Garden Princess (4 page)

Thankfully, Cecile agreed. “A tiara is a bit too formal, but we might think about a necklace.”

Marguerite was already pawing through the jewelry collection Adela had inherited from her mother. “What about this?” She held up a diamond necklace that sent rainbows of light spinning across the walls and ceiling.

“Please, no!” said Adela. “I already look like a decorated cake!”

“There are earrings that match!” Marguerite said in a coaxing voice.

“
You
wear them.”

“Why, Adela! What a thoughtful gesture!” said Cecile. “But you must wear
something.
”

“What about sapphires?” said Marguerite, who was already fastening the diamond necklace around her own neck. “To go with her sapphire gown.”

Over the past few days, Adela’s blue dress had been called
forget-me-not, cornflower, cerulean,
and
azure.
Now it was
sapphire.
Adela ducked her head and rolled her eyes. “I’ll wear this,” she said, fastening a pendant with a small blue stone around her neck.

“Small as it is, I suppose it will do,” said Cecile. Then she stepped back to survey their appearance. She clasped her hands and exclaimed, “You are going to be the prettiest girls at the party!”

Overdressed and uncomfortable as she might be, Adela could only imagine how Garth must be feeling. He was standing beside the carriage when they came outside. He was wearing a footman’s uniform: a dark-blue velvet jacket, crimson trousers made of satin, a white-ruffled shirt, and white silk stockings. His hair was combed and tied back with a red bow. He wore polished black shoes with shining silver buckles and heels almost as high as Adela’s. Were his shoes giving him blisters, too? Adela wondered as she hobbled toward him.

“I’ve asked the cook to send along some lunch,” said Cecile. “You can have a picnic along the way.”

“I’m sure I won’t be able to eat a morsel! I’m too excited,” said Marguerite.

Just then Adela’s ankle gave way, and she nearly tumbled. Garth jumped forward and caught her by the arm. Marguerite took her other arm. “Are you all right, Your Highness?” she asked.

“Adela, you really must be careful,” Cecile chided. “That will be all, footman,” she told Garth.

Oh, how awkward! Adela hadn’t mentioned that Garth was coming to the party with them. It would be rude not to say something now. “Your Majesty, may I present Garth, the son of the head gardener,” she said quickly. “He has also been invited to Lady Hortensia’s party.”

Cecile looked puzzled. Garth looked miserable. “M-m-much obliged, I’m sure, Your Majesty,” he stammered. He bobbed his head in an approximation of a bow.

Marguerite gave a delicate cough.

“Garth, may I present Lady Marguerite?” said Adela.

Marguerite held out her hand. Garth was supposed to take it in his own, lean over it, and kiss the air directly above it.

Instead he turned red. He opened his mouth and made a small choking sound. He threw Adela an agonized look.

“Garth has a strong interest in gardens,” she said helpfully.

“How lovely!” Marguerite withdrew her hand, and her face dimpled into a smile. “I love gardens, too. In fact, I’ve been told my name is a kind of flower.”

Somehow Garth found his voice, nodding. “Sure enough, Miss Marguerite — your name’s a kind of daisy.”

Her eyes lit up with pleasure. “Why, you clever man! You must tell me everything you know about daisies.”

“I — I will, Miss Daisy — I mean, Miss Marguerite — I mean, my lady,” Garth stammered.

Marguerite held out her hand, and he helped her into the carriage. He helped Adela in as well. “Do you want to ride with us?” she asked.

He shook his head, looking almost frightened by the suggestion. “I’ll ride up top,” he said as he closed the door. The carriage swayed as he climbed up beside the coachman. There was a grinding of wheels, and they lurched forward.

“Good-bye, girls!” cried Cecile.

Marguerite waved her handkerchief out the window and threw several kisses before falling back against the cushions. “My goodness! Did you ever see such a
handsome
man in your life? Your Highness simply must tell me everything about him!”

