Bride Ball, Page 6

  Well, not everything. I still don’t know why she left me.

  “How did you know it?” Elmstead asked.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Jason?” Benjamin intoned, motioning toward the guest list they’d been poring over.

  Elmstead nodded toward the book. “She’ll be listed under Lady Mora Oakmarch.”

  Jason flipped through the alphabetical listing, his finger trailing down the appropriate page. He stopped, staring at the entry. When he didn’t immediately offer an answer, Edward’s lungs started to ache in the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

  He let it out on an irritated demand of “Well?”

  “She didn’t attend.”

  Elmstead groaned. “I thought for certain—”

  “Are you sure?” Edward ached at the loss of her again.

  Jason turned the book, indicating the pertinent block of names. “Lady Mora and her daughters, Ladies Marquita and Kambry Montberry, attended. Amber Oakmarch sent her regrets. Unless it was entered in error—”

  “Do you think it was?” Edward asked, turning to pin Elmstead in his gaze.

  The lord darkened. “On any other occasion, I would state that it was impossible for Brand to have made such an error.”

  “And now?”

  His host appeared at a loss for words. Finally, he managed a shaky response. “I was so sure it was her. That was what prompted the laugh in the—”

  Edward nodded. “Well, then... I suppose we should go pay a visit to—”

  “Now?” Elmstead asked, aghast at the suggestion.

  “I doubt she’s deeply asleep,” Edward offered acidly.

  His father scrubbed a hand over his face, looking harried. “Don’t you think you ought to dress first?”

  Edward looked down at his bare chest, running a hand over it. “Probably.” But if it meant finding her, he wasn’t sure he cared.

  “You might want to consider waiting to pursue her,” Darren offered, without a hint of his usual humor. “Just until you’re certain she’s the right one, of course.”

  Edward turned to his cousin, his heart pounding, feeling the tension building inside. “Is there a reason I should wait?” And by the Goddess, it had better be a good reason.

  “Jason said she’s related to Marquita and Kambry Montberry?”

  Jason replied for him. “Amber Oakmarch’s stepsisters of Lady Mora Oakmarch. They were the children of Lady Mora’s first marriage to the Duke of Montberry,” he prattled on.

  Darren winced, and Edward felt his heart stutter.

  “And what difference does that make, cousin?” Edward inquired, abruptly wishing he’d had more sleep.

  “Well, I saw you with your...uh...” He motioned uncertainly, his entire body an alarming shade of scarlet that made his hair seem to glow.

  “Bride, I can only hope.”

  Darren nodded sheepishly. “I thought you were fairly settled.”

  “You bedded—” He hesitated at Darren’s flinch. “Which one did you?” He didn’t question it.

  His cousin didn’t reply.

  “Both of them?” Edward asked, the sick pounding in his head expanding to include his roiling stomach. He looked at the bread he still held and pitched it at the table. His appetite could be dead for weeks, at this news. “As me.” Somehow, he knew the answer.

  “I wasn’t supposed to be me,” Darren replied, managing a strained smile.

  “Goddess, I could choke you right now,” he grumbled.

  “I’m only mortal, Edward, and what they offered was enough to tempt a god.”

  “As me? Couldn’t you have restrained yourself for one night? Or...at least changed clothes and—”

  “Easy for you to say. You get to fade into the walls at every Bride Ball. I am draped with willing women, making offers—”

  “Now you know why I hate it,” Edward snapped at him.

  “I don’t hate it. I love it. I just hate not being able to—”

  “Well, you did!”

  Darren smiled crookedly. “Oh, I did, at that,” he drawled.

  “This isn’t the time,” Edward warned him.

  His smile faded to a brittle copy. “So... What will you do now?”

  Edward took a calming breath. “You didn’t make them any promises, did you?”

  “Only consideration. You’re considering them all...in some manner.”

