The Moon Master's Ball (13 page)

Except to Arella.

The Duchess’s smile faded somewhat as she
thought of her stepdaughter. Of course, it was understandable that
the girl would like to wear her mother’s things. Though Duchess
Germaine had tried to take a mother’s place in the girl’s heart,
Arella always maintained a quiet shell, especially after the duke
passed away—scarcely a year after he and Germaine were married,
when Arella was still so young.

Drusilla noticed when her mother’s smile
slipped and knew she was worrying about Arella again. That girl!
She could have come to the dressmaker’s with them today and found a
bright blue to match her clear eyes. She could have at least come
and helped them to select their silks.

Instead, she was by herself in a dusty attic
and would probably pick the simplest dress she could find. It
didn’t matter too much—she was a beautiful girl, and a plain dress
would not conceal that fact from the prince. Still, it would be
nice if she could try to be involved with her family for a
change.

Drusilla smiled at her mother, hoping to
ease her worry. “And what about you, Mother? Shan’t you have a new
dress for the ball? It is the event of the decade, after all.”

Duchess Germaine returned her daughter’s
smile. “One of last year’s dresses will do nicely for me.
I
am not being evaluated for the prince’s bride!”

Neither am I,
thought Drusilla behind
her smile.
Nor anyone else’s bride, for that matter.
“But
think, Mother,” she replied brightly, “of all the nobility who will
be there! You don’t want to be the only one in last season’s dress,
do you?”

Anastasia added her voice. “Oh, do get a new
dress with us, Mother. It would be such fun! And here’s a silk that
would look perfect with your complexion.” She held up a pale peach
fabric.

The Duchess laughed. “Goodness, child, I am
much too old to wear that shade! But I think—yes, I shall have a
new dress.” She indicated a sophisticated silver. “If you please,
Mrs. Montgomery. And while we’re here, I shall order one for
Arella—this blue matches her eyes so well. Perhaps she has changed
her mind and would like a new dress after all. We’ll surprise
her.”

Drusilla tapped gently on the half-open door
then poked her head through. “Arella?” she called.

“Come in,” replied her stepsister’s gentle
voice. Arella looked up from where she sat on a low stool
surrounded by dull pink silk. One fluffy gray kitten napped on a
chair near her while another pawed a spool of thread on the floor.
“Did you need something?”

“No,” Drusilla answered. She picked up the
sleeping kitten and sat down. The little furry bundle curled up in
her lap and fell immediately back to sleep. “I just came to see how
you were getting along.”

“Oh,” Arella responded, focusing on her
work. “Quite well, thank you. Did you have a nice outing?”

“It was very nice. Bustles are still in
style, but sleeves have changed considerably. Apparently long
sleeves are horrid now.” Drusilla smiled at her stepsister. “Not
that it makes any difference to you.”

“Not much,” admitted Arella. “I’ve never
liked bustles. But I never liked those long sleeves, either. They
got in the way.”

“Did you need any help? A thread-snipper?
Errand-runner? Someone to amuse you?” Drusilla asked cheerfully,
stroking the drowsy kitten.

Arella smiled but shook her head. “No, thank
you. I have everything I need here, and there really isn’t much to
do.”

Drusilla watched her stepsister’s nimble
fingers move deftly though the layers of fabric. “Is that one of
your mother’s dresses?” she inquired, more to make conversation
than anything else.

“Yes,” Arella replied. “I think it’s
lovely.”

“It is,” agreed Drusilla, admiring what she
could see of the gown draped over Arella’s lap. The first Duchess
of Abendroth must have been a woman of no mean taste; each of her
dresses was costly and impeccably designed. This one, though simply
cut, was no different. “What are you doing to it?”

“I’m just adding a little ruffle to the
bottom. And I’ll make a sash.”

“No bustle?” Drusilla teased.

“No bustle,” Arella answered. Considering a
moment, she added doubtfully, “Do you think Stepmother will
approve?”

Approve? Or understand?
Drusilla
thought. She paused before replying. “I think she wants you to feel
comfortable.” Their eyes met—Arella’s blue, lovely, innocent;
Drusilla’s hazel, kindly, wise.

Arella nodded. “Do you think it will stand
out if I don’t?”

“You, my dear sister, stand out wherever you
go and however you dress. So wear what you want.”

Arella sighed. “I wish it were a
masquerade,” she said. “Costumes are much more interesting.”

“You forget the purpose of this ball,”
Drusilla replied with a small laugh. “I believe the prince is
trying to find a beautiful girl to make his wife. Masks would
scarcely help him in that endeavor.”

Arella made a face. “It’s silly that I have
to go then. I wouldn’t marry him even if he wanted me to.”

“You haven’t met him,” Drusilla said,
arching a brow. “Perhaps he will sweep you off your feet with
charm.”

“He won’t.”

“If you say so.”

