Page 64 of A Single Thread of Moonlight

It was like a door cracking open, revealing a sliver of light.

There were things from my own room in the box as well. A cloth doll, wearing a beautiful blue dress that my mother had made herself, a hardback book of adventure stories, and, most importantly, the embroidered wall hangings that my mother had stitched. They had been rolled up tight and tied with blue silk ribbon.

I unfurled them, the sight at once startling and familiar. There were two of them: one, from the story of Rapunzel, depicted a high brick tower, standing in a garden of thorns. Rapunzel’s long, golden hair tumbled from the window at the top, a glorious tangle of threads in a hundred different shades of yellow, amber, gold and copper – even the odd silver thread was stitched through. Rapunzel’s face was turned away from the window so you could only see part of her profile.

As a child I had been fascinated by the beauty of the scene, of the river of tumbling hair, but now I saw sadness in the averted face. I realized there was no sign of the handsome rescuer in the garden of thorns.

The other image was stranger still. Little Red Riding Hood, her cloak a splash of brilliant scarlet against a forest made of shadows. Even as I inspected every stitch, I couldn’t understand how my mother had achieved such an effect. It was as if she had fashioned smoke out of silk. To one side of the shadowy forest a pair of amber eyes glowed, the faintest outline of a wolf, radiating danger.

I shivered, and tried to ignore the feeling that took hold of me as I looked into those gleaming, predatory eyes.

It felt like a warning.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

That night, the night of the party, I felt the nerves jangling in my belly like coins in a purse.

I hadn’t seen Cassie since she’d given me the box, which was now hidden behind the gowns in my armoire. Some instinct told me to trust her, but my instinct was battling with years of lessons learned the hard way. Trust was not something that that came naturally to me.

Still, I had no choice but to trust her, for now. She knew who I was, and she could reveal my identity to her mother whenever she wanted to.

The atmosphere in the house felt tense in the run-up to the party. Helena oversaw preparations with an eagle eye; clearly she still believed Agatha had a chance at securing an engagement with the prince, and she was going to pull out all the stops to make it happen.

She hadn’t reckoned with me.

Or with Matilda, who had decided I was getting the full “fine lady treatment” tonight.

I wasn’t exactly sure what Nick had told her about me, but the way Matilda spoke to me and treated me made it clear that she didn’t think of me as a highborn lady. That’s not to say that she treated me badly – quite the opposite. There was a warmth to our relationship that I knew would not be usual between a lady and her maid, and even though I knew I should discourage it, I was glad of it. At least I could be certain of one ally in the house.

This evening I’d had a hot bath and been rubbed in oil that smelled like roses, I’d been wrapped in fluffy towels and left to sit in front of the fire as my hair dried. I’d been primped and polished, spritzed and dusted with fine powder. Matilda had applied a touch of rouge to my lips and my cheeks, and spent a long time curling my hair before pinning it up in a low chignon at the nape of my neck, loose curls falling softly to frame my face.

I stepped into the ball gown that Nick had ordered. It was a blue velvet, so dark that in some lights it looked black. It was cut in a wide V-neck at the front, leaving the top of my shoulders bare. The dress was largely unadorned, but its sleeves were its main feature; short, exaggerated puff sleeves gathered into the shape of a bow, with a small silver tulle ruffle just visible underneath. The skirts were flat and narrow at the front, but pleated at the back with a short train to add a little drama.

With the diamonds that Nick had borrowed for me the effect was – I had to admit – quite breathtaking.

“There,” Matilda said, stepping back and admiring her handiwork with professional pride. “That’ll put a spoke in Miss Weston’s wheel.”

“Matilda!” I exclaimed.

“Well.” Matilda shrugged, unrepentant. “That maid of hers has been running on and on and on about how her mistress is going to be the most beautiful girl at the party, turning every head, and how they’ve already been talking about her wedding to the prince and the flowers and the dress and everything, as if they hadn’t laid eyes on you, miss, when you knock all the others out of the water!”

I laughed. “Thank you, Matilda,” I said.

“You are going to dance with the prince, aren’t you?” she asked suddenly.

“I should think so. He’ll likely dance with all the young ladies who are staying at the house party.”

“Do you think—” Matilda broke off, ruffled, then took a breath and started again. “Do you think he’ll ask you to marry him? The prince, I mean?”

I was startled. “I have no idea,” I replied. I was reasonably sure that Nick would not have confided his plans to her. “Why do you ask?”

Matilda twisted her hands. “There’s some talk about it below stairs. I just wondered tonight … if you were going to be alone with him…” She trailed off.

“Oh, I don’t expect any such thing,” I said.

The expression that flickered across Matilda’s face was hard to read. It might have been disappointment. I suppose it is quite a coup for a lady’s maid if her mistress is to marry a prince.

“Will you dance with Lord Wynter as well?” Matilda asked tentatively, changing the subject.