Now, in front of the full-length mirror, Adela turned slowly, admiring her own costume. Nora had made the bodice and skirt of the dress look as if they were made of large dandelion leaves. The effect was dramatic and even rather flattering. The skirt had a jagged edge that fell just above her ankles. Below the skirt, she wore stockings of light green and comfortable, dark-green satin shoes decorated with bouquets of silk dandelions.
“Very daring to show off her ankles like that,” Cecile had told Nora.
“No one will mind at a masquerade ball, Your Majesty, and if I may be so bold, Her Highness does have a pretty pair of ankles.”
Adela liked the way Nora spoke to Cecile — always respectful but completely confident about her work and her ideas. That was how she wanted to be about gardening.
The gown’s neckline was formed by two long silk dandelion leaves that wrapped around Adela’s arms just below her shoulders. But the crowning glory of the costume was the headdress. It consisted of a tight-fitting muslin cap with dozens of long, thin, and nearly invisible wires poking out of it. Each wire had a tuft of white feathers at the end, so that when Adela pinned up her hair and pulled on the cap, she looked as if she were wearing a cloud of dandelion seeds ready to blow away in the wind. Nora now checked to see that the cap was pinned securely in place. “Let’s see it with the mask,” she said.
In contrast to the rest of the costume, the mask was quite simple — leaf-green silk strengthened with muslin. Nora had spattered the silk with touches of real gold paint and then decorated it with tiny emeralds. “Stunning!” said the dressmaker as she tied the ribbons of the mask behind Adela’s head.
Adela smiled at her reflection. “I’ve been a dandelion once before in my life, and I can assure you that this second time is much better than the first.”
“Your Highness seems to have been born to play the role,” said Nora. “Dandelions are my favorite flower, if you must know.”
“You don’t think of them as weeds?”
“Goodness, no! Dandelions mean springtime and sunshine! There’s nothing that makes me as happy as seeing a field full of them. Daisies in summer give me the same feeling — oh, but that makes me think I’d better go check on Lady Marguerite’s costume. She was having trouble with that collar. All those petals — I warned her that dress would be a challenge to wear.”
As the dressmaker bustled out of the room, Adela sank into a chair. Nora’s comment had made her think of Edward. It had been exactly six weeks and three days since he had disappeared, and she still had not completely purged him from her mind. Working in her garden helped. So did making plans for her upcoming plant-collecting expedition. Her trip had become official now; her father had said she could go in the summer. There were still details to be worked out, though. In Cecile’s mind, the expedition was a garden tour, during the course of which Adela would visit the estates of wealthy families around the kingdom. She would travel by coach with a female chaperone and be treated with the appropriate royal deference wherever she visited.
Somehow, between now and the time she actually set out, Adela knew she would have to set her stepmother straight. She wouldn’t be traveling by coach but would go on horseback. She wouldn’t stay at Lord and Lady So-and-So’s castle but would find a room at an inn. She might even camp out in the open if it suited her. She had already done as much on Flower Mountain, and she was none the worse for sleeping outdoors. As for a chaperone, Adela could see the sense in taking along a few knights in case she ran into trouble on the road. Though now that she had begun taking fencing lessons, even they might be unnecessary.
It was thanks to Cecile that Adela had taken up fencing.
At dinner one night, the queen had said, “I wonder if we shouldn’t have the medal award ceremony on the day after the masquerade ball.”
“Certainly, my dear, if you like,” Adela’s father had said. “Though I can’t see why it matters.”
“It’s just that I’m afraid the award ceremony might color people’s opinions of Adela. A medal for bravery and a knighthood seem so masculine. We don’t want the guests to wonder if she’ll be taking up sword fighting!”
People’s opinions. Guests. By which her stepmother meant men’s opinions and male guests. Adela had felt the need to make a stand. “You’re so thoughtful to be concerned, Cecile. But it seems like such an inconvenience to you and the servants — not to mention the guests — to change the plans now. I insist that we keep everything as is.” Then Adela had smiled broadly and added, “As for sword fighting, I think that’s a marvelous idea! Just the sort of training I should have before I head off on an adventure.”
