by Royce, Ruby
The man must have come to a similar conclusion. "Might I borrow your scarf, Miss? I believe we would have an easier time conversing if my family jewels were covered."
What did he just say? He can NOT have said that!!!
Flora thought she must have somehow agreed - but maybe she had not - anyway, she felt her silken stola being pulled out from under her.
"There! I am decent now. You can look."
Flora did.
The afternoon sun was in her eyes and all she could behold was the glittering form of a Greek Olympian in complete undress, apart from the pink scarf he had wound around his middle.
"Holy Christ, that's my mothers scarf!" she cried out without thinking and hated herself for the dreadful habit of not being able to hold her tongue.
"Your mother is a Lady of taste, this is exquisite silk. And I am glad you found your speech, Miss. Would you have the kindness to answer my question regarding your well-being? Will you be able to walk on your own?"
Flora bit her teeth and tried to move her foot. It hurt.
She shook her head. "No, I believe, I can't, Sir. Might you call at the house and ask for a few servants to come and get me, there should be at least three valets with nothing to do. They would— "
Without much ado he leaned forward and lifted her up into his arms.
"No, you can't!" Flora shrieked as any good English girl would when suddenly snatched up by a naked man. A naked wet man!
"Of course I can, I have lifted much heavier weights, believe me. When I was in Germany, I once lifted a wine barrel that weighed twice as much as you do. You are very small, you know. Has anybody ever told you?"
Floras cheek was pressed against his arm and she felt his hard body through her summer dress which was made of three extremely thin layers.
"They don't have to tell me, I know I am small, but wait! Where are you taking me? Do you know the way? We have to find Her Grace! The Duchess of Surrey! She lives here. We live here! I am her companion. She will take care of me! I believe she is on the veranda over to the left with— "
"HER Grace? Can it be true? Noooo... HER Grace? Really?" He began to laugh.
They rounded a corner and Flora could see the veranda where Gigi and Clara were served tea by Mariella the Housekeeper.
Gigi jumped up as soon as she saw the strange pair approach.
"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded imperiously, general's daughter that she was. "Unhand her, Sir. This instant!"
"You Grace, I believe?" The man was still laughing. "I wish I could, but I'm afraid she cannot walk."
"Clara, avert your eyes," Gigi snapped at her sister-in-law.
The man carefully lowered Flora down onto a bench.
"Thank you," she whispered and for the first time, dared to look up at his face. He was... breathtaking! Breathtaking! BREATHTAKING!!!
His moist, dark hair framed a face of supernatural beauty, with sapphire blue eyes framed by long, thick black lashes. His cheekbones were high and his mouth must have been painted by the great Botticelli himself, but his face was not similar to this painter's well known angels, oh no, it was far too masculine for that!
The droplets on his chest and and arms shone like diamonds in the sunlight. And a sweet melancholy, a longing, an urgent need lay in this features that appealed to Flora's most womanly instincts. She gazed at him in awe.
Much to her distress, he did not longingly gaze back at her, but at the disgustingly slender, charmingly freckled, honey-blond Clara St. Yves, the only one of the Surrey siblings who had apparently taken after the father.
Of course he would gaze at Clara.
No, now he gazed at Gigi.
Now back at Clara.
It was always the same with the tall blondes. Flora hated them. Well, not as human beings, they were her friends after all, but as blondes, she hated them.
"Coo coo, Clara," the man sang cheerfully and winked at the attractive girl, who was staring at him with her mouth wide open.
That man is insane!
Only then both Flora and Gigi noticed Mariella, who had sunk down to her knees. "Su' Altezza Reale!" she wailed and bowed her head.
Altezzawhat? What does it mean? "Alto" means "high". Is she praying? These Italians are very devout!
Suddenly Clara shot up with a loud shriek, clutched her hands to her breast and ran towards the man. She threw herself at him and screamed "FRANKIE!!!"
