I spent the next two weeks in seclusion, practicing my dancing, rehearsing table etiquette and getting a refresher course in the obligatory accomplishments. I couldn’t play an instrument but I could sing; I could read French well but my pronunciation, according to my godmother, was atrocious; I knew far too much about ancient history and not nearly enough about recent literature. Still, on the whole, I was declared more than passable.
My ball gown, when I was allowed to view it in all its splendor, was a beautiful shade of green frosted with a layer of fine lace and showed off my shoulders. This time I got my hair curled, a process I thought too long and painful to be worthwhile, but the result was rather nice. Again I wore my diamonds, and the sparkling shoes, and long white gloves. Again I barely recognized the woman in the mirror. Other than her serious brown eyes, she looked a frivolous creature. What would Simon think, I wondered, when he saw me? Would he be pleased?
The palace took my breath away when I saw it. It was enormous, brilliantly lit, surrounded by untold gardens laid out in intricate patterns. We waited in a line of carriages for about an hour, while I tried not to hang out of the window, staring at the high, symmetrical walls and thousand windows.
When our carriage finally reached the entrance, there was a whole double line of footmen waiting to receive us—to hand us out of the carriage, help us up the long stairs and direct us to the woman’s cloak room (as big as a small ballroom in and of itself) where maids took our cloaks and handed us bits of paper with numbers on them. “Keep that with you,” Mrs. Gainswood said. “You’ll need it to reclaim your cloak later.”
It was all so crowded and grand, it was overwhelming. At first I couldn’t see anything but arched ceilings, chandeliers, and the heads of people in front of me. Yet somehow the crowds began to break up as we moved through the rooms. I stayed near to my godmother, who seemed to know an astonishing number of people, considering the fact that she had been gone out of the country for so long. There was dancing in several rooms, even besides the main ballroom, which was so large and bright it boggled my mind. Godmother and I edged our way around it, stopping to greet people every few feet. Someone pointed out the prince to me, but I could not make out who they meant in the mass of dancers, and, to be honest, I wasn’t very interested. I kept looking for men who looked like my Simon, but even as I did my heart sank. How would I ever find him here, in this milieu?
Eventually I was introduced to a young man who asked me to dance. I went reluctantly, seeing from Mrs. Gainswood’s face how much she wished me to go. He was polite enough, but it was all I could do to be polite back. I know I didn’t give him the attention he deserved; I spent the whole time staring at the faces of other men, after all.
When the dance was over he escorted me to the side of the room again. Mrs. Gainswood was deep in conversation; I said something in her ear, I don’t remember what, but she waved me away, and I escaped.
It was so very, very different from what I was used to. One ball and a week living in luxury could not accustom me to such privilege again. I felt more affinity with the servants lining the walls than I did the fine ladies in their feathers and silks. My ball gown was, frankly, very uncomfortable, and inside my gloves my hands were beginning to sweat. It really was terribly hot. I wandered from room to room, gaping at the opulence, but mostly looking for Simon. I felt like a fool, a giddy, silly, absurd little fool, who had lost her head over a men whose full name she didn’t even know—but I couldn’t help myself. Perhaps it wasn’t just Simon himself—perhaps it was the hope of what he represented, that I could be desirable still, that I could find love with a man of sense and breeding, that after years of drudgery life could be beautiful again.
Inevitably, hot and dispirited and uncomfortable at the way men kept looking at me, I sought refuge in a small side room. I had already collapsed onto a small settee when I realized that I wasn’t alone. Across the room from me, standing in the shadows, a dark-haired girl stood hastily dabbing at her face. “I beg your pardon,” I said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she said. “I am—” Her sentence ended as she gasped.
I had been tugging at those wretched gloves, but at the gasp I looked up, and found myself staring directly into the face of my step-sister Camilla. I gave a small gasp myself, and for several moments all we did was look at each other across the room. Denial was impossible. “Hello, Camilla,” I said at last.
As if my words roused her from her surprise, she blinked, and her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. “Where did you get that dress?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
“It’s my mother’s concern! She’s your guardian, and you’ve run away from home!”
“That house ceased to be my home years ago,” I said, standing jerkily to my feet.
