Ink All Over
The creamy paper stares up at me from my desk, empty save for the Dear Princess Islabetta scrawled across the top in my own handwriting. Father instructed me to pursue an alliance; my sentencing, as Hugh put it. I’m willing enough to obey, but find myself unsure of exactly how to begin.
I rub my nose, attempting to think of something to write, but my mind is as blank as the letter. My eyes wander my darkening study, searching for inspiration, but the books on the shelves are, for lack of a better term, boring. I doubt I should lead with a discussion of the history of maritime trade treaties or an explanation of the economic philosophy of Kentish bankers. My gaze lands on the canvas hanging over the dark mantle, a pastoral scene. It puts me in mind of the common girl from the ball and her crotchety hog sharing my name. A ghost of a smile tugs at my lips, and I impulsively write, Do you have any animals?
I stare at the page for a moment before shaking my head. That will never do.
Before I can crumple up the paper and begin again, the door to my study bursts open and Hugh dances in, bringing a chill air and the scent of horses and coffee with him. His hair is tousled, and he’s wearing a green-and-yellow riding jacket. I eye him distrustfully. “Who have you been out with?”
“Who are you writing to?” Hugh crosses the room in two steps to peer at my desk, and I hastily grab a book to cover the page. I pause, however, mindful of the wet ink, and Hugh snatches the letter as I hesitate. He scans the few words, then lets the letter flutter back to the desk and stares at me.
“‘Do you have any animals?’ That’ s how you’re going to start courting a princess?”
I snatch the paper back, smearing the ink in my haste, and open my mouth to defend myself, but Hugh shakes his head. “Never mind,” he says. “I wouldn’t expect anything more from you. But I really must tell you about my afternoon.”
“You have always been more competent at courting than I. Who is it this time?”
Hugh falls into a stuffed chair, loosening his white cravat as he relaxes. “Miss Smith.”
“Miss—Hugh, I told you to leave her alone!”
He smiles and looks up at the ceiling dreamily. “She is a wonder.” He sighs. “I simply couldn’t stay away.”
“You know her name isn’t even Smith?” The girl’s laughing, trusting face flashes through my mind. “She’s too innocent for you, Hugh. Find someone else to amuse yourself with.”
He chuckles. “She said you warned her about me. Uncivil of you, that was! I suppose my charm won her over anyhow.”
I barely restrain from rolling my eyes at his exaggerated wink. Rubbing my temple, I ask, “What did you do?”
“Just took her for a drive. Kelpie was itching to get out, you know. By the way, you got ink all over your face.”
“You took her—what were you thinking?” A glance at my hand shows smeared black ink, which I’ve presumably just spread to my temple. “Hugh, commoners can’t simply stop working to gallivant with you.”
“Er, yes.” Hugh coughs. “But she’ll be fine.”
“Fine?”
“Well, she said she didn’t want to stop working altogether. Odd, that, and of course I couldn’t have known! But she’ll find something else tomorrow.”
“Find something else?” My voice is growing louder. I take a breath to try to modulate it. “Hugh, did she lose her job because of you?”
“I thought she’d be happy to be free!” he protests, but I see him squirm in his chair. “And I made it up to her! Gave her the most beautiful flowers and bought her a pastry.” He sighs. “But I couldn’t wheedle her into joining me at the club.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, pained. “You invited her to your club. Hugh! She’s a lady! You can’t—”
“She’s not really a lady,” Hugh counters, picking at a speck of mud on his trousers. “She’s just a commoner, like you said.”
“Even worse.” My forehead wrinkles in a frown. “You could ruin her, Hugh. She is … delicate.”
He laughs. “Delicate? I don’t think so. You should have heard her scold! She could rival you, Luke!” He pauses, and looks at me more appraisingly. “Why do you care so much this time, anyhow? I’ve courted lots of other girls and you haven’t said a word.”
I falter. “I don’t care, particularly,” I answer after a moment, fishing a handkerchief out of my waistcoat pocket to wipe my inky hand. “She just seemed uncommonly naive. I think you should let her be.”
“You like her!” Hugh says, wondering and slow at first, then faster and gleeful. “You like her!”
“She is one of our subjects, and it is my duty to care about the well-being of—”
“You like —”
“Stop saying that.”
He warbles it instead, “You like her,” bouncing off the walls in a smug singsong.
My mouth forms a flat line, and I return my gaze to my desk, pulling out a clean sheet of paper for my second attempt at a letter for Princess Islabetta.
Hugh scoffs. “Ignore me if you want, Luke, but I can tell! You’re finally in love! I am delighted on your behalf!”
“Love!” I look up from my paper. “Hugh, I barely know her.”
“You don’t have to know someone to like them,” Hugh counters.
“You do have to know them to love them.”
“But you don’t need to love them to marry them, apparently!” Hugh curls his lip at the letter I’d tried to write.
“No, not for royalty,” I agree—not in a pleasant way. “Marriage is more than love. It is a responsibility—”
Hugh ignores the barb, as he usually does. “You can be a good king and still fall in love, you know. A little fling would be good for you, loosen you up, make you less stingy—”
“I am not going to have a ‘little fling’ with anyone. And I’m not stingy.”
“Then why don’t you have a fire in here? It’s dark as the underworld, and I’m getting chilly.”
“You can leave anytime.” I crumple the smeared letter and toss it in the wastebasket. It lands with a soft rustle. After a moment, I glance back up. Hugh’s leaned forward in the chair, chin propped on his hand to stare at me. “Yes?”
“You really do like her, you know.”
“I—”
“And you’re so focused on your idea of duty that you’re an intolerable prig, and Miss Smith probably wouldn’t even like you back anyhow—although I suppose I could put in a good word for you, if she can resist me to listen—but anyhow, I think you’re wrong about everything.”
“Thank you for sharing your opinion.” I trust that my gratitude, or lack thereof, is truly conveyed through my tone .
“No, I mean it!” He stands and frowns at me, eyes narrowed. “You think the only way to be responsible is to bargain yourself away in marriage. You don’t even know how free you are to choose for yourself. You could have any woman you wanted, Luke! You could—”
I stand. “Is that what it’s all about to you? Just proving to the world that you can have what you want?” I grit my teeth. He won’t have Miss Flanders to prove a point; I’ll see to it that she’s cared for. The gift I sent last night will be a start. “And I am not bargaining myself away, either. Father wants to strengthen our connection—”
“Father wants more money.” Hugh strolls over to a bookshelf and inspects it absently for a moment before whirling and changing the subject. “What did I say to you last night about Miss Smith, exactly?”
I rub my temple again and feel the ink, now crusted on my skin. “When you were drunk, you mean?”
“I may not have been thinking quite as clearly as I should have,” Hugh agrees. “What did I say?”
“Nonsense, I think.” I sink back into my chair. “Just leave her alone, Hugh. I’ll see that she’s taken care of, and you can stay out of it.”
Hugh grins slowly. “Will you really? But you don’t like her?” He shrugs and walks to the door. “By the way, she left a basket in my phaeton—note was in your handwriting.”
“Why did she—” I begin, but Hugh’s already left the room. I close my eyes, exasperated, and when I open them, I’m staring at the new sheet of paper for my letter to Princess Islabetta.
I start reaching for my pen, but stop midway. The princess will have to wait. Rising, I leave the room and go to wash my face.