Page 8 of Legacy of Glass
She dropped her polishing rag and looked at her aunt hopefully.
“I’ve been thinking,” her aunt repeated, “that you should complete the final adjustments on the girls’ dresses instead of the seamstress. You’re handy with a needle, and I’m sure that once you start working on them, you’ll come up with some improvements you can make to the designs.” Her voice gained enthusiasm. “With you to funnel the Legacy’s power, the girls will be the best dressed at the ball!”
Olivia bit her tongue to keep her disappointment from showing. With a couple of blinks, she pushed back the threatening moisture in her eyes. She should have known her aunt wouldn’t be rethinking her plans for the ball. She probably thought she could easily make up for it by taking her niece the next year. But Olivia doubted she would still be living with her relatives by then.
“Certainly, I can put the finishing touches on their dresses, if the girls would like it,” Olivia said dully.
Her aunt clapped her hands together. “They would love it best of all things!”
Olivia’s spirits lifted marginally. If she could help her cousins look their best, it would make the extra effort worth it. She knew Nell and Hattie would have liked to include her if given the choice.
Her two cousins burst into the room at that moment, and their excitement at Olivia’s agreement was so infectious that her spirits lifted even further. She even agreed to work on the dresses immediately.
As her aunt had predicted, Olivia had barely begun to pin one of the hems before her hands were flying, not only making the necessary measurements for the final fitting but pinning all sorts of other adjustments as well.
By the time they were finished with the session and sitting at dinner, she was almost convinced she was a true design genius. It wasn’t like the Legacy could control people’s thoughts, so maybe she’d been the one to make such impressive improvements to the dresses?
But by the time they had reached the final sweet course, she’d laughed the idea away. The Legacy couldn’t control people, but it could sometimes influence them in small actions. Her cousin in Glandore—where they grew enchanted roses—had told her how strong the compulsion to pick the roses could become.
She wasn’t a design genius, but she was stuck working on the gowns after the evening meal. And unfortunately, the task, so focused on the upcoming ball, made it impossible to put her own disappointment out of her mind. As she finally escaped the house to climb the hill in the near dark, she sighed.
“Olivia!” Marigold abandoned her pacing and pounced on her friend, tugging her toward the same tree from earlier in the afternoon.
Her manner was full of nervous energy and excitement, but her face dropped when she got a good look at Olivia’s expression in the moonlight. Marigold’s life always seemed so large, but it was one of her endearing qualities that it never caused her to overlook Olivia’s own ups and downs.
Olivia made a face in response. “It’s nothing. I’m just being sour and envious, which isn’t a flattering look. I’ll recover in a moment.”
“Is it that aunt of yours?” Marigold grasped Olivia’s arm. “Should I march down there right now and give her an earful?”
“Please don’t!” Olivia was already laughing again, thanks to Marigold’s presence. “I’m not sure what effect your lecture would produce, and I don’t want to find out. She’d want to know how we became friends for one—and probably demand I recount every word that’s ever passed between us.”
Marigold laughed as well, releasing Olivia. “As if either of us could remember! I talk far too much for that.”
“Besides, I don’t really mind working on Nell’s and Hattie’s dresses,” Olivia said, emotions rising in her again as she spoke until her final words burst out of her. “I just wish I could go as well!”
“To the ball, you mean?” Marigold’s eyes widened, and she seized Olivia’s arm again, this time with both her hands. “Of course you have to go to the ball!”
In anyone else, the dramatic nature of the simple pronouncement would have sounded ridiculous. But Marigold never looked ridiculous.
“Unfortunately my aunt doesn’t agree with you,” Olivia said wryly.
“Why does that matter?” Marigold asked fiercely. “Everyone in the kingdom is invited.”
“Yes, but I can’t afford the glass slippers on my own. I haven’t earned enough yet, and I couldn’t justify spending my hard-earned money on such a frivolity anyway. Not if I want to move out on my own soon.”
“Move out—?” Marigold cut herself off. “No, never mind that. Glass slippers?” Her head cocked to the side, and she regarded Olivia in confusion. “You’re not going to the ball because you need glass slippers?”
Olivia nodded, wondering if her friend had finally lost the plot.
“Yes,” she said slowly. “You know—the glass slippers that are required in place of an invitation in order to gain entry. Remember those?”
Marigold laughed suddenly. “But you’re friends with me!” She peered down at Olivia’s feet, which were now back in her old, worn-out slippers. “And your feet look much smaller than mine. I’ve been to the Ball every year since I was thirteen, and I’ve needed at least two new pairs of slippers in that time because I kept outgrowing my old ones.”
Olivia tried not to let a bubble of hope well inside her for a second time. “But surely you don’t still have the old slippers that no longer fit? You must have sold them by now.”
Marigold snorted. “Have you ever seen the back of my closet?” Her nose wrinkled. “No, of course you haven’t, since you’ve never been inside my house.”
Olivia didn’t reply, conscious that neither she nor Marigold had ever suggested she visit. They didn’t talk about it, but she knew it was because neither were sure how Marigold’s parents would view their friendship. But she didn’t find it hard to believe that Marigold’s closet might be a chaos of old shoes and garments. The noble girl had probably forbidden the servants from touching her things. Marigold found careful order boring.