“But I didn’t mean —”
“May I take lessons with the fencing master, Father?”
“Certainly, my dear, if you like.”
Adela’s forthright attitude was an outcome of her adventure with Hortensia, and Cecile was slow to react. Before the queen could recover, everything was arranged: the medal ceremony would take place at the masquerade ball as originally planned, and Adela would take fencing lessons. These now took up the time that had once been allotted for her dancing lessons. “It’s the only time the fencing master has available,” Adela had told her stepmother. “But he does say that fencing will improve my overall coordination, which will in turn improve my dancing.”
Whether that was true had yet to be seen. What Adela liked about fencing was that it made her feel powerful and capable. And it kept her mind busy. It was impossible to think about Edward when she was fending off an attack by one of the other students in class. It was impossible to miss him or daydream about love when she had disarmed an opponent, sending his sword flying across the room.
Adela rose from the chair and stood in front of the mirror again, this time adopting a proper fencing pose. But at that moment, there was a knock on the door. It was Nora. “There you are!” she said. “Her Majesty has sent me to escort you down to the ballroom. You’ll be announced just after the king and queen.”
Adela relaxed her stance and took a final look at her costume.
If I had a garden, it would be only dandelions.
She sighed. Six weeks and three days — soon to be four, she thought.
“I’m ready,” she said.
Adela found the grand ballroom to be exactly what Nora had predicted and more. It had become a garden almost as fantastic as Hortensia’s, with flowers, birds, and glittering insects swaying to the strains of the orchestra. Adela spotted a robin paired with a daylily, a hummingbird with a violet, a dragonfly with a tulip, and a fat June bug dancing with a tiny primrose who turned out to be Bess. And she nearly burst out laughing when she saw Garth leading his “daisy” onto the floor, for Nora had transformed him into a grasshopper.
Honeybee was the most popular costume for men, and Adela felt as if she had entered a hive. She danced with three honeybees in a row, a peacock, then two more bees, and then Garth, which was comical because he had no idea what to do. Nor did she, seeing as the dance was neither a waltz nor a minuet. It didn’t help that the back of Garth’s costume kept bumping into other couples.
“Let’s sit this one out,” she told him.
He looked relieved. “I’ll get us some punch.”
But as he moved away toward the refreshment table, Marguerite swept down on him and dragged him back to the dance floor. Adela decided she would get her own punch, and it was then that she saw the magpie.
Her heart gave a lurch. It wasn’t really a magpie — only a man wearing a magpie costume. The mask did not fully cover his face; she could see he wasn’t Edward. Then she looked around and realized, much to her dismay, that there were more magpies out on the ballroom floor — six or seven of them, all dressed in nearly the same costume. One was extremely tall, two were short, three were very fat. None of them was Edward.
Adela knew that Marguerite had told other people about the enchanted magpie who lived with Hortensia. A real thief that magpie-boy turned out to be. Did you know that he stole a
lot of jewels? Now it seemed that Marguerite’s gossip had gone beyond the walls of the palace, and Adela was quite sure nothing good would have been said about Edward — nothing about his bravery or his kindness. She was grateful for her dandelion mask: otherwise she was afraid her face would betray emotions she would rather keep hidden.
“Your Highness?” said a voice behind her.
Turning around, Adela saw a young woman in a glittering red mask. Her blond head was framed by a crown of bright-red silk flowers. The skirt of her red silk ball gown was shaped like an upside-down bell-shaped flower. A poppy? thought Adela. Or maybe a tulip?
The woman lifted her mask and smiled. She was strikingly beautiful. “I beg your pardon, Your Highness. We’ve never met formally. But we did speak that day on Flower Mountain. I had been an amaryllis —”
“Yes! I remember! You had been enchanted for — how many years was it?”
“Twenty, Your Highness.”
“Did you find your family all right?” Adela vaguely recalled that the woman had been the daughter of someone important, to use one of Cecile’s words. A duke or something like that.
