Read Online The Duke of Snow and Apples by Elizabeth Vail - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Vail
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milliner’s shop. Lifeless gowns lay draped over every flat surface like opposing casualties in a war, bleeding streams of lace and ribbon. Charlotte spotted nearly every sort of color and fabric on display: white tulle, yellow crepe, green sarcenet, blue taffeta.
Aunt Hildy tramped in after Charlotte, an exhausted general. Lamonte followed two steps behind.
“You see, Charlotte?” said Aunt Hildy. “I have absolutely nothing to wear for the ball tonight! I thought I might choose the round gown with the white-figured silk, but realized that would be too plain. Or perhaps the lavender brocaded taffeta, but lavender’s a dull color for such a grand occasion. I simply cannot choose. What a failure! I will be the laughingstock of Lady Mettle’s ball!”
“You could never be a laughingstock, Aunt Hildy.”
“Well, maybe not,” the Viscountess admitted. Her gaze glimmered with canny understanding. “Not if I had someone to help me choose.”
Charlotte could only smile at the obvious ploy. “It would be my pleasure. Why don’t we dress for the ball together? Lamonte knows what I am wearing.”
“A marvelous idea!” Aunt Hildy cried. She banished the lady’s maid with a shooing gesture. “Go! Fetch Miss Erlwood’s gown!”
Together, Charlotte and her great-aunt decided on a lavish tunic of burnished gold silk worn over a light muslin under dress. As Aunt Hildy cooed over the fabric, Charlotte felt the old rush of girlish admiration for her great-aunt. Lady Balrumple had married early, to an elderly Viscount who’d had the compassionate foresight to die early as well, leaving her a sizeable income. Ever since, Aunt Hildy had been free to live and act as she saw fit.
Charlotte wasn’t free. She still had to marry, since it was either that or become a spinster. Charlotte never particularly cared for the dull, milk-fed boys back home in Glenson with their muddy boots and their hunting dogs. They all acted like the kings of summer, but Charlotte had beaten them at enough leg races and tree-climbing contests and wrestling matches as children to know they were all talk.
Once they all grew up, every gentleman stopped looking at her, but past her to where perfect, poised Sylvia held court. The same older sister who had once climbed as many trees and fished for undines in as many streams as she had. The same Sylvia who chose to solve nearly all her childhood problems by placing two tiny gloved fingers in her ears, setting her feet wide apart, and howling loud enough to wake the Mirror Queen until she got her way.
Charlotte’s fingers trembled as she fastened a charmed necklace around Lady Balrumple’s neck that turned her snow-white hair a heavy, molten gold. There had to be better prospects than the Glenson males if she wanted to live free of her parents or Sylvia. At one point, she might not have thought it such a bad thing to live in her sister’s household, but that was before Mr. Peever had walked into their lives and pressed that first kiss onto the back of Charlotte’s hand. And before Mr. Peever had proposed to Sylvia instead of her.
This house party was her last hope of finding someone better. Someone interesting. She just had to try harder, be more graceful, more alluring, more perfect.
How can I be more perfect than perfect? Hopelessness rose like a stone in her throat, choking her. She hoped Aunt Hildy wouldn’t notice. Why can’t I just be myself?
Before she could dwell on that unsavory thought for too long, Lamonte returned.
“Ah! Kureole! Wonderful choice of dress, my lady.” Her cheerful voice lacked any trace of surprise. She nodded at Charlotte, hefting the bundle of crimson silk she carried. “And you as well.”
Aunt Hildy’s breath drew inward in an awed gasp as the red— not pink, but red —gown unfurled from Lamonte’s hands as she shook it out. Charlotte sucked in air as well, until her throat closed up and she choked on it.
“Oh Charlotte .” Aunt Hildy fluttered her
Aunt Hildy tramped in after Charlotte, an exhausted general. Lamonte followed two steps behind.
“You see, Charlotte?” said Aunt Hildy. “I have absolutely nothing to wear for the ball tonight! I thought I might choose the round gown with the white-figured silk, but realized that would be too plain. Or perhaps the lavender brocaded taffeta, but lavender’s a dull color for such a grand occasion. I simply cannot choose. What a failure! I will be the laughingstock of Lady Mettle’s ball!”
“You could never be a laughingstock, Aunt Hildy.”
“Well, maybe not,” the Viscountess admitted. Her gaze glimmered with canny understanding. “Not if I had someone to help me choose.”
Charlotte could only smile at the obvious ploy. “It would be my pleasure. Why don’t we dress for the ball together? Lamonte knows what I am wearing.”
“A marvelous idea!” Aunt Hildy cried. She banished the lady’s maid with a shooing gesture. “Go! Fetch Miss Erlwood’s gown!”
Together, Charlotte and her great-aunt decided on a lavish tunic of burnished gold silk worn over a light muslin under dress. As Aunt Hildy cooed over the fabric, Charlotte felt the old rush of girlish admiration for her great-aunt. Lady Balrumple had married early, to an elderly Viscount who’d had the compassionate foresight to die early as well, leaving her a sizeable income. Ever since, Aunt Hildy had been free to live and act as she saw fit.
Charlotte wasn’t free. She still had to marry, since it was either that or become a spinster. Charlotte never particularly cared for the dull, milk-fed boys back home in Glenson with their muddy boots and their hunting dogs. They all acted like the kings of summer, but Charlotte had beaten them at enough leg races and tree-climbing contests and wrestling matches as children to know they were all talk.
Once they all grew up, every gentleman stopped looking at her, but past her to where perfect, poised Sylvia held court. The same older sister who had once climbed as many trees and fished for undines in as many streams as she had. The same Sylvia who chose to solve nearly all her childhood problems by placing two tiny gloved fingers in her ears, setting her feet wide apart, and howling loud enough to wake the Mirror Queen until she got her way.
Charlotte’s fingers trembled as she fastened a charmed necklace around Lady Balrumple’s neck that turned her snow-white hair a heavy, molten gold. There had to be better prospects than the Glenson males if she wanted to live free of her parents or Sylvia. At one point, she might not have thought it such a bad thing to live in her sister’s household, but that was before Mr. Peever had walked into their lives and pressed that first kiss onto the back of Charlotte’s hand. And before Mr. Peever had proposed to Sylvia instead of her.
This house party was her last hope of finding someone better. Someone interesting. She just had to try harder, be more graceful, more alluring, more perfect.
How can I be more perfect than perfect? Hopelessness rose like a stone in her throat, choking her. She hoped Aunt Hildy wouldn’t notice. Why can’t I just be myself?
Before she could dwell on that unsavory thought for too long, Lamonte returned.
“Ah! Kureole! Wonderful choice of dress, my lady.” Her cheerful voice lacked any trace of surprise. She nodded at Charlotte, hefting the bundle of crimson silk she carried. “And you as well.”
Aunt Hildy’s breath drew inward in an awed gasp as the red— not pink, but red —gown unfurled from Lamonte’s hands as she shook it out. Charlotte sucked in air as well, until her throat closed up and she choked on it.
“Oh Charlotte .” Aunt Hildy fluttered her
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