Why do I keeping daydreaming I said yes?
“He is?”
Aubrey threads another blossom through the stem of her own chain. “Two days ago, out of nowhere, he sat down and told me about how he and Mother came to be married. It was such an old Paravel union. You know, marry a stranger to make your family happy.”
“Two days ago, as in, after we had breakfast together?”
“Yes. Right after, actually. He suddenly wanted to talk. It was the best conversation we’ve had.”
A throb of emotion is making it hard to speak. I think I might be proud of him. “I’m glad he’s opening up,” I whisper hoarsely.
This morning, there was a gushing piece in one of the papers about how hard he’s training the King’s Guard, and what a wonderful thing it is that the old glory of Paravel is reemerging. The article was accompanied by a photograph of his men at the parade ground, saluting him. I stared at it so long that my coffee went cold. I longed to trace his features and feel the rasp of his beard beneath my fingers.
“I suggested we throw a party, and he said yes. I mean, Daddy throw a party?”
I drag my attention back to Aubrey and see that she’s grinning, as if the Archduke agreeing to a party is ridiculous, but she’s thrilled, just the same.
“So, we’re hosting a garden party next week. Daddy’s doing all the invitations. The only person I want there is you, and Lady Rugova is invited, too, of course. Will you come?”
I stare hard at the daisies scattered in my lap, my heart beating wildly. It’s not a good idea for me to be anywhere near the Archduke. I just can’t think of an excuse to turn her down. “We’d be delighted. Of course, we’ll come.”
“Wonderful. Don’t forget to text me your address, so I know where to send the invitation.”
It takes me a moment to realize what she’s said. Mama has told me never to give our address to anyone. She receives our invitations from the palace some other way. “There’s no need for that. Just tell me the time and date.”
“There’s every need. Daddy likes things done a certain way.”
I feel my cheeks heat as I remember being face down over his lap. Daddy certainly does.
I’ll have to figure something out about our address. We spend the rest of the afternoon walking among the trees and admiring the horses galloping along South Row, the bridle path circling the park.
“I wish I could bring Cinnamon here, but there are too many busy streets to cross,” Aubrey says wistfully.
“Maybe there’s a stable close to the park somewhere.”
Aubrey brightens at my words. “That’s a good idea. I’ll have to ask around.”Aubrey texts me several times over the next few days about our address, and my stomach is twisted into knots about what to tell her.
Finally, I just ask Mama what I should do. She doesn’t glance up from her newspaper as she gives me the solution. “Tell Lady Aubrey we’re undertaking renovations and the scaffolding out front is making it impossible for the post to be delivered.”
“Oh. I never thought of that.”
“You’re welcome, darling.”
I send Aubrey a text, but even though the problem is solved, I don’t feel any less queasy. I’ve been telling so many lies lately.
Aubrey gives me our invitation in person, the next time we meet up for a walk. As soon as I say goodbye to her, I dig the envelope from of my purse and pull out the card.
Archduke Levanter cordially invites Lady Constance Rugova and Lady Wraye Rugova to a garden party at Levanter House…
The invitation is printed, but our names are handwritten in beautiful, looped script. The Archduke uses a fountain pen with deep blue ink. I wistfully trace the tall ascenders of the “W” in Wraye. Even his handwriting makes me miss him.
Mama buys us both new hats for the garden party, hers a vivid purple the same shade as her shoes, and mine a pale blue to match my dress. I don’t know how we could afford them, but she claims they weren’t expensive.
“Make sure you smile at everyone,” Mama says through stiff lips as she beams at the front door of Levanter House, waiting for it to be opened.
Unlike the other occasions when I’ve been at the mansion, this time it’s crowded with people. I think half the Court has been invited. Mama and I follow a footman in livery through the rooms, past the sofa upon which the man of the house nearly deflowered me, and then out the French doors I made my escape through.
I didn’t have time to appreciate the garden while I was fleeing from Aubrey that day. Today, I stand on the top step of the terrace and take a long, appreciative look. The acre of manicured gardens is beautiful. There are garden beds filled with roses, cornflowers and hollyhocks. Topiary bushes are dotted across a sweeping lawn, and everything’s drenched in sunshine. My eyes dart from person to person, searching for silver hair, regal shoulders and bright, hazel eyes.