“What—!” she cried out, as she stepped back to avoid a nose full of splinters.
There was no way she could miss the sound of a key turning in the lock.
“Stepmother!” She lunged for the knob, yanking on it. “Baroness, what are you doing?”
“I am locking you in, you stupid girl. Did you think I would not learn of your plans to attend the ball?” Her voice was full of scorn. “As if dear Tiffany’s tangerine gown would work with that hideous hair of yours. Iwill nothave you showing up there and detracting everyone’s attention from where it belongs: on my Tiffany.”
Oh Lord in Heaven, that’s what this was about? “Stepmother, I do not want toattract attention. Not from the Duke, not from the Laird, not from anyone.”
Except, maybe, the stranger downstairs?—
No, focus!
“I swear, I just want to see Dumpkins all decorated, all the finery. I want to see my sisters dancing, and my shoes, the shoes they are wearing. They will—” Choking off a sob, Ember pressed her forehead to the wood. “Please, Stepmother,” she whispered.
But there was no sound from the hall.
Machara had taken the key and left, without even listening to Ember’s promises and pleas.
She was alone. She was alone and locked in and had lost her chance to go to the ball.
Except, she had her satchel, did she not?
And her backup plan.
With a sigh, Ember placed her palms on the door.
This would have beensomuch easier if her stepmother had given her permission to attend. She might not have traveled with Bonnie and Tiffany, but at least she wouldn’t have had to worry about Machara seeing her there.
As it was, Emberwouldbe attending the ball…just very, very carefully. She’d have to make certain she was back here before her stepmother, and she couldn’t draw attention there.
But shewouldattend.
Taking a deep breath, Ember pushed herself toward the wardrobe. Stepmother was right about one thing; tangerinewasn’ther color. But silver went with everything, and set off her red hair. She pushed aside her winter cloak and breathed a little prayer of thanks when she saw her gown hung, safe and sound.
Holding her breath almost reverently, she pulled the gown from its hiding place. It had taken herweeks, toiling away in her workshop after dark, to sew this beauty. It was silk, purchased with her own meager funds from a merchant her stepmother didn’t deal with, and crafted with Ember’s own tiny stitches.
She pressed it against her chest and gave an experimental twirl. When she’d designed the gown, she’d imagined seed pearls sewn into the skirts, picking out whirling designs of interconnected gears which would match the heels of her shoes. Unfortunately, she was no seamstress, and the gown which now hung from her arms was much simpler, and cut higher in the front than in the back.
The better to highlight the shoes.
Aye, that was this gown’s purpose.
She spread the silk out on the bed, and reached for her satchel.
As the sound of the carriage leaving the courtyard echoed up through the open window, she pulled out the mask she’d tucked beneath the shoes with the usual reverence reserved for metal.
Herewere the gears she’d intended for her gown; picked out in metal and attached to the mask to surround her eyes. Ember had painted the whole mask a glittery silver, which highlighted the burnished bronze of the gears.
Perfection.
Her lips curled as she pressed her palm against the lump of metal beneath her blouse, glad she’d had the forethought to acquire a skeleton key tonight.
Stepmother thought her locked in her room, far from the gown she’d planned to wear to the ball.
But Ember was strong and determined, andwasgoing to make this dream come true. She’d meet Mr. DeVille, pitch her idea of engraved shoes to the new manager of Oliphant engraving, and be able to see the fuss her sisters would make with their ensembles. She’d be able to dance, and admire the pageantry and beauty, and escape the drudgery of her life.
If only for a night.
Ember Oliphantwouldattend the ball.
