Chapter 37
Aweek later, a knock rattled the front door. No one heard it at first, not over the screeching chorus of our music students. They were rasping their way through a ballad about a nightingale, their voices clawing at my ears as I tried to focus. The knock came again. And again. And again.
Mother and Comfort were busy teaching and I was upstairs drowning in ink, halfway through translating a lengthy speech. The pounding finally pierced through the chaos, enough that I pulled my attention away from my work and looked out the window.
Below, a carriage gleamed in the sunlight, the royal crest stamped boldly across its side. I caught my breath. A messenger stood at our door, straight-backed and in uniform. Cynthia appeared, broom in hand and hair wrapped in a cloth, and accepted a thick envelope from him with wide eyes.
The messenger sprang back into his carriage. The driver cracked his whip and the horses bolted forward. As they drove out of sight, an unnatural hush fell downstairs, cutting off the last sour notes of the nightingale song.
Then the silence shattered. There were screams, gasps, and squeals so piercing that I wondered if the glass windows would crack. It was even louder than the time mice had gotten loose during embroidery practice and darted through all the swishing skirts.
What on earth?
I scrambled from my desk, tugging my hair loose so it tumbled forward, a familiar veil to hide my scars. Ever since Comfort had announced our finances were failing, I hadn’t ordered any new cosmetics. My hair and the occasional hand fan or veil had become my only armor.
The din downstairs grew deafening as I descended the stairs into a sea of flying ribbons, flushed cheeks, and girls bouncing on slippered feet. The finishing school pupils were clutching one another, shrieking as if Prince Hubert himself had strolled through our front door.
“Girls. Girls!” Mother’s voice rose above the cacophony, though it took several tries before order wobbled back into the room. She stood at the center, the heavy envelope in one hand, the unfolded letter in the other. Her eyebrow rose.
“A refined lady does not ever whoop and cheer,” she chastised, “but waits for the other person to speak before making herself heard.”
A few heads dipped in shame, but most eyes still glittered with unrestrained excitement. Comfort attempted to hush them further, while Cynthia lingered quietly in the corner, broom still clutched in her hands as though she had forgotten it entirely.
I froze halfway down the staircase, unwilling to miss a word.
Once the room was completely silent, Mother cleared her throat and read.
By Royal Proclamation:
In honor of His Majesty, Crown Prince Hubert of Islandria, heir to the throne, all eligible young maidens are invited to attend a royal ball at the castle, on the first day of the eighth month, at sunset.
Signed,
King Edmont
For a beat, the words hung in the air as everyone processed the letter’s contents. Then the room exploded.
Girls shrieked, clutched hands, and spun in giddy circles. Questions tumbled over one another—What did “eligible” mean? How many gowns could they afford in two weeks? Would the prince expect a curtsy or a bow? Would he notice her hair? Her laugh? Her shoes?
Mother and Comfort tried valiantly to restore decorum, but it was like throwing pebbles into a hurricane.
I slipped back up the stairs, my heart pounding. A royal ball for commoners. And the ball was for Hubert alone to find a bride.
Which meant the rumors were true.
Curtis must be engaged to Aria, and Hubert was searching for a bride.
That evening at supper, the entire conversation revolved around the upcoming ball. Mother and Comfort were anticipating the ball as eagerly as any of their students.
“Mother, just imagine who we might see again!” Comfort said, clasping her hands. “The Millers are still there, I’m sure, and the choir mistress who taught me—”
“And gowns!” Mother cut in. “I still have the silver one tucked away. Though if I can let it out at the seams—”
They giggled together, just as thrilled as any of their pupils. For them, the ball meant doors reopening and reconnecting with old friends.
“This will mean a lot of business in the next few weeks,” Comfort said. “If every household got a letter just like ours, all the young women will want to attend.”
“What about you, Truly?” Mother asked. Her smile was eager, coaxing. “Aren’t you excited?”
I swallowed hard. My fork hovered uselessly above my plate.
Excited?
No.
I couldn’t face Curtis again, not when his hand already belonged to someone else. He was going to marry a princess. A future queen. What could I offer him? I had nothing.
I forced a shake of my head. “I’m not interested. I’ll stay here.” My voice came out too flat, too final.
Mother and Comfort barely noticed, lost in their own imaginings.
Across the table, Cynthia lowered her gaze.
She excused herself early, vanishing into the kitchen.
I heard the faint clatter of dishes, though my thoughts had already drifted elsewhere.
Cynthia had once whispered to me how much she wanted to meet Hubert.
She wanted so desperately to have a chance, just one chance, to be seen and noticed.
And now, the chance had arrived.