Chapter 186 Love's Remembrance

At the sight of her daughter coming in with her mouth all put out of shape, the Countess and Azalea both laughed, and the Countess put out her arms and gathered her daughter in:

"Silly child. Marry in, she's an Odenheim daughter-in-law — I've five of those to come. But a daughter is only the one. Now tell me, how is that a comparison?"

"Daughter-in-law?" Lora bounced up out of her mother's arms in a hurry: "Which daughter-in-law?"

"Who else could it be? It must begin with your eldest. Alvin's gone out to Falconberg, and old Chancellor Doyle has taken a shine to him — wants to marry his granddaughter to him, and has folk at the door asking after it now."

Oh — it was the Doyle girl. What a start that had given her. Lora, a little sheepish, burrowed back into her mother's arms and wriggled out her question: "And you and Father have consented?"

"Your eldest has given his quiet yes — what would we be withholding ours for? And conveniently, we're back to Augustburg in a few days, so the matter can go forward. He's in no hurry; the younger brothers behind him are."

"Just so!" Lora made haste to agree.

Azalea, at the side, had marked that the young lady's temper ran a little crosswise today, and teased, smiling: "Never mind the younger brothers — the younger sister behind them can scarce wait either."

Lora got up to go, and made a face back over her shoulder:

"What would I be waiting for? I'm young yet — Father couldn't bear to marry me off. Mother, these next two days I'm out preparing gifts for the several houses. Anything you'd have bought? Send me word."

"Understood — off you go. Every last one of you off skittering like stray cats, and the fourth one never to be seen either." The Countess said it in passing, half to herself.

At which Lora, too, felt it: it had been days, hadn't it, since she'd laid eyes on her fourth brother.

With Keane gone to Augustburg, she'd set no one else to watch him. She had Morn in to ask; Morn would only say he came home drunk every night, and slept the days away in his room.

"Very well — I'm out and running every day myself; I'll say no more of him. Lucy — are our traveling bags ready?" Lora was a little absent in it. She kept hoping Leon would let her know his "arrangement" the sooner.

Lucy nodded away:

"Yes, yes! Everyday wear and feast-day wear, all in order. Lilac says: only the best — anything two seasons worn is out. And who knows yet what the Augustburg young ladies wear — you'll be wanting new gowns made as well, or they'll look small at us."

"And will they think much of my clothes — or of me?" Lora couldn't help a laugh. That fault of honoring the gown before the girl — so it was an old-world inheritance, all along.

Lucy, seeing Lora half-believing, made haste:

"You don't believe me? Let me call Zoe in — she's the one that runs the errands outside, hears the most. She's just been hearing something about Lord Felix and Lady Dorothy."

An acquaintance, was it? Lora's gossiping heart pricked up its ears on the instant.

Zoe came in, and — with voice and face and both hands for it — gave out, at full stretch, the tale of Dorothy Dunbar at Prince Ambrose's banquet: mocked by the prince, humiliated by the noble young ladies — and finished:

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"Then, lucky for her, Lord Felix appeared — folding-fan in hand and admiration declared out loud — and cowed the whole pack of them quiet. No wonder, that time Lady Dorothy was baited on the Royal Avenue by that Odile, Lord Felix went and stood her friend."

When Dorothy had asked her help to carry the folding fan back, she'd told none of these details. Only now did Lora learn the rights of it — and her blood rose a little on Dorothy's behalf:

"Noble young ladies, forsooth. That pack had best never cross my path."

"They talk of both capitals — and the Augustburg young ladies wouldn't stoop to seeing us at all. But — our house has Prince Jasper, him the King himself must call 'Great-Grand-Uncle.' Trot the old ancestor out before us, and see who dares bully us then."

When Lucy had done, Lora and Lilac were both laughing, and Lilac said:

"What need of trotting out Prince Jasper? Set yourself in front, mouth going pop-pop-pop, and they'd all run for their lives."

Lora squatted on the ground, taking turns rubbing Belle's head and Chance's; the two of them could have wished her hand grown onto their skulls for good. It took her a real effort to work her hand free, and she waved it at Zoe:

"Go keep an eye at the gate. If anyone comes from the Baron's house, bring him in quick."

And after a while, someone did come from that house — not Linn, not Lyle, but Ruth.

"My lady — our lord says: tomorrow forenoon there'll be a little play acted out at his gate. Whatever you see, pray don't take it for true."

"A play?"

"That is — the lord means to have me given a beating, and thrown out past the gate, to frighten the Sorensen son-in-law a little."

That was all? Simple and brutal past all excuse. Lora didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

The ground Leon's mansion stood on had been the estate of the old Crown Prince. Later, the estate's rose garden was hived off from it and made a garden where all the town might come and take its pleasure in the flowers.

And that was the why of it, that the Baron's mansion ran one parcel short of the Grand Princess's and the Odenheims'.

In that garden stood one plant of the "Winter-Cherry Lion" — that rare sort which puts forth its bloom at the very first of winter — and just now was its season; the folk coming to view it trailed on and on without end.

Tomorrow forenoon, Master Gareth Hugo was to host a wine-and-flower viewing in the garden, and among those asked was Weston Kaye — Anselm Sorensen's son-in-law, the fifth of them.

"I have it. Off you go." Lora smiled a thin smile, and went back to watching the two dogs lick each other's coats, and said no more.

Ruth stood there a while in silence, then asked: "My lady... is there no word to carry back to my lord?"

Ah — she was waiting for an answer. No wonder she stood and stood.

Lora looked about her, plucked one two-toned carnation from a pot under the eaves, and held it out to Ruth: "Give him this. He'll know my meaning."

Ruth took the flower and went off, dazed.

The carnation, red and yellow both — in this world they called it "Joy Upon Joy"; in the modern world it bore another name: "Love's Remembrance."

Out the courtyard gate, Ruth found Zoe, who'd led her in, gone who knew where. She didn't look for her — walked the wall-side path out on her own, all the way studying the "Joy Upon Joy" in her hand:

No wonder the lord's whole heart hung on the young lady. A great house's daughter truly knows how to hook a man's heart — a flower sent, and what might that mean?

And deep in just such thoughts, she walked straight into the fourth lord coming the other way. Ruth skipped aside in a hurry, caught her balance, and looked first of all at the carnation in her hand — safe; the flower had not taken the knock.

The man before her was a young fine gentleman, splendidly dressed, no common face; her tongue ran fast:

"Pardon, pardon — this girl was careless. Pray forgive her, my lord."

Brendan had watched her come on, her head in the clouds, and had willfully not given way — meaning to see her land on her backside and have his joke.

Who'd have thought the unknown girl so quick — a sudden collision, and she'd skipped clear, kept her feet — and her very first thought was a fright for the flower in her hand. Brendan laughed:

"What's your name? Which court are you of? I don't think I've seen you before."

"To answer the lord: this one is called Ruth. Not — not of the Odenheim house; I came bearing a message to the young lady. I must be getting back — if the lord is unhurt, I'll take my leave."

That said, Ruth dropped her curtsy and ran off as if for her life.

A message? What message? What was Lora brewing now?

Brendan looked back at Ruth's departing figure, and the smile crept onto his mouth again:

Ruth, was it? A very trim little waist on her.