Princess of Athelia

by Aya Ling

Madame Dubois’s eyebrows lift to form a V on her forehead. “You have hugely disappointed me, Miss Katriona! I had expected that your mother would have ensured you had a more thorough education.” She points a bony finger at a chair placed near the window. “Sit there, and memorize the first ten chapters on the etiquette of royals. I shall be back to test you in an hour. Should you fail to answer any one of my questions, you will be forbidden to go down to lunch. You shall stay here until you have every single rule imprinted in your mind.”

  I try hard not to appear relieved. Not that the king and queen are that intimidating. But when every meal has three to five courses with an army of servants hovering around and making sure the butter plate is always full and the coffee is always hot, it does get on my nerves. I miss the days when lunch was just Mom, Paige, and me sitting around our tiny kitchen table, making sandwiches and lemonade. I wish I could have that small but homey table here, with just Edward at my side. But privacy in the palace is a luxury.

  “Yes, Madame,” I say, trying my best to look meek and humbled. I take the heavy book of royal etiquette and sit by the window. It’s actually quite nice sitting there, with the late summer air still humid and warm, and hearing the distant chirps of sparrows. If only I could read a Gothic romance instead. And if only I could tuck my feet under my bum and prop a hand against my cheek.

  I’m halfway through the book when someone knocks on the door. I fly up with a wild hope that Edward has come to seek me. Maybe the Lord Chamberlain is in a good mood and decided to let him off early.

  My heart sinks when Amelie enters. She curtsies and hands me a letter. “ ‘Tis from Miss Elle, Your Highness. She said it was urgent.”

  Oh dear. I hope that Lady Catherine de Burgh—I mean, the duchess—didn’t scream at her and declare that she’s still unworthy of Henry. At least I have the approval of the king and queen—though that may be due to Edward’s reluctance to get married.

  “Where’s Elle?” I glance at the doorway. “Does she look all right?”

  Amelie shrugs. “I invited her to stay for a cup of tea, but she insisted on leaving. Something about seeing a lawyer.”

  Can it be about her newly acquired inheritance? I tear open the envelope and hastily unfold the letter within.

  Dearest Kat,

  I have been meaning to visit you as promised, but a recent happening has compelled me to remain indoors for now. A visit to the physician a few days ago has confirmed the happy news: I am with child. Jonathan and Elle have been a constant joy and comfort, yet I do not dare to venture from the house till the symptoms of my pregnancy become more tolerable. I send my regrets but am positive that we shall meet very soon.

  Yours truly,

  Poppy

  I can barely contain my excitement. Poppy is pregnant! Needless to say, I can’t sit still and continue with my lesson. Too bad she can’t come and visit. I had planned to take her on a tour of the royal menagerie. It’s the next best thing to the library.

  I snap the book shut. Why can’t I go and see her instead? She and Elle are the only true friends I’ve made. Outside the window, I spot Edward heading toward my wing with brisk footsteps. I wave at him, flapping my arms like a windmill, but he doesn’t look up.

  Frustrated, I do something I haven’t done since I was eight: I curve my thumb and forefinger to form a circle and give a shrill whistle. That does the trick. He looks up—along with several courtiers and servants. All of them stare at me as though I’m mad.

  Suddenly, I feel like an idiot, but it’s too late to undo my action. I may as well make the most of it now that I have Edward’s attention.

  I curl my forefinger and beckon to Edward like a femme fatale in a movie. “Get here—now,” I mouth.

  4

  I literally cannot contain my excitement when I clamber into the carriage. While the palace may be the stuff of fairytales, it is, to borrow a cliché, a gilded cage. I can barely walk through a corridor without passing a servant who asks if I need anything or a courtier who makes a polite comment but can’t mask the confusion on his face.

  Oh well. I should be glad that the paparazzi in Athelia have yet to become as annoying as those in our modern world. Here, as cameras are huge, bulky monsters that are outrageously expensive, the chances of any unflattering photos of me appearing in tabloids are low.

  Edward also seems to be in a good mood as he settles in the carriage next to me, languorously stretching out his long legs, his mouth curved in a lazy smile. He takes my hand, and I lean against him, savoring the moment. Privacy at last.