Three
Palazzo Sforza, Lake Maggiore, Lombardy, that very moment
Su' Altezza Reale Francesco di Chiaroburgo-Sforza, or to put it in more complete and understandable terms: His Royal Highness, Francis Ferdinand Joseph of Karlsburg-Sforza, Archduke of Lombardy, youngest brother to the ruling Grand-Duke, nephew to the Austrian Emperor, 17th in line to the re-established throne of France, great-nephew to his Holiness the Pope, cousin to the Duke of Surrey and a formidable swimmer, bestowed a kiss on Clara's freckled cheek.
He inspected her closely, holding her by the chin, turning her face from left to right, up and down then asking her to turn around.
"You are a woman!" he exclaimed indignantly.
Clara's eyes were wet with tears and she beamed at him without saying a word.
It was true. The last time he had seen her, she had been only nine years old, a lanky girl with cornflower blue eyes and a face full of freckles, looking up to their elder siblings, yearning for their approval.
Past events long pushed from his mind came rushing over the Prince like a wave.
Carlotta Sforza-St.Yves had died giving birth to Clara and the older St. Yves children had felt hostile towards the new sister who, in their eyes, had murdered their mother.
It had been Francesco, the exiled cousin, who had taken it upon himself to be the little creature's friend.
The old Duke, her father, had suffered a severe stroke at the news of his wife's death and it was to be an ailing from which he would never recover until his death in 1812, two years before Francesco was allowed to go back to his own country.
In those days Clara and Francesco had grown an alliance of the lonesome and despised.
Francesco had been the one to correct Clara at the dinner table. He had instructed her governesses and teachers, he had found a pony for her to ride. The little lass, who had looked so different from all the other Surrey children, had come to him to report her newest accomplishments or to ask him whether she should dare ask Gloria or Hermione for help with her piano lessons.
They would not help her, but Francesco could make them.
His one trump, alone and separated from his family for reasons of dynastic protection, had always been his name and rank. He was a Prince of Karlsburg.
Where the St.Yves children were to be addressed as "My Lord" or "My Lady", Francesco was "Your Royal Highness". They had loathed him for it.
He had always held various privileges whilst living in Seventree, privileges often begrudged him, especially by the heir.
As a boy, Dominic St. Yves had been vain and hostile towards the easy going, outspoken and spoiled Francesco. Later, much to Francesco's relief, Dominic had gone to Eton and the two young men hardly ever met.
As the new Duke of Surrey, Dominic had turned into an autocratic, severe young man, with a responsibility for thousands of people, a seat in the House of Lords, sisters coming of age, vast properties in Britain, Europe and in the Americas, and countless duties, which left him no time at all to worry about a tolerated cousin or a much younger sibling.
Fortunately, in time, Elizabeth St. Yves had turned into a good-hearted young woman and after having married the Earl of Barnham she had taken Clara under her wings.
Now Clara was a woman grown, still a little lanky, but very pretty. There was a vibrant intensity in her that she must have acquired after he had left.
Nothing could describe the happiness he felt upon seeing her again. He held her tight and kissed her head.
"Clara, do come away from His Royal Highness, your behaviour is most improper," the spectacular blo
nde standing by the tea table commanded. "Mariella, run to get Prince Francis some of my husband's clothes, they should fit him perfectly, from what I can deduce. Highness, if I may take the liberty to introduce myself, I'm Eugenia St. Yves, the Duke's wife."
Mamma Mia, Dominic, you lucky, lucky bastard. How did an arrogant prig like you manage to marry such a woman? Well, you have always been handsome as hell and the money will have helped.
"Chère cousine, it is a delight, you may call me Francesco, if you please."
The blonde smiled and looked even better than before. "We shall see if I should please."
Impossible! She is witty, too. How DID he do it?
"Surrey's not in, he rode to Milan to talk to his grand-father, who is your uncle, I believe? What a surprise to find you here. We had not heard of your return to these shores. My husband thought you in Baden-Baden. Do you have an appointment with my husband? I do not think so, regarding your... well, attire."
