Tournament of Ruses Page 3

  “How long have you been in the city, Miss Flora?” he inquired, suddenly the picture of gentlemanly behavior.

  “My father moved me up four days ago.”

  “And how do you like it so far?”

  “I hate it,” she said with sudden venom. The pair stopped and turned surprised eyes upon her. Flora felt that if there was anyone with whom she could be perfectly honest about her feelings, they stood before her now. Viola didn’t attend Mrs. Olivette’s Conservatory, after all, so there was little chance that they would meet again, or that Flora’s words would get back to either her father or the Frivolous Four. “The buildings here are too close together,” she said impulsively. “I hate winter enough as it is, but the townhouse we moved to is cramped and cold, and the garden in back looks like it was torn apart on purpose. There’s a tiny greenhouse there, but it’s empty and a couple of the glass panes are cracked. I had seedlings started in the one back home, and I couldn’t bring them because they were too delicate to survive the trip. Dad says a lord’s daughter shouldn’t really play gardener anyway, so I’m stuck going to Mrs. O’s to gossip with the other lords’ daughters instead of doing anything really meaningful. And I sound like a spoiled little brat complaining about it, which is perhaps the most frustrating part of all! Have you ever wished you could turn back the clock to keep something from happening?”

  “Yes,” said Will immediately, “but I wouldn’t be here if I’d’ve been able to do that, and that would have been a greater tragedy than the one I wanted to prevent.”

  His answer startled her. She looked first to him, then to Viola, only to notice how close they stood to one another. A frown furrowed her brows as she considered the meaning behind his words.

  “It might be hard right now, Miss Dalton,” said Viola gently, “but you never know what outcome awaits you. I know it’s probably not anything like yours back home,” she added, “but you’re welcome to come visit the palace greenhouse, any time you’d like.”

  “I c-couldn’t,” Flora replied, suddenly self-conscious. She already regretted her indiscretion.

  “Nonsense. I can’t imagine what it must be like to give up everything you’ve always known and move to a new place—”

  “I can,” Will interjected.

  Viola shot him a narrow-eyed look. “Nobody asked you to,” she said defensively.

  “I love you too, darling,” he replied, and he squeezed her arm in his.

  Flora smiled at the pair despite herself. “I really should be getting home. I think I can find my way from here.”

  “Lords’ Row is the next street up,” said Viola. “We can walk with you to the end of the street, at least. I’m sorry to have taxed you with our presence for this long.”

  “Oh, no!” said Flora. “I did not mean—”

  “She knows you didn’t,” Will interrupted, and he skillfully guided both young women forward. “She’s trying to put you at ease by minimizing her own importance.”

  “I don’t have any importance to minimize,” Viola protested.

  “You see?” said Will to Flora with a winning smile.

  Chapter Three: One Lie Begets Another

  Viola Moreland is nothing like I imagined. From what the Frivolous Four said, I had pictured a homely girl with provocative manners. That couldn’t be further from the truth. She is pretty and polite, and she’s intelligent. I suppose that explains why Georgiana dislikes her. I’m sure that if Viola took it into her head to unseat the social queen, she could do it easily. I’m also sure that Viola would never take it into her head to do such a thing. She didn’t seem to have any more tolerance for those girls than I do.

  Lucky for her, she can avoid them. She doesn’t have a subscription to Mrs. Olivette’s Conservatory, and she apparently doesn’t have a father that pushes her into social obligations, either. I dread having to return there, knowing that the only reason they’re kind to me is because they think I’ll have some sort of advanced notice on the Eternal Prince’s search for a consort. While we’re at it, I dread having to return there after suddenly disappearing along with Viola. I wonder how much of a head start I could get back to home before Dad realizes I’ve gone missing.

  “Why, Flora! Where on earth did you disappear to yesterday, dearest girl?”

  Georgiana Winthrop’s mouth pulled into a smile so wide that it reminded Flora of a growling dog. Instinctively she shrank back.