  And rejecting them all, save Cinder. “Jason, start at the beginning of the list of attendees. Elmstead, you’ve met these women. Circle any that could be mistaken for Amber Oakmarch. Cross off any that can’t be. If you don’t know the lady, leave her. If you know which of your servants issued the invitation in question, ask them about the ones you don’t know. Leave any they can’t call immediately to mind.”

  “And Amber Oakmarch?” Jason inquired.

  Edward considered Elmstead’s certainty. “Circle her. Consider every woman on that list, those that attended, and those that supposedly didn’t.”

  He turned to leave, intent on seeking out a pain pill for his throbbing head. His gaze settled on the captain. “You are dismissed,” he granted gruffly. “I suggest you steer clear of me, until this is settled.”

  To the captain’s credit, he didn’t open his mouth to acknowledge the order.

  Chapter Six

  “I hear the prince is searching for his bride,” Kambry confided to her older sister, leaning across the table in a manner Mora would censure her for.

  Amber rolled her eyes behind the cover of her book. Who cared what the prince did? Let him pick the lucky woman and have a palace full of fat, happy babes.

  “He knows who we are, Kambry,” Marquita replied irritably, no doubt reasoning that His Highness would have no need to search for them. “And had he wished to find us, it wouldn’t have taken him more than a week to do so.”

  Amber didn’t take delight in that, as she usually would. “Marquita the Spoiled” not getting her way was typically fodder for days of giggles, but not today.

  At present, that reminder only reinforced that if Christopher had wanted to find Amber, he could have managed it in less time than this. Even with a fake name, there were only so many un-augmented ladies of Amber’s description to be found.

  “It sounds as if he’s making a show of it,” Kambry sing-songed. “He’s going house to house, searching for the lady. I heard he has something of hers that was left behind.”

  Marquita moved so abruptly that she rattled the stoneware on the tabletop and sloshed tea. Amber peeked at the mess over the cover, then pretended not to notice. If the tablecloth was ruined, it wasn’t her fault. And it wasn’t one of Nana’s precious lace cloths, either. It was one of the tacky damask monstrosities that Mora favored.

  Marquita’s excited chatter cut through her preoccupation.

  “My garter?”

  “No one knows or no one will say. But... I do know that he went to Maplelane and Beechgrove, skipping us completely.”

  There was a tense moment of silence. “You think he means to come here last and make a grand show of it?”

  “It could be. It is worth considering, given the circumstances.”

  Amber closed her eyes, saying a silent prayer that Kambry was correct. It wasn’t that she had some burning urge to see her stepsisters succeed in their quest, but if they did, there was reward to be had of it.

  For one thing, at least one of the chattering hens would move to the palace...or some summer home. Even if he only wanted one of the sisters, though he’d reportedly had sex with them both at the Bride Ball, the new “princess” could probably arrange for an advantageous marriage for her sister, removing the second hen from the house, as well. That meant immediate relief to a large portion of Amber’s headaches.

  Better, Mora would spend much of her time visiting her daughters and playing at court. Amber would have to spend little time with the “lady.”

  Of course, there was still the problem of Nana dying. Mora wouldn’t give the hou
se to Amber; it would be too close to defeat for her. To top it, there was always the chance that “the princess” would be dismissed, as Mora herself had been. Mora was too old to make a coveted position, and there was only so much of each year she could visit a daughter who didn’t have a whole palace to let.

  “Cinder!”

  Marquita’s demand cut through the fog of her thoughts. Amber sighed at the fact that her stepmother and stepsisters could make her beloved pet name sound so much a curse. It had always been a happy name, when her father used it.

  Her heart quickened at the memory of it on Christopher’s lips. It had been pleasant then, as well.

  Realizing she still hadn’t answered, she lowered her book, spearing Marquita with a bored look. No doubt, she was about to be ordered to clean up Marquita’s mess. “Yes?”

  “What will you do, if we go away?” It was a cruel question, meant to infer that Amber had nowhere to go and nothing to do, without the duty of serving them.

  Rejoice! She feigned indifference. “Care for Nana...and marry a farmer or driver, I suppose. When she passes, I mean. Until, then, she needs me.”

