The words echoed. Everyone’s hands clasped over their mouths, and they stared at Lord Teddie, who panted but kept a tight chin up. Bramble’s lips were still pursed. They were white.
“Young man,” said the King gently. “Your ship leaves soon?”
Azalea guessed that, with the fiasco of everything, the King had annulled any arrangements between Bramble and Lord Teddie. Lord Teddie’s entire taffylike form slumped. He turned to go, all bounciness dissolved.
“Do you mean it?”
Lord Teddie turned quickly. Bramble’s lips remained tight, but her gaze was up, blazing yellow.
“Gad, yes,” said Lord Teddie. “I love you so much, my fingers hurt!”
“Oh!” Bramble slapped her hands over her mouth, and doubled over. “Oh—oh-oh-oh!” She shook. It was hard to tell if she was crying, or coughing, or ill. “Oh!”
In a billow of skirts, Bramble leaped. It was a grand jeté worthy of the Delchastrian prima ballerina. She landed right on Lord Teddie, who had no choice but to catch her, and threw her arms around his neck. Then, to everyone’s shock, she pressed her lips full on his.
“Oh…my,” said Clover.
No one seemed more surprised than Lord Teddie, who stumbled back under Bramble’s assault. He staggered onto the magicked rug. In a blur of red, the rug clapped over them like a red snapdragon.
The entire package overbalanced and fell to the ground with a whumpf.
No one moved inside the rug. Everyone stared.
“Sorry,” said Eve. “What just happened?”
From the rug came a muffled Mmm mmm mmfph.
“We’d better take them out,” said Azalea. “Before they start to digest.”
With Clover’s help, she peeled the carpet back to reveal Bramble, snuggled in Lord Teddie’s arms, her nose buried in his bright green bow tie, and nearly crying.
“—the ballroom windows and when I saw you I thought I would cry, you were so brave—”
“I say,” said Lord Teddie. “I say!”
The King grasped Bramble around the middle and pulled her from Lord Teddie’s arms. The carpet end slipped from Azalea’s hands and snapped again over Lord Teddie.
“Bramble, really!” said the King.
Bramble’s face had the largest grin Azalea had ever seen on it.
The King looked at a loss. He ran his fingers through his hair, distracted. Azalea, knowing Mother would have been able to manage this, stepped forward.
“Lord Teddie?” she said. “Will you stay for tea?”
“Rather!” said the carpet.
Before Lord Teddie’s ship left, he was allowed one hour in the gardens with Bramble, chaperoned by Mr. Pudding. All the girls stared out the windows, watching Lord Teddie and Bramble chatter up a storm, then run off, leaving Mr. Pudding lost in the snowy gardens. The girls made a great search for them, and finally, after an hour’s hunting, they found them in the butterfly forest, Bramble sitting on an overturned bucket and giggling while Lord Teddie kissed her fingers. Both Mr. Gasperson and the King dragged him away, late for the ship. Bramble leaned on the newel post, looking dizzy, and beaming.
Bramble’s constant gushing chatter of Lord Teddie did not improve things with Clover. As much as Azalea disliked Fairweller, she couldn’t bear hearing Clover weep late into the night. Clover had lost her appetite, too, only picking at her food and giving most of it to Ivy. Azalea worried.
“I honestly don’t know how in the world you could even like him, Clover,” said Delphinium, one morning as January drew to a close. They had moved back into the palace, now that the windows were all set, and were delighted to be back in their own boring, unmagicked room. Sunlight poured through the windows as they dressed, casting gold over everything.
Clover remained sitting on the edge of her bed, clutching the ends of her shawl and saying nothing.
“Let’s face it,” said Bramble, tying a green ribbon around her collar. “We haven’t heard a word from him since Christmas. That was ages ago! He’s abandoned you. Surprise!”
Clover’s hands tightened over the ends of her shawl.
“Oh, wait,” squeaked Ivy, who looked out one of the west windows to the front court below. “He hasn’t—Fairweller’s here!”
Clover leaped to the window. The other girls flocked around her. Below them, gentlemen walked across the gravel, LadyFair tethered to the balustrade.
“His steward is here, too.”
“Oh, look, the King’s gone out to greet him.”
“With a gun,” said Bramble.
Everyone leaned forward.
“Pistols!” cried Clover. She fled the room.
“Clover—duels aren’t—oh, hang,” said Bramble. “She’s going to do something rash. Well, at least we can see it from here.”
Two seconds later, Clover streaked out the entrance hall doors, down the marble stairs, her skirts flying behind her. The gentlemen had a split moment to look up before Clover threw herself onto the King in a scatter of gravel, sobbing as she hung about his neck.
The window muffled their voices. Everyone leaned even farther forward.
Clover fell to her knees and kissed the hem of the King’s coat.