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language. She examined her dance album, turning it over in delicate, white hands, for the first time showing interest in something. “They are rather like the chalkboards we use in the classroom. But heavier. And beautiful. The scrollwork and gears along the top are very pretty . . . oh, and the mechanisms work! Is that how the pages turn? And the pencil . . . is it engraving into the copper?”
    â€œYes, it’s a steam-pencil. It must be returned to its slot, to keep the water inside hot and create steam when you press on it to write. And after each set of dances, the slate is erased so it can be used again.”
    â€œOh. So we cannot keep them for a remembrance.”
    â€œI’m certain Mr. Oligary would present you with yours if you asked, Your Highness. You are the guest of honor.”
    â€œPlease call me Lurelia. And I will call you Evaline, yes? I am sure we will become good friends while I am here.”
    â€œThat would be very nice.” At least she showed some sign of spirit and interest, but I still found her conversation mundane and her personality timid and colorless. Of course, I might be the same way if I was engaged to be married. I wondered what her fiancé was like; I hadn’t had the opportunity to ask.
    When I first arrived at the ball, I had reluctantly signed my own album. Now I flipped on the elegant little mechanism that turned the pages. “Oh,” I said when I noticed nearly every dance was already filled in. Blast. I had hoped my penmanship too messy for anyone to read my name.
    I recognized all but two names on the list—most of them were bachelors I’d been trying to avoid at balls ever since my debut. Ones with bad breath, boring conversation, dingy-tipped gloves, clumsy feet—or all of the above. The bright spot was that Mr. Dancy, as promised, had claimed two dances. Both waltzes. I couldn’t help a
small
twinge of disappointment he’d only taken two, and not three as he’d threatened. Maybe that was because all the waltzes were taken and he didn’t want to try a minuet—or the
kelva
—with me.
    â€œMr. Martin VanderBleeth. Mr. Richard Dancy. Baron Leiflett. Lord Feelbright.” Lurelia was looking at her album, which was also nearly full. I wondered whether the men had added their names under duress or not. “Do you know any of them?” she asked after reading off the list.
    â€œMost of them. Except Mr. VanderBleeth . . . but he is on my list as well,” I said, peering at the nearly illegible name. It looked as if he’d scratched it out and written over it. “So we shall both become acquainted with the gentleman. And very soon, for the orchestra is just about to begin the first dance.”
    Tonight, Princess Lurelia was dressed in something that didn’t make her look like a ghost . . . although not by much. Her gown tonight was a pale, water-silk (Betrovian of course) pink. Unlike current fashion in London and Paris, her skirts were wide and full and layered with two gathered-up overskirts. It was a lovely dress, but with Lurelia, it was a case of the dress overpowering the woman inside it, rather than the woman wearing the dress.
    Unlike Mina Holmes, who continued to surprise me with her acute fashion sense. Her gown tonight had made me more than a little envious, for it was stunning and elegant. A rich midnight blue gown with an ethereal overskirt and wrap made of fragile netting. Both were studded with glittering beads and sapphire gems. With her hair done up in a pile of soft curls and more sparkling jewels (thanks to me), Mina had looked quite fetching.
    â€œAt last I’ve found you! I was required to take three elevator rides, and one on those odd moving stairways in order to look down and locate you in the crowd.”
    As if I’d conjured her up, Mina Holmes appeared. Excellent. I couldn’t wait to turn Lurelia over to her