“Good heavens, Azalea, are you all right?”
The oath! Azalea fell against the wainscot of the hallway, the painful tingling coursing through her in riptides. In a dizzy whirl, she felt herself plucked up and into the King’s arms.
Five minutes later, a ruckus ensued in the room as the King set Azalea onto her bed. Lily awoke with a cry, and Kale, who was never happy when she was tired, began to scream. Candles were lit and lamps turned up, and girls sleepily flocked to Azalea’s bed. Azalea gasped for air, feeling the cold pinpricks ream up and down her skin.
“What happened?” said Clover, wetting a cloth in the basin, and dabbing Azalea’s face.
“She had a sort of fit,” said the King. “I think her underthings may be laced too tightly.”
All the girls, including Azalea, blushed brilliantly.
“Sir,” said Eve. “You’re not supposed to know about the U word!”
“Am I not? Forgive me.”
When the color returned to Azalea’s cheeks, they pushed the King out of the room, a crease between his eyebrows, and set to unbuttoning her. Azalea hoped the unlacing of the corset would return her breath to her, but it took an hour and two cups of piping hot tea for the strangled feeling to leave. The fear and hopelessness remained, however, and Azalea slept in a choke.
Azalea slept so late she nearly missed dinner the next day. She rushed to the dining room, shaking off the groggy stupor, and found the girls setting the table, their faces stung red from playing outside. They chattered about the day’s events. Clover looked especially pretty, with her hair pinned up and her corseted figure ablossom, a lady even though she was just fifteen. Fifteen! Today was Clover’s birthday, and Azalea had slept through nearly all of it, including the Great Corseting and the birthday center reel. Feeling sick all over again, she caught Clover’s hands and tried to smile.
“Many happy returns!” she said. “I can’t believe I slept through so much of it.”
“You were ill,” said Clover, squeezing Azalea’s hands.
“I’ll make it up to you. I promise. Do you like the corset?”
Clover tried to keep from smiling, but her face glowed.
“I…can feel my heartbeat in my stomach!”
“Aye, that’s what it feels like to be a lady!” said Bramble, among the general riffraff and clattering of seat taking and plate getting. “It’s corking. I love it.”
Azalea only picked at her bowl of potato soup as dinner progressed. Her hand kept twitching to feel the watch in her pocket that wasn’t there, anxious for the time. She feared Keeper would become angrier with each passing minute they weren’t there.
The King, on the other hand, looked in good spirits, seeing Azalea at the table, and Lord Teddie was in even finer spirits, because that was Lord Teddie. The younger girls fought for seats next to him and clamored for his attention.
“At least Azalea remembered,” said Delphinium in a low whisper. Azalea fed Lily, sitting on her lap. “The King hasn’t said a thing. Not one thing!”
“He’s forgotten. I was afraid he would,” said Eve.
“Great scott, Clover.” Azalea cast a glance at the head of the table. “You haven’t told him?”
“Well…we’re in mourning.” Clover smoothed the napkin in her lap. “And—it would just make him feel bad that he had forgotten.”
“If it was important to him,” said Delphinium primly, “he would remember.”
On the other side of the table, the girls squealed with laughter as Lord Teddie chattered like mad. He ate far too much soup and far too many biscuits to account for his lean, gangly figure, and he read them a book called The Eathesburian Holiday Guidebook, which he had brought from Delchastire.
“It has an entire section just on the gardens! The fountains and statues and all things gardeny,” he said, as the girls climbed over one another to peek at the etchings inside. “It says if you’re lucky, you might even see the rare flowers of Eathesbury!”
The girls giggled so hard, Hollyhock choked on her soup.
“That’s us!” she cried, after coughing. “We’re the flowers of Eathesbury!”
“And all of you, pretty as buttons!” said Lord Teddie, beaming at them. He looked over to Bramble, who wore a bit of holly in her deep red hair, and he smiled.
“Clover,” said the King, interrupting the melee. He had been casting distracted glances at Clover all through dinner. Azalea knew why. With her hair up and her eyes alight, Clover looked like a golden version of Mother. She even had the smile that lit the room. “Miss Clover…you look…very nice,” he finished, lamely.
Clover’s deep blue eyes brightened.
“Do you think so?” she said.
The King cast another distracted glance at her, then glanced at Azalea. Azalea mouthed the word birthday.