Disenchanted Page 19

  As the herald finished reading the decree, I did not know whether to laugh or roll my eyes. Someone must have reported the absurd episode that had taken place on our lane to His Majesty. While I was glad that there would not be a repetition of the Maiden Massacre at the ball, I was vexed with the king for using it as an excuse to enact another petty law.

  “I do hope you read this decree to the Hansons before they left for the ball,” I said.

  “No.” Rhufawn squirmed, managing to look both guilty and defiant. “They were gone before I got there, as were many of the other families on this street. But it is not as though I dawdled. What is a poor herald to do when he is handed a decree to announce at the very last moment?”

  “I am sure you did your best, but the king had better be prepared to increase his supply of yokes,” I said. “What if a girl faints because she is genuinely ill? Will allowances be made for that?”

  Rhufawn squinted at the document. “There do not appear to be any exceptions, miss.”

  “Oh? What about coughing or sneezing in the presence of the king? Has that also been banned?”

  “I see no mention of that so I suppose it is permissible if done discreetly.”

  “What about puking?”

  “Well, I would hardly think that—” Rhufawn looked up from the document and realized I was merely giving him a hard time. He eyed me reproachfully. “Why must you always be so difficult, Miss Upton? I am only a poor herald, striving to earn an honest living and—”

  He broke off as a magnificent carriage lumbered down the lane. Unlike the others that had swept on by, this one drew to a halt before my house. Rhufawn’s jaw dropped and mine did as well because the equipage looked as though royalty had come to call, at the very least a grand duke. Moonlight spilled over a team of snowy white horses sporting golden plumes. They were a perfect match to the coach, which was all ivory and gold, even the wheels picked out with gilt trimming. The carriage boasted no less than four running lamps, a bewigged coachman and a footman in blue livery riding on the back.

  The footman scrambled from his perch, but the coach door was already opening. The herald and I watched breathlessly, but there was more of the pirate than prince about the man who emerged. Mal leapt down, not waiting for the footman to lower the steps. Clad all in black, he would have blended with the night except for the gleam of the running lamps.

  Whistling a jaunty tune, Mal opened the garden gate and sauntered down the path. Relieved as I was to see him, I wanted to clout him upside the head for the anxiety he had caused me. Before I could utter a word of reproach, Mal greeted the herald with a cheerful grin.

  “Hallo, Ruffie.”

  Rhufawn flushed as red as his hair. The little man stammered something incoherent and slunk away as quickly as his plump legs would carry him.

  “You know the herald?” I asked.

  “Of course. Who do you think I bribed to get an invitation so I could buy the tickets? The little weasel charged me five silver galoons.”

  “No wonder he looked guilty. So much for all of his whining about being just a poor, honest herald,” I said. My indignation veered in Mal’s direction. “Where have you been, Hawkridge? You should have been here hours ago.”

  “I know. I am sorry, but I had a last-minute disagreement with Delphine about where the hidden pocket on the gown should go. She had stitched it inside the sleeve but I told her that would never do because what if one of your dancing partners—”

  “Wait!” I exclaimed. “What do you mean about Delphine? She is the one who helped you with my gown?”

  “Perhaps just a bit.”

  “How much of a ‘bit’?”

  “Well, actually she designed and sewed all of it.”

  “And you are just telling me this now?”

  “I had a feeling you wouldn’t be happy about it, but truly, Ella, you are going to be thrilled with the gown. Delphine is a brilliant seamstress.”

  “She is also a witch who despises me! I believe she has even trained that evil cat of hers to hiss and spit at me, so who knows what she might have done to that gown? Am I going to break out into boils or explode into flames when I put it on?”

  “Of course not. I admit that Delphine does not much care for you, but she adores me and she knows how important it is for you to acquire that orb for me.” Mal rested his hands on my shoulders and gave me a coaxing smile. “Take a deep breath and relax, Ella. Everything is going to be fine.”

