Part 12 (2/2)
Oliver slung the cloak over his shoulders and fastened the clasp.
”Get back under the bed,” Petunia murmured. ”And listen.”
”All right.” Oliver crawled back under the bed and lay still, trying to keep his breathing as quiet as possible.
”We all took a tour of the gardens this afternoon at Galen's insistence,” Petunia said, speaking in a quick, low voice. ”Grigori led us around, though, and I guess he just thought that Galen was interested because he used to be a gardener. But Grigori said the hothouses were boring, and we didn't go anywhere near them. So we'll have to try tomorrow-”
The doork.n.o.b rattled.
”My princesses, it is time for dinner,” called the maid through the door. ”Why have you locked the door? Open, please.”
Oliver bit back a laugh as Petunia said something under her breath that was not fit language for either a princess or indeed a young lady of any rank. He settled in for another nap, and wished he'd asked her to bring him something from dinner. It was going to be a very long night.
Prayer.
At dinner, Petunia could not stop thinking about how much Prince Grigori looked like the princes Under Stone. She had never thought about it before, but with his pale skin and black hair, he could easily be one of them. But did that mean that he was part of some larger plot? Was he helping the princes? How could she find out? She caught herself staring at him, eyes narrowed, and tried to concentrate on the food instead.
”Pet is always a bit out of sorts in the winter,” Pansy suddenly said, in a lighthearted tone that made everyone turn their attention to her. ”It's because she's so devoted to Mother's gardens, you know. Anytime she can't be out digging in the dirt she becomes restless.” Then she blushed. ”Not that she likes being dirty, or rooting around in the mud,” she clarified.
”Really, Petunia? I knew that you were fond of gardens, but I didn't know that you liked gardening itself!” Prince Grigori smiled at her, and Petunia gritted her teeth over the indulgent look on his face. He probably thought she liked picking flowers for table arrangements or some other ladylike pursuit.
”Yes,” she said, slicing a sprout in half with unnecessary vigor. ”I have been working with my father and our head gardener for several years in the hot houses, perfecting my father's hybrid roses. We're trying to create a yellow rose that blushes pink in the center.”
To her satisfaction, this did appear to impress the prince.
”You are creating new roses?”
She liked that he did not seem surprised that she was the one creating the roses, but more that such a thing was possible. She nodded her head graciously at him.
”Yes, we are. It's quite exciting, really.”
Orchid made a face. ”It's really not, unless you're also obsessed with roses,” she said.
Petunia glared at her.
”It's quite complicated,” Rose put in. ”And I do think my father is a little disappointed that the only one of us with a gift for gardening is Petunia. I think he hoped for three or four who would enjoy talking about grafting and cross-pollination.”
”I have never heard either of those terms,” Prince Grigori admitted.
”Then you should certainly have Petunia take you to the hot houses tomorrow afternoon and explain them,” