldn't say. No family name, and not a hint of where I had met her before."

"Odd." King Rupert steepled his fingers.

"Very, Your Majesty," Christian said with a sigh. He and the king had been through this many times already, and it was only noon.