“Of…course,” said Azalea. “You know I will.”
The moment the words escaped her lips, a wave of cold prickles washed over her. They tingled down her back, through her veins to her fingertips and toes, flooding her with a cold rain shower of goose prickles. The unfamiliar sensation made Azalea draw a sharp breath.
“Mother—”
“I want you to keep the handkerchief,” said Mother. “It’s yours now. A lady always needs a handkerchief.”
Azalea kept Mother’s cold hands between her own, trying to warm them. Mother laughed, a tired, worn laugh that bubbled nonetheless, and she leaned forward and kissed Azalea’s fingers.
Her lips, white from pressing against Azalea, slowly turned to red again.
“Good luck,” she said.
The King did not look up from his paperwork when Azalea rushed into the library. Two flights of stairs in massive silk skirts had left her breathless, and she swallowed the air in tiny gasps.
“Miss Azalea,” he said, dipping his pen into the inkwell. “We have rules in this household, do we not?”
“Yes, sir, I know—”
“Rule number eight, section one, Miss Azalea.”
“Sir—”
The King looked up. He had a way of frowning that froze the air and made it crack like ice.
Azalea clenched her fists and bit back a sharp retort. Two years! Nearly two years she had run the household while Mother was ill, and he still made her knock! She strode out of the library, slid the door shut with a snap, counted to two, and knocked smartly.
“Yes, you may come in,” came the King’s voice.
Azalea gritted her teeth.
The King was already dressed for the ball, fine in formal reds and silvers. His military uniform had meticulously straight rows of buttons and medals, and he wore a silver sash across his chest to his waist, like Azalea. As he sorted through papers, Azalea caught words like “treaty” and “regiments” and “skirmish.” As Captain General, he would be leaving, along with the cavalry regiments, to help a neighboring country’s war in just a few short weeks. Azalea did not like to think about it.
“That is well enough,” he said when Azalea stood before his desk. “One cannot run the country without laws; one cannot manage a household without rules. It is so.”
“Sir,” said Azalea. “It’s Mother.”
The King set his papers down at this.
“I think we need to send for Sir John,” said Azalea. “I know he was here this morning, but…something’s not right.”
The image of Mother’s lips, white, then slowly, slowly turning to red, passed through Azalea’s mind, and she rubbed her fingers. The King stood.
“Very well,” he said. “I will fetch him myself straightaway.” He took his hat and overcoat from the stand near the fireplace. “Tend to the guests. They will be arriving soon. And—” The King’s brow furrowed. “Take care that your sisters remain in their room. I’ve made them promise to stay inside, but—it is them.”
“You made them promise to stay inside?” said Azalea, indignant. “Even Bramble?”
“Especially Bramble.”
“But it’s tradition to peek at the Yuletide! Even Mother—”
“Tradition be hanged, Miss Azalea. I will not allow it, not after the complete debacle last year.”
Azalea pursed her lips. She didn’t want the ball to end like it had last year, naturally, but caging them up in the room was unfair.
“That will do, Miss Azalea,” said the King. “I’ve sent goodies to your room, and a dissected picture for them to piece together. They shan’t be desolate.”
The King turned to go, and Azalea spoke after him.
“You’ll be back within the hour?” she said. “For the opening dance?”
“Really, Azalea,” said the King, putting on his stiff hat. “Is everything about dancing to you?”
It was, actually, but Azalea decided now wasn’t the best time to point that out.
“You will be back in time?” she said.
The King waved his hand in dismissal. “As you say,” he said, and he left.
CHAPTER 2
Nearly an hour later, when the tower chimed eight and guests filled the ballroom like brightly colored bouquets, and perfumes and nutmeg and pine scented the air, and the Christmas trees in the corner glimmered and sparkled with glass ornaments, Azalea found herself clasped on the arm of Prime Minister Fairweller.
“He truly can’t come?” said Azalea, worried, as Fairweller led her to the center of the ballroom floor. “Is everything all right? Or is he just trying to get out of dancing?”