Meddlesome Old Fruitcake
I did nothing wrong in conversing with Miss Flanders yesterday. Unconventional, possibly forward, but not truly wrong. Still, I am cognizant of a strange sensation, something like a thousand gentle needles pricking my skin.
It is not altogether unpleasant.
I think it best to leave the palace today, too aware of Miss Flanders’ presence under the roof, even though I will not see her unless I seek her out. My mother has some visits to make and is pleased that I join her. Although I don’t charm like Hugh, I’m well-practiced in these sorts of social niceties, and if it’s dull, what of it? I was born into a dull role, but I can play it anyhow.
We are out all morning, take lunch at Mother’s favorite tearoom, and are pressed upon to have afternoon tea with an earl and his wife. It’s nearly dinnertime when we finally return to the palace, and the setting sun casts our long shadow before us as we roll down the drive. Those strange needles grow more insistent the closer we get, and by the time I hand Mother out of the carriage and help her sweep up the steps, I’m quite warm, despite the chill of the evening .
I do not know how late the seamstresses stay to work. They must be gone by this time. Still, as I walk down the hallways, my eyes dart at anything that could be a head of loose black curls or a faded red gown.
I make it to my rooms without seeing Miss Flanders. As I expected.
Rodering waits there, ready to dress me for dinner, and something in his expression gives me pause.
“There’s a parcel for Your Highness,” he says. I’m shrugging off my jacket, but I hesitate for a moment when I catch his eye.
“From whom?” I try to keep my tone disinterested, handing him the jacket and removing my cravat.
“A young lady, Your Highness.” I think there’s a glimmer of amusement in his face. “I placed it in your sitting room.”
“Very well.” I have no secrets from Rodering. I have no secrets from anyone. I am a simple man with nothing to hide.
And yet, I will not open the package while he is with me.
I say no more about it while he dresses me for dinner, although I urge him to hurry. Mother and I were out so long that I’m in danger of being late, and several lords will dine with us tonight. I should not keep them waiting. There is always business to discuss and expectations to manage.
But when I dismiss Rodering, I do not immediately hasten down. I wait until I hear the door latching behind him, and then I stroll to the desk in my sitting room where a paper-wrapped rectangle sits. My throat is dry, and those needles are pricklier than ever. I unwrap the wrinkled paper and find a slim book with The Abbey of Orricor: Volume One printed in bold letters. A paper flutters out from between the pages; I snatch it from the floor and smooth it out on the desk.
Dear Sir,
Cheese! You cannot know how much joy you have brought us! I nearly danced when I saw your basket, but I didn’t because the lady who sleeps below us goes to bed very early and would have been even more cross than usual if I had started hopping above her head.
As restitution for the book I damaged—and to improve your mind—I got this for you. Please be very impressed at my self-control, because I wanted to buy a different one and read it first, but I restrained myself on your account. Don’t bother savoring it — there are seventeen more volumes, so you won’t soon run out of horrible things to put you to sleep.
Many thanks, she seems to be enjoying the status of working here.
A nearby trunk has been designated to store our projects while we’re not here, so I stack the folded velvet inside. Mistress Corthope finished several minutes ago, but I was so near to the end of a seam that I couldn’t stop.
I wave a farewell to the few others still in the workroom and hasten out. I’m quite familiar with this small section of the palace by now, and I hurry down the corridors instead of dawdling to admire the building. I find the exit closest to the stables, hoping Mistress Corthope hasn’t left yet.
Outside, it is raining for the fourth time this week. An unadorned carriage stands in a puddle, and Mistress Corthope is just stepping up into it.
“Mistress Corthope!” I call, hurrying over to her .
She glances down from the top step. “Well?” Her voice is pinched. “You’ve finished that hem?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Why are you standing around then? You can go.”
“I need my wages, ma’am.” I shuffle from one foot to the other. A small hole has formed in the toe of my left shoe, and cold rainwater oozes onto my stocking.
Mistress Corthope finishes stepping into the carriage and seats herself before answering. I have to step closer to see her. “My moneybox is at the shop. You’ll have to wait until Monday.”
Monday! “My landlady needs to be paid tonight, ma’am!”
Mistress Corthope sniffs. “I have nothing to pay you with unless you return to the shop tonight.”
I’ll have to walk there and then home, and I’ll be drenched by the time I’m back at the boardinghouse, but at least I’ll have cheese to enjoy afterward.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say with only a little sigh. “I’ll come.”
She does not offer for me to ride with her, and I do not ask, fearful that she will reduce my wages further.
“Shut the door, then,” is her peevish answer, so I do, and I watch her roll away, wondering why she’s in a carriage instead of the hansom.