“He’s the son of the head gardener,” Adela repeated, sure that Marguerite must have missed this detail. Servants like Garth, even handsome ones, had never merited Marguerite’s attention before. But she was surprised to see color blooming in Marguerite’s cheeks, and even more surprised to see that Marguerite looked both shy and exultant at the same time.

“Oh, Your Highness! I’m sure he was flirting with me!”

“Garth?”

“Calling me Daisy like that,” Marguerite elaborated. “Oh, I know it was fresh of him, but, really, I don’t mind. Did you see how nervous he was around me?”

“Well, yes.” Adela wasn’t sure how to let on that Garth was nervous around practically everyone.

“Oh, Your Highness,
do
say you think he might care for me.”

“Well, I —”

“I’m sure he must!” Marguerite spoke with certainty. The fact was that men were always falling in love with her. At least that was how it sounded from Cecile’s afternoon teas, where Marguerite’s romantic life was one of the queen’s favorite conversation topics. Usually it was some dashing young captain who had danced every dance with Marguerite at a party, or a particular knight with a nice-looking mustache who had stared at her all afternoon at a tournament, or a foreign ambassador who kept writing her love letters long after his state visit was over. How funny it was to hear her going on now about Garth, of all people.

“Really, Marguerite,” Adela began, trying not to laugh. “I —”

“I shall walk with him at the party,” Marguerite decided. “You said he likes gardens! I shall walk with him and ask him questions about the flowers! Men love to be asked questions. It puts them at ease. Oh, but I’m sure
I
won’t be at ease at all — not if he looks at me again with those eyes. Did you see how blue they were? Just like great big . . . great big . . .” Marguerite struggled for the right word.

“Forget-me-nots?” Adela suggested. “Sapphires?”

“Yes!” gushed Marguerite.

It was well after noon when they stopped for lunch. The coachman pulled the horses over beside the dusty country road, and Garth helped Adela and Marguerite out of the carriage.

Adela stretched as best she could in her tight dress. Two hours of being cooped up in a carriage with chatty Marguerite had been almost more than she could stand, especially coming as it did after three full days of listening to Marguerite and Cecile put forth their various ideas about garden-party fashions. Never mind all that now, Adela told herself. Today would be the start of something new. She was going to collect new plants from Hortensia’s garden. And it wouldn’t be long before she would travel and visit other gardens. Not only that, she would explore woodlands and meadows, mountains and deserts. She was going to bring home plants nobody had ever seen before.

She looked around. What a fine spot for a picnic! A grove of birches with quivering leaves just beginning to turn yellow, lichen-covered boulders set among the trees like chairs, and, above everything, the mountains, stark and silent against the blue sky. Their dark forested slopes seemed to promise adventure. The sort you might find in a King Ival story, thought Adela. Not the sort you would expect to find at a garden party, which, no matter how much you liked flowers, was sure to be a rather tame event. “How much farther to Flower Mountain?” she asked.

The coachman — whose name, Axel, was a source of amusement for her father (
My coach has three axles,
the king would joke) — scratched his bald head and squinted up at the mountains. “My guess is we have at least another hour ahead of us, Your Highness. Hard to say, though, what with mountain roads being so unpredictable. Lucky for us there
is
a road — if you can believe the map, that is.”

“We’d better eat quickly, then,” said Adela. Hortensia’s invitation had said three o’clock, which was rather late in the day for an outdoor party in autumn. Suppose they arrived even later and there wasn’t time to see anything. “I’ll hand out the food,” she offered as Garth set the picnic basket down on the ground. She opened the lid to find cold chicken, cucumber sandwiches, lemonade, and sugar cookies. There were also china plates, crystal cups, and embroidered linen napkins. Adela was surprised that Cecile hadn’t ordered the cook to send along a pair of gold candlesticks! “Who’s hungry?”

Marguerite, settling herself on one of the boulders, politely declined. “Nothing for me, thank you, Your Highness. I had a bit of toast at breakfast.”

“More for the rest of us,” said Adela, who was famished in spite of having eaten toast, eggs, bacon, and pancakes earlier. “Here you go, Axel,” she said, handing the coachman a plate piled with food, a cup filled with lemonade, and a napkin. She filled another plate and cup for Garth, then helped herself.