  “I’m so scared of bees,” she lied. “I ran without thinking. I ended up lost and had to ask for help to get home again. Did it sting anyone?” she added with false concern. She was certain that Georgiana would see through her contrived act, but she hoped the girl had enough breeding not to confront her about it directly. Flora despised confrontation.

  If Georgiana found anything amiss with her reaction, though, she did not show it. “Oh, you poor thing! No, we all came through the ordeal unscathed, but we were worried sick about you! We realized instantly that you were gone.”

  “Viola disappeared as well,” Priscilla piped up from next to Georgiana, and there was a knowing tone in her voice.

  “Is she afraid of bees, too?” Flora asked naïvely.

  “Doubtless,” Priscilla replied.

  “Sit down with us,” said Georgiana. “Dot, scoot over so that Flora has a place.”

  Dorothea obeyed, but she favored Flora with a nasty glare. Flora would have much rather joined one of the other tables of girls, but now that Georgiana had gone to the trouble of making room for her, she could hardly refuse. Miserably she sank into the newly vacated seat and wished herself miles away, back in her winter-bound home in the countryside.

  She had tried to skip today’s session at Mrs. Olivette’s Conservatory, really she had. She had intended to sneak away to Graham’s for the day, but she had made the mistake of exiting the house just as Mrs. Finch was coming down to go shopping. The housekeeper had been more than happy to accompany her to the Conservatory steps, and from there to continue to the textiles district. She informed Flora in a gleeful voice that she was off to check on the progress of her new wardrobe and that with any luck, Flora would have some new dresses when she arrived back home that evening.

  Much as Flora didn’t really want the new dresses, she couldn’t burst the bubble of happiness that had encompassed her housekeeper. Mrs. Finch had originally tended to her mother, Lily Dalton, who had been a happy, sparkling creature even though she only presided over a modest countryside estate. After Lily’s death, Mrs. Finch took Flora under her wing and was practically a second mother to her. When Flora’s father was suddenly elevated to the status of a lord, she latched on to the opportunity for Flora to become just as her mother had been—social, fashionable, and popular. That Flora herself had no interest in such a life was only a minor detail.

  “So,” said Georgiana, and she squeezed Flora’s hand intimately, “now that you’ve seen the infamous Viola Moreland, you must tell us what you thought of her.”

  Four pairs of eyes bored into her. It was a test, Flora knew, to make certain her loyalties lay in the correct place. She swallowed and ventured a reply: “She was not at all like I imagined.”

  “Such a forward girl!” Augustina declared. Flora cringed into her chair before she realized that this remark referred to Viola and not to her.

  “You would expect the Prime Minister’s daughter to at least make an attempt at being fashionable,” said Dorothea. “She seems almost proud of her dowdiness, though!”

  “She likes to make herself look like she’s above the frivolities of fashion,” said Georgiana with a haughty sniff. “Anyone who saw her at the Midsummer’s Eve banquet knows what utter rubbish that is—she put most of the girls there to shame. And speaking of fashion, dear Flora,” she added, and she patted “dear Flora’s” hand in a sympathetic manner, “is that not the same dress you wore your first day here?”

  Flora looked down self-consciously. “Is it? Yesterday was laundry day. How silly of me not to notice that I chose to wear the same dr
ess so soon again.”

  “It’s a quaint pattern, dear, and since it is just among friends, I’m sure no one minds.” Georgiana looked around to the other girls at the table, all of whom neither agreed with nor contradicted her words. They were like vultures, watching and waiting for an opportunity to scavenge from Georgiana’s kill. As scavengers, they would do nothing until she was finished.

  “Thank you for overlooking my thoughtlessness,” said Flora with forced courtesy. “If all goes according to schedule, I’ll have some new additions to my wardrobe soon. I’ll be sure to wear something different tomorrow, I assure you.”

  “Oh, I did not mean to offend you! The dress is very quaint, if a little plain! Its simplicity suits you to a tee! I should not have said anything about it! Silly Georgiana, always saying awkward things out of turn! Tell me you don’t hate me.”