I follow it down the drive, my skirt swishing damply about my ankles as I go, but when I near the gates I hear the clop of horse hooves. I step off into the wet grass to make way for a pair of horses and riders trotting into the drive. The horse on the left looks familiar—oh dear. I pull the hood of my cloak down as far as it can go and dip my face toward the ground.
I’d recognize Hugh’s beautiful mare anywhere.
I wait without moving for the riders to pass me, but instead a concerned voice calls my name. “Miss Flanders?”
I look up, pasting a smile on my shadowed face, and offer a shallow curtsy. I think I’m getting better at them, actually. “Your Highnesses! How unexpected! ”
Lucas dismounts from his horse—a speckled gray mare, nowhere near as beautiful as Hugh’s Kelpie—and steps toward me, a slight pucker on his brow.
Hugh stops Kelpie, though he doesn’t dismount. “Why, it’s Miss Smith!” He beams. “How d’ye do?”
I curtsy again, cursing my bad luck. I had been hoping Hugh wouldn’t find me here!
“You are walking home,” Lucas accuses, rain dripping from the brim of his hat. “Why are you not in a carriage?”
“Why are you not in a carriage?” I say.
“Never mind that,” Hugh says, still atop his horse. “You’ll stay for supper, of course, Miss Smith! Luke, boost her up in front of me. Too wet to stay out here and chat.”
“I will not! ” I might be blushing, but at least a blush will keep me warm.
Lucas gives Hugh a black look, and pointedly does not give me a boost up. “You must wait indoors while a carriage is readied,” he says, ignoring Hugh’s grin.
I shake my head. “I can’t wait.” Mistress Corthope is likely to close her shop and leave without giving me my wages if I don’t hurry. I curtsy again and would walk off, but Lucas prevents me.
“Then I shall give you a ride,” he says. My eyes dart to his face, but he is stoic. Hugh, watching us from his perch, is grinning widely.
“I will not ride with you either!”
“Then you force me to walk with you.”
I scoff. “I’m not forcing you to do anything. But really, I must hurry, so if you’ll excuse me—”
The rain is coming down heavier now, and both my stockings are soaked through. Hugh shivers. The feathers on his hat are flopping miserably.
Lucas grimaces. “Please, Miss Flanders, come let me order you a carriage.”
How long have we already stood here? Is Mistress Corthope even now turning the key in the lock? Were I to run all the way to Willowby Street, would I find only shuttered windows?
The princes are still waiting, and I dart my eyes between them, noting that Hugh’s smile is more forced than usual—perhaps he doesn’t enjoy the weather. A puddle is forming at Lucas’ feet, but he doesn’t flinch.
If I kept walking, would he really insist on accompanying me?
Probably.
“Very well, and thank you,” I finally sigh. I turn to follow them up the drive, but Lucas doesn’t remount his horse.
“Why, you mustn’t walk! Luke, help her up, I say!” Hugh winks at me. “I’ll have you warm in a moment.”
“I’d rather not,” I say quickly.
Lucas shoots Hugh a glare, and Hugh’s grin widens. “You may ride with me if you like, Miss Flanders.”
“I can walk—” I begin, but he interrupts me.
“I will walk with you, then.”
I sniff. “Afraid I’ll run away if you’re not looking?”
Something smile-like passes over his face. “It would hardly be courteous to make you walk while I ride ahead.”
I turn to hurry back up the drive, and Lucas follows, leading his horse. Hugh watches with amusement, letting his horse walk slowly beside us.
“You’re getting soaked,” I say to Lucas. “You should go on.”
“See, Luke, she doesn’t want your company. Go along. I’ll take care of her.”
My eyes widen, and I look at Lucas a little frantically. “Don’t leave me with him!”
Hugh only laughs.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to ride?” Lucas murmurs. “Your shoes look wet through.”
“Talking about shoes, Your Highness? Isn’t that terribly improper?” Mistress Mungon would have a fit if she knew I were discussing feet with a man, but he’s correct: mine are absolutely saturated. His offer is tempting, but I don’t know how I’d mount a horse without showing quite a bit more leg than I care to, so instead I duck my head and walk faster.
We’re all three dripping when we arrive back at the stables. A couple of grooms rush forward to take the princes’ wet mares. While Hugh dismounts, Lucas removes his hat and steps a trifle closer to me.
“You’ll get sick.” He looks over my soggy figure. “Come into the kitchen to warm while you wait for a carriage.”
“It’s just a bit of water. I don’t want to ruin Cook’s clean floor.”
His lips quirk. “Afraid of angering Cook? You’ve always seemed so fearless.”
“I find it prudent not to annoy people who feed me.”
Hugh steps closer and shakes his head. Droplets of rain spray in every direction. “Well, what a pleasure to have you here, Miss Smith! Come along, come along. I can find something for you to wear for dinner.” He takes my arm and would have pulled me through the stables into the palace, but I resist.