“No, it’s our home now. For you, it’s just a place of work. Why, look at you!” She gave a small, forced laugh. “You almost look as if you belonged here, instead of working in the kitchens! Perhaps if you go downstairs they can give you some pots to scrub!”
“I do belong here,” I hissed, “more than you!”
“That’s not what my mother will say, when she finds out you’re here. I can’t wait to see what she’s going to do with you.”
I had to get out of here. Trading words with Camilla wasn’t going to help me at all—I just had to get away from her, and hide myself in the crowd so they wouldn’t find me again. Or my godmother. Yes, I would find my godmother. She would know what to do. Without another word I turned and left.
Coming hastily out of the room, I collided with a broad chest in an officer’s uniform, and fell back in confusion, gasping apologies. A male voice said, “No, forgive me, ma’am I didn’t—” then, “Ella?” it said eagerly. “Ella, is that you?”
I looked up into a lean, handsome, tanned face and blinked. The hair, the shoulders, the voice were all familiar. “Simon!” I exclaimed thankfully.
“Ella!” His hands came out and rested on my arms. “I’ve found you at last! I’ve been looking all night—” his voice suddenly changed. “Ella, what’s happened?” he asked sharply, looking behind me into the antechamber. “Has someone been bothering you?”
“No—that is—oh, just get me out of here, please!” I exclaimed. Immediately he took my hand, and led me through a small door I hadn’t even noticed, and into an empty hallway beyond. We went quickly down a few steps, and then he opened a door, and brought me into what looked like a private library. As he shut the door I sank thankfully into a chair, then looked up to see that he was leaning with his shoulders to it, watching me intently. Somehow I couldn’t help laughing under the intensity of his gaze. His eyes were a bright, golden hazel, very clear, even arresting. “What is it?” I asked self-consciously.
He shook his head, and I was surprised to see a little color rise up under his dark tan. “It’s just—my heavens, you are beautiful.” Now it was my turn to blush. “I knew you would be, of course,” he said, coming across the room and sitting down near me. “Your mask didn’t hide that much.” He took my hand, and held it firmly and comfortingly. “Now,” he said, “what’s been happening to distress you?”
I can hardly describe the sense of relief that flooded me at having him so near, holding my hand and looking at me so. The very set of his shoulders denoted confidence; there was intelligence and strength in his face, and gentleness in his voice and touch. Suddenly the confrontation with Francine seemed trivial; my anxiety, overblown. I had, for the first time since my mother died, two very real friends I felt I could trust: my godmother, and this man, this friend of an evening to whom I already felt so linked. Gratefully my fingers returned the pressure of his, and I smiled at him, happy again. “Nothing of significance,” I said. “I think I’m just not—used to all this, you know.”
“Yes, I think I do,” he said, and sighed, looking around him. “It’s hard to come home after a long absence. I must admit that after campfires and battles, so much pomp and finery seems a little—” he paused.
“Ridiculous?” I suggested.
“Yes,” he agreed, smiling his attractive smile. “Exactly.”
I smiled back. “At yet here we both are.”
“Yes, here we both are. And we both went to the masked ball, too, eh? I suppose for the same reason, too.”
I nodded, understanding him. Then for the first time he seemed to realize that he was still holding my hand, and looked down at it, rubbing the white satin softly with his thumb. Having no particular desire that he let it go, I waited. Watching the changing thoughts play across his sensitive face, I surprised myself by reaching out my hand and lightly touching his cheek with my fingers. “What is it?” I asked. It was a rather bold and intimate gesture, but it did not seem to offend him.
He shook his head and smiled slightly, releasing my hand (reluctantly, I thought). “I’m—I’m glad you’re here, Ella,” he said, stretching his long legs out. “It’s been an infernally long evening, bowing and making conversation, and dancing with an endless parade of girls.”
“But you like dancing,” I observed mildly.
He turned his head at that, looking at me with warm eyes. “With you, I do. But you don’t talk me to death, or titter and simper. Or flirt like a—like a—” he left it hanging.
I was amused. “Is that what the other girls did?”
“Yes.” Without seeming to think about it, he took my hand again, holding it lightly but firmly. “I’ve been looking for you all night, Ella. Where were you?”
