H enry was waiting in Kate’s chamber when she slipped through the door, having dropped Victoria in her room to begin the long process of dressing for the ball. Kate took one look at her godmother and her lip trembled. Henry started forward, arms open.
She was crying before Henry even reached her. Her godmother pulled her over to the settee, sat them both down, and rocked her against her shoulder, saying things that Kate didn’t hear. She cried until her lungs burned and her stomach twisted.
Finally Kate lifted her head. “Just don’t tell me to stop loving him,” she said, choking out the words. “I couldn’t stop breathing, I couldn’t stop loving—” She lost her voice in a sob.
“I’m not,” Henry said. She pushed Kate gently backward, so she was lying down. “I am going to tell you to stop crying, though. You’re making yourself ill.” She got up and went to the washbasin, bringing back a cool, damp cloth. “Put this over your eyes.”
So Kate lay there under the wet cloth, feeling the sting of her swollen eyes, and the way her chest still hurt from the violence of her sobs, and the comfort of Henry’s fingers twined in hers.
“I won’t tell you to stop loving him,” Henry finally said, “because I know it’s not possible.”
“My father . . .”
“I cried for a week when I heard he died. I cried on his wedding night; I cried when your mother died, because I knew he would be hurt by it.” There was a moment’s pause. “I never cry,” Henry added.
Kate gave a watery chuckle. “I don’t either. Ever .”
Henry’s fingers tightened. “I’m so sorry, Kate. I’m just so sorry. All I can tell you is that life can be joyful, even if one of the people you love isn’t beside you. Because there will be others. I know it doesn’t feel that way, but it’s true. You’ll marry—”
“That’s the worst of it,” Kate burst out. “How am I going to marry anyone now? Now that I know—I know . . .” She fell silent, unable to put into words what it was like to nestle in Gabriel’s arms, to laugh with him, to relax against him, to make love to him. “I couldn’t,” she said flatly. His scent was imprinted in her skin, and the way he shook when she touched him, the way his face grew wild and needy.
“I know,” Henry said. “I know.” She got up. “I’m going to change your cloth. Your eyes look like raisins soaked in brandy.”
“Charming,” Kate said, her laugh cracking.
“Love is messy,” Henry said, pulling off the cloth and putting another cold one in its place. It was a little too wet, and a drop of chill water rolled down Kate’s cheek. Even as Kate was reaching to wipe it off, Henry patted her dry. “Messy, messy, messy.”
“I hate it,” Kate said, with conviction.
“Well, I don’t. Because it’s better to live like a flame, Kate, to know a man and love him, even if he can’t be yours, than never to love at all.”
“There will be no one else for me.” She said it out of the quiet conviction that it was true.
“Do you think I believed your father was perfect?”
Kate gave a strangled half giggle. “I doubt it.”
“He wasn’t,” Henry stated.
Kate nearly took off her cloth to see Henry’s face, but at that moment she heard her godmother get up and walk across the room. “He was not perfect,” Henry repeated. “He was a fool who believed that money was more important than love, that the two of us would never be happy together because he couldn’t provide for me as he felt he should.”
“Stupid ass,” Kate muttered.
“Maybe,” Henry said. “I do like being well-fed.” There was laughter in her voice. The cloth disappeared from Kate’s eyes and Henry peered down at her. “Much better,” she said with satisfaction. “I’ll get one more.”
Kate heard her walk away again. And then, over the splashing of water, she asked: “What does she look like, Henry?”
“The little Russian, you mean?”
“Gabriel’s bride,” Kate said. “What is she like?”
Henry lifted off the cloth and put a fresh one in its place. “She’s not you. She will never be you.”
“Yes, but—”
“It’s not important,” Henry stated. “Your mother was your mother. She loved your father, and I was glad of that. But I didn’t think about the two of them together, because it wouldn’t be helpful.”
“I suppose not,” Kate said.
“You can make yourself stop thinking of him,” Henry commanded.
Kate tried to imagine a world without Gabriel.
