Nothing So Wonderful as Sharing a Crumpet
I don’t fall asleep in the carriage this time, like I had after the Commoners Ball. My nerves are too zappy and my memory replays every word I exchanged with Lucas. I sigh, resting my head against the plush wall of the carriage. It must be wrong to be so happy, so surrounded by warmth and luxury, accepting far too much good fortune, when my parents are probably fighting off chilblains and making sure the Folk don’t bewitch the hogs overnight.
I don’t count this evening as a favor; this was a more-than-equal exchange of my company for a basket of cold food and a carriage ride home. There is nothing for me to repay Hugh. Lucas lending me his coat, though—
The lights of the city flicker outside the carriage window, lanterns and candles and gas lamps swinging on their posts. I shouldn’t have let him lend me that, and I shouldn’t have danced with him. Even if it was not precisely a favor, it was still wrong. Who am I to take such liberties with the prince? I rub at my chest, surprised by the ache I feel.
The carriage rolls to a stop outside Mistress Mungon’s and the driver steps down to open the door. I slip off Hugh’s glittering slippers and leave them on the seat. No use pretending they’re mine.
I’d like to be rid of the dress, too, but that would be an inappropriate thing to leave behind. Plus, I’d be cold.
So I trot up to the doorway with my basket of food, the damp ground seeping into my stockinged toes, calling my thanks to the coachman as I go. I don’t recognize this one; I suppose the man who drives the queen around would be different than the one playing chauffeur to a couple of poor seamstresses.
The door is locked, so I rap once—twice—three times, and finally hear the slow thud of Mistress Mungon approaching. She opens the door to me, her wrinkled face anxious and ghastly in the candlelight, and I gather my pumpkin skirts and rustle my way upstairs.
Chemmy’s waited up for me, of course. “You’re so late!” she whispers, the lamp on the table casting ghoulish shadows over her face.
I yawn. “I’ll pay for it in the morning. Help me out of this monstrosity, would you?” It’s wrinkled by now, but Chemmy unbuttons the long row in the back, and I shake it out and hang it up. I’ll find a way to get it back to Hugh tomorrow. I’m too tired to figure out how right now.
Stifling another yawn, I peel my damp stockings off and shimmy into my nightclothes. “Well? How was the musicale?”
Chemmy fairly glows in the darkness. “Oh, so wonderful.” She sighs, dreamy and contented.
Her happiness brings a smile to my face, too. “The music? Or the company?”
“Both.” Chemmy giggles. “Ungus bought a crumpet for us to share.”
“Sharing crumpets! That’s as good as a declaration!” I pull the pins out of my hair, letting my curls flop free.
She giggles again. “And then he kissed my cheek when we got back.”
“I hope Mistress Mungon didn’t see,” I say with a laugh. “She’d have you thrown out for that.”
“She knows Ungus means to—”
“Marry you?” I supply when Chemmy breaks off, flustered. My fingers are growing stiff with cold, but I scramble my hair into a braid before I slide into bed.
“Someday.” She sighs again, less dreamy this time. “But he can’t set up for himself, and his mother doesn’t want him marrying yet. If I had a dowry—”
I pat her hand, sympathetic.
“Perhaps next time you see your prince, you could ask him to have a word with her.” Chemmy sniffs and rolls to her side. “But it’s your turn. You must tell me all about it.”
“What’s there to tell? One ball is the same as another, I expect.” I yawn again and close my eyes. “Hugh was annoying, but I met the queen.”
“The queen!”
“Don’t squeal so loudly! She’s very beautiful, and not as stuffy as I imagined she’d be.”
Chemmy pokes my arm. “Stop pretending to be asleep and tell me everything!”
“Lucas did lend me his jacket.” A smile steals across my face.
“He did?”
“You’re squealing again! Besides, I don’t think sharing a jacket is anything near as wonderful as sharing a crumpet .”
Chemmy giggles again, sleepily, and I do, too, even though my heart is heavy.
She can fall asleep and dream hopefully of her butcher, but I—I have nothing to dream of. Nothing to hope for. Only a fledgling love that must be laid to rest.
“Hester!” A sharp voice rouses me, and I open my eyes slowly, trying to escape from a dream in which a lavender woman was ordering my … execution? Or my wedding dress? The details of the dream fade as I come to, finally realizing the voice that woke me belongs to Chemmy. “We’ve overslept!”
