Chapter Three
By the time I have unpacked all of my trunks, dressed to go into the city, and arranged an escort among the Sisters accompanying us from the convent, there are only a few scant hours before the ball. I have not eaten all day to save time, but as I wait for the hostler to saddle my horse I feel faint, so I pluck an apple from the nearby orchard.
Eating an apple plucked right from the tree may not be the most ladylike thing to do, judging from the disapproving glances Sister Lucretia is sending me, but I am beginning to get the feeling that perhaps being a perfect lady is not what it was made out to be at the convent.
When we arrive in Corus's market, I do not allow myself time to take in the vast expanse of venders. I have been here only three times in my life before, when my parents visited the city to pay liege to the king, so I am grateful that Sister Lucretia is here to help me navigate.
However, as we duck into the most fashionable dress shop in Corus, it becomes clear to me why my family visits Corus so rarely. A dress here is worth more than a quality horse! I finger each pale satin dress longingly, before I gather the courage to approach a salesgirl fixing a particularly lovely pink number to a mannequin.
"Excuse me, I was wondering where you keep your…cheaper dresses? The out of season ones?"
I steel myself for a ridiculing sneer, but the girl looks used to this sort of question. Pinning up the last of the dress, she heads to the back of the store and I follow.
"This is your first ball? You'll probably want a pastel, then, so we can skip these-" she gestures to a row of vividly colored gowns, and I am about to agree when a green one catches my eye. I pause to look at it, and the girl smiles at my find. Sister Lucretia, trailing behind us, makes a noise of disapproval but I ignore her. I brought her along for propriety's sake, not for an opinion.
"That's a bit daring for a first ball, if you don't mind my saying so Miss, but if you'd like to purchase it for a later ball it's particularly low-priced. See that left sleeve, there? It got torn a bit, so the value is reduced, but the seamstresses patched it up so well it's impossible to see if you aren't looking for it."
I examine the dress critically. Green is certainly my color as it brings out my 'emerald eyes,' as Gary put it. It is made of the finest silk, and the neckline is too daring for an unmarried lady, but it isn't like there is a law against it, I reason. The other girls would be talking about me anyway, so I might as well give them something interesting to gossip about. As for the tear, I can easily pin a brooch over it, and the dress will be good as new.
"I'll take it," I affirm, emptying half the money in my allowance purse from home. I am horrified and thrilled with my decision, and I pray to the Goddess I can pull it off without becoming the scandal of the season.
Oh, hell. I feel like a fool in the dress. Standing in the corner of the room where the eligible ladies are gathered before the herald announces each of us in turn, I can feel dozens of eyes on me. Whispers sweep across the room, and I wonder what possessed me to buy my too-bold gown today. Ah yes. It was on sale.
The other girls' gowns are predictably pastel, most of them in shades of blue that I hear is the Prince's favorite color. I smile at their thinking. As if the prince will take an interest in a girl because she is wearing a gown in his favorite color.
A fanfare outside of our room breaks my thinking, and I feel ill as the herald calls the first lady into the ballroom. She hugs each of her friends before she departs, and I can't help but miss Cythera dearly. I have no one to hug before I leave.
A hundred thoughts rush through my head as each lady files out of the room, descends the Great Staircase with thousands of eyes upon her, and enters the sea of nobles below. What if I trip down the stairs again? What if my gown tears? Oh Goddess, what if I never get called down? Finally, I find that the only girl left in the room besides me is Clara; the one who I'm certain has been slandering my name. Now is not the time for argument, however, and I croak a "Goddess bless," as the herald calls her name. She gives me a weak smile.
As the herald, at long last, calls my name, I feel I may hurl. My cheeks burn as I lift my skirts, descending the staircase carefully and not allowing myself to look at the mob of people below. I can feel them laughing at me – that little Eldorne girl, what is she thinking? She ought to be trying to snag a rich husband, not putting herself in the center of gossip. Will the stairs never end? Finally I place a beaded slipper on the ground (I have opted for flats tonight, for safety's sake), and I look up to see Gary offering an arm. The burning in my cheeks fades when I realize he is not laughing at my gown, but admiring it. Probably the view of my bosom, mostly, I think wryly, but I am too relieved to be incensed.
Gary clears his throat and asks for a dance in a cocky Gallan accent, causing me to giggle.
The dance is a gavotte, lively enough to work some of the adrenaline out of my system. As whirl through the ballroom moving from partner to partner, I find myself in the arms of a vision in a cobalt tunic.
His eyes are the deepest blue, and ebony hair hangs over one eye with a neatness that suggests a maid spent some effort getting it there. His cheekbones are high enough to be the envied by the ladies, and they frame a perfectly straight nose. His build is muscular, and I can't help wondering is he could pick me up as easily as Gary. His mouth curves into a smile when he sees me.
"You must be Delia of Eldorne." He says, displaying two perfect white rows of teeth. "Gary's been talking about you. I'm Jon."
I am unsure of how I can curtsy to the heir of my country mid-dance, and I tell him as much, hoping to be pert without being impolite.