“Dancing with the prince, of course,” I answered mischievously. He looked startled for a moment, then burst out laughing.
“Of course you were,” he chuckled, and raised my hand to his lips for a moment. “The prince, after all, is only a man.” His look was full of meaning, and I found myself blushing deeply. Immediately he turned his eyes away in consideration, and I found myself prompted to say, “Well, actually I haven’t even seen the prince. I was….”
“Yes?” he prompted me, looking back.
“I was looking for you,” I admitted.
“And now you found me,” he murmured. His grasp on my hand tightened, and he looked at me with such intensity that I thought for a moment that he was going to kiss me. And was I not waiting for it, dear reader? Yes, I most certainly was, with breath bated and my heart pounding, but in the end he turned his head. Letting my breath out, I tried to compose myself, and wondered almost impatiently why he kept holding my hand. When at last I pulled it back gently, he let it go with look that was almost surprised.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I guess—I guess you seem the only real thing here tonight, in a way.” He rubbed his hands through his short blond hair, and seemed to shake himself. “I guess I’ve just been away too long,” he said, standing up, and walking to the window.
“No,” I said thoughtfully, “it seems to me that you would have to get away from all this, wouldn’t you—if you wanted to stay a real person, that is.”
“A real person?” He raised his eyebrows.
I laughed at my own word choice. “I mean a person who remembers what the real world is like, for most people. Who—who remembers campfires and battles, and also hard work, and want, and—and obscurity.” I stood up and walked to the window beside him, staring out at the lawn where the exquisitely dressed gentry and nobility strode about laughing and talking. “This is all so beautiful,” I murmured, “it’s like a dream. But who can live in a dream without wanting to wake up eventually?”
“Most of them do,” he said with a nod. “And, believe me, they don’t want to wake up to the kind of a world you’re talking about! But I know what you mean. People need a greater purpose than just balls and pleasure. Those that don’t have it tend to slip into all kinds of destructive habits. I’ve seen it many times. And even—even a king, say, needs to see the world outside the palace, needs to understand it. How can you justly rule people whose lives are so far different from your own?”
“And yet,” I added to give a counter argument, “I can tell you that the common people wouldn’t want a king who was just like them. They wouldn’t think it was right. How can he rule over me if he’s just like me? That’s how they would think. Ordinary people—the ones who generally fight, and work, and do all the things that actually make nations run and allow the upper class to live in this splendor—they want to know that their sovereign really is superior to them. Otherwise, what’s the point in serving him?”
“What indeed?” He was looking at me again, keenly and brightly. “You are certainly not just in the common way, Ella Unknown. Will you tell me your name?”
Suddenly, I felt a completely irrational sense of panic. “Will you tell me yours?” I returned.
He hesitated. “Come now,” he said, taking my hand. “I’ll find it out sooner or later.”
“All right.” I eyed him defiantly. He laughed.
“It seems we’re at an impasse. For all our talk about the real world, I guess we’re both a little reluctant to return to it just yet. But at least tell me this: why has a woman like you not been attending parties and balls all along? You’re obviously educated and well bred, and someone has dressed you expensively.” He looked pointedly at my ball gown.
My mind worked quickly, reviewing the official story I had agreed with Godmother to tell. I had never meant to lie to Simon, of course, but somehow telling him the awful truth seemed impossible. “I’ve been living in strict seclusion,” I prevaricated. “Only now my Godmother has brought me to live with her for awhile, and she is bringing me out.”
“I see.” He eyed me thoughtfully. “And who is this godmother?”
I shook my head. “Not fair. A name for a name.”
That made him laugh. “You can be stubborn, can’t you? Do you not have any other family?”
“No.” I said the word firmly.
“None at all?”
“Well, I had a step-mother once, but she cast me off years ago.”
“Why?”
“Because I was prettier and smarter than her daughters.” I put up my chin as I said it, but he nodded quite gravely.
“I can easily believe that. And then the jealous step-mother packed you off to live with your reclusive grandmother, and no one’s seen or heard from you since?”
“Something like that.”
He appeared to consider that. “All right then.” He smiled into my eyes, and my heart pounded. “Ella from the north, will you dance with me?”
“Yes, please.”