  I thrust his hands away, but before I could retort, the footman approached, toting several bandboxes and a large linen garment carrier. The man was so short, I could only make out his tricorne hat and his eyes peering over the top of the bag. When the stack wobbled, I hastily stepped aside, allowing him to enter the vestibule. Mal followed, performing introductions as he helped the little man set down his burden.

  “Ella, this is Long Louie. Louie, this is Ella.”

  The little man doffed his tricorne, beaming at me from beneath his powdered white wig. He was a plain-featured man but he had a charming gap-toothed smile.

  “Truly a pleasure, Miss Ella.” He bowed to me before turning to Mal. “Shall I have Harry take the carriage around the town square a time or two? It appears to me that Miss Upton might be a while and you know how Harry hates to keep his horses standing.”

  Mal nodded. “Better give Ella ten minutes.”

  “Ten minutes!” I squawked.

  “Fifteen then.”

  Before I could protest further, Long Louie swept another elaborate bow before he backed out of the door and was gone. Mal turned to me, wearing an expression of deep satisfaction.

  “Didn’t I tell you I would send you off to the ball in grand style? Louie makes a most excellent footman.”

  “Yes, although he is rather short. Why do you call him Long Louie?”

  “I didn’t give him the nickname.” Mal hemmed and hawed a bit before continuing, “It was bestowed upon him by some of his—er—lady admirers. The ‘long’ doesn’t refer to his height but to—um—”

  “Stop!” I flung up one hand. “That is much more information than I needed.”

  “You did ask.”

  “And I should have known better.”

  “What do you think of the coach?” Mal asked.

  “It’s a bit overwhelming.”

  When Mal appeared crestfallen, I hastened to add, “I worry how much you must have spent acquiring such a regal equipage.”

  “I didn’t buy it, Ella. The coach and horses are hired for the evening and I was able to strike a bargain because the carriage is rather old-fashioned. You know the rage these days is all for those pumpkin vehicles. Although…” Mal’s lips quirked mischievously. “I could have got a great deal on a slightly used cucumber. But I imagined your reaction if I had turned up with that and I have far too much regard for my own skin.”

  “Occasionally you do display some small sign of wisdom, Mr. Hawkridge,” I said with a wry smile. “Thank you. The coach is wonderful. Netta and Amy will be in ecstasies when they see it. They truly are going to believe you are their fairy godfather.”

  “The fairy godfather needs to hasten things along a bit.” He gathered up two of the bandboxes and the linen garment carrier. “Grab that last small box and follow me.”

  “Follow you where?” I demanded as Mal strode toward the stairs.

  He paused on the first riser to glance back at me. “Up to your room. Thanks to Delphine, we are running late. I have some important last-minute instructions for you and we can save time if I explain those while you are getting dressed.”

  I locked my arms across my bosom. “I think not, sir!”

  Mal heaved an impatient sigh. “What is the problem, Ella? I have often been in your bedchamber.”

  “When we were children! My poor stepmother is already having spasms, fearing you were not going to show up with my gown. If she catches you in my room while I am dressing, Imelda will dissolve into complete hysterics.”

  “Then we
had better be really quiet,” Mal said in a stage whisper. He headed the rest of the way up the stairs before I could stop him.

  I swore, but I had no choice but to grab the last box and follow him. By the time I arrived on the landing, Mal had disappeared inside my bedchamber. I paused to listen and was relieved to hear Imelda’s voice coming from the direction of Amy’s room. I darted after Mal, closing the door behind me and feeling strangely nervous as I locked the bolt.

  Perhaps I was being foolish. Mal had often been in my room before. But there was little trace of the mischievous boy who had climbed through my bedchamber window, hauling his sack of toy soldiers and cannons to lay siege to my dollhouse. Watching him pile the boxes and garment bag on the bed, I was far too aware of Mal as a man and a seductive one at that.

  His black garb and bronzed skin made a marked contrast to the feminine unicorn-embroidered silk of my bed curtains. As he bent down to undo the ties on the garment bag, his shirt strained against the musculature of his back. I had never fully realized how much his movements possessed a sensual catlike grace. I knew many other women had always found him attractive. He was lean, he was dangerous and his wicked eyes seemed to hint of forbidden pleasures.