  “How did you convince the Lord Chamberlain that you had to leave early?” I ask.

  “Prior engagement with Henry,” he says. “Which is actually the truth. I wished to discuss with him the implementation of the healthcare service you told me about.”

  “Good—even though that doesn’t really give me a legitimate reason to tag along.”

  “How could I refuse your request when you whistled to me like that?” His voice is subtly shaded with amusement. I flush, recalling how shocked the servants looked. One even dropped a basketful of apples.

  “If there were cell phones, I could’ve called you,” I mumble, burrowing my face into his chest. He always smells wonderful—of leather and soap and something distinctly masculine. “Madame Dubois will kill me if she knows.”

  Now he laughs, a deep, rich sound that rumbles through his chest. A moment later, his arm goes around my back, fitting me into a snugger position against his body.

  “It is my fault.” A note of regret resonates in his tone. “Because of who I am, you must endure these lessons. Perhaps if I speak to Madame Dubois—”

  “No!” I quickly say. It isn’t his fault that tradition required that I should train to be a princess. “Don’t do that. Moving into the palace is a LOT better than staying at Lady Bradshaw’s.” And I mean it. I had to endure Lady Bradshaw’s scolding, Bianca’s snipes and Pierre’s exasperation, and with the exception of Martha and Elle, the servants’ indifference or even hostility. My only comfort came from books.

  Here at the palace, Edward has been everything I could ask for in a boyfriend. He’s gone out of his way to ensure that I wouldn’t feel out of place, such as defending me in front of courtiers, showering me with books and flowers, and breaking or adapting conventions to accommodate my modern behavior.

  “Edward, stop blaming yourself. Being with you is worth facing ten Madame Duboises.” Then I lean in and kiss him. In response, he pulls me onto his lap and runs his fingers in my hair, making it impossible for me to pull away, but I don’t care.

  The temperature seems to go up until the carriage halts. Edward lets me go just before Bertram opens the door, but the latter gives us a grin that hints that he knows we’ve been making out.

  I smooth my hair, lift my chin, and assume a mask of dignified indifference as befitting a princess. Sometimes Madame Dubois’s lessons can be useful, after all.

  * * *

  This isn’t the first time that I’ve gone to Poppy’s house. Still, it is usually her visiting me in the palace. Mr. Davenport is often away since he has an internship with a big-name barrister. Sir Montgomery hired a cook, a housekeeper, and a maid for Poppy. Even though he looked murderous when he arrived at Poppy’s elopement, he really does love his daughter.

  When Edward and I arrive, a maid answers the door and ushers us into a neat, comfortable parlor. Edward declines an offer to take his coat, as he’ll be leaving soon to see Henry. When Poppy enters, her hand flies to her mouth, then a huge grin spreads over her face. Sometimes she still seems like a young girl, not an old, matronly married woman.

  “Kat! Oh, and Your Highness!” She sweeps into a deep curtsy. “What a wonderful surprise! I was bored out of my life, and I dearly wished to pay you a visit, but Jonathan is adamant that I remain home till I’m fully recovered.”

  “Is it the morning sickness?” I ask. While she doesn’t look as bright and energetic as on the croquet field, she doesn’t look pa
le or sickly at all. “You’re not throwing up your food or anything?”

  Poppy looks surprised. “How did you know that?”

  Uh-oh. Another piece of knowledge that I, from the modern world, am not supposed to know. Even though I’ve told Poppy that I don’t come from Athelia, she hasn’t really believed me.

  “I . . . I came across it when I was reading a book. You know how much I like to read.”

  Poppy looks a little puzzled, but then she gestures to the dining room. “Let’s sit down, and I’ll ask Mary to bring some refreshments for you. Do you prefer coffee or tea, Your Highness?” There is a timid note in her voice as she glances at Edward. He isn’t a tyrant, but I guess he might still seem intimidating toward his subjects.

  Edward shakes his head. “My apologies, but I must be going. Henry is expecting me.” He drops a quick kiss on my head. “I will be back in two hours. Do not leave without me.”

  When he leaves, Poppy visibly relaxes. She sinks into her chair and lets out a sigh of relief.

  I giggle. “You look like an ogre just left.”