“Starting tonight.” Henry pulled off the cloth again. Kate opened her eyes. “Very good,” Henry said, as if she were checking the progress of a baking loaf. “You’ll be just fine in an hour or two.”
“I don’t think I want to go to the ball tonight,” Kate whispered. “I’m just not strong enough. He took us—Victoria and me—he took us into the garden behind the chapel, and his voice . . . it was as if he hardly knew me.”
“Don’t you dare start crying again,” Henry interrupted.
Kate gulped.
“You are going to that ball tonight. You are going to look more beautiful than you have ever looked in your life—because I am going to dress you. You are going to give that prince one last chance to be a man.”
“To be a man,” Kate said. “He is a man.” An image flashed into her mind of Gabriel standing before her naked, his chest heaving, his eyes hungry.
“Your father couldn’t imagine life any way other than he’d been taught. He’d been told since birth that because he was a younger son, he had to marry a rich woman. Your prince has been told that he has to marry the woman his brother chooses to send him.”
“He has the castle to support,” Kate protested.
“I’ll give him that,” Henry said. “He has far more responsibilities than your father did, and they’re real ones. His uncle is a loon, and it’s not as if those elderly princesses could start tatting lace to bring in money.”
“He has no choice,” Kate said, sighing.
“There’s always a choice. And tonight we’re going to make that choice brilliantly, absolutely clear to him.”
Kate sat up. She felt washed clean, as if all those tears had rinsed away some of the grief. “He won’t break his promise to marry Tatiana.”
“Then you’ll know for certain that he’s a fool,” Henry said. “I have to admit that my understanding of your father’s character was a great help in moments when I missed him. If Gabriel doesn’t have the backbone to take you, Kate, then he doesn’t deserve you.”
“I wish you could just tell him that,” Kate said, getting to her feet. “It would make it all so simple.”
Henry smiled wryly. “It is simple. You’ll be at the ball, and so will Tatiana. And there it is: his life before him. He can choose.”
“Did you have a night like this?” Kate asked, drifting over to the dressing table. Her eyes were not terrible, all things considered, though she looked awfully white.
“Your father’s betrothal ball.”
Kate turned around. “The very same occasion?”
“The very same. I wore yellow ribbed silk, trimmed with flounces and silk tassels. My skirts were so large I could hardly fit through a door. I wore a wig that night, and three patches. I painted my lips, which was far more scandalous in those days than it is now.”
“You must have been beautiful,” Kate said. Even now, Henry was absolutely luscious.
“I was,” Henry said. “You may not like this, darling, but I’m going to say it anyway. Your mother was very frail, like a tulip that had been out of water. She spent most of the night reclining on the side of the ballroom.”
“Please don’t hate her,” Kate began.
“Oh, I didn’t,” Henry said. “Anyone could tell she was a lovely person who was deeply unlucky when it came to her health. She longed to be up and dancing.”
Kate’s mouth wobbled. “Poor Mama,” she said. “She always wished she had the energy to get up . . . but if she tried, she would end up back in bed for days on end.”
“I can imagine,” Henry said, nodding.
“Did my father dance with you?”
“No.”
“And yet you were there.”
“I was the most beautiful woman in London that night,” Henry said flatly. “I received four proposals of marriage in the week thereafter, and I chose my first husband from that group. And I did not look behind me.”
“I—”
“You will do the same as I, if it comes to that,” Henry said, fixing Kate with her eyes. “I sincerely hope that the prince has more backbone than your father, but if he does not, you will leave this castle with your head held high.”
Kate nodded.
“And now,” Henry said, “we must begin to dress. Where’s that maid of yours?” She pulled on the cord.
Rosalie rushed into the room a few minutes later. “Oh, miss, we’re that late!” She caught sight of Henry and bobbed a curtsy. “Excuse me, my lady.”
“We are indeed late, and it’s my fault,” Henry said, smiling. “I’m sure that my maid Parsons is shaking with anger. May I see what you have planned for my goddaughter’s attire this evening?”