  “Poor Cinder.” Marquita affected a sigh.

  Amber felt her temper coming unglued.

  She had no opportunity to be pushed to venting. The door opened, and Mora rushed in, hanging her wrap. Kambry and Marquita straightened in their chairs, probably hoping their mother hadn’t seen them slouch.

  Mora turned, looking harried, though her appearance was impeccable, as always. “Marquita! Kambry! Present yourselves.”

  They rushed over, and Amber shut her book. She rose with another sigh, as Mora fussed over her daughters’ hair and clothing. If they were primping, it meant important guests of Nana’s house, whether Mora entertained them or Nana did. For Nana’s sake, Amber would make certain Oakmarch left a favorable impression on them.

  She tucked the book in her apron pocket and mopped at the spilled tea. “Bread and jam?” she asked, to be certain.

  “To your room,” Mora snapped.

  Amber looked up in surprise. “Pardon?”

  Mora leveled a look of cold dislike at her. “To your room...now.”

  “As you wish.” She marched smartly to the stairs, not offering so much as a single backward glance, studiously ignoring their fawning and planning.

  It was surprising that Mora wanted her gone. The possession of servants would make the household seem richer. Her stepmother likely didn’t want any possible competition for the attention about to be heaped on Marquita and Kambry, not that a plain little servant girl was much competition.

  She slowed, considering that. She had felt lovely once, when Christopher had singled her out, when he’d proclaimed her “perfect.”

  Amber wasn’t perfect, of course. She wasn’t even especially pretty. She’d never had milk baths and cosmetic surgeries...not that she wanted them. Amber had work-roughened hands that she kept moderately softened with a lotion her grandmother had given her and a pumice stone.

  She closed the door to her room behind her, settling on the bed, pulling out the book again. From outside, she heard the approach of several vehicles.

  Amber didn’t go to the window. What would be the point of it? They weren’t her guests; she wasn’t even expected to serve them. She would probably not know them, based on the fact that she’d never been banished from the lower reaches when guests arrived before.

  What did it matter? They’d think her beneath them, anyway.

  Christopher didn’t seem to, though it must have been painfully obvious to him that I was lowborn.

  It was a maddening thing to be the daughter of a lord and be nothing more than a servant in your own home, but that was the fate the Goddess had served her. It did no good to cry over it or whine as Marquita did when she felt she was hopelessly behind the fashions.

  She opened the book to the page she’d abandoned downstairs and started to read. It was a favorite, one her father had read to her many times.

  The sound of Nana’s cane brought her head around. Amber started to stand, then reconsidered when she realized Nana was headed for the stairs.

  Mora didn’t want Amber seen. It would serve Mora right if she and her daughters were forced to serve Nana a cup of tea. If the Goddess was just, they might singe a ruffle or a bit of lace. Amber wouldn’t wish a burn, even on them.

  She settled back into her book, losing herself in the world between the covers as she always had, startling at a new sound.

  The footsteps heading back up the stairs were heavier, too heavy to be a woman. They sounded of boots, a man’s tread, determined...military? Her heart started to pound, and she fisted her hand around the edge of the book.

  The footsteps stopped at her door, and Amber forced herself to continue breathing, however erratically. The knock was quick and hard.

  “C-come in,” she managed. Whatever this was, it was best to meet it seated. At least, she wouldn’t hit her head if she fainted away.

  The door opened and a soldier stepped inside. “Amber Oakmarch?” he asked gruffly.

  She nodded, feeling lightheaded. Visions of the soldier that had chased her down raced in her mind, and she was suddenly certain she was about to find out what offense she’d committed that night.

  Amber prayed it was a minor thing. If they took her away, who would care for Nana?

  “Come with me, if you please.” It wasn’t a question.

  Amber rose on quaking legs, dropping the book on her bed. At least, if they arrested her, they wouldn’t take the book. She walked to the doorway, and the soldier cleared it for her. He kept pace behind her on the way to the stairs, not touching her but close enough to grab her, if she ran.