“Yes, thank goodness!” said the woman, slipping her mask back in place. “But it was strange to come back after all this time. My sisters are all older than I am now. And my brother wasn’t even born when I left home!”
“Remarkable!” said Adela, even as she thought of Edward, worried that he wouldn’t find his mother after thirty years. She could only hope he had been as fortunate as this woman.
“I must tell you, Your Highness, that I adore your costume. I gather that Hortensia must have changed you into a dandelion.”
“That’s right.”
“Did she steal your jewelry, too?”
Adela was surprised by the question. “Yes — well, not exactly . . . Why do you ask?”
The woman touched an emerald brooch that was pinned to the front of her gown. “I was wondering if your jewelry had been returned to you. I was so surprised to get mine back a few weeks ago — this brooch and all the other pieces. And earlier tonight, I met some girls — twins, you know — and they’d had theirs returned as well. Quite honestly, I never thought I’d see any of it again.”
Adela looked at the brooch. “What? Are you saying that was stolen on Flower Mountain?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“And returned?”
“By a very nice young man. Apparently he also returned some coral necklaces to those twins. And I met someone else whose pearls he’d returned.”
“Who was this young man?” said Adela. “Did he give you his name?”
But a voice interrupted them.
“Adela!” Cecile was coming toward them, her hand looped through the arm of what looked like a millipede — or perhaps it was a worm.
“Adela dear, this charming caterpillar is your father’s second cousin Frederick.”
Adela forced a smile. “Cousin Frederick! How are you?”
“Lord Frederick would like to dance with you, Adela,” said Cecile. “I’ve told the orchestra to play a waltz.”
“Yes, but I —”
Skillfully, Cecile transferred herself from Frederick’s arm to the young woman’s. “What a spectacular gown you’re wearing, my dear. Is it a tulip? No? An amaryllis? Oh, how lovely!”
“About that young man . . .” Adela tried to hold the attention of the woman, but the queen was already steering her in the other direction.
Frederick’s voice, triumphant, boomed in Adela’s ear: “I confess, Your Highness, that I have never danced with a dandelion before.”
“I’m sure you haven’t,” said Adela. It was going to take her forever to find the amaryllis again in this crowd.
The music started up. Frederick held out his hand. But before Adela could take it, a magpie loomed behind him.
“I believe this dance is mine,” said the magpie. Boldly, he stepped around Frederick, took Adela’s hand, and led her into the crowd.
“Saved you from that pest, didn’t I?” he said.
“Who are you?” Adela hadn’t seen this particular magpie before. His costume was more elaborate than the others. He wore a feathered hood with an enormous black beak. It covered his head and face completely and made his voice sound muffled.
“A lover of dandelions, of course. They’re my favorite flower.”
She missed a step of the waltz, nearly falling, and the magpie pulled her toward him. “Careful there, Princess. Suppose we get out of this crowd.”
He waltzed toward the edge of the crush of dancing couples. He held her hand and led her through a door and into an empty corridor. “We can dance out here, and nobody will get in our way,” he told her as he drew her toward him.
“Wait!” said Adela. “Let me look at you.”
He stopped, holding her in his arms, looking down at her. Through his mask, she could see that his eyes were brown. Was it possible?
“Maybe you’d like to give me a kiss,” said the magpie.
She felt her face grow warm.
The magpie reached up and pulled off his hood. He leaned toward her, but Adela pulled back. The blond, ruddy-complexioned man preparing to kiss her was not Edward. “I — I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
“We met at Lady Hortensia’s garden party,” said the man. “I’m Anthony, Earl William’s son.”
Anthony . . . Earl William . . . The names sounded vaguely familiar to her. Had she seen them on Cecile’s guest list?
“It was on that first day,” said Anthony, clearly less than happy that Adela couldn’t place him. “We barely had a chance to say hello, then everything happened, and, well, here we are now. You, as pretty a dandelion as I’ve ever seen, and I, an enchanted magpie. Enchanted by you, that is to say.”
Adela’s mouth felt dry. She did remember Anthony now — barely. Certainly not well enough to want to kiss him! Gently, she tried to push him away.
