he said, with a small, reassuring nod. “The bunnies are delightful and the fresh air is very bracing.”
“It is, isn’t it?” said Bibbie, sounding relieved. “But actually, you’re mistaken. I’m not peckish. I’m famished. When d’you suppose the Crown Prince will call a halt for lunch?”
As soon as it had become sadly obvious that the wedding party wouldn’t have time to enjoy the picnic that was planned for the daisied banks of the Heffershtet River and reach Lake Yablitz before sunset, Brunelda-in magnificent defiance of her gout, and doubtless to score a pointed victory over Erminium-had arranged for luncheon baskets to be made up for each carriage and stowed under the coachman’s seat. Bibbie pressed a hand to her stomach.
“Can’t we ask the coachman to pull over a moment, so we can liberate a sandwich or two?” she said, plaintive. “I swear, my ribs are playing knucklebones with each other.”
“Absolutely not,” said Melissande. “That would be a gross breach of good manners.”
“Whereas me dropping dead of starvation would be the height of polite conduct, I suppose?”
She smirked. “I wouldn’t go that far. But at least we’d have some peace and quiet.”
Bibbie flounced into silence. Meeting Gerald’s wearily amused gaze, Melissande rolled her eyes. Not for the world was she going to admit that she, too, was famished.
But as it turned out, Bibbie wasn’t the only one in imminent danger of perishing from hunger. Several miles further along the road, Hartwig called a halt to their travels. Unfortunately, by this time, the pretty countryside had been left behind. Now they were in the midst of some half-hearted woodland, surrounded by spindly trees, many of them dead or dying, with some straggling bushes, tumbled rocks and a few stubborn blades of green here and there for added variety.
“Blimey,” Bibbie muttered, as their carriage eased to a creaking stop. “It’s about time. I’m ready to devour rabbit without the red wine gravy. I think I’d even consider it raw.” She contorted herself into a ladylike stretch. “Oooh, I’m all knots and tangles. Can we walk about for a bit, d’you think? I can’t possibly stay cooped up in this carriage until Lake Yablitz. And anyway, there is the small matter of
…” She frowned. “Personal comfort.”
Yes, indeed. They’d been bouncing their bladders for several hours, hadn’t they? But that wasn’t something that got mentioned in polite company.
“Look,” Bibbie added, pointing. “All the men are deserting us for the nearest convenient tree or clump of foliage. I’m telling you, I can’t possibly squirm all the way to the lake.” With a glance at the coachman, she added, with an eye roll, “If you please, Your Highness.”
It was true. The wedding party’s various gentlemen were indeed answering nature’s urgent call. Even the aloof Lanruvians weren’t immune. Melissande turned to Gerald. Curse the bloody coachman, stolidly sitting in his seat.
“I suppose it’s safe to go wandering off, is it, Mister Rowbotham?”
Gerald’s Algernon eyes lost focus as he plunged once more into his potentia. Waiting for his verdict, Melissande became abruptly aware of her own personal comfort issues, and saw that a few of the ladies in the wedding party had begun discreetly withdrawing to find some privacy, wearing expressions that said Certainly I Am Not Doing What Everyone Knows I Am Doing. In Fact I Am A Figment of Your Imagination.
Blinking, Gerald came back to himself. “You should be safe,” he said, his voice low. “I can’t sense any lurking thaumaturgics.”
“Praise the pigs,” said Bibbie. “Come along, Your Highness. I’ll safeguard your modesty if you’ll safeguard mine.”
Gerald leapt up to open the carriage door and hand them down to solid ground. Melissande shook out her green muslin dress then marched off, leaving Bibbie to trail minion-like in her wake.
Afterwards, having silenced noisy nature, she left Monk’s sister to amuse herself and took advantage of Hartwig’s preoccupation with a complaining Erminium to snatch a private word with Ludwig, hard to miss in peacock-blue velvet and perched on a slab of rock by the side of the road, contemplating the drab scenery.
As she approached, she found herself considering him through her recently acquired filter of secrets and lies.
Could he be our villain after all? Oh, how I hate suspecting people I’d much rather like.
Yet another reason for never becoming a janitor.
“Hello, Melissande,” Ludwig greeted her, so morose that he neglected the common courtesy of standing in her presence. “Everything all right? Your carriage snug and comfy and so forth?”