  Where was there to run? Nowhere.

  * * * *

  “You’re really going to do this?” Edward asked. He still couldn’t believe Darren was serious.

  His cousin smiled. “You didn’t experience them.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  William, Elmstead’s driver, laughed heartily at that. The guard beside him kept his silence.

  The house they stopped at was a well-kept little estate. The “manor” was the size of a large family home, consisting of perhaps eight bedrooms...maybe one more, depending on what common rooms it claimed.

  It was a charming place. Early spring flowers pushed through the night-frosted ground. The smells of baking reached them before the door opened to reveal a woman of about his mother’s age, her auburn hair pulled into a fall of ringlets cascading over her shoulder.

  Edward was glad that he’d brought guards along. Considering Darren’s intimacy with the Montberry women, thinking his cousin was Edward, the Goddess only knew what would happen next. The last thing Edward wanted was the two pawing at him; the guards were ordered to prevent that.

  “Welcome, Your Highness,” Lady Mora Oakmarch offered. Her gaze flicked to Darren, started to slide away, then returned, no doubt noting the wealth his clothing attested to. “And... I do not believe we’ve met, sir.” She ignored the guards, as most nobles would.

  “I believe you have,” Edward quipped.

  Darren elbowed him, and Lady Mora’s brows rose. “Hein Darren Willowmarsh,” his cousin offered with a slight bow of his head.

  Her smile returned...then spread. “Oh, my. Two young royals, then. Please, do come in.” She turned away, motioning to someone behind her, most likely her daughters.

  Edward took the lead, wincing at the sight of the younger women. Their bodices were half-unlaced in invitation. Ringlets of copper hair on the shorter and blonde on the taller were strategically let down to infer wanton behavior and arranged to draw the eyes to the nearly-indecent display of breasts.

  “How nice to...see you again, Your Highness,” the blonde purred.

  It was time to shatter her illusions. “I am afraid I’ve never met you, dear lady.”

  “Of course. You met so many people at the—”

  “It wasn’t me,” Edward restated.
r />   Darren stepped in. “I apologize for the deception, Marquita.” He shifted his eyes to the shorter. “Kambry.”

  Their smiles faltered. Even Lady Mora seemed somewhat peaked.

  Darren cleared his throat. “You see... Edward had asked me to act as his decoy, so he could mingle in secret.”

  “But you let us think,” Kambry began heatedly.

  Mora whispered something to her daughters that caused Kambry to choose silence. A moment later, three vibrant, if not sincere, smiles returned.

  Lady Mora clapped her hands once. “Now that we’ve cleared up that misconception, why don’t we sit, and you can tell us why you’ve decided to grace our home.”

  Edward would rather have stood in his nervous state, but he sat out of courtesy, refusing the offer of bread and jam.

  Darren leaned forward in his chair. “I’ve told my father about your offer, that I wanted to accept it, if you are of a heart to, knowing I’m not Edward.”

  “And he said?” Lady Mora inquired before her daughters could respond. There was a tension about her that made little sense.

  “He has no objection to the pair,” he offered tactfully. “However, he doesn’t care for the messy complication of marrying one, when it may be the other that bears me an heir first.”

  Mora stayed silent, letting Darren get to the runner’s tape at his own pace.

  “He wishes me to take both as mistresses, until one presents me with a son. The one that does first will be my wife and the other my mistress.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “And what assurances have my daughters?” Mora asked.

  “Five years. I am a relatively young man. I won’t take any other mistresses or a wife for that long.”

  “Daughters?” she asked.

  Marquita smiled sweetly. “Agreed, as long as we have equal time of you.”

  Darren nodded. “You may well exhaust me, but I can promise it.”

  Kambry hesitated only a moment. “Agreed.” But she seemed troubled by it.

  Mora nodded. “Very well. Shall we—”

  “A moment, Lady Mora,” Edward interrupted her. “There is one more thing.”