Chapter Twenty
I think of my wedding day in a few broad strokes: me, careful not to dirty the hem of that organza dress of the palest blue.
Henry, hair clean and clear-eyed. Saying goodbye to my father and brother and house, a palm held flat on the wall of my childhood bedchamber.
And then that blue dress falling to its puddle on the floor, only to be put into my trunk and accompany us on our six-day journey.
Later, it was moved to our leased estate. And then it came with me to Robert’s.
It had stayed tucked into the travel chest. I had not seen the blue organza in some time.
I could not look at those buttons without thinking of the hands that had undone them.
And so, I had kept it bundled in the paper, safely stowed for a day when seeing it on one of Henry’s daughters—our daughters—might restore some of the same happiness I’d felt the only time I had worn it.
Grief has an uncanny ability to unexpectedly overwhelm.
To pull memory—the feel of that organza, the warmth of a man’s fingers on skin—to the forefront.
As I stood in the alcove, trapped behind the curtain, grief wrapped its gray hands around my heart and squeezed, the feeling rising from my breast and into my throat.
How could a person live with such pain without the knowledge that it would dissipate?
Anger helped. I wanted nothing more than to run from the alcove and confront Elin in the antechamber.
But I was still trapped by Otto and Sigrid, who stood in front of the drapes.
Their presence turned my small alcove into a prison—albeit one with a view of the room I was itching to make my way across. I could see, perfectly clearly through the crack in the curtains, when Elin appeared in the double doors of the ballroom.
She stood alone, silhouetted by the massive doors, her pale shoulders warmed by the candlelight.
She had somehow altered the wedding dress.
She was so much shorter than I. Inches were missing from the bottom, though the train lay intact, dragging behind her.
The sleeves were gone, her arms bare to the tops of the long gloves.
Her appearance was timed to the end of the dance, and as the guests streamed off the dance floor, the herald’s announcement of her entrance rang across the room.
Hundreds of faces turned to look at her. The beautiful latecomer. The strange guest.
She peered back at the room, at all the people, up at the chandeliers, over at the banquettes, and then, wide-eyed, to the sky. Unblinking eyes taking in hundreds of candles. Thousands of flowers. And countless eyes looking back at her.
“Don’t do it,” I whispered.
“Who is that?” Sigrid wondered aloud, in front of the curtain.
“Don’t you dare,” I breathed.
But Elin did. She fell, a dead faint, straight to the ground.
The hubbub and conversation that rippled through the room was enough to dislodge Otto and Sigrid.
They moved forward with the swell of the crowd, and I was able to step out from my hiding place, joining the surge of people.
I weaved through the onlookers, trying to see what was happening ahead, and looking for Rosie and Mathilde.
The crowd parted. Prince Simeon was striding across the room, with purpose. Something inside of my chest hitched, and then tightened when I saw him reach his destination and look, with interest, down at the collapsed woman.
Lavinia appeared at my side. “My wonder,” she observed. “That is your Elin.”
“It is.” I craned my head to see.
“She dusted off nicely.”
“She did.” I wanted, suddenly, to sit down.
“She is lying on the floor.”
“She is.”
“Will she be all right?”
“She will.”
“That blue makes her eyes look like pure sapphires! And now the prince is helping her.”
I felt unable to have a proper conversation. I didn’t want to look anymore. I wanted to rip the dress off Elin’s body, and anger left unquelled for too many moments begins to feel like poison in your system.
Simeon was helping Elin stand, a hand on her waist. The room watched as he offered her a sip of punch. She blushed and accepted. The music started once more. The crowd pretended to disperse. The prince took Elin’s hand and led her to the center of the ballroom.
Three dances later—each of which Simeon had spent with Elin pressed to his side—Rosie and Mathilde found me in the side room.
“Where did she get the dress?” Mathilde wondered, bewildered. Rosie sank into the chair next to me.
I shook my head. “She must have gone up to the attic and into my trunk.”
Rosie’s voice broke. “How did she even get here?”
“I haven’t a clue.” I was perplexed myself. Where had Moussa gotten the white horses? What had transformed the carriage?
“It is just a dance—right, Mama?” Rosie asked.
“Just a few dances.” I shook off my stupor and sat up. “And you.” I turned to clutch her hand. “Tell me about your dance. What did Prince Simeon say?”
“We hardly talked! We were dancing.” She started to say more, but her voice had taken on the crimped sound of someone trying not to cry. She stopped herself.
“Rosie,” Mathilde said, softly. “There are plenty of other eligible men in the room. If you are in here, they won’t be able to see you.”
I nodded at Mathilde, agreeing, though the prospect felt cumbersome, and the hour was late.
“Yes, but…” Rosie looked down at her lap. “The one I want to dance with isn’t interested anymore.”
“You don’t know that,” Mathilde protested.
Her sister gathered her skirt in her hands. “Should I have worn blue?”
Rosie’s wet eyes and dashed hopes pained me, enough that I could set aside my own disappointments.
I took one of her hands. “Oh, darling. He was always going to dance with other women. That doesn’t diminish his interest in you.
He could hardly dance with one person for the entire night.
And he picked you first. After his cousin, that is. ”
“There’s not a girl here in a prettier dress than you,” Mathilde offered.
But it only caused Rosie’s tears to spill over. “I could not bear it if he chooses her.”
“He will not,” I said, but I had a suspicion that making the promise would undermine all my others.
When we came back into the ballroom, Elin and Simeon were still partnered on the dance floor.
The mirrors reflected them back and forth, so that, from our vantage point, we were surrounded by infinite Elins and princes—a glass ball that extended to eternity.
The dissonance of watching my hopes fulfilled, but with the wrong daughter, was like listening to a song I knew played in the wrong key.
By morning it was the talk of the kingdom: The prince had danced with Elin, and only Elin, for the rest of the night.