The Lady and the Wish Page 2

“I came here for summer holidays long ago with my family, but this time I joined Fidelio for business reasons. I’m glad I did.”

  I shifted until I could just see his bearded face in my peripheral vision. An unwelcome warmth in his voice told me this person might be outliving his usefulness. “I begin to wonder if I am outgrowing the place,” I said flatly.

  “I thought that once. But after a few years away, its charm has returned.”

  He was staring at my face. Nothing new. Men often stared, usually not the ones I wished to attract. If this person said one word about my eyes or lips, we would head straight back to the crowded fields.

  “The horses will be out of view for a good ten minutes,” he said. “Plenty of time to climb that stair to the garden.”

  Hmm. A man who had the sense to keep his admiration to himself was rare. What could it hurt? I really didn’t want to go back and risk bumping into Max again. “Lead on.”

  He offered his arm, and this time I laid my hand on it rather than slipping it into the crook of his elbow. Better to maintain formal distance if he was having ideas.

  He paused at the base of the stairway beside the waterfall, which looked just as I remembered with water trickling down over large, smooth stones. Overhanging trees kept the stairs cool and dotted with sunlight. If only I held Fidelio’s arm, I thought, this setting would be perfectly romantic. Although Fidelio, if he spoke to me at all, would talk my ear off about foals, pasture, wingspan, proper feed and training . . . Bird-nest Beard’s silence was refreshing.

  We climbed three sets of stairs and crossed two terraces before finally reaching the Vetrician garden. Its graceful statues were bright in the sunlight, the lily-covered pool dimpled and sparkling, the stone planters overflowing with color and romance. Vine-draped trellises and espaliered trees lined the stone walls, and the mosaic tiles under our feet seemed to dance with sun-dapples. Again I thought how perfect this would be if Fidelio were with me.

  “Now that is what I call a view,” my escort remarked.

  “Worth the climb, I guess.” I sat on a bench and heaved a sigh.

  He removed his suit jacket and laid it neatly over the back of the bench. From the corner of my eye I watched him walk toward the pool, hands shoved into his trouser pockets. He desperately needed a haircut as well as a shave. The ancient-epic-hero look did nothing for me.

  He turned around, and I got an eyeful of that beard. It draped to the middle of his chest, a tangled wilderness of black hair. Shuddering a little, I inadvertently glimpsed his eyes . . . and my heart skipped a beat. I wasn’t at all prepared for their expression, something alarmingly close to adoration.

  Oh dear.

  I tensed and started to stand. Too late. He perched on the edge of the bench beside me and leaned forward, trying to look into my eyes. I averted my face, but he caught my hand in his.

  “Gillian.” His voice was tight and pitched a little deeper than before. “I know this is abrupt, but I don’t have a lot of time. I came here—to Faraway Castle I mean—to meet you. But I didn’t expect anything. I certainly didn’t expect you to be so . . . so amazing. Until today, I thought you didn’t care for the idea. And I couldn’t blame you! I mean, we first met three weeks ago. It’s crazy, I know. Maybe I’m crazy too. But I’d really like to think . . .”

  Didn’t care for what idea? What could he possibly mean?

  I gaped at him, not believing my ears.

  What? Seriously, what?

  I should have taken the opportunity to interrupt, should have found some way to stop him before he went on. But before I could think of anything coherent to say, he was off again like a racehorse out of the gate.

  “I’ve never met anyone else who made me feel this way, so the question has never come up before.” He gave a nervous, almost disbelieving laugh, looking briefly off to one side before meeting my gaze again. “But I’ve got to ask . . . will you marry me? I know the circumstances aren’t the most romantic, but I—”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  Maybe it wasn’t the best thing to say, but the words burst out of me, followed immediately by a peal of laughter. The color drained from his face, but I only shook my head, tugged my hand from his grasp, and laughed again.

  “You’ve got to be joking! I don’t know you from anybody and . . . and seriously? Never in a bazillion years would I marry a man with a beard like a giant bird nest!”

  The echo of my laughter faded, leaving the two of us sitting there on that shaded bench amid the gentle trickle of the waterfall and rustle of trees. I dared a glance at his face . . . My stomach turned. Suddenly, nothing about this situation seemed funny anymore.

