The Moon Master's Ball (12 page)

But it was a good life. A life she wanted to
live.

CLARA DIANE THOMPSON lives in the swamps of
Louisiana with her loving family, dashing dog, and a very confused
frog that resides in the birdhouse outside her window. Aside from
writing she enjoys playing guitar, singing, Broadway plays
(particularly
The Phantom of the Opera
), ballet, tea with
friends, and long BBC movies. An enchanted circus may or may not
appear occasionally in her back yard.

You can find out more about Clara and her
writing on her blog:
www.ClaraDianeThompson.blogspot.com

EXCERPT
FROM

Found in the
Five
Glass
Slippers
anthology

“Please don’t make me go,” Arella begged,
her large eyes pleading.

Her stepmother sighed. “It’s a matter of
etiquette. One simply cannot refuse an invitation to the prince’s
royal ball.”

“But I’m insignificant, Stepmother. No one
will even notice I’m missing!” Arella persisted hopefully. “You and
the other girls will certainly be good enough representations of
our family.”

“At important functions such as this, child,
everyone who attends or does not attend is noted. I assure you,
your absence would be taken as a personal affront to the entire
royal family. And they would not look kindly on the slight.” The
stern lines in Duchess Germaine’s face softened. “Besides, Arella,
you are far from insignificant. You are one of the most beautiful
girls in the kingdom and will surely be noticed by the prince.”

Arella’s face filled with worry. “I don’t
want him to notice me,” she said quietly.

Drusilla, Arella’s older stepsister, gave
her a sympathetic smile. But Anastasia, the youngest, rolled her
eyes. “Goodness, Arella, why not? What more could you possibly
ask?”

Drusilla watched the
stepsisters exchange tense glances. The two were as different as
light and shadow: Anastasia vivacious, sparkling—Arella quiet,
retiring. Anastasia would never understand why Arella hated these
functions, and Arella would never understand why Anastasia loved
them. Drusilla, her personality falling somewhere between these
polar opposites, had always acted as the buffer, doing her best to
understand both of her little sisters and keep the peace.

“I just . . . don’t want to meet him. That’s
all,” Arella finally answered, her face revealing her discomfort.
“Maybe you could tell them I’m ill? Or travelling to visit
relations?”

“You should know better than to lie,” said
the duchess. Her brow furrowed in concern, and she placed a gentle
hand on Arella’s forehead. “Are you truly ill, child?”

“No, I’m feeling well, Stepmother,” Arella
admitted. “I just don’t like balls.”

“You are an aristocrat, and as such you are
not always allowed to act according to your likes or dislikes. You
are expected to attend, and attend you will. I cannot permit you to
behave in a selfish and rude manner, Arella. Such would not be a
credit to your father.”

“Yes, Stepmother,” Arella murmured, her
downcast eyes filling with tears. Drusilla, always observant, saw
that telltale glimmer and wondered. Did the mention of Arella’s
father cause this sudden sorrow? Or was the poor girl simply upset
about not getting her own way? There was no way to know for
certain. Even Drusilla struggled to interpret Arella’s reticent
moods.

The duchess gazed upon her stepdaughter with
a mixture of compassion and exasperation. “There, there, child! It
can’t be as bad as that. After all, it will be the grandest
occasion in many years. The royal family will spare no expense.
Foreign nobles and dignitaries from across the world will be in
attendance.”

Arella didn’t seem in the least cheered by
this prospect.

“We shall all have new dresses! Lovelier
dresses than we have ever had.”

Arella’s forlorn face remained
unimpressed.

“And we shall take a silver coach, with our
finest horses.”

No response.

“And footmen!”

Still nothing. What did the child want? The
duchess shook her head. “Very well. If it is this distressing to
you, I shall allow you to leave at midnight—but no sooner. And then
only if you promise me to do your best to be pleasant to the prince
and the nobles. Agreed?”

“Yes, Stepmother,” Arella whispered.

