“Princess—aaack!”
They broke apart, stepped away from each other, and turned to see Lord Howley at the end of the trellis path, shaking out a handkerchief to hold to his face. In the distance, on a stone bench, was the King. He looked irritated. “Lord…Howley,” Azalea stammered.
“What the devil happened to you?” he said. “You smell like—like—wet fabric! And who the devil are you?”
Mr. Bradford turned to stone. Even his brown eyes hardened. The only movements to him were the bits of water that dripped off his face and suitcoat. He looked at Lord Howley, his expression completely unreadable, then to Azalea, then back to Lord Howley.
“This is Lord Howley,” said Azalea, hoping to smooth over the awkwardness with Princess Royale grace. “He’s a guest here. On…Royal Business.”
“Oh. Yes.” Mr. Bradford remained stony. “Royal Business. I have heard of it.”
Who hasn’t? Azalea thought. To Mr. Bradford, she suppressed a smile. “If Lord Howley becomes King,” she said, “he says he’ll raise the taxes.”
“Oh, does he?”
For a moment, the gentlemen glowered politely at each other.
“Well,” said Azalea, breaking the tension. “I’m an icicle. I’ve got to get changed. There is the King, Mr. Bradford. Thank you—again.”
Mr. Bradford visibly softened, no longer stone when he looked at her. He bowed smartly, clicking his heels together in regimental fashion.
“Princess,” he said.
Azalea ran to the palace. She dripped the entire way there, determined that the next time she saw him, she would have his watch in her hand. Her icy skirts and blouse clung to her, but she didn’t feel it, for how much a pair of soft brown eyes could warm her.
CHAPTER 18
Snow came a week before Christmas, turning the gardens into a fairyland. Everything shimmered with white ice, each twig and stubborn leaf coated. All the statues had cakes of snow on their heads, and it topped the hedges and pergolas dripping with icy vines. The air had a new, fresh smell and the cold whipped the girls’ faces, leaving them rosy cheeked.
They spent the day playing snow games, sliding on the pond ice, and throwing snowballs at the latest gentleman, Baron Hubermann. He was a decent sort, but he stormed away the third time they knocked his hat off, and the girls gathered at the end of the gardens to watch the King, riding in the meadow.
“He’s a very fine rider, is he not?” said Delphinium as they peeked through the iron gate, watching the King canter on Dickens. He nodded at them as he galloped past. Each hoof fall left a great chunk of snow upturned.
“I think we should go in now,” said Azalea. “If you all help me set the table for dinner, we can look in the silver cabinet again for the sugar teeth.”
The girls let out a collective groan.
“I can’t believe you still care about that,” said Bramble.
Azalea was rankled. “He has Mr. Bradford’s watch!”
“So what?” said Bramble. “Mr. Bradford is rich. He can buy another one.”
Azalea kicked snow onto Bramble’s boot.
“Anyway,” said Bramble, good-naturedly scuffing the snow off. “I’ve been thinking. We only have a few more days to dance in the pavilion, before we can dance anywhere we like. So, what if, on our last night there, we just said, ‘Hulloa, Keeper, this has been ripping, thanks for the dances, we’ll keep our eyes open for the magic thing and the moment we find it we’ll nip on back. We know where to find you!’ I mean, that wouldn’t be bad, would it? I just don’t like the thought of him toddling about outside of the pavilion.”
“Exactly,” said Eve, bundled up so only her pink cheeks and spectacles showed. “If we did set him free, what would Keeper do? He can’t have any lands or manor anymore.”
“Keeper?” said Bramble. “Who cares about Keeper? What about us? If the King found out we’d been off dancing around someone like Keeper, he’d murder us. As far as we know, the King hasn’t been through that passage since he was a wee chit—if he ever was a wee chit, which I doubt—and I’d like it to stay that way.”
The King pulled up short at the gate, scattering snow. Dickens snorted and shook his mane.
“Come into the meadows, ladies,” he said. “You’re all crowded about so. It’s not against the rules; it’s royal property. Come along.”
The gate screeched with cold and rust as they opened it and moved into the bright blues and purples of dusky snow.
“Would any of you like a ride?” said the King.
The girls backed away.
“No, thank you!” squeaked Ivy.
“Definitely not!”
“I don’t think so.”