Entwined(50)

“Well, yes, his fingers, too,” said Bramble. She stood with a flourish and made the other girls get up, forming a ring around Azalea. Azalea groaned. This was a parlor-game dance, one where the person in the middle was the ball, and the girls “threw” her to each other, each with something to say.

“So suppose Azalea finds the sugar teeth after all,” said Bramble, taking Azalea by the shoulders and spinning her. Azalea rolled her eyes but obliged, and let her feet turn beneath her. A slight push, and Azalea spun to Delphinium.

“She breaks them,” said Delphinium, catching Azalea and pushing her to Hollyhock in a spin, a ball with skirts.

“Snap!” said Hollyhock.

Azalea flinched. Hollyhock fumbled to spin her to Bramble again.

“And in a burst of fireworks, he emerges from the passage! Burst!”

She pushed Azalea to Eve. Eve stopped Azalea from spinning, and paused.

“What then, though?” she said. “Keeper can’t have anywhere to go.”

“Well,” said Bramble, her grin fading. “I suppose he’ll try to court and marry Az. He likes her best.”

Azalea paused, wondering how it would feel to be pressed up against Keeper, his long fingers cradling her head, his lips touching hers. If he kissed as well as he danced…

Her face burned like mad. She cast a fervid glance at the entrance, praying Keeper couldn’t see her.

“He arrives at the palace doors, on a fine black horse,” Delphinium prompted, picking up Bramble’s lost thread, and Eve spun her again, “silver flowers in his hand—”

“And the King opens the door—” squeaked Flora, who caught Azalea.

And then, everyone stopped. Azalea’s skirts twisted, then settled. It occurred to all of them what would happen next.

“And boxes Keeper straight in the face,” Azalea finished.

Everyone managed to giggle, though it was true. Azalea shook her head, smiling.

“Well,” said Eve as they gathered the sleeping girls up from their cushions. “It would be odd if you married him anyway.”

“Aye,” said Bramble. “Your children would be disappearing all over the place.”

As they left, Keeper appeared at the arched entrance, bowing them out. When Azalea thanked him, his long fingers twitched. Azalea wondered if he had heard the whole thing. In a fleeting moment, she almost wished the King did know about Keeper. He had eyes that seemed to see everything.

Still, it wasn’t just Keeper the King would certainly dislike. The King surveyed all the gentlemen who came to the palace with that freezing-ice look he was known for. When December dawned, crisp and cold, curling the garden leaves with frost, the King used a look just as frigid on Viscount Duquette. Viscount Duquette had only been invited because he was a university fellow, which the King seemed to prefer. But Viscount Duquette, handsome, well educated, graying at the sides, had come for one reason only: Clover.

“Your beauty has reached somewhat legendary status, where I am from,” he said over a dinner of hot soup and rolls. He raised his wine glass to Clover, who blushed to shame. “I am pleased to see the rumors were no exaggeration. To fine beauty, my lady, to romance, and to stories of golden hair.”

The King threw Viscount Duquette out.

Doomed to be stuck inside for the next two days, the girls bickered and snapped at one another, and Clover looked close to tears. She cast longing glances through the curtains to the gardens, then would turn away quickly.

Lately she had been helping Old Tom clip and bundle the plants before the snow came, but Azalea hadn’t thought she enjoyed it that much.

“It’s all my fault,” she said, when they prepared tea in the scrubbed kitchen. “If I hadn’t—”

“What, been born pretty?” said Bramble. She swished the water in the kettle. “This is why we need to watch out for each other. Az knows.”

“We can use the extra time inside to look for the sugar teeth,” said Azalea.

The girls groaned.

Bread and cheese had been sliced and the servants’ table had been set when the King arrived. The girls stood not just from protocol, but from surprise. Next to him, dressed in a fine black suit, with a gold-tipped walking stick, stood Fairweller.

“Ladies,” said the King. “This is our guest for the next two days.”

Spoons clattered.

“You’re joking,” said Bramble.

“That will do.” The King’s voice was crisp. “Minister Fairweller has been very generous to volunteer so you could all be allowed out.”

“But you said Azalea wouldn’t—” said Flora.

“For heaven’s sake!” said the King. “Just tolerate him for the next two days, will you?”

They made Fairweller carry the basket. And the blanket. And the steaming kettle. He did so without a word. Half an hour later, they huddled under the tea tree, a great cozy pine in the wall-and-stairs part of the garden that blocked out the wind. Blanket spread, food unbundled, tea poured in steaming puffs, all without a word from Fairweller. There’d been no room on the blanket, so he knelt on the sappy needles that coated the ground.

Azalea busied herself with blowing on the younger girls’ tea, cooling it, trying to avoid eye contact. Eve gave a cough.

“You know, Minister,” said Delphinium, looking him up and down with her blue eyes. “You really aren’t bad looking. A red-colored waistcoat would do wonders for you. You should wear one to your next speech. All the ladies would tease their husbands into voting for you.”