  Oh, but she did, especially in that moment. Forced into such a conversational corner, though, she prevaricated. “Oh, really! Who could ever hate someone like you? Incidentally, I asked my dad last night about the Eternal Prince’s search for a consort.” Under normal circumstances, she would have sooner died than introduce this line of conversation, but it seemed almost a necessity in the moment.

  True to her expectation, the increasingly hostile glint in Georgiana’s eyes vanished in an instant. “Did you? What did he say?”

  Flora really had spoken to her father, but it had been to rail against him, not to ask him for particulars of the formal proceedings in the Prince’s search. Lord Dalton had defended his actions rigorously, and even went as far as to brag that his boldness had earned her a place above the others. Prime Minister Moreland himself had ensured that Flora should be the first girl that the Eternal Prince interviewed.

  “He told me that the details were still being worked out with the Prince himself, but that we should know the schedule of interviews within the next couple of weeks. He seemed to think there would be several layers of interviews,” she added innocently.

  Four girls leaned in closer. “What sort of layers?” asked Georgiana breathlessly.

  In the days that followed, Flora would be hard-pressed to explain what mischief possessed her at that moment. Certainly her father had guessed that there would be multiple levels of interviews as the Eternal Prince winnowed down his candidates for consort, but that was by no means a sure thing. None of these girls knew that much, though, and a hidden, suppressed part of Flora found delight in manipulating their expectations. So, she spouted off the first ridiculous things that came to her mind.

  “Dad says the Prince plans to assess the candidates for beauty, and then he’ll have them undergo a challenge to prove their grace.”

  Priscilla recoiled. “What sort of challenge?”

  Flora’s inner demon chuckled. “Oh, like a little obstacle course, or something—each candidate will have to walk through it while balancing a stack of books atop her head. I wasn’t entirely sure from how he described it. But those who pass that phase will have to exhibit a talent that demonstrates their level of cultural refinement—you know, painting or playing a musical instrument—and the ones he chooses from that group will be the finalists. At that point, the palace will hold a huge, wonderful ball in which the Prince himself will dance with each of the candidates he’s chosen, and at the end of the night he’ll announce the winner. Of course,” she added speculatively, “all of that is subject to change, depending on the Prince’s whims, but that seems to be the direction that everything is headed.”

  She suddenly realized that during this speech the entire room, consisting of at least ten tables as packed as her own, had gone completely silent. “Doesn’t that sound interesting?” she finished weakly. She had not intended for as many as forty girls to eavesdrop as she spewed such a pack of lies.

  “So beauty comes first?” Georgiana asked, though. “I’m sure I can pass that inspection. I’m sure any of us could—and the grace examination, and the cultural one. Oh, this is the most exciting news I’ve heard in ages! I simply must share it! Mama has been dying to know what the Prince would require of his consort!”

  She stood, and Flora realized what a deplorable mistake she had made. “Oh, but it might not be any of that!” she protested faintly.

  Georgiana disregarded her. “Darlings, would you care terribly if I left a little early today? This really is the most exciting news, and I promised my dear mama that I would tell her instantly when I heard anything new!”

  “I promised my mama as well,” said Dorothea quickly.

  Augustina stood and stammered the same excuse.

  Flora watched in wonder as the trio retreated to the cloak room, along with half the girls in the conservatory. The other half appeared nonchalant, but there was a telltale restlessness among them. Within five minutes they had each found some excuse to leave.

  Flora watched the mass exodus in growing dismay. As another group of girls sidled toward the doorway, she turned flustered eyes upon the only other person left at her table.

  Priscilla wore a knowing smirk. “What’s your wager that they’re all going home to practice walking with a stack of books on their heads?”

  A waterfall of shame poured over Flora. “But, we don’t even know if that will really be a requirement!” On the contrary, she knew it certainly wouldn’t be!

  “Don’t you trust your father?” Priscilla asked sharply.