  I stood up, fluffing out my skirts, and scowled at him. “Why did you have to go and spoil everything?”

  There was a tense silence before he spoke. “Spoil everything? I thought . . . I thought you knew . . .”

  “Knew what?” I snapped. “I know as much about you as I ever want to know. Who does this? Who goes around proposing to girls he’s only just met? Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. If my father knew—”

  “Your father?” The words came out sharp enough to make me jump. He rubbed a hand down his face, pulling at that awful beard. The way he frowned under all that thick hair was unnerving, and I was glad he didn’t turn that frown on me. It wasn’t as if I’d done anything wrong!

  “Look, Mr. . . .” I blanked. “Whatever your name is.” As I drew a steadying breath, his eyes flashed toward me then away again. “It’s nothing against you personally,” I continued in a reasonable tone. “You’re probably a nice man. A very nice man. You’ve been useful today and decent company. But you’ve got to understand—to me, you’re just Prince Fidelio’s old cousin with the mountain-man beard.”

  The silence that followed set my nerves on edge. I couldn’t stand looking at him, so I turned my gaze to the tranquil pool dotted with blooming lilies. I could see him from the corner of my eye, however, just sitting there. Emotion sort of rolled off him. Was it anger? Sadness? Amusement? I couldn’t tell, which was a bit nerve-wracking. I mean, he was a good sort of person, now that I thought about it, but who could tell what he might say or do? Men are unaccountable.

  Forget this. I turned and took one step toward the path back to the castle before he said, “I’m sorry for offending you, Lady Gillian. I didn’t mean any insult.”

  I stopped as though frozen, my back to him. Something in his voice made me want to turn, to offer some softening remark. Not an apology—what did I have to be sorry for?—but something.

  Instead, I ran straight back to the castle, breathing hard . . . and not entirely from exertion.

  When I reached my family’s suite, I slipped inside and leaned against the door. My chest ached in a weird way I couldn’t place. What had just happened? I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. When I tried to remember what had been said by either of us, it got jumbled up in my head. Which was stupid.

  One thing I did know: Thanks to Bird-nest Beard’s unexpected proposal, I had missed the entire Cup. I wasn’t there when Fidelio landed. If he won the race, I wasn’t there to congratulate him.

  I pulled myself upright and gave my head a quick shake. My run from the gardens had loosened the pins holding up my hair, and twisty curls dangled alongside my cheeks. Huffing softly, I stepped into the bathroom and took a look in the mirror. Darn it, my complexion had gone all red and puffy! Muttering angrily, I pulled out a compact and applied a furious cloud of powder to my nose, chin, and forehead, but no amount of dabbing and smoothing could hide the siren glow underneath.

  I couldn’t run down to the field and join the celebrations looking like this. Maybe I could wait a little, let my skin cool, let my pulse resume a normal rhythm, and then attend the post-race banquet in the dining hall? But without Bird-nest Beard at my side, there would be no escaping Prince Max if he spotted me again. Which he would, no doubt of it.

  Nobody else I knew had the guts to face down Max.

  I told him he had a
mountain-man beard.

  Thinking about it gave me a headache. So, I wouldn’t think about it anymore. Besides, it was his own fault. If he didn’t want people commenting on his ugly beard, he shouldn’t grow one in the first place! Seriously, how hard was it to come by good razors in Vetricia?

  I put the man out of my head and ordered room service. When it arrived, I picked at the food, then spent a lonely evening mulling over my options. Everything had suddenly become much more complicated than it was before, and I needed to put my mind in order. My parents returned late and didn’t bother to check on me. No doubt they thought I was partying with the rest of my crowd. And why wasn’t I?

  I considered the question from many angles as I got ready for bed that night. Ultimately, I decided that the real problem at the heart of all this wasn’t Bird-nest Beard at all, but Prince Maximilian of Petrovce. If not for him, I wouldn’t have needed someone to act as a buffer, and I wouldn’t have had to endure that embarrassing episode by the waterfall.