Francesco smiled back gracefully. "Dear cousin Eugenia, I am so sorry to intrude upon you in such a biblical ensemble so unexpectedly and if Dominic were here, I'd apologise to him for not being in Baden-Baden. I had just finished my little swim across the lake and was about to return, when a young Lady fell from a tree, right in front of me. What was I supposed to do?"
"Oh, right!" the Duchess grimaced and turned towards the girl he had carried up to the castle. "Flora, you fell from a tree? Are you badly hurt? Will you need a physician?"
The tiny person sitting on the bench stared at them with an expression that would have scared the hounds of hell into submission. The girl's face was bright red and she violently bit her lower lip.
"Yes!" she spat and continued to glare. "It happens just so that I am! But do go ahead, I beg of you. Never mind me!"
Oh, she's a fiend! Why did I save her?
"Dear Flora, I'm so sorry!" Clara exclaimed and sat down next to the furious thing. "Do you wish to go inside? I could help you walk, or perhaps Lord Lackerby or the Earl could— "
"Not THEM!" The girl called Flora fumed. "I feel stupid enough already, I don't need them to see me in this condition!"
Clara quickly nodded. "Yes, I understand. Calm yourself, Flora dear."
"I AM CALM!" The small face turned ever redder. She looked like a tomato with curls. "I am very calm! And I don't need anybody to help me, I'm no charitable cause, I can manage on my own! I have always managed on my own, I don't need anybody's help!"
Somebody take her away, she's getting on my nerves with her squealing.
"Pardon me, Highness, I have not introduced my friend, this is Miss Flora Parker."
The tomato girl snorted and cleaned her hose in a kerchief.
Charming.
"Delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Parker," the Prince murmured without interested. She was a nuisance and he was too occupied with the the joy of seeing his little Clara after such a long time and by the existence of a Duchess of Surrey whose looks compelled any good Italian to compose an aria. And Francesco, in truth being a multi-national mongrel like all European royalty, thought of himself as an Italian very much.
The housekeeper brought the clothes. Francesco took them from her very gently. He did not want to scare the old girl, to whom it must have been quite a shock to see a Prince of Lombardy wearing nothing but a pink scarf. He gracefully waved at the Ladies and strolled away to dress himself behind a bush.
Francesco and Dominic had always been of the same stature and Surrey's clothes fit him perfectly, even if they were just a simple hose and shirt. A simple hose and shirt, but of cut. How could it not be of cut with Dominic? Even his wife was of cut.
He annoys me already without even being here! I think I want to swim back home right away.
The Prince finished robing and found himself stuck with tomato girl's pink scarf. He could not simply return the piece of cloth to the livid Miss Parker he concluded, so he swung it nonchalantly around his neck and stepped out from behind the bush. "You will permit me to borrow this, Miss Parker," he called. "I shall have it cleaned and returned."
But Miss Parker was gone. Only the Duchess and Clara had remained.
"I'm sure Flora won't mind, Frankie" Clara said. "Will you have tea with us now? Please? Of course, if you will permit it, Eugenia, this is your house."
The Duchess smirked. "I don't mind, now that cousin Francesco is properly dressed. Do tell, dear cousin. Do you come swimming here often?"
Four
Palazzo Sforza, Drawing-Room, that same day, after dinner
" 'Course we saw him!" Lackerby declared in his cropped Mayfair slur. "Marvellous fellow! Naturally Darl here knew him from back in the days, but I'd never seen the man! Made some prime jibes, laughed myself giddy."
"I can't stand him." Dominic St. Yves helped himself to another brandy. "All this libertarian talk. The enlightened Prince who may say whatever he pleases and do whatever he likes, who has no sense of responsibility whatsoever. Well, they're the same all over. One simply has to look at our royal Dukes at home."
Flora agreed.
Libertarian. Insupportable. Well, the Prince can afford it. It is widely known monarchs are lax in their morals and their manners.
The Duke went on.