  Flora squeaked. “I do! It’s just that, well, the Eternal Prince does change his mind quite easily, doesn’t he?” She had heard something about him being a fickle creature.

  “But these different layers do sound exactly like something he would concoct,” Priscilla replied. “Oh, well. I shouldn’t snigger at everyone else going home to balance books on their heads. I intend to do the same thing myself. At least I’m honest about it, though.” With that, she rose and left behind a stupefied Flora.

  Mrs. Olivette was even more stupefied when, not ten minutes later, she peeked in to check in on her elite conservatory and found only one lone girl seated within. “What’s happened?” she inquired, suddenly on the edge of hysterics. “Where is everyone?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Flora, and she quickly gathered up her things. She was not about to stay behind and console a hysterical Mrs. Olivette, no matter how fashionable the woman was. “It seems everyone has gone to prepare to meet the Eternal Prince. I’m sure they’ll all be back tomorrow.”

  Then, she too hurried from the building.

  She stopped in at Graham’s Lending Library, thinking it might offer her a decent refuge until she could safely return home without incurring questions from Mrs. Finch, but, to her great dismay, she found the aisles choked with girls trying to steady books atop their heads while several regular customers looked on in wonder. Flora thought it best to steer clear of that mess. She swallowed her pride and went straight home.

  Her father’s house stood at the very edge of Lords’ Row, adjacent to the city wall and the forest beyond. On her way there, Flora spotted through many a window her peers from Mrs. Olivette’s. Some walked with books atop their heads. Some practiced the violin or the harp. Some were singing.

  “The whole world has gone mad,” she whispered self-consciously, “and it’s all my fault.”

  Chapter Four: Silliness Ensues

  I never intended for anyone to believe my silly lies. Never!

  Well, all right. Maybe I thought it would be funny if Georgiana believed them, and maybe a couple of the other girls, but I never thought they actually would! Who could possibly take such a ridiculous series of evaluations seriously? It is beyond belief.

  And yet, take them seriously they have! Mrs. O’s Conservatory was practically deserted for two days straight, while Graham’s Lending Library was besieged with book-balancing customers. (Do they not own books in their homes? How is that even possible? Or did they simply want to encourage one another in their practice? Such silly girls!) It caused utter chaos until Mrs. O caught wind of what was going on. She has relieved G
raham’s Lending Library of its troublesome patrons by setting up her own little book-balancing course at the Conservatory. She has also engaged several private tutors to act as guides for the (fake) cultural portion of the evaluation, and she has engaged dancing masters to help her patrons bring out their inner poise.

  It is the epitome of ridiculousness, and when the truth comes out that none of it is going to happen, heads will probably roll. Or really, just one head: mine.

  In the meantime, I have every excuse not to attend Mrs. O’s for the present. Mrs. Finch learned of the (fake) evaluations and determined that I should practice at home, away from prying eyes, lest I give away any advantages I have.

  Dear Mrs. Finch, I love you. Please don’t hate me when you learn that I’ve unintentionally hoodwinked everyone.

  Guilt was a smothering emotion. Those first couple of days Flora suffered from it from almost the moment she woke up to when she went back to bed at night. Everything had escalated beyond her scope of control so quickly. The news of the Eternal Prince’s multi-tiered evaluation process spread like wildfire down Lords’ Row, and Flora was sure that it would spread to the palace beyond in no time. During those first couple of days, she expected an official statement declaiming any knowledge of such a ridiculous process. In her wilder imaginings, the Prince himself would issue it in stentorian tones from his balcony or the palace walls, and then demand punishment upon the bold liar who had perpetrated such a ruse among his loyal subjects.

  But, well, such a statement never came. And as more time passed, Flora began to see the benefits of her terrible lie. Her excuses from Mrs. Olivette’s were only part of it. Georgiana Winthrop had practically become a recluse, reportedly holed up in her house with an army of tutors, despite her avowal that she could easily pass any of those assessments. It was funny. Flora was hard-pressed not to snigger every time she thought of it.