He laughs at my cheek, but we are forced to switch partners again, to my dismay. Gary is a gentleman, but he is no match to Jonathan, with those endless blue eyes…
When the dance is over I excuse myself from Gary and head for the refreshment table, both because I need alcohol and because I am hoping to attract Jon over by extracting myself from other men's company. As I grab a crystal glass of brandy from the men's table I see that my plan is successful. Jon is standing next to me, holding his own glass of brandy.
"Isn't champagne the drink of choice for ladies?" he asks me. Clearly he has not heard about the characteristic Eldorne love for strong drinks, or he would not be asking. But I am not offended. I don't think that anything this man says could insult me.
I cock an eyebrow. "A lady is a puppet of the Sisters from the convent. Do you mean to offend, Highness, or are you rude unintentionally?" Who is this girl that is speaking from my mouth? It sounds like Cythera, not me.
"Deepest apologies, Mademoiselle Delia," Jon says, looking amused. "Could you forgive a smitten man for his blunders? Perhaps a dance might remedy injured dignity?"
I down the entire contents of the glass in one swig and replace my empty glass on the table. "Well, I suppose it could begin to help…"
I place a lace-gloved hand on Jon's arm and he leads me in a waltz, keeping me slightly closer to him than propriety allows as he whispers compliments in my ear. If I weren't so euphoric with my good luck, I would be melting under the burning glares of a hundred jealous, blue-clad ladies.
I find that I am not lacking in partners for dancing, and I let the first dozen men that ask me for a dance have one before I am exhausted and must sit down. As I settle at a bench in the corner, hidden by a potted fern for privacy and sipping another glass of brandy, I am content to observe the other ladies' progress. It is comforting to notice that none of them are as successful as I at finding dance partners.
My last dance partner, Raoul of Goldenlake, finds my hiding place. He takes a seat next to me on the bench, and I worry that someone will discover us and think us a couple. Raoul is a nice man with a wealthy estate, but I have set my heart on the prince.
"How did you find me?" I demand.
He smiles lopsidedly. "I've been to a ball or two too many, myself. I am familiar with the hiding places in the grand ballroom.
"I couldn't imagine getting tired of balls," I confess as a pull of the slippers to stretch me feet. "I just needed a moment to salvage my poor aching feet."
I wince as I begin to massage a sore foot. Gary offers to do it for me, but I am still cautious about my reputation. What's left of it, that is.
I giggle as a notice Jon and Gary peering around the ballroom in what they must consider a discreet manner. While they've resisted putting their hands above their eyes to shade out any potential blinding light, the fact that they are looking for something is obvious to anyone. Obviously, I am not the only one who has been drinking tonight
I point it out to Raoul, and we watch them for a few minutes more, laughing. He takes pity on them and steps out from behind the fern, flagging them over.
Jon and Gary find that together they cannot fit on the bench with us, as it was obviously made for two and not four, so Gary picks up the fern and moves it elsewhere. Jon finds room on the bench to sit by sandwiching me between him and Raoul in a manner that does not give me the space I deserve as a lady, but it is hard to tell him off when I have already denied being any form of a lady. Jon tells Gary to fetch his squire, and I am wondering how to tactfully make Raoul leave when two more men drift over. Goddess, does it look like I am lacking in company?
As our party continues to grow I give up hope of speaking with Jon alone and try to enjoy the attention. What I would really like to do is crawl into bed and reflect on my first full day in Corus, but I don't know how to excuse myself without being rude.
Gary returns, leading a red-haired youth to the front of the crowd to greet me. I can tell at once that this boy is both unimpressed and resentful of me, and I'm taken aback. It is an unwelcome change from the attention I've been receiving tonight.
Jon introduces the boy as his squire, and the youth bows and kisses my extended fingers, blushing. He annoys me at once – it isn't as though I'm interested in him, either. But I can tell that Jon is expecting us to dance, and I take the opportunity to flirt with the lad. A little jealousy on Jon's part can't hurt, right?
"Alan of Trebond…I've heard of you, haven't I?" I brush my fan across lips as I feign hard thinking. I fancy if I were born a commoner, I would have made a fair player.
I let a tinkling laugh escape my lips before I recollect what I've heard at the convent. "The 'Squire's squire!' And you beat that dreadful knight from Tusaine. I think it's thrilling."
I glance at Jon from lowered lashes to gauge his reaction. He is torn between amusement at his reluctant squire and envy. Right where I want him.
The squire is bowing. "It was nothing, Lady Delia." He knows that he is victim of much envy for taking my attention, as do I. His disinterest hurts me and I tell him not to be modest, and then ask about a dance, just to spite him. He cannot refuse.
As he leads me to the dance floor, I am careful to maintain a carefree façade, suddenly mistrustful of the boy. Anyone who will not allow themselves a drink too many at a ball obviously has something that they want to hide, in my opinion. But for now, I keep my prying to a minimum, keeping up an idle chatter that the boy fuels very little with sullen one-word answers.
Mercifully the dance is short, and it is barely over when the boy escorts me back to my seat and flees the ballroom like a kicked puppy. I blink at his retreating back. Whatever did I do wrong? Alan of Trebond has made himself a new mystery for me to puzzle over.
Thanks to maliaphire for explaining the Jon-Gary-Raoul-Alanna-Delia age relationships, and to all my other reviewers for reviewing!