"He was always keeping company with the farmers and foresters, with the footmen and the cooks, he was cheeky with the girls because none of them could ever dream of marrying him... I don't want to know how many of the county girls fell victim to his royal charm, we could probably bring the entire Surrey harvest in, only with the help of little Karlsburgs."
"Hmm," Darlington said and looked musingly into his glass.
Flora observed him closely and wondered what well-formed phrase was currently being produced behind the Earl's golden skull. She gently sipped her red-wine — a beverage she had come to appreciate during their journey — and waited for the blow Darlington would deliver.
And it came.
"Surrey, confess. You don't like him because he's better looking than you."
"Nobody's better looking than—"
The Duke caught himself but it was too late.
For an instant everybody was silent. Then Lackerby and Eugenia roared with laughter, while Darlington shrugged, raised an eyebrow, drank his brandy and smiled to himself.
Surrey slammed his glass onto a sideboard and stormed out of the room.
Flora too had to wipe tears of mirth from her eyes. It was a rare thing to see Surrey misstep.
Only Clara, who must have been miles away — and I think I know where she was, exactly two miles across the lake, with her beloved Adonis of a cousin — turned her head to Flora.
"What happened?" the girl whispered.
Still giggling, Flora replied. "Darlington said the Prince was better looking than your brother."
"Oh, he did?"
"Yes, he did."
"Oh… How very…" Clara looked at her hands.
She certainly agrees.
"You are horrible to him, Darlington," Gigi admonished the Earl after she had recovered.
"I am simply honest, Your Grace."
"That you are. I cannot deny it. Well, it won't do him any harm. But I do not think anybody is better looking than my husband."
"We are aware of it, Gigi. Only too aware!" Flora moaned.
"Pity you, Miss Parker," Lackerby said, cheering. "Truly! Mean it! Out and about with two lovebirds and an Innocente. Appalling!"
"Miss Parker is an innocent too!" Clara cried. "She's not married and she's only three years older than me. In fact, Eugenia has not even two years on me! Why does everybody have to treat me like a child?"
Darlington looked up from his glass. "Than I. Older than I. And Miss Parker's not an innocent young girl like yourself, and she's quite a different character, Clara dear." He smiled benevolently at the girl. "She's been haunting the circuit for far too long, we may certainly consider her out of the worst."
"Was that an insult, my lord?" Flora quipped. She had somehow felt minimis
ed by that remark and did not intend to hide it.
The Earl stood up and bowed to Flora.
"To the contrary, Miss Parker, but I deeply apologise for putting it wrongly. It was meant as a compliment! I was certainly not meaning to insult you and I do hope you will find it in you to forgive me. My hope was to educate Miss Clara."
He was serious. Naturally! James Crawford, the Darl of Smoothington, would never insult a Lady.
Flora already regretted the harshness of her words. "I accept your apology, Sir."
"Look, Clara, you can learn a lot from Miss Parker. She's a very accomplished young woman who knows how to make a point without tearing down the walls, you should try to emulate her."
Clara blushed and looked down.
"Bashful now, Freckles? Well, that's more like it."
"Shush, shush, Darlington, let her be," Gigi sighed. "And anyway, it's getting late. I will have to soothe the storms raging in Surrey and I cannot permit my two wards to stay down here alone with you, gentlemen. I suggest we retire and leave Lord Lackerby and Lord Darlington to their own devices. Clara, we will have to help Flora with the staircase."
Clara was scowling badly but got up from the divan.
She's a weird girl. So rash. Well, she must be quite shaken from the meeting with the Prince. I still am for a certainty, and he has not raised me from the cradle.
From the ground, yes. With his strong arms... And I behaved so terribly towards him, ranting as if I had rabies! Why can't I ever be silent? He must think me an awful nuisance and I'm sure my face was flushed bright red. I must have looked like tomato with hair. I always do when I'm angry… Oh hush. What does it matter? I will most likely never see the man again.
Five
From Miss Flora Parker's Diary
June 28th, 1823
I saw the prince tonight… and broke his nose.
