“Shoot,” Max said, surprised. “Do all the ladies dress identically on purpose?”
“Nay,” the laird chuckled. “But most either lack imagination, or they follow trends.”
Roland nodded. “And most willnae likely be wearing costumes at all. A masquerade is a chance to show off their fanciest—and most daring—gowns, along with their ornate masks.”
“Ye’re all caught up?” the laird inquired, but didn’t give Max a chance to answer before waving his arms expansively. “Good! This party is for ye, Mr. DeVille, after all. I want ye at my side as we welcome the guests.” He turned and bellowed, “Open the gates!”
And as he strode off toward the front of the room, Roland sent Max a grin. “Welcome to the Highlands, Max.”
* * *
Ember walked to Newfincy Castle in an effort to remain unseen, but it was no great hardship. She was used to walking—albeit not in heeled slippers—and she was too excited to mind. Her winter cloak hid the brilliant white gown from anyone who happened to glance her way and allowed her to slip in one of the rear entrances, so she didn’t have to worry about knocking on the big front door where all the fancy carriages were disgorging lords and ladies and honored guests.
Ember had been in the castle many times making deliveries and checking on servants who needed help, so it was second nature to slip in the back, remove her cloak, hurry down the long corridor, and climb the stairs to the main floor. There was even another entrance to the ballroom which allowed her to slip in behind one of the pillars, allowing her to observe unnoticed.
The room was stunning!
The laird’s servants had outdone themselves; the entire ballroom was decorated to look like an indoor meadow, with green wall-hangings and potted trees and flowers on every surface.
Ember took a deep breath, inhaling the riotous mix of fragrances, and smiled.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” the laird’s voice boomed from halfway up the stairs, where he stood, dressed as some kind of bird. He’d taken off his mask, although Ember suspected there was little doubt who he was, even with it on. “Allow me to welcome ye all to Newfincy Castle! The Oliphants, and my family, are delighted ye are here!”
Around the room, the guests burst into polite applause, although there were a couple men—possibly already drunk—who roared the clan’s motto in good spirits.
“Now, ye ken ye’re here to welcome a special guest, aye?” Laird Oliphant gestured another man forward. “This is Mr. DeVille, who’s come all the way from America at the behest of my cousin Andrew, to manage Prince Armory’s interests in the Highlands. He’s a fine young man, who has decided we’re no’ all that bad either!”
As the guests laughed, the guest of honor climbed the stairs to stand a few steps below the laird. Ember couldn’t tell much about him, other than he was well-built—although anyone standing beside the portly laird would appear well-built—and dressed as a cowboy.
How…interesting. Weren’t cowboys rough and dirty men, who lived in the wilderness with their cattle? But Mr. DeVille had been sent by a millionaire to oversee an important business, so surely he was just as refined and sophisticated as the Prince brothers.
His costume choice—complete with an outrageously large cowboy hat—must be a joke toward his American status. That had to be it.
As the laird finished speaking, the musicians started to play, and with much gaiety, the ball officially began.
Despite her ensemble, Ember was content to stand in the shadows of the pillar, beside a large potted tree, and simply enjoy the pageantry of it all. She counted five women dressed as cats, one of them dressed in an orange-and-black gown with a striped mask. The rest wore simple tails attached to ballgowns as their only nod toward a costume. There were quite a few medieval knights—one in a full suit of armor, who didn’t look as though he could walk at all—and other lordly costumes from antiquity.
She was fairly certain she recognized one of the laird’s sons—the scholarly one was dressed in Egyptian garb—and a few others. But it was the servants who were easiest to pick out, as they wore their standard black, and she recognized most of them from her time in the village.
None of them would recognize her of course, and there was something exhilarating about that knowledge.
She could, if she wanted to, move out from behind the pillar, interact with these men and women, and none would know it was her. There was power in that realization. And power in the knowledge she was dressed as if she belonged there.
Oh! There was Vanessa, dancing with a man in elegant evening wear and a simple black mask. She glowed in the fancy electric lights the laird had installed, and Ember noticed more than a few people pointed to the shoes on her stepsister’s feet.
It was working!
Ember had known Vanessa would draw attention, and thus her shoes would as well. Perhaps soon, Ember would be able to convince Mr. DeVille to begin production on a new line of products.
Bonnie was dancing as well, although she didn’t seem all that happy about it. She kept glancing over at her mother, who made impatient little shooing motions with her hands. Machara was watching her daughters dance and was preening with delight. Bonnie, on the other hand, looked as if she’d much rather be standing behind a pillar—or hiding in the laird’s library—than be the center of so much attention.
It was all so dazzling, Ember stood for what seemed like hours, watching it all. The lights! The colors! The music! She hadn’t imagined anything like this.
Balls like this—even masquerade balls—were for people who weren’t like her. People like the Princes and Laird Oliphant and Mr. DeVille. People with money and sophistication and influence.
But if she stepped out from behind her pillar, not a single one of them would realize she didn’t belong there.
Vanessa swept by at that moment, laughing gaily. Her partner was dressed as