She nodded. “Everything’s lovely, Ludwig, thank you. I’m thoroughly enjoying myself.”
The look he gave her suggested he wasn’t convinced. “Very sporting of you to say so, I’m sure.”
She considered his carriage, where Ratafia was being kept company by damp Leopold Gertz. It seemed as though he was trying to distract Borovnik’s princess from her mother’s latest tirade.
And if he is, Melissande decided, it’s the first useful thing I’ve seen him do since we met.
“No, Ludwig, I mean it,” she said, turning back. “But I will confess I’m sorry we’ve missed taking the scenic road to Lake Yablitz. Family, eh? We can’t choose them. We can only survive them. Though I suppose…”Another glance at Ratafia. “That’s not always so, is it? I mean, you did choose Ratafia.”
Ludwig snorted, a sound of hollow amusement. “No, I didn’t. Hartwig and Norbert and that bloody hag Erminium, they formed the Committee to Find Ludwig a Wife and presented Ratafia to me on a gilded platter.”
For a moment, she couldn’t speak. So I was right the first time? The marriage is forced? But — all that billing and cooing! The island honeymoon! Good lord, how could I have been so bamboozled? “And you agreed to take her?” she said at last, faintly. Does Ratafia know? Oh, lord. Wait until Gerald finds out. “Ludwig…”
He shrugged. “Of course I agreed. How could I refuse? I’m Hartwig’s heir and I’m duty bound to do what he couldn’t, guarantee the family’s line of succession. And, well, since I hadn’t found a bride on my own I can’t really blame the old boy for losing patience and forcing my hand. Not getting any younger, y’know. I won’t see thirty-five again.”
“But, Ludwig, I thought-I was convinced-that you love Ratafia.”
“Love her?” Ludwig stared. And then, to her surprise, he broke into a sweetly shy smile that almost managed to make him handsome. “Dammit, Melissande, I adore her. Thought I made that clear, back on the barge.”
So she wasn’t wrong. Good. For a moment there she’d really thought she was losing her touch. Why wasn’t there another rock? She needed to sit down. “Oh. Yes. I mean, you did, yes, only-”
“Never expected to, y’know,” Ludwig confided. “Wasn’t even sure I wanted to. Love makes everything so bloody complicated. If you want a quiet life you steer clear of love, that’s my advice.”
Yes, well, she didn’t seem to be having any trouble on that score. “Yet you haven’t followed it yourself.”
Ludwig’s smile was sheepish this time. “Our family motto. Do as I say, not as I do.” He linked his fingers around one raised knee. “And I really do love my girl.” The sheepish smile crumpled into a frown. “It’s her bloody mother I can’t stand.”
And what was she supposed to say to that? “Well… perhaps you won’t need to see much of Erminium, after you’re married. You know. Being newlyweds, wanting your privacy. Matters of state. If you play your cards right you could keep her at bay for months on end.”
“That would be my cunning plan,” Ludwig said, with a swift, conspiratorial grin. “But don’t tell Ratafia. For some reason she’s quite attached to the old bat.”
“I won’t breathe a word, I promise. Ludwig-”
“Yes?” he said, after a politely patient moment. “Something the matter, Melissande?”
“No, no,” she said hastily. Come on, woman, spit it out. Too bad if you make Gerald cross. Are you here to help him, or aren’t you? “I was just wondering… everything’s all right, isn’t it? With the wedding preparations. Nothing’s been giving you cause for concern?”
Ludwig pulled a face. “What, aside from the crab puff catastrophe and your lady’s maid falling into the Canal and Brunelda having to abandon the wedding tour on account of her gout and the Lanruvians set to upset Splotze’s cherry cart and Erminium, you mean? No. Why would I be feeling concerned?”
She felt her heart leap. “Y’know, it’s funny, I do believe I heard mention of cherries. And the Lanruvians. But it sounded so peculiar I thought it must’ve been a mistake.”
“No mistake,” said Ludwig, morose again. “You got me thinking the other day, Melissande, about those bloody Lanruvians and what they’re doing at my wedding. So I tackled Hartwig.”
It was a struggle to keep her eager excitement from showing. “And what did he say?”