Rosalie obediently trotted over to the cupboard and then returned with a pale yellow ball gown reverently laid over her outstretched arms. “It’s edged in gilt thread,” she said, “and there’s the yellow wig that goes with it just perfect. And there are some diamonds—”
“No,” Henry said. “That won’t do. She’ll look jaundiced. Did you bring any other ball gowns?”
“Well, yes,” Rosalie said, alarmed. “But I didn’t—”
“Let’s see those.”
“There are two more,” the maid said, running back to the cupboard. “I could only choose three from Miss Victoria’s wardrobe. They each take a trunk of their own, of course.”
“We understand,” Henry said.
“There’s this silk damask,” Rosalie said, turning around. “And the wig.” She nodded toward a wig that was tinted a distinctly bilious shade.
But Henry was already shaking her head. “Green will swear at your hair,” she told Kate. “Your mistress is not wearing a wig tonight,” she instructed Rosalie.
“No wig? Of course I don’t need to wear a wig,” Kate said with relief. “Victoria is here so I can be myself.”
“ She has to wear a wig,” Henry said with satisfaction. “You might as well send that green wig back to Victoria’s room, because I’ll not see that on your head as long as I’m living.”
“The last gown,” Rosalie said, hopefully. Over her arms was a great swath of gorgeous cream taffeta with designs in a delicate pale blue.
“Perfect,” Henry said, at the same moment Kate cried, “It’s beautiful!”
“If I don’t return to my chamber Parsons will have an apoplexy,” Henry said. “So, Kate: no wig, and put your hair up very simply, yes? I shall send Parsons to paint your face.”
“Paint my face?” Kate repeated, a bit dismayed. “I’m not sure—”
“Parsons is a brilliant artist,” Henry said, overriding her. “You won’t recognize yourself. Now be quick about it, my dear. We want to make a grand entrance, not enter after everyone has gone to bed.”
Kate nodded and then darted across the room to give Henry a quick hug. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Henry gave her an odd half smile. “I look at you, and I can find it in my heart to think that your father was not such a fool after all.”
By the time Kate had had a restorative cup of tea and emerged from her bath, she felt quite calm and almost happy. This night would decide the rest of her life. That was an odd and interesting thought.
She ran her fingers through her hair. It was tousled, and streaked with gold from all the riding she’d done in the sun. “So what can we do with this, Rosalie?”
“I could do curls on top of your head,” Rosalie suggested. “Or we could make coils, for a classical look, but that would be harder because your hair is so thick. I would have to use a curling iron to flatten it.”
Kate shuddered. “Let’s put it up, with some curls falling down the back as well. It weighs too much to pile all of it on top.”
“What would you like to wear as decoration?” Rosalie was poking around in a box on the dressing table. “We have a silver net, but that would make your hair look brassy. There’s a jeweled comb, but it’s deep green and won’t suit your ball gown.”
“I’ll do without anything in my hair,” Kate said, shrugging.
“Oh miss,” Rosalie moaned. “I’m begging you . . .” She rummaged about in the box. “Here’s a silver comb with emeralds,” she said in relief. “I knew that had to be here somewhere.”
“It’s only until midnight,” Kate pointed out. “I’ll hardly enter the ballroom before it will be time to run to Algie’s carriage.”
“I’m almost packed,” Rosalie said, glancing around the room. Open trunks lined the wall.
There was a brisk knock on the door, and a maid so elegant that Kate could easily have confused her with a guest at the castle entered the room. “It’s Parsons, miss,” she said, dropping a curtsy. “Lady Wrothe asked me to aid you.”
“Thank you, Parsons,” Kate said, seating herself before the dressing table.
Parsons opened a box and started rummaging through her various beauty aids. First she patted cream all over Kate’s face. She opened a jar of rouge and then shook her head. “Too pink,” she said. “What I need is crimson.”
She tried crimson and then wiped it off. In a few minutes there was a tumble of jars on the dressing table.
“I had no idea this was such an elaborate process,” Kate said faintly. She had her eyes shut as Parsons did something to them.