  “Just my luck,” I muttered as I slid into bed, pulled the white comforter up to my chest, and switched off the bedside lamp. “Things were going so well up until today!”

  Brave words. As I buried my head in my pillow, highlights of the past three weeks at Faraway Castle played through my brain. There weren’t many.

  So maybe the situation wasn’t all Max’s fault. Raquel—my so-called best friend—was a big part of the problem too. If she had just let me and Fidelio be alone now and then, it could have been the prince who proposed to me today, not his cousin. Princess Eddi was another impediment. She and Fidelio were both crazy about horses, the flying and the regular kind.

  I rolled over, adjusted my pillow, and closed my eyes tighter. But pictures from the past three weeks kept flickering behind my eyelids: Raquel, Fidelio, and Eddi riding together on the resort trails, swimming together, laughing together, while I trailed along behind, doggedly trying to be part of their group. At my heels followed Bird-nest Beard, ever faithful.

  Funny . . . I hadn’t noticed at the time. But hindsight showed me he’d been there all along. In every one of those memories that should be of me and Fidelio, there was the cousin and his beard. He’d proven a decent tennis partner, I had to admit. In mixed doubles, he and I had swept every game against Fidelio and either of the two girls. Against all comers, actually. And on those interminable horseback rides into the mountainous countryside, when the other three urged their mounts at unpleasant speeds along those bumpy trails, Bird-nest Beard always rode at a more sedate pace back with me. He was the one who rescued me when my stupid horse decided to graze and pulled me out of my saddle onto its neck—upside down.

  Had I clung to him afterward, beard and all? A sick feeling in my belly told me that memory was real. But I would have clung to anyone at a time like that! A sensible person wouldn’t have read anything into it.

  I sighed, rolled onto my back, and opened my eyes. A bit of pale late-summer moonlight poured through a crack in the curtains, illuminating the old-fashioned plaster decorations on the ceiling overhead.

  “It should have been Fidelio riding with me,” I whispered into the uncaring silence. “It should have been Fidelio playing as my doubles partner.”

  A suspicion dawned: Maybe Fidelio had known about his cousin’s plan to propose to me. Maybe that was why he’d kept away, denying his own interest in favor of his poor old cousin . . .

  I sat upright in bed. A smile spread across my face, and the tightness in my chest suddenly loosened. Of course! That had to be the reason. And now that Bird-nest Beard was out of the picture, Fidelio and I could snatch some time alone together. Once Fidelio was my fiancé, his cousin’s proposal would be only a blip in my memory.

  It was all so clear. So simple, really. I lay back down on my pillow and breathed a sigh of relief. All the clamorous thoughts in my head quieted as a clear plan of action took shape. Smiling, I rolled onto my side and closed my eyes.

  Tomorrow . . . I’d fix everything tomorrow.

  In the morning I entered the main dining room with high hopes and a rush of nervous trepidation. But a quick scan of the room told me that Prince Fidelio, his bearded cousin, and Raquel were absent.

  Both relieved and irked, I approached the table where Princess Eddi sat with her companion. “I guess I’m early today,” I said, trying to sound friendly. “Where is everyone?”

  The companion smiled at me, but Eddi raised her brows and gave a little puff of disdain. Being a princess, she could get away with such rudeness, but I really wanted to smack her. I sat with them anyway, hoping Fidelio would take the empty seat next to me when he came down.

  A plate of cheese blintzes, crisp bacon, and fresh fruit magically appeared before me on the table, along with a glass of water and a cup of tea. The kitchen staff knew what I liked, though I had never met or even seen them.

  “It’s always so weird, how things just appear like this,” I said, spearing a grape with perhaps a little more aggression than was called for. “I don’t think I’ll ever be comfortable with magic, no matter how many times I visit Faraway Castle.”

  “You’re possibly the only person I know who could complain about having her every need or desire spontaneously pop into view,” Princess Eddi said, giving me one of her snide little looks. “Maybe you just miss the satisfaction of bossing people around.”

  “Eddi!” The companion swatted the princess’s arm, a bold gesture for a commoner like her. She gave me an apologetic look. “I completely understand, Lady Gillian,” she said. “Magic can be strange to those of us who aren’t born with it. Even the best magic is a little bit frightening.”