I push myself up on my elbows. Bright sunlight already bleeds in around the window shutter. I squeal and dive out of bed, hurrying into my dress. My wet stockings from last night are balled up in a corner of the room, but I don’t have time to wash them out now; goodness knows what Mistress Corthope will do to me if I’m late for work.
“Lu—the prince sent along some food,” I say to Chemmy, who is just as frantically readying herself.
“I knew he would,” she says, abandoning her hairbrush to rummage through the basket. She finds two rolls and an apple and stuffs them in her pocket. “We can share as we walk.”
Shoes on, cloaks tossed over shoulders, scarves wound hastily around our necks, and we’re nearly falling down the stairs in our haste. Mistress Mungon appears as we rush out the door, but we have no time for anything but a brisk good morning.
I wonder what expression I had seen on her face, and why it made me so uneasy, but there’s no time to stop and ask.
LUCAS
This should not be so difficult. All I have to do is write to the princess and tell her I want to marry her. Or rather, that my family—my country—wants me to marry her.
It is my duty. When have I shirked my duty?
I run a frustrated hand through my hair. It’s already sticking up wildly, due to more than one of the same gesture over the course of the last hour .
I pick up my pen yet again, running my eyes over the princess’ letter lying unfolded and unanswered on my desk. I’ve read it so many times I could probably recite it, and yet I cannot think of a single thing I want to say in reply.
There’s another letter, backed with a sketch of a hog, I’d like to answer, but I can’t let my mind go there.
I lay the pen down. No use trying to do this before I eat.
I leave my study and make my way to the breakfast room. I presume Mother and Hugh will sleep in following our late night, so I’m unsurprised to find Father alone with a plate of ham and eggs and a stack of correspondence.
He nods at me as I sit at the mahogany table. A footman immediately appears with a steaming cup of tea and my own ham-and-egg platter. I forego them in favor of a buttery piece of toast.
“Anything interesting this morning?” I ask Father to get my mind off princesses and seamstresses.
He hrmphs, chewing ham slowly. “Nothing as interesting as the gossip saying both my sons were acting silly over some peasant girl last night.” He dabs at his mouth with a napkin. “I couldn’t believe it of you, of course.”
I choke on my toast. “Hugh dragged a young lady out to Lady Hitchingford’s party.” Why is my mouth so dry? I gulp my tea too quickly then wince when it burns my tongue.
Father watches me with narrowed eyes, then stabs a forkful of eggs with another hrmph . “I’d like to announce your engagement to the princess next week.”
“So soon? I haven’t formalized it yet.”
“Still?” Father’s brows draw together. “What is she waiting for?”
Me to ask her, I suppose. I don’t say this to Father. “There is much to think about in such an arrangement.”
He drums his fingers on the table, frowning. “I should have handled it myself. Could have had it all taken care of weeks ago.” I glance down at my toast, and when I look back up, Father’s staring at me, fork hanging forgotten halfway between his plate and his mouth. “Not like you to be so behind,” he says.
“I thought she’d like to be wooed first. It seemed distasteful to go straight to treaty arrangements.”
“It was good enough for my father and his father before that,” Father scoffs before bringing his fork the rest of the way to his mouth.
“Modern women, you know,” I murmur, absently scraping my own eggs around my plate.
Father makes a final dismissive noise before pushing his chair away from the table with a clatter. “Don’t bother trying to woo her. You’ve been thinking of economics since you were a babe.” Father chuckles at himself. “Now, Hugh would have a hard time with a political alliance, but you were made for it. No dreams of love-matches in your mind, I’d wager.”
Hugh chooses this exact moment to stroll in lazily. He really does have the habit of showing up at the most inconvenient times. “What’s this? Luke’s having a dalliance? Do tell.” He looks at Father as he plops into a chair and leans his elbows on the table, but addresses me. “You did disappear with my Miss Smith for a long time last evening, brother.”
“She’s not your Miss Smith,” I say without thinking. I feel Father’s gaze on me and turn my own attention to my tea, stirring it unnecessarily. “Stick to your own kind.”
Hugh’s grin widens. “I think she’s more my kind than you realize. I shall call on her today.” He spears a fat piece of ham.
I push away from the table and give Father a half-bow. “I shall go write to the princess.”
And do my best not to think about a narrow, laughing face surrounded by wild curls.