At least Stepmother had approved the notion
of Arella’s making her own dress. This was some consolation. Arella
sat on the floor of the dusty attic among boxes and trunks,
remembering her conversation with the duchess that morning.

“You don’t want to go to the dressmaker’s
with us?” Duchess Germaine had asked in surprise.

“I’d rather wear one of my mother’s
dresses,” Arella had implored. “I’ll make it over so it won’t look
too old-fashioned.”

The duchess had bowed her head. All these
years, and she still didn’t understand this girl. “You can wear
your mother’s gowns anytime. This is a special occasion. Don’t you
want something new, something that will look like all the other
girls?”

“No,” Arella had replied.

Duchess Germaine, tired of fighting, had
conceded. It had been hard enough to convince the girl to go to the
ball in the first place. Arella was so beautiful that it wouldn’t
matter if she wasn’t dressed in the latest fashion, and perhaps if
she wore one of her mother’s gowns she would feel more comfortable.
“Very well. Would you like to accompany us to help your sisters
pick out their gowns?”

“If I’m going to make my own, I should
probably start working on it.”

“Very well,” the Duchess had said again,
sighing a little in resignation. “Drusilla, Anastasia, and I are
leaving now, dear. We shall return by suppertime.”

Now Arella was rummaging in the attic,
accompanied only by one of her lively kittens. She loved the smell
of her mother’s things: lavender from the sachets tucked among the
clothing, leather from the ornate trunks, a nearly imperceptible
sweetness . . . Was it her mother’s old perfume? She pulled out
dress after dress, inhaling deeply with each one. Too much lace.
Too bright. Too antiquated . . .

Ah! This one would do.

The rose-colored gown she held was simple,
elegant enough to blend in with the fine apparel worn at a royal
ball, yet not flashy enough to attract undue attention.
Scrutinizing it carefully, Arella decided her mother had probably
worn it as a breakfast gown. Such had been the fashion back
then.

Arella smiled. “You probably didn’t guess
your daughter would wear it to the crown prince’s royal ball,” she
whispered. She rubbed the smooth fabric absentmindedly. Was this
one of her mother’s favorites? Had her father liked to see her
mother wearing it? Arella closed her eyes, trying to conjure an
image of her mother in this dress, trying to find a memory.

None came. The only face she could see was
the one from the portrait hanging in her bedroom.

Arella carefully repacked the long gowns in
the old dusty trunk then picked up the selected gown and descended
the attic stairs. “A little sash and some lace at the bottom should
do to make this appropriate for the ball,” Arella decided. She made
her way to the sewing room and set to work. If she had to go, she
may as well wear something she liked.

“What do you think?” Drusilla asked her
mother and sister, holding the smooth silk up to her body. She
hoped the pale green would lend some of its color to her murky eyes
and soften the brightness of her red hair. Surveying herself in the
mirror, she ruefully admitted that they were as murky and red,
respectively, as ever.

“I like it,” Anastasia answered. “It brings
out the green in your eyes.”

Drusilla glanced at her doubtfully. “Really?
I didn’t think it helped much.”

“Try the darker green,” her mother
suggested. “I think it would suit your complexion better.” The
duchess handed her eldest daughter a different length of silk.

She nodded approvingly as Drusilla held up
the new piece. “Very becoming. I think you should choose this
one.”

Anastasia and the dressmaker echoed the
duchess’s commendation. Drusilla wrinkled her nose at the
reflection; nothing seemed to be particularly becoming. But if her
mother and sister liked it . . . “All right then.” Drusilla
shrugged. “Dark green it is.”

“Very well, my lady,” said the dressmaker,
taking the silk and placing it with the lavender Anastasia had
already selected. “And how would you want them made?”

“Ball gowns for the prince’s ball,” Duchess
Germaine responded. “Make them according to the latest
fashions—full skirt, bustle, plenty of lace. After all, this is the
event of the year. Perhaps of the decade!” She smiled brightly at
her girls. New dresses never ceased to be exciting.