His arms encircled her again, and she gave a more forceful push. “I’m sorry, but I — I don’t really feel like dancing.”
What she felt like was crying. Once again, she was grateful for her mask.
“I could take you back inside and get you some punch,” Anthony said hopefully.
“No, thank you. I think I need some air.”
“I’ll take you outside,” he offered.
No!” Adela had to force politeness into her voice. “I prefer to be alone, thank you.”
When he was gone, she felt the threat of tears again. I cannot — I will not cry, thought Adela.
A set of glass doors at the far end of the corridor led to a terrace that overlooked the palace gardens. She headed toward the doors, pushed them open, and stepped out into the cold December night. She took several slow breaths to calm herself, watching the air turn white in front of her. And then, as she had done again and again for the past six weeks and three days, she forced herself to think of something other than Edward.
She thought of her garden. It lay out there in the darkness, asleep under a layer of snow, waiting for spring when the bulbs she had planted would come up. Garth was going to help her get the garden ready for summer, and he would take care of it while she was away on her plant-hunting expedition.
Behind her, she could hear music and laughter. It was hard to believe that she had been part of that only moments ago. She would have to go back inside and pretend that she was still having a good time. She hoped she could carry it off. Maybe she could — if only she could stop thinking about Edward. Not that she was having much success with that.
At least she now knew he was alive. He must have been the one who had returned the jewels to the amaryllis and the coral bells. But why had he taken the jewels in the first place, without telling her he was going away? If he had felt about her the way she felt about him — if he had loved her — he never would have done that.
This must be what people mean by having a broken heart, thought Adela.
Then she remembered Hortensia, whose heart really
had been broken.
Because she kept it in a box. At least I’m not like her, Adela told herself. I don’t suppose Hortensia ever really loved anybody. Not that love is doing me any good right now.
She must make herself think about other things.
Tonight her father would award her the King Ival Medal and a knighthood. That was a good thing. Adela looked out at the garden and thought about the spring, when her flowers would come up. That was a good thing as well. And the summer, when she would go on her journey. She would travel the world and learn all that she could so that someday she could create gardens that would make people look and look again.
“I’ll be all right,” said Adela.
Someday, she thought.
He would tell her everything . . . if he could only find her.
Edward stood in the middle of the floor, surrounded by dancing flowers and birds and insects. Where was the princess?
He had spotted her almost as soon as he had come into the ballroom. It wasn’t hard to miss the dandelion in the crowd of more showy blooms. But a footman had stopped him near the door.
“At the queen’s request, would the good sir be so kind as to wear this mask?”
“A mask?”
“Her Majesty was aware that some guests might come unprepared. . . .”
He hadn’t known about the costumes. A ball in honor of the princess was all he had heard, which had been enough to bring him here tonight to find her. But he was coming uninvited, so the mask could be helpful. He had stopped to put it on, watching as the princess talked to some people — a lady dressed up to look like a red flower, a lady dressed up like a rose, and a man dressed up like a worm. Edward had pushed his way toward them, but before he could reach the princess, the worm had led her out among the dancing couples. And then — of all things — a magpie had swooped in and snatched her from the worm, dancing away with her and disappearing into the crowd.
Now she was gone.
Edward had circled the floor several times already, looking for her. He was about to try again when he saw someone he knew. Or, rather, two people he knew — the twin sisters from Hortensia’s garden. Despite their masks, he could tell who they were because they were wearing the coral beads he had returned to them last week. It had been the sisters who had told him about the ball. “We can wear our beads to the royal ball next week. It’s being given in honor of the princess, and we’re going to dress up as coral bells.” He hadn’t known then what they’d meant about “dressing up as coral bells.” Now he understood, for the sisters were wearing gowns that looked rather like leaves and hats covered with tiny pink blossoms. And over there was a daisy wearing diamond earrings. Edward could guess who she was. Marguerite, he remembered. She was dancing with a grasshopper who looked familiar. The gardener.
Garden Princess Page 13