  “I can’t help it. He is the prince, after all. When I came to stay with Claire, she couldn’t stop talking about him, as though he’s a deity sent from heaven.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but he’s human. Like you and me.”

  Poppy grins. “I could tell that he really loves you. There is this smoldering flame in his eyes when he looks at you.” She puts a hand on my arm. “I’m so glad that you accepted his proposal, Kat. I know this means you’ll have to sacrifice your chance of going back to your family, but we are here for you. We’ll be your family.”

  I smile, touched, but I don’t bother to correct her. “Enough about me,” I say, bringing out the parcel I’ve been carrying. “Here—this is for you . . . I mean, when the baby is born.”

  Poppy protests that there’s no need to be so generous, but I place the parcel firmly in her lap. “Open it,” I command in a tone that sounds eerily like Edward’s. Only a few weeks in the palace, and his authoritative attitude is already rubbing off on me. I’d better watch myself, or I’ll turn into someone like Bianca.

  She unwraps the parcel and lifts out a delicate white baby dress suitable for a girl or a boy, a lacy nightcap, and a rattle.

  “This is so exquisite,” Poppy gushes. “Did you make the dress all by yourself, Kat?”

  “Yeah, I’m a genius with my needle . . . not. Of course I got someone to make it for me.”

  “No matter. When the baby is born, you will be his godmother.”

  Again I give her that fake, too-bright-to-be-sincere smile. By the time the baby is born, I will only have a few months left in Athelia.

  I decide to change the subject. There’s a book lying on the table—at first I wonder what kind of stories Poppy likes to read, but then at a closer glance I discover it is simply a notebook, the pages scribbled with numbers.

  “What have you been doing?” I indicate the notebook.

  Poppy rubs her forehead and grimaces. “I’ve been trying to keep accounts on our household budget. You know, with the baby coming and all, Jonathan said we must record all our expenses. But it’s dreadfully hard, Kat.”

  I remember Mom balancing our checkbook every month, her brow furrowed as she chews on a pencil and taps the buttons on the calculator. “Have you had trouble making the ends meet?”

  Poppy shakes her head. “We barely go out for meals and parties, and Papa’s offered to provide assistance whenever necessary. Jonathan would prefer not to rely on Papa too much, but he’s more willing to accept help since I am with child.” She puffs up her cheeks, looking frustrated. “It’s the numbers that are darned difficult to keep tabs on; they make my head spin.”

  If she doesn’t spend much, I wonder why she’s having difficulty with the numbers. “Can I have a look?”

  There’s always a mundane side to getting married, I think, as I run a finger down the column Poppy has drawn up. I have to learn an encyclopedia’s worth of royal etiquette and customs, while Poppy, whom I suppose you can call a middle-class housewife, has to deal with adding up the bills for milk, eggs, bacon, bread, sardines, and the like.

  “If a pound of sugar costs three shillings, then you’d spend nine shillings for three pounds, not eight.” I point out a spot where she made a mistake. “Also, see here. If the grocer gave you a 20 percent discount on a pot of strawberry jam, which costs five shillings, then you should have paid four shillings, not four and a half.”

  I draw a diagram to illustrate, and Poppy’s eyes widen. “And I even thanked him for giving me a big discount! Kat, is there anything you don’t know about?”

  I mumble something about reading too much.

  “I wish Papa had let me read more when I was a child,” Poppy says ruefully. “He used to say that trashy novels would corrupt my mind, and he limited my reading to guidebooks for young women.”

  Given the kind of education I had endured since arriving at Lady Bradshaw’s house, I can’t say I’m too surprised.

  The doorbell rings. The maid gets the door, and in comes a stocky young man and a lovely young woman with honey blond hair and baby blue eyes.

  “Jonathan!” Poppy exclaims, rising from her chair. “Look who’s come to visit us!”

  Mr. Davenport kisses the top of her head and makes her sit down. He gives me a warm, friendly smile and asks how I’m doing. Once, he had bowed to me when he accompanied Poppy to visit me in the palace, but I told—ordered—him to treat me as a friend. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this Royal Highness stuff.

  “Good morning, miss.” Elle starts to drop into a curtsy, but I stop her.

  “It’s Kat,” I say firmly. “Don’t let me catch you saying ‘miss’ again. You aren’t my servant anymore.”

