“Iknow,” Hollis said. “It is rarely, if ever necessary.”
“Who is that?” Eliza asked, nodding at someone.
Hollis turned to look, and when she did, she whacked the duke in the shoulder again.
“I beg your pardon!” Hollis said, and helplessly put a hand to her head. “I keep forgetting how tall it is. I should remove it—”
“Don’t you dare,” Caroline warned her. “It’s perfect. Stop bobbing around so much.”
“I’m not bobbing!”
“Where is Beck?” Eliza asked. “I would like to seehiscostume.”
“He wouldn’t come,” Hollis said. “He said he refused to play the dress-up games of a child and said I looked less like a medieval queen and more like the Virgin Mary after she’d given birth to Jesus.”
Eliza gasped. The duke laughed. “Ladies, if you will allow, I should like to dance with my wife.”
A grin bloomed on Eliza’s face. She returned his look with an adoring one of her own, and Hollis groaned. “Yes, please, we allow, we allow,” she said, gesturing to the two of them to go on and dance.
“I should like to dance too, Leopold,” Caroline said, turning one way, and then the other. “How else will all these people see my costume?”
“How could they possibly miss it, love? You take the space of three people. Hollis?”
“Of course! Go on, then. I am perfectly accustomed to wandering about on my own.” In the last two years, whenever she was with Eliza and Caroline, she noticed how Alucians studied anyone who came near their duchess and countess. One could almost see the calculations being made—was she, Mrs. Honeycutt, English sister to the Alucian duchess, worth sidling up to? The answer was almost always no.
She righted her hat and looked around her, then made her way through a crowd that was still swelling, forgetting the monstrosity on her head and inadvertently assaulting a pirate by knocking his buccaneer hat from his head. He glared at her as she offered her apology and slipped by.
She happened on a small crowd gathered around the Weslorian king and queen. The couple had chosen to dress as a shepherd and shepherdess, which Hollis thought an odd choice—King Maksim was slight, and the shepherd’s garb made him look emaciated. But Queen Agnes looked healthy and divine in her shepherdess costume, her long, thick black hair braided down her back, and a straw hat on her head.
Hollis pressed against the wall to move around the entourage, just squeaking by. Her cap was now sliding off to the right. She reached up to straighten it, and when she did, her gaze landed on a single gentleman who was not in costume, but formal clothing. A gentleman who was familiar to her.Mr. Brendan, how do you do.
He was standing quite alone again, his expression slightly pained. He reminded her of some country landowner on a windswept moor, staring off at the sea and contemplating his life.
Someone walked in front of her, and Hollis rose up on her toes, lest she lose sight of him. The person in front of her moved, and so did Hollis, falling backward to keep from colliding with him.
“Pardon, madam, have a care!”
She whipped around. A gentleman dressed like a priest was holding his eye. “I beg your pardon,” she said as the silk tail from her conical hat settled down the front of her gown. She righted her bloody bothersome cap, then held out her arms and slowly turned a circle to make sure no one was within striking distance. By the time she’d come full circle, the king’s group and Mr. Brendan had disappeared into the crowd.
For heaven’s sake, he was just there! It was the tea all over again—one minute he was there, the next minute he was gone. She guessed that all she had to do was find King Maksim and he’d be there, watching him. Why did he watch the king like a hawk? If she hadn’t read and heard the things she had, she’d probably think nothing of it. But she had, and his behavior was odd.
She moved on and pushed through the throng, looking for a shepherd. And when she spotted the king, she spotted Mr. Brendan again, just as she’d suspected.
She darted around a man dressed as King Henry VIII. He had three women in period garb who, Hollis presumed, were some of his eight wives. They were standing too closely together to allow her to pass, so she squeezed between them and a woman dressed as Godiva, and nearly collided with a sideboard.
She quickened her step, holding one hand to her head to keep her cap from falling, and hurried to catch up to Mr. Brendan before she lost him. She didn’t know what she meant to do when she caught him. Accuse him of the dastardly crime of staring at the king?
Fortunately, the king paused with his family, and so did Mr. Brendan. He stood at a distance, almost immobile. His neckcloth was Weslorian green, which Hollis took to be a silent declaration that he most certainly wasnotin costume. If he was plotting against King Maksim, why would he arrive at a costume ball in plain clothes? It had the effect of making him stand out in this festive crowd.
Hollis pushed forward. Souls swirled by in dizzying colors and in time to a waltz. It was almost as if he didn’t see the dancers or hear the music, or any of the cacophony of sounds, while she could scarcely stand how loud the room was. He looked out of place, like an observer to this ball instead of a participant.
Hollis managed to slip between a lady and gentleman engaged in a tiff and could have reached out to touch him. She squeezed past the couple and landed as close to Mr. Brendan as she could.
He didn’t turn. He didn’t seem to sense her at all, so intent was he on King Maksim. How strange. She was so close she could see his coat was made of fine, soft wool. He was clean-shaven, but there was a tiny nick on his square jawline. His hair was brushed to a sheen and tucked behind his ears again, and she guessed that the gentleman did not have a valet to help him dress. Which meant he was not a lord.
He was clinging to a full glass of wine as if he feared he might drop it. She wondered if he’d even tasted it.
“Good evening!” she said.