  Closeted with him in the intimacy of my bedchamber, I was dismayed by how flushed and discomfited I was. How I longed to turn back time to the days when my feelings toward Mal had been far less complicated, when I had been able to see him only as a brother and friend.

  Mal undid the last tie on the garment bag. Casting a look at me over his shoulder, he grinned. “Are you ready for this?”

  “No.” I sighed.

  He laughed. As he removed the gown from the linen bag, I braced myself, hardly knowing what to expect of a gown designed by a rogue like Mal and a witch who detested me.

  Mal turned and held up the gown for my inspection. For a moment, I think I actually stopped breathing. It was truly the most beautiful dress I had ever seen although the style was simple enough. The bodice was cut on modest lines, tapering to a V at the waistline, the sleeves short, fashioned into two puffed tiers. The skirt was full, attached to the bodice with a gathering of tiny pleats.

  What made the gown so extraordinary was the fabric, dyed a golden hue. Or so I thought until I drew close enough to caress the cool silk. The fabric shimmered and changed with my slightest touch, shifting with the light, one minute shining gold, then iridescent silver, then glistening ivory.

  “Oh, Mal! What is this material?”

  “It’s called river silk, rather rare in these parts. It’s woven from threads obtained from the cocoons of prism butterflies only found on the Isle of Altoria. I was quite fortunate to purchase so many yards of it from one of the fen smugglers. Let’s see how it looks on you.”

  I took the gown from him. “All right, but you have to turn around.”

  Mal arched one brow. “Seriously?”

  “Yes!” I pointed toward the corner opposite from my bed. “Go! And keep your face to the wall until I say you can look.”

  Mal rolled his eyes, but he complied. Folding his arms, he stood with his back to me. I kept a wary eye on him as I undid the buttons on my dressing gown. I would have completely trusted Horatio not to peek, but the commander was far too honorable to have barged into my bedchamber in the first place.

  I shrugged out of my dressing gown, stripping down to my stays, drawers and stockings. I carefully pulled my chemise over my head, taking care not to disarrange my hair. Then I fastened a cage hoop skirt about my waist. The hoop was modest compared to the broad kind women wore in my mother’s day. I was glad that the fashion now was for dresses cut upon straight, simpler lines. But for all formal occasions at court such as the ball, hoops were still required.

  As I donned the final layer of petticoat, Mal complained, “Aren’t you ready yet?”

  “No, as I have often explained to you, it takes women longer to dress because we wear more.”

  “A fact I have always lamented,” Mal murmured wickedly.

  At last I slipped into the gown and it was like plunging into a waterfall of silk. The cool fabric whispered against my skin as I worked my arms into the sleeves.

  “You can turn around now—” I began, but then realized at some point Mal had already done so. He leaned against the wall, studying me through the thickness of his lashes, the hint of a smile on his face.

  I refused to let him make me blush, merely shaking my head at him in admonishing fashion. Turning my back to him, I ordered him to close up the gown. He proceeded to do so with alacrity, demonstrating that he was far too familiar with the fastenings of a woman’s garment.

  As he deftly worked the tiny hooks and eyes, I had to sweep my hair out of the way. When he reached the top rows of fastenings, his fingers brushed against the skin of my upper back. I experienced an odd flutter in the pit of my stomach and I heard Mal catch his breath.

  Desperately seeking to ignore both of our reactions, I fanned out my skirts, admiring the way the color shifted between light and shadow, like the sun shimmering on a flowing stream. “The gown is truly enchanting,” I said. “But I thought the idea was for me not to attract any attention.”

  Mal chuckled, although his fingers were no longer quite as steady as he fumbled with the last hook. “The only way you would ever escape notice is if that lovely face of yours was masked. Your best disguise tonight is to appear as a carefree beauty come to the ball to steal hearts, not a magic orb. Now let’s have a good look at you.”