  Elle lets loose a pretty, tinkling laugh like wind chimes. She takes off her bonnet and hangs it on the rack. She must have been here before, judging by the familiarity with which she moves about the house.

  “Mary, get us a fresh pot of tea and bring two more teacups.” Poppy leans forward, her eyes bright and inquisitive. “Did the case go well? Do tell us that the judge listened to you!”

  Elle nods. She settles on a chair and clasps her hands together. “The judge has ruled that I am indeed the daughter of Earl Bradshaw, and that Madam—Lady Bradshaw—should yield the earl’s manor in the country and two-thirds of his fortune to me.”

  I give an unladylike whoop of joy. Luckily, everyone is too excited about the news to be concerned about my behavior. Poppy claps her hands like a child, while Mr. Davenport grins like he’s the one who inherited a fortune.

  “I’m so glad for you, Elle. Now you won’t have to worry about your mother and Billy, and Lady Petunia won’t have further reason to object your, um, association with Henry.”

  She doesn’t look as overjoyed as we are. “I’m afraid his mother still needs convincing.”

  “But it’s proven that you are the daughter of an earl,” I say. “What more does she have against you?”

  Elle shakes her head. “I am no longer a servant, but that doesn’t mean she thinks I am good enough for Henry. There are plenty of better choices than me.”

  “But it’s you he wants,” I say.

  Poppy nods fiercely. “You deserve each other.”

  The maid brings us a steaming teapot. Elle pours herself a cup and takes a sip before speaking.

  “I want to wait a while. I want to make sure that what Henry feels for me isn’t simply an infatuation.”

  Somehow I am reminded of Mr. Bingley (Henry) and Jane Bennet (Elle). Only in this case, Darcy (Edward) isn’t scheming to separate them, and Henry’s mother resembles Lady Catherine de Burgh.

  “Besides, everything happened so fast.” Elle pinches her bottom lip and looks downward. For a moment she looks lost, vulnerable, afraid. I feel like giving Henry a good shake for making her feel this insecure. “It’s only a few months ago that I left the Bradshaws’ and started working at the pal
ace. Then I learn that I’m the daughter of an earl, and suddenly I’m an heiress?” She shakes her head and releases a deep breath. “All I want now is to take some time and think it over. There are some things I know I need to do—I want to send Billy to school and have Mamsie quit working. Or at least buy her a sewing machine; we’ve never been able to afford one.”

  “If you need further assistance with legal matters, I will be happy to provide it,” Mr. Davenport says. “I can also refer you to an accountant if you need one. Anything I can do for a friend and cousin.”

  Elle smiles at him gratefully. “You have done so much for me already. All of you.”

  “Well, I’d say if the duchess remains adamant, there’s always Ruby Red.” Poppy smirks, her eyes twinkling.

  Elle looks scandalized, but Mr. Davenport laughs. I laugh as well, but I can’t help feeling a bit sympathetic for her. I had assumed that once Elle regained her title, she would no longer be considered inferior to Henry, but after encountering Lady Petunia, it’s unlikely that Cinderella’s fairytale ending is going to arrive soon.

  5

  I sit on the balcony, half-concealed behind a polished oak pillar. I’m swathed in a dark silk dress, which makes me look at least five years older. Black elbow-length gloves, a black lace veil, and a black fan complete my outfit. The whole ensemble gives me an eerie sense of being like some Gothic romance heroine. It’s actually kind of fun, if you ignore the fact that the reason for the costume is that a woman isn’t supposed to be here. I’m in the Chamber, where the members of the parliament (MPs, as Edward tells me) gather for the last session. Second-to-last session, to be exact, as the last session, normally known as prorogation, consists merely of a summary of the year’s achievements.

  Like the palace, the Chamber is a breathtaking construction. It adheres to the red and gold theme of Athelia’s monarchy, with a magnificent golden ceiling and throne, while rows of red leather seats line up before the throne. Above the throne are huge paintings depicting famous monarchs. I recognize most of them, thanks to my industrious studying under Madame Dubois. Behind me, stained-glass windows rise to the ceiling, casting daylight into the room. As it’s rather cloudy today, the four golden chandeliers are lit to compensate for the lack of sufficient lighting.