Queen Bee(5)
Author: Amalie Howard
Within short order, my father’s coach was ready in the courtyard with a fresh team of horses, and we climbed inside.
“Oh, Ela, look!” Poppy whisper-screeched as the carriage rounded the bend and the driveway to the neighboring estate became visible. Nearly a dozen coaches and wagons took up the space. A small army of men and women unpacked the trunks, boxes, and crates. Poppy nearly broke her neck twisting around for one last look. “Did you see that? Oh, goodness, they’re really here! Shall we go welcome them later?”
I gave a noncommittal nod. “I’m sure Papa has something planned.” Her face fell. If my father did have something planned, she would not be included. She might be family to me, but Poppy wasn’t a Dalvi. I rushed to mollify her. “But we can go another time, I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” she said brightly, happy again.
When we arrived in the village and joined the handful of conveyances on the main street, the local square was bustling with activity. After several days of frigid weather, people were out and about because of the rare sunshine. Bunny’s Tea Parlor was crammed, and the goodies in the window beckoned. They might make the ribbon shopping almost worth it. Almost.
I recognized a few faces in the crowd gathered before Elderton’s. Everyone’s attention locked on the coach as we arrived. Despite our diminishing coffers of late, Burghfield had been the seat of the Marwick earldom for decades. Smoothing the front of my faded cloak with a clammy palm, I forced a pleasant expression onto my face. The villagers showed me the respect due my station as daughter of the Earl of Marwick but kept their distance. I was used to it.
The carriage stopped, and the coachman opened the door. Before I descended, I waited a beat for Poppy to go first: it was what she liked, while such pomp didn’t really matter to me. I was much too plain to put on airs, whereas Poppy lived for it, and the ritual was a small thing to make her happy. She shot me a bright smile and reached for the hand that waited to help her down. I followed in her wake like a silent shadow.
Pushing through the throng mesmerized by the display in the window—could it be the ribbons of enchantment?—we made our way inside.
“Florence, I love your new dress,” I heard Poppy squeal to the shopkeeper’s daughter, who wore a yellow muslin with so many flounces it was a wonder she could fit through the doorway. I found an unobtrusive corner near the handkerchiefs and stared at Florence, trying hard not to giggle. In truth, she looked like a giant buttercream-iced tea cake.
“I agree,” an amused reply came from behind me. “So much buttercream can’t be good for anyone.”
Oh, good gracious. Had I said my thought out loud?
“You did,” the voice said. “I heard that, too, if you’re wondering.”
I clamped my lips together and turned in slow motion to see a boy in a fawn-colored coat standing behind one of the drapes. “What are you doing? Are you hiding?” I asked.
He shot me a look. “We seem to have had the same idea.”
Tossing my hair, I sniffed. “I’m not hiding. I’m…resting.”
I spared him a second glance: he was not familiar to me at all. He was much taller than me, though that wasn’t a stretch for anyone, and he had a mop of dark bronze-brown corkscrew curls poking out from beneath a jaunty cap. A pair of dark eyes glinted at me beneath the brim, and his lips curled into a smirk.
“Why are you in Elderton’s?” I demanded in a whisper. “It’s not really a place where boys gather.”
His gaze pierced me. “Boys can’t like shopping?”
“That’s not what I meant,” I said. “Most of you lot run at the sight of ribbons.”
“What’s wrong with ribbons?”
From the glint in his eye, I knew he was teasing me. “Never mind,” I said. “Keep your voice down or you’ll have us caught.”
I pretended to ignore him while steadying my breath. Any moment now, Poppy would be looking for me, and I didn’t want to be found cowering behind a curtain with a boy I didn’t know. She’d never let me hear the end of it. Poppy was squealing about Florence’s matching ankle boots now in a voice that could break glass.
Heavens, could anything be more nauseating?
A low chortle made me blink. “You have a bad habit of speaking your thoughts.”
Oh, shove me sideways!
“You have a bad habit of eavesdropping,” I shot back with a scowl, cursing my loose lips for spilling my private opinions to random strangers. This was my hidey-hole, and he was ruining it! Though, to be fair, he’d been here first.
“I can’t help it, can I?” A few more minutes went by in silence before he spoke again. “I’ve come with my little sister.” He pointed at a girl whose curls spilled over her shoulders in a riot of tight brown, bronze, and gold spirals that resembled his. “That one over there, Lady Zenobia. We’ve just moved to town.”
Lady? I wrenched backward so quickly, I nearly bumped into his elbow. “So you’re…”
He sketched a sharp bow, cramped as we were behind the drapes, still managing to make it look impressive. “Lord Keston Osborn, Marquess of Ridley, at your service. And you are?”
“Ela. I’m Ela Dalvi.”
I’d forgotten the honorific, but frankly, I was surprised that any words had come out of my mouth at all, as three things struck me: one, he wasn’t obnoxious or rude; two, he was only marginally bigheaded; and three, Poppy was going to need a good noseful of her mama’s smelling salts when she found out who was here!
CHAPTER THREE
Lyra
Fortune is the arbiter of half of our actions, but…she still leaves the other half of them, more or less, to be governed by us.
—Niccolò Machiavelli
London, March 1817
The Marquess of Ridley studied me over the rim of his glass, after having fetched me one filled with watery-looking lemonade. I took a delicate sip as his eyes drifted over me, even though I wanted to gulp the thing like it was a cup of water for a parched man just rescued from a desert.
“So, first time in London?” he asked.
“Yes. Is it that obvious?” My voice, normally pitched low and modulated, sounded much huskier than usual. Thankfully, it was a far cry from the chirpy tones of my younger self.