Page 69 of Tangwystle
It wasn’t like Baz and I were jointly hosting the party, letting people into our home and wining and dining the fine women and men of the town. But I wouldn’t allow anyone who came into Blackwell Manor to find it lacking.
“I tried to put it off,” Baz admitted. “As amusing as people find me, I’m not prone to liking people in my home. But it came at the cost of appearing rude and the town is on the cusp of ravaging one another if there isn’t some form of entertainment soon.”
The savages. The rich folk of the town needed to be distracted from their oh, so tiring lives of boring teatimes in drawing rooms and the everyday amusements of the opera and theater.
Baz understood people, and he saw how the town urged for something new. Something fresh. It would ease tensions around business deals and bring gentlemen to the table as they watched their wives and daughters dress up.
Clever, as always, but it brought with it a laundry list of things to prepare.
And more importantly. “You’re putting Gretel at risk.”
Gretel frowned. “No.” She hurried on when she saw my face. “I will help you with everything. The cleaning, preparing the refreshments and helping with all the tasks you’re no doubt already compiling. Think of what we can come up with for the decorations!”
“And the night of the ball, you’ll actually agree to hide in the pantry the whole time?”
Disappointment creased her face. That’s all I needed to know.
“No, wait!” she cried out, scooting closer to me. “It could be a masquerade.”
“What?” I asked.
“If everyone wears a mask,” she said. “Then no one will discover who I am.”
“That’s still a huge risk.” I looked to Baz for support, but he appeared deep in thought.
She made a puppy dog face, and I sighed. He might not agree to it tonight, but he would soon.
“Fine,” I said, standing up and still doubting this undoubtedly stupid idea. “Let’s throw a masquerade ball.”
nineteen
Hostinga ball at Blackwell Manor came with a slew of problems. Invitations, decorations, food, and wine all needed to be prepared.
Gretel, to no one’s surprise, excelled at the decorations. But before we could get there, the entire Manor needed to be cleaned from top to bottom.
She only complained once. “It’s already clean,” she huffed under her breath. I didn’t dignify her with a response. We had to sweep and dust and mop. Every inch of the place scrubbed.
“The Manor has never looked better,” Baz said, kissing my cheek one day. I shrugged out of his grasp and violently attacked a rug that held far too much dust.
Only then did I allow Gretel to think about decorations.
“Stars,” she said dreamily.
I listened in, but honestly, it was all a little over my head. “Just remember,” I advised. “Gentle folk are stuffy. We need it to be classy.”
“And elegant.” She kissed me. “I know.”
She focused on the decorations because the activity kept her in the house. It left me on hand to go into the market and work with vendors. We wouldn’t be having a full meal, but there wereplenty of refreshments that we needed. And we did not want the masses drinking on a completely empty stomach.
I ordered large amounts of food, ingredients to turn into simple hand-held fare, and an obnoxiously large case of berry wine.
“Flowers,” Gretel requested one morning. “Black roses.”
I scrunched my nose. “There isn’t such a thing.”
She giggled, shooting me an innocent look which I rarely was able to dismiss. So, in between visiting confectioners, I spoke to the florist.
“That many will cost,” the florist said.