“I finished Lady Wrothe before coming to you,” Parsons said. “She’s got lovely skin but even so, at her age it takes longer. I’m giving you only the slightest help, miss. I just need to find the proper lip color.” She turned over the various jars again.
Rosalie, who’d been watching while she pinned Kate’s hair up, leaned forward and pointed to a little silk box. “What about this?”
“Peony red,” Parsons said, investigating. She dipped her finger and painted Kate’s mouth a deep red.
“It’s perfect,” Kate said, awed. And it was. The color turned her honey skin from an abomination to a delight. Her cheeks were tinted with a pale peach wash, and her eyes seemed to have deepened and grown more mysterious. “My goodness, Parsons,” she said. “You’re something of a magician, aren’t you?”
Parsons laughed. “You’re beautiful, miss. Not a challenge at all.” She bustled out of the room.
“Your hair’s almost finished,” Rosalie said, slipping in the comb adorned with emeralds. It glinted among Kate’s curls. “You do look wonderful.”
“Not young,” Kate said with satisfaction, drawing on gloves that went well above her elbows.
“It’s not that. You really shouldn’t talk about yourself as if you were a spinster. But you look—well—fiery.”
“I think a few more jewels are in order,” Kate said. “We still have that box of Victoria’s, don’t we?”
Rosalie pulled out a pearl choker with a beautiful emerald in front, and fastened it around Kate’s neck. “And now . . . the glass slippers,” she said, with a tone of reverence that made Kate’s eyebrows go up.
“Lady Dagobert said that they were a terrible waste of money.”
Rosalie was tenderly opening a wooden box and unwrapping a pair of slippers swathed in silk. “Isn’t that true of everything worth having?”
“Not really,” Kate said, thinking of lemon tarts, and Freddie’s love, and even a prince’s kiss.
The little maid knelt at her feet. “Now put this on gently, Miss Katherine. They call it a glass slipper for a reason. It isn’t made of glass, but it’s still liable to break.”
She slipped a gorgeous heeled slipper on Kate’s foot. It had the sheen of polished glass, and gems flashed from the slender heel. “Why, it’s almost transparent,” Kate said, rather awed despite herself. “What on earth is it made of, if not glass?”
“Some sort of stiffened taffeta,” Rosalie said, shrugging. “The taffeta looks shimmery, a bit like glass. They’re really only good for one night, because they never look fresh and new after being worn.”
Kate stood for a moment in front of the glass, surveying herself. With some satisfaction, she realized that no one would think she was the bewigged, bepowdered Victoria she had appeared to be for the last few days. The dark shadows under her eyes had receded, and rouge made her lips look pouty and undeniably sensual.
For the first time, she saw beauty inherited from her father in her face, the beauty that Victoria was famous for. She didn’t look lush and pillowy, like Victoria—but she looked—she almost thought that she looked— better . More beautiful than her sister.
If Gabriel looked at her like this, and decided he would marry Tatiana instead, then she had tried her best.
“Rosalie,” she said, turning to her maid, “this gown was an inspired choice. Thank you.”
“It’s the way it molds under your bosom,” Rosalie said, coming over to give her expert opinion. “The way the fabric comes horizontal here, and then there’s nothing but a bit of flimsy silk over your breasts . . . And your legs, miss! They look so long. You’ll have all the ladies sighing with envy.”
Kate grinned at herself. As far as she knew, no one had ever sighed in envy over the way she looked.
“Another thing is that it’s just a little short on you,” Rosalie continued, “which shows your ankle and the shoe. Some ladies shorten their gowns on purpose, just for that. Those with good ankles, of course.”
There was a tap on the door, and there was Victoria, with Algie at her back. She wore the famous cherry wig, offset by a delicious white gown trimmed in cherry.
“Lord and Lady Wrothe are waiting for us in the gallery,” Victoria reported. And then, catching sight of Kate’s ensemble as Rosalie moved aside, she stopped and clasped her hands together. “Oh! You look . . . You look . . . Algie, look at Kate, just look at Kate!”