To her surprise, Garth sat down next to Marguerite. Oh, no! thought Adela. He can’t possibly know what’s to come. Marguerite had talked all morning about her plans for winning Garth’s affection. Now Adela wasn’t sure whether to laugh or feel sorry for him.

Sure enough, Marguerite set to work right away, smiling shyly and asking if Garth wasn’t
terribly
excited about the party.

Blushing, he stammered that indeed he was.

“I
love
flowers,” said Marguerite. “I
absolutely
love them. Don’t you?”

Garth, still blushing, acknowledged that he did.

I suppose it won’t hurt him to suffer now, thought Adela, but I’ll have to sneak him away from her at the party. I’m a poor friend if I can’t do that much.

She ate a chicken leg and wiped her fingers. Then she ate two cucumber sandwiches, sipped her lemonade, and thought about gardens.

“It’s the knack for planning that makes the gardener,” Garth’s father had once told her. “You and my son both know what to do when it comes to the care and nurturing of flowers, Your Highness. I’ve taught you when to plant, when to prune, and so on. But I’ll be the first to admit that Garth hasn’t got an eye like you have — an eye that can see what you want before it all comes into bloom.” It was a bit of praise that had made Adela’s heart swell with happiness. She did love to plan a garden, and Hortensia’s was sure to be a marvel of planning. She must have a great variety of fall-blooming flowers, thought Adela. And I can ask her what bulbs she’s planted for the spring.

At that moment her ears picked up the sound of Marguerite’s honey-sweet voice. “Do you really mean to say that some flowers — what did you call them,
pennials
? — come up year after year, all by themselves?”

“Perennials,”
said Garth, “and yes, they do.”

“How marvelous!” exclaimed Marguerite. “And
daisies,
are those
pentennerals
?”

“Well, now, some are and some aren’t.”

“I suppose I could be a
pentenneral,
seeing as I am a kind of daisy.”

“Yes, Daisy — I mean, my lady.”

Marguerite dimpled. “I like it when you call me Daisy. You must always call me that.”

Clearly embarrassed, Garth ducked his head. But he looked up quickly enough, a stupid grin on his face. “All right, then . . . Daisy.”

Adela frowned. Was it possible that Garth actually
liked
Marguerite? She watched his eyes follow the movement of Marguerite’s hand as it fluttered up to tuck a curl back in place, brushed against the diamond necklace at her throat, then dropped to her waist, where it paused to smooth the fabric of her dress. Then Garth looked up, and his eyes met Marguerite’s. They smiled at each other, and Adela felt as if she were spying.

He
does
like her, she thought. Or anyway, he likes to look at her.

Marguerite had wavy golden hair, blue eyes, and petal-pink cheeks. She was more than pretty; she was as lovely as sunlight. “I should love to plant a garden someday,” she said.

Adela couldn’t imagine anything more unlikely than Marguerite with a shovel in her hand.

“I could help you,” said Garth.

“Oh, would you?”

I don’t know why Marguerite looks so surprised, thought Adela. It’s exactly what she wanted him to say.

“Do you know . . . ?” Marguerite’s voice became tentative. “I — I was hoping that today you might walk with me at the party. I was hoping you might talk to me about gardening. You know so much, and I know so little!”

“Of course I will.”

So much for wanting to protect Garth from Marguerite, thought Adela. He’s practically throwing himself at her! Not that I care, she told herself quickly. It isn’t as if he promised to look at Hortensia’s garden with me.

But there was the rub: she did care.

It wasn’t as if she had ever wanted Garth to look at her the way he was looking at Marguerite. But she
had
counted on his friendship. And it did seem unfair that someone as empty-headed as Marguerite could take it away so easily.

Stop it, Adela told herself. Garth is still your friend. And Marguerite
is
pretty. I suppose he can’t help being attracted to her, any more than she can help being attracted to him. They do look nice together.