A silence lingered in the room for some
moments. Realizing there was nothing more to be had from her quiet
stepsister, Drusilla rose. “I suppose I’ll give Sleepy his chair
back, then.” She replaced the kitten on the chair, planted a quick
kiss on Arella’s head, and left the room.

Arella watched Drusilla go. And she thought,
No prince will sweep me off my feet. No one can.

Seated in his mother’s sitting room, Prince
Frederick listened half-heartedly to the queen reading the list of
eligible females who would be attending his royal ball. He had
finished his education and was about to celebrate his twentieth
birthday. Therefore, according to precedent, he must marry. And his
bride would be found among the noble young ladies dancing in the
castle two weeks from now.

“Princess Miranda—a good match, but not
exceptional. Her father’s kingdom is too small to be a useful ally.
Alice, daughter of the Duke of Stelstek—sickly constitution. Amala
de Perperand’s family isn’t old money. Oh, the daughter of the
Emperor of Verdemons! She would be an excellent choice.”

The prince listened to the seemingly endless
list of names and descriptions, but none struck his fancy. The
ridiculous thought crossed his mind that this process was like
buying a horse. Except, unlike a horse, the woman he chose would
stay with him for the rest of his life. The woman he chose would
have the power to make him happy or miserable. The power to make
his reign—his entire kingdom, even—strong or weak.

He sighed.

Queen Thalia looked up from her lists and
raised her delicate eyebrows. “I am not wearying you, son?” Her
voice, cultured and melodious, held the faintest hint of
reprimand.

“Of course not, Mother,” Frederick quickly
reassured her. “I was just wondering what my life will be like if I
pick the wrong one.” He drummed his fingers nervously on his
leg.

“Don’t pick the wrong one, then,” his mother
replied calmly.

Frederick half smiled but without amusement.
“Out of so many? How will I know?”

“My son, when you marry, you take not only a
bride but also a queen. Make sure she is worthy to be queen.” Queen
Thalia returned her gaze to her lists, ready to pick up where she
had been interrupted. “Lady Anna von Dalber, reputed to be very
pretty. Elissa Galott, daughter of the Earl of Middlefield . .
.”

Frederick found this advice scarcely
helpful, but his mother was not a woman one questioned twice.
Apparently she believed this information ought to be enough for
him.

A woman worthy of being queen.
He
tightened his jaw. Challenge it may be, but Frederick had never
been known to back down from a challenge. He would find her.

The night of the ball rapidly approached—not
rapidly enough for Anastasia, too rapidly for Arella. When the day
itself arrived, Arella felt her stomach knotting itself tighter and
tighter as the hours ticked by. If only there were some way she
could excuse herself, some way to sneak out to the stables or the
garden and vanish! But she knew that was impossible.

Early in the afternoon the hairdresser set
about primping the four women. Anastasia’s excitement could not be
contained. This was her first ball—and what a first ball! The
duchess smiled at her exuberant chatter. “I’m afraid no other ball
will ever compare to this, child,” she said with chuckle. “Every
experience you have from now on will seem dull.”

Anastasia was certain this couldn’t be true.
Different, perhaps, but never dull. And even if it were true, so be
it! Any amount of future dullness would be worth the wonder of
tonight. Would the prince dance with every girl there?

“Heavens, no!” her mother assured her, much
to Anastasia’s disappointment. “He doesn’t have enough time to pay
attention to everyone. You will be introduced to him, however, and
there will be plenty of other young nobles to pay attention to
you.”

Quick to sorrow but quicker still to
delight, Anastasia surveyed herself in the mirror, her dark eyes
sparkling. Whether or not the prince danced with her, tonight would
be the best night of her life.

Arella was silent, though this was hardly
unusual for her. As the hairdresser expertly piled her hair into a
mass of golden curls, she fought back the panic rising in her
heart. She knew, as Drusilla had told her, that she would dance
with the prince tonight. She could not deny her own beauty. But how
did one act when dancing with a prince? Or with any noble, for that
matter? Though she had officially entered society last year, she
had avoided attending as many balls as possible. Crowds made her
feel awkward and shy. She lacked the polish her stepsisters had
acquired.

If only Anastasia had been the beautiful
one,
she thought with distress.
She knows how to behave
around princes.
Arella set her jaw.
Please, don’t let me be
a disgrace to my family!

Drusilla reached over and silently squeezed
her sister’s hand. Arella took a deep breath. At least Drusilla
would be with her throughout the night.

“Arella,” the duchess called merrily, “How
did your dress turn out?”

“Very well, Stepmother. I have it in my
dressing room,” the girl replied.

“And you like it?” Duchess Germaine
asked.

“Yes, Stepmother.” After a moment she added,
“It’s pink.”

“Very good, child. And you’re sure you don’t
regret not getting a new one?”

“Yes, Stepmother.”

“Wonderful. Run along then and get changed.”
Duchess Germaine had hoped Arella would show some sign of
disappointment; she had so looked forward to surprising her with a
new gown! However, Arella seemed happy with her choice, so the
duchess wouldn’t interfere.