Curse of the Wolf King - Tessonja Odette Page 0,83

but…for the love of the saints, is this scheme crazy?

No, it will work, I remind myself. Imogen will do anything if she thinks it might secure her a royal husband. She will break this curse.

I repeat it like a mantra as I head to the dining hall, buzzing with a mixture of anxiety and excited anticipation. The next few hours could make or break the success of the ball and Elliot’s ability to impress Imogen.

I enter the dining room, finding it bright and open with the late morning light streaming through the windows and illuminating the marble floor. The table and chairs have been pushed to the far wall, leaving the space open and ready for the dancing that will commence in three days’ time.

In one corner of the room, I find Foxglove standing before a grand pianoforte in a rich mahogany. Ember sits at the stool, turquoise hair streaming down her back while her fingers fly over the keys to create the loveliest melody. Her bonnet lies discarded on the seat next to her.

As I approach, the music wraps around me and I feel some of my anxiety begin to wane. Hope takes its place and I feel my shoulders relax, the corners of my lips twitching upward.

When Foxglove catches sight of me, he extends an arm toward the instrument and waggles his brows. “Do you like it?”

Ember ceases playing and turns on her stool to face me, her face bright. “Miss Bellefleur!”

“Please, call me Gemma,” I say, then grin at Foxglove. “I love it! It will be perfect for the ball.”

“Yes, well, since the hotel decided to go with a white pianoforte instead, I was happy to see this one put to use.”

“I’m so grateful you had one on hand. And I’m happy you both could come today. Ember, I was worried you wouldn’t have any luck getting away.”

“Mrs. Coleman and my stepsisters are shopping for dresses today,” she says. “They will be gone until evening, I’m sure.”

“And I’ll have her brought home well before anyone notices,” Foxglove adds. “So long as we can get started soon. Where is Mr. Rochester?”

“I believe Amelie is still helping him choose what to wear to the ball,” I say.

He scoffs. “Surely, it shouldn’t take him this long. Ah, there he is.”

I turn to find Elliot entering the room with Amelie. He’s in his shirtsleeves and trousers, and his grimace tells me just how much he dreads what I’m about to make him do.

Foxglove assesses Elliot from head to toe, a frown tugging his lips. “Mr. Rochester, I thought you’d want to practice in full attire.”

Amelie crosses her arms. “He refused,” she says, “but he did allow me to pick out what he should wear to the ball.”

“Very well,” Foxglove says, waving him over with no small amount of impatience. “Come on, then. Let us get started.”

Amelie comes over to the pianoforte and props her elbow on the side. Ember offers me a smile before facing the keys. “You can sit next to me if you’d like,” she says.

I take her up on that, picking up her bonnet and setting it in my lap as I take a seat. Foxglove and Elliot move to the middle of the room and face each other. Elliot pales, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else than at a dance lesson.

Ember starts right into a song, her fingers dancing expertly over the keys, and Foxglove begins demonstrating some basic steps. Elliot stumbles to mirror his moves, every motion stiff and awkward. While he’s become quite graceful walking with his prosthetic, the unfamiliar dance moves seem to set him back to limping. But as the music lingers on, I find Foxglove to be a most forgiving instructor. Ember continues to play, restarting the song when Foxglove asks her to or switching to new ones as Foxglove tries to demonstrate other dances.

I watch the dancing pair with a smile, my heart light at the sight. Soon, Elliot seems to forget his apprehension and finds a true rhythm alongside his instructor. I’m surprised to find a smile beginning to tug his lips.

His grin grows wider as his eyes lock suddenly on mine. Blushing at having been caught staring at him for once, I avert my gaze and turn my attention to Ember’s fluttering fingers. “You play most beautifully,” I tell her.

“Thank you. I do adore music. My stepfamily doesn’t allow me to play much, so this is a treat for me.” The whole time she speaks, she does so