“I’m not eating dinner here!”
“But I want my parents to meet the girl who has charmed us so much.” Hugh directs his grin at Lucas.
“Another time, perhaps,” I say as dryly as possible. “Please give them my regrets.”
Lucas’ lips tighten. “We shall be late,” he says to Hugh. To me, “If you will not come in, I will take you to the head of the stables. He will make sure you get home safely.”
He motions for me to follow him, and I do. Hugh lets us go; I’m quite relieved that he’s not causing a scene, but more curious why he isn’t causing a scene. Is he up to something, or is he finally tired of teasing me?
I crane my neck to peer around the stables as we go, admiring everything from the polished wooden plank flooring to the rows upon rows of spirited horses. A petite white mare tosses her mane and nickers when we pass, and I stop to pat her velvety nose.
Lucas stops, too. “Do you ride, Miss Flanders? ”
I laugh. “I’ve ridden a mule.”
He seems to be on the verge of saying something, but stops himself, and we continue walking down the aisle. Then, “I have not thanked you for the novel.” He glances down at me.
“You haven’t,” I agree. “Quite bad manners.”
“Unpardonable, unless you’ll pardon them.”
“I will, if you’ll read the book.”
“I already did,” Lucas says. “In one night.”
“Did you really?” I grin. “And aren’t you just dying to know what happened to the priest?”
“Not dying, precisely.” He returns my smile and I have to look away, flustered.
Fortunately for my heart, we’ve arrived at the office of the stable master, and Lucas ushers me in. The stable master is an old man with a long face, busily oiling a harness as he studies some papers on his desk. He rises when we enter. Lucas instructs the man to send me home in a carriage and sees that I am given a blanket to sop some of the rain from my outfit while I wait.
“And this is part of your wages,” he says. “Not a favor.”
“But if it were a favor, you could ask me for the next book,” I say.
Lucas lets himself smile again. “You would have me spend my time reading vampire novels instead of fulfilling my responsibilities, Miss Flanders?”
“I’m sure you work very hard and deserve a break.”
He shakes his head, still smiling, and takes his leave by pressing my hand for the briefest moment. Somehow, I refrain from fainting with delight.
LUCAS
Hugh is in my room when I return from the stables.
“Don’t you need to dress for dinner?” I look pointedly at his blue checked trousers, which are dripping onto my carpet.
He grins. “Fancy meeting Miss Smith here, eh? I’d no idea she was about the place!”
I shrug and stroll into my dressing room to remove my own soggy clothes. I’m glad the fire is lit, filling the room with its warmth and comfortable crackle. I hope Miss Flanders won’t catch a cold. I should have pressed her harder to come to the kitchen and have a cup of tea.
“You didn’t seem surprised,” Hugh says, following me. “I wonder why she was here.”
“Business, I suppose.” Rodering has seen her in the servants’ hall for lunches and kept an ear out for reports from the workroom. While her mistress is said to be a ninny, Rodering’s only heard good words about Miss Flanders. Her manner is as open and cheery with the servants as it has been when I’ve had the pleasure of speaking with her.
“I’ve been neglecting her frightfully,” Hugh muses. “I’ll have to send her a present. What sorts of things do peasants like, I wonder?”
Cheese and vampires , I nearly say, as the ghost of a smile twitches across my face.
“Well, never mind,” Hugh says. “I know you don’t care to hear about my little love affairs.”
“Not at all,” I agree.
He raises his eyebrows. “Well? No warning me off, this time?”
“The young lady seemed disinclined to spend time with you.” I peel off my wet overcoat and hand it to Rodering before loosing my cravat.
“Maidenly modesty,” Hugh says. “So very charming.” He perches on the edge of a chair and surveys me, tapping a finger on his chin. “I do wonder why she seems so comfortable with you.”
“You’re going to stain the upholstery with those wet trousers.”
“It’s just a little water.” Hugh protests.
“Besides which”—I allow Rodering to help me into a clean shirt—“you are going to be late for dinner. I wonder why you are here instead of dressing.” My eyes meet his, and I’m not sure I like what I see. Hugh looks mischievous—even more so than usual. I’m no longer worried about him trifling with Miss Flanders’ feelings; she doesn’t seem to be in danger of losing her heart to him, but I’m still apprehensive that he will cause trouble. Clearly the poor girl has a hard enough lot without his annoyance.
I look away and say abruptly, “Leave her alone, Hugh.”
“I knew you’d scold if I waited long enough.” He chuckles as he rises, then slaps me on the shoulder. “You’re a meddlesome old fruitcake, Luke. Still claiming you don’t like her?” With a final wink, he’s gone, and I’m frowning at the wet spot on the chair.