Kate walked forward, hugely enjoying the surge of confidence that comes from feeling beautiful.
Algie’s reaction was as satisfactory as Victoria’s. His mouth fell ajar, though it couldn’t go far due to his extraordinarily high collar. “You look like someone . . . you look like . . . you look French !”
That was obviously his highest praise.
“You both look wonderful,” Kate said.
“I can’t breathe,” Victoria confided. “But luckily this ball gown is an old-fashioned shape, and the pleats mean that you can’t see my figure very clearly.”
“You look delectable,” Kate said. “Shall we go?”
Henry and Leo were waiting for them at the far end of the portrait gallery. Henry was magnificently dressed in plum-colored silk sewn with arabesques of seed pearls. “Well,” she said, as Victoria and Kate reached the end of the portrait gallery. “I must say that I’m glad that you two didn’t come on the market when I was in my prime!”
“You would have stolen the gentlemen and left us broken-hearted,” Kate said lightly, giving her a kiss. “Thank you again,” she whispered.
“For what?” Henry said.
“For coming to the ball with me.”
“You don’t need us,” Henry scoffed. “The prince will fall to the ground in an ecstasy of despair when he sees you. I just want to be sure that I don’t miss the show. I love a good comedy.”
Wick’s eyes widened as they approached the ballroom. He bowed deeply—and winked. Then he nodded to his footmen, and with a smooth, synchronized movement they each pulled open one of the great doors.
Wick preceded them to the top of a short flight of stairs leading down into the ballroom, and announced in sonorous tones, “Lord and Lady Wrothe. Miss Victoria Daltry and Miss Katherine Daltry. Lord Dimsdale.”
There were perhaps two or three hundred people in the ballroom. Chandeliers caught the glint of diamonds and rubies, the sheen of iridescent silks.
Kate walked forward to the top of the stairs, and paused just long enough to make sure that all eyes were on her. Then she began slowly, very slowly, descending the stairs into the room. Naturally she held up her skirts, which brought the glass slippers—and her ankles—into view.
As she reached the bottom step, she heard the stir of voices, the shrill repetition of her name. But more than voices, she saw men’s heads swivel in her direction.
She realized, with a start, that it was a bit as if someone had tossed a bucket of oats into a pasture full of stallions. They all turned, almost as one, and headed toward the delicacy.
She greeted the nearest man with a smile. And she did not look to the right, or the left, to see if a prince might be watching.
Her pleasure was all the keener for years of watching Victoria prance off to local assemblies, and then to London for her season . . . always staying behind, always in plain cambric and sturdy cotton, with her fraying gloves and shabby boots . . .
Kate was in the grip of a particular kind of joy.
The first gentleman reached her, almost stumbling over his dancing slippers in his fervor. He introduced himself, in the absence of their host. “How lovely to meet you, Lord Bantam,” she said sweetly. He was wearing two waistcoats, one of figured velvet over another of sky-blue satin, and he bowed with a flourish that caused the buckles on his shoes to flash like diamonds.
Which, she decided a moment later, they actually were.
Lord Bantam was followed by Mr. Egan, and then by Toloose, Lord Ogilby, the Earl of Ormskirk, Lord Hathaway, and a Mr. Napkin. Henry floated forward as naturally as if she were Kate’s mama, tapping men on the arm with her fan, telling Ogilby that he certainly could not ask her goddaughter for a waltz.
It was a heady, delightful feeling, standing in the midst of the gentlemen, her emeralds glittering as brightly as Lord Bantam’s buckles.
But it wasn’t her emeralds that were attracting them. She knew that. It was the secret smile in her eyes, her peony lips, the sensuality in the way she moved.
She caught sight of Effie and introduced herself as Victoria’s sister Kate.
“Kate?” Effie breathed, and then smiled mischievously, dropping a curtsy. “What a pleasure to meet you! Why, I adore Victoria.” And then Effie was in the circle as well, the two of them laughing and flirting with all the men at once.