  I turned around slowly. Mal stepped back to study me. He was silent for so long, I grew nervous. I thought I was good at reading his expressions, but never had I seen such a stillness come into his eyes.

  “What is it?” I asked. “Is something wrong? Does the gown not fit right?”

  “See for yourself.”

  He took my arm and positioned me in front of the full-length cheval glass next to my wardrobe. I froze, for one stunned moment thinking my mother’s spirit had risen up before me. I actually reached out to her. When my image in the mirror reached back to me, I began to notice the subtle differences. My mother’s eyes had been green. The stranger in the looking glass had deep blue eyes, the same color as my father’s. Her features were not as gentle as Mama’s, the mirror woman’s cheekbones more sharply defined, but the cascade of golden hair was exactly the same.

  I stared, pressing my hand to my lips, and my image did likewise, her eyes soft with wonder. Could that lovely, fey creature trapped within the glass truly be me? I have never set great value upon my appearance, but I stammered, “I don’t wish to sound vain, but I suppose I am rather…rather…”

  “Beautiful,” Mal said hoarsely as he stepped alongside me. He slipped his arm about my waist. “I would give my life to be going with you tonight.”

  “I daresay you would enjoy all the intrigue of stealing the orb far more than I will.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of the orb.” His eyes met mine in the glass. “I wish I could be the man at your side, the one who will lead you into your first dance.”

  “Oh.” I lowered my gaze, feeling strangely guilty. I could not bring myself to tell Mal that man was going to be Horatio Crushington. Instead I forced a laugh. “You would hate all the flummery that goes along with a royal ball, the etiquette, the idle chatter, the bowing and curtsying. After five minutes, you would be as bored with it as Waldo the Wharf Rat’s daughters.”

  “I fear you are right.” His hand fell away from my waist. “But sometimes I wish I was a very different kind of man.”

  “What kind of man would that be?”

  His expression waxed pensive, almost sad. “Someone more noble and heroic, the kind of man who—”

  “Who what?”

  “I don’t know. I am talking utter nonsense.” He tried to smile but could not quite manage it.

  I regarded him with surprise. This sort of brooding introspection was so unlike Mal. Usually the man brimmed over with bravado and self-confidence.

  “I happen
to like you just fine the way you are,” I said. “In fact, I quite adore you. Especially because of this.”

  I held up my hair on one side to reveal the emerald glittering in my ear. “Recovering my mother’s emeralds was the sweetest, most wonderful thing you have ever done for me. I was so surprised when your young messenger turned up at my gate. I thought he was a beggar at first.

  “I am afraid I insulted him. He wasted little time informing me that he was a ‘man of means with reg’lar employment. ’ ” I chuckled as I imitated the boy’s indignant voice.

  Mal looked momentarily startled. “What? Oh yes, that would have been Tom Piper. Quite an enterprising young rogue. It wouldn’t surprise me if he ended up as the wealthiest man in the kingdom one day.”

  I closed the distance between Mal and me, draping my arms around his neck. “I should scold you for lavishing so much money on me, but I am far too grateful. I hardly know how to thank you.”

  I expected Mal to come back with some sort of wicked suggestion, perhaps even try to steal a kiss. He patted my back awkwardly and eased me away from him.

  “That is quite all right, my dear. But time is wasting,” he said. “We need to return to the enterprise at hand.”

  I blinked in astonishment, thinking he truly had fallen into a strange humor. Perhaps he was merely tense about the success of our plot. That thought did nothing to ease my own anxieties. He strode over to the bed and began pulling covers off the bandboxes, revealing a gossamer pelisse, an ivory fan and a pair of long white gloves. As I struggled into them, I was surprised to see Mal donning a pair of much shorter ones. I realized why when he drew forth an object from the smallest box. He held up a small glass ball.

  “Here is the imitation orb that you will switch for the real one.”

  He handed it to me and I cradled it in the palm of my glove.

  “It’s much smaller and lighter than I expected it would be,” I said.