  I sniffed and directed my attention to my plate. I’m sure she meant well, but I didn’t want the companion thinking I wanted her sympathy or needed her help against the likes of Princess Eddi. I could fight my own ladylike battles without the aid of a servant, thank you very much.

  Suddenly I sat bolt upright, a forkful of blintz hovering in midair. My stomach tensed.

  Was it his cologne? More likely it was the wave of hubris that preceded him wherever he went. Whatever triggered the premonition did me no good, however, because like a rabbit in the sights of a gun, I froze.

  “Lady Gillian, are you all right?” the companion inquired.

  Before I could even think to answer, a large hand slid around the back of my neck to turn my head just as another hand pulled out the vacant chair. Max’s blue eyes stared directly into mine.

  “Good morning, gorgeous.”

  He leaned in as if to kiss me, but I shoved the bite of blintz into my mouth at the last possible moment. “Good morning,” I mumbled with a full mouth. My mother would have keeled over at the sight, but etiquette was the least of my worries just then.

  I glimpsed the irritated flash in his eyes before he released me—after a slight downward shove—and sat down. “Your Highness. Miss de Callen.” He nodded to each in turn.

  I sat perfectly still, hardly able to swallow.

  Eddi made no secret of her disapproval. “When did you get here?”

  The prince flicked a black brow, but a plate loaded with food appeared, distracting his attention. “Early yesterday. Congratulations on winning the Cup.”

  “Thanks,” she mumbled, her lip remaining curled even as she finished her tea. “Are you ready to go, Beatrice?” she asked her companion.

  “Not yet.” The companion drew another muffin from the basket on our table. “The muffins are particularly good today. Have another?”

  Eddi flashed a glance my way, heaved an annoyed sigh, and accepted a muffin. I glanced at the companion, who gave me a nod. The servant had better social awareness than the princess. Go figure. I may not have appreciated her help before, but in that moment, I was grateful they didn’t leave me alone at the table with Max.

  “Where did you run off to during the Cup race?” the prince asked me bluntly.

  “I-I had a sudden headache,” I said. Not entirely falsely. “I was sorry to miss
the big race and the parties afterward.”

  “Spend this morning at the beach with me, and all will be forgiven. Trefontane checked out last night.” Max’s deep voice held mocking triumph. “Perhaps events didn’t go as he wished.”

  “Because Fidelio didn’t win?” Eddi asked with an edge to her voice. “He came in a close second. And I doubt Raoul cared much. He was interested in . . . other things.”

  Sensing her penetrating gaze, I concentrated on pulling apart my breakfast.

  “Yes, when I saw Trefontane in the crowd, he seemed focused on something other than the races.” Max turned toward me. “Little did he know the prize he desired was far beyond his reach.”

  I stared fixedly at my plate as if it might rescue me. But I was defenseless. Maybe I should have humored Bird-nest Beard, kept him near while Max was around.

  Eddi’s companion changed the subject, but Max changed it again, goading Princess Eddi with something viciously civil—his usual. Taking the opportunity, I placed my napkin on my plate and quietly excused myself. Max and Eddi were going at it in frightfully courteous tones by that time, and only the companion acknowledged my exit with a nod.

  I hurried to the door and along the hall toward the lobby. Just as I’d expected, Max followed me. “Gillian, wait!”

  The sound of his sharp bark, like a hunting dog at my heels, made me quicken my pace, and I made it to the lobby before he caught up with me. He couldn’t do much to me with so many guests passing through, either headed outside to various activities or toward the chapel for the Sunday service.

  To my surprise, Prince Fidelio was at the front desk, dressed in what looked like traveling clothes. Just as I opened my mouth to call to him, Max’s hand closed on my shoulder and spun me around, not hard enough to attract attention, but with masterful force.

  “Smart people listen when I call to them,” he growled, keeping that hand, and me, in place.

  “I’ve never been known for my smarts,” I managed to say before his thumb pressed just below my collarbone, rubbing as if in a caress. I swallowed hard and avoided his eyes.