“I am a terrible dancer,” she said to the Earl of Ormskirk, whom Henry had decided would be her first partner. Interestingly enough, Effie had bestowed her hand on Lord Hathaway rather than the younger bucks vying for her attention.
He leaned forward as if mesmerized and breathed, “Would you like to sit this dance out, Miss Daltry?”
Ormskirk had a strong chin and bright blue eyes. He looked like a man who was more comfortable on a horse than in a study. He would never read a journal about Ionian antiquities, whatever those were. Even after reading two articles, she still wasn’t quite sure.
He was a man of deeds and not words. She favored him with a smile and was rewarded with another kiss on her hand. “I should prefer to dance,” she told him lightly. “But you, my lord, must take pity on me and tell me exactly what to do. I simply cannot keep these reels in my head.”
“Neither can I,” Ormskirk confided. “I always find myself going the wrong direction. But this is a polonaise and that’s easy enough. The trick is just to keep slowly promenading about until everyone stops. Quite boring, really.”
He was right; it was easy enough. Kate kept her eyes fastened on him so that she wouldn’t, by any stray chance, see Gabriel.
Even the thought caused a jolt of anguish, but her smile didn’t waver.
The earl responded to her attention like a flower in the sun. At the end of the polonaise he surrendered her to Lord Bantam with obvious reluctance. But he reappeared a very short time later, when she was about to dance with Toloose, and plucked that gentleman by the sleeve.
Kate raised an eyebrow as Toloose made an excuse and walked away.
“My goodness, sir, you remind me of a court magician,” she said. “How on earth did you frighten away poor Mr. Toloose? I was looking forward to admiring his coat at closer range.”
“Toloose looks like a peacock, but he’s actually a solid fellow,” Ormskirk said. “I wanted to dance with you again, and so I arranged the perfect dance.”
She smiled at him, noting the way his eyes lingered on her lips and the curve of her bosom.
“A waltz,” Ormskirk said triumphantly.
Kate knew the answer to that one. “My goodness, my stepmother never allowed me to learn the waltz! And I believe that my godmother explicitly instructed me not to waltz.”
“How lucky for us that your stepmama isn’t here,” Ormskirk said. The twinkle in his eye made up, to some extent, for his high forehead. The poor earl was conspicuously going bald, though he was doing it in a distinguished fashion. It certainly wasn’t his fault that his forehead shone so in the light of all these candles.
Kate frowned, trying to remember what Gabriel had said the night before about the waltz. It was licentious, she knew that. “Perhaps . . . Oh! There’s my godmother,” she said with some relief. “Henry, darling!”
“Ah, Ormskirk,” Henry said. “I thought you’d be back.”
“It’s a waltz next,” he said to her, with a curious kind of intensity. “I’ve asked Miss Daltry if I might escort her onto the floor.”
“Ah,” Henry said, looking him up and down. “Well . . .” She nodded and seemed to come to a decision. “I haven’t any objections as long as you don’t cannon into me and Leo. I adore the waltz, but some couples act like a pair of horses spooked by a fly bite.”
Ormskirk grinned at that. “I fancy I can keep within the traces,” he said lightly, and turned to Kate, holding out his hand. “Miss Daltry?”
For some reason, she felt strangely reluctant to dance with him again . . . but that was foolish. It was just the crush, and the way Henry’s perfume filled the air around her, and the heat of candles.
“The dance floor will be far less crowded than here,” Henry was saying to Leo, “given as most of the debutantes will sit out unless that silly prince asks them to dance. I expect they’ll all line up, the better to ogle him.”
Kate stiffened her backbone. She wasn’t going to stand on the side while Gabriel circled the floor with his betrothed. She gave Ormskirk a smile, one guaranteed to make the pretty flush on his cheeks rise even higher. “As long as you can steer me, my lord. For I must warn you that I am terribly inexperienced in this dance.”
He reached out, blue eyes steady, and took her hand. “Miss Daltry,” he said, “it would be my honor and my privilege to lead you in your first waltz.”