Once Upon a Romance 01 - Before the Midnight Bells (18 page)

CHAPTER
FOUR
TEEN

Max was pacing by one of the punch bowls with a great deal of nervous energy. All day he had been thinking of tonight, thinking of seeing Ella again. Vivienne had noticed his preoccupation early at the second presentation ceremony. This time his betrothal gift had been a splendid hunting equipage, complete with warm and comfortable riding habit, a bow with a light draw, and camping gear, for those long hunts. Vivienne had been delighted with his cleverness and the gift, but had drawn him to one side of the throne room afterwards.

“
And where was your mind that whole time, my darling betrothed?”

“
Only on you, my precious sweet, you are all that I see.”

She had smiled at his exaggerated solicitude, but persisted. “Seriously, Max, you seem distracted.”

“
Vivienne, if I said… if I were… if you were, perhaps, right about my feelings on a certain matter…”

Vivienne had practically crowed aloud with delight. “I knew it! You’re in…” she dropped her voice to the barest whisper, out of deference, he assumed, to the fact that they were standing
rather near
a large group of people who thought them very much enamoured of one another, “…
love.
”

“
I said no such thing, you meddlesome wench. I merely said that you
might
have been right, and I was wondering, hypothetically, what I should do if, in fact, it turns out that you
are
right. Which you might not be.”

“
Well, first I think I should point out that it’s very improper of you to refer to me as a meddlesome wench.”

“
Of course.”

“
From now on I wish you to call me ‘Your most Royal and August Meddlesome-ness.’”

“
I’ll get right on that, wench.”

Vivienne laughed, and gave a courteous nod of her head to the final few courtiers as they
exited through the great double doors, chattering excitedly
. “Max, what sort of advice do you want from me? It seems like you have two options—tell her the truth and hope she is willing to wait and keep quiet; or distance yourself until you can openly approach her in public.”

“
I don’t think I can stay away.”

“
Then you had best tell her the truth. Only, for goodness sake, Max, make sure you’re positive about this. She could ruin everything if she wasn’t careful.”

“
I don’t think she would ruin your escape, Vivienne, even if she loathed me. She isn’t that type of woman.” Max thought a minute. “But, Vivi, have you thought, what am I asking her to wait
for?
”

“
For
you
? My slightly dimwitted friend?”

“
But, Vivienne, even if she was willing to wait the months or even years it might take before I can pretend to get over my heartbreak, can you imagine my father ever allowing me to wed a seamstress?”

Vivienne had stopped laughing, at that pointed question. “No, you’re right. But isn’t she well born?”

“
I’ve checked; her father and mother were well placed among the gentry, but her stepmother has frittered away any fortune they left her, and now she’s basically a penniless girl with a good name.”

“
Mmm… that’s a difficulty. But if you sink into the depths of despair after I leave… Who knows? Maybe the old boy will give a little, if she’s ‘making you happy’ again.”

“
Perhaps.”

“
She’s going to have to give up working, though.”

Max already knew that. And he wasn’t entirely sure if Ella was
willing
to give up working to marry. After all, the very first time they’d spoken she’d told him how she felt about marriage, and how she felt about her work. He wasn’t sure how to go about convincing her to change her standpoint; and, once that was accomplished, he wasn’t sure how to go about explaining Her Royal August Meddlesome-ness’s insane plan, and how he was involved in it.

All in all, it seemed like he had quite the evening in store.

So now he was pacing by the punch bowl. He had been at his post for three quarters of an hour when he heard Mr. and Mrs. Minglesall announced. The names caught his attention, and when Max looked up he was stunned. Layer upon layer of diaphanous violet veils gave her rail-thin form a curvaceous fullness. The braided copper belt
circled and
emphasized her small waist, and the ends fell loosely
,
almost to her knees
, swaying
enticingly with each step she took. Tiny copper sequins caught the light, and shimmered when she moved. Her headdress, comprised of the infamous belt and more violet fabric, tinkled sweetly when she moved, while a thin veil over her face softened the hard lines, and gave her a look that was both alluring and mysterious. As he took in the sight of Mrs. Minglesall, Max felt like an idiot. He had seen
Ella’s
work before, but this was the first time he’d realized that
she
was an artist: every bit as accomplished in her medium as some of the great painters or sculptors were in theirs.

Max lost himself in a daydream of the daughters that he and Ella would have, each one beautiful and each shown to perfection in masterpieces designed just for them by their own mother. He snapped back to reality when he caught the announcement that the Emberton family was descending the staircase. He skidded around the end of the refreshment table and came to a halt. Beatrice had been swarmed by young men, all clamoring for her attention, and Ella was for the moment out of sight. He saw white folds of fabric flowing gently down to some silver slippers on Beatrice, and behind her, on Prudence, bright splashes of color, soft dancing shoes, and, yes, a tambourine. Millicent stood to one side, in a resplendent gown of blues and greens, which broke away in the front to cascading waves in the back, and rose around her neck with puffs of tulle in a sea foam green. When Max saw a gentleman dressed as a hoary old sea dog bowing to Ella’s stepmother, he realized the genius—Millicent was dressed as the briny sea. Then Ella straightened from arranging her Stepmother’s train, and Max’s mouth went dry.

Anyone looking at Ella standing with Millicent and her beau would think that she had dressed to match them, but Max guessed otherwise. Ella was outfitted as a pirate. Her white silk shirt was similar to Max’s, but over it went a tight black leather vest, and her trousers, for she was, indeed, wearing trousers, were red and black striped and tucked into supple knee
-
high leather boots. A fringed shawl knotted about her waist gave the illusion of a skirt, although the saber belt slung low on her hips forced the fringe to hang close to her body, not so much concealing as emphasizing her round bottom. Her wide-brimmed leather hat was adorned with a long sweeping ostrich feather, and her hair, braided in one long tail, swung freely just above the saber belt.

Max couldn’t move. Now he knew why women didn’t wear breeches. With fabric fitting so snugly over their hips you couldn’t help but be drawn into wondering what they were wearing
under
their breeches. Those striped leggings were
very
tight. He doubted she could fit
anything
underneath them. Max’s mouth went dry, and his mind filled with images.

Images which could, apparently, hold a man paralyzed next to a punch bowl.

He needed to get a grip on himself. If he didn’t go greet Ella, some other man was going to ask her to dance first. He wasn’t sure he could handle knowing one of these other dandies was contemplating what was
not
under those trousers.

Of course, before he could go greet her, he was going to have to remember how to breathe.

Ella spotted Max by the punch bowl. She observed, with a great deal of satisfaction, that he looked like all the blood had left his head and was making its way… elsewhere. As his eyes seemed to be glued to her, she could only assume that
she
was the cause of that glazed look on his face. Good. She’d hate to be going through so much internal turmoil and not have
any
effect on the infuriating man.

She murmured a quick goodbye to Millicent and then threaded her way through the crowd. It was so easy to make her way unencumbered by skirts, she wondered why women didn’t wear pants all the time. They were certainly more practical. Maybe someday she’d have her own large fashion house, and she could popularize trousers for women.

All thoughts of trousers, breeches, or any other form of leg covering flew out of her head as she reached her goal. Max had rid himself of any lingering effects from his first sight of her costume, and was grinning at her broadly.

“
Heave to and prepare to be boarded, you scurvy dog.”

“
Alas, kind sir, I must decline, but after I’ve relieved you and your crew of all their valuables I’ll send a thank
-
you note to your king for his largess.”

“
A polite pirate? I really expected you to threaten me with walking the plank.”

“
And risk water stains on that masterpiece you’re wearing? Never.”

Max took a quick look around the dance floor. The King was nowhere to be seen, which wasn’t a surprise. His Majesty normally left the dancing as soon as it began, to closet himself with his peers and several fine bottles of brandy. He had been known to remark on several occasions that dancing was an amusement only fit for young people, which tended to influence the older courtiers to stay off the dance floor, as well. Seeing that the coast was as clear as it was ever likely to be, he flashed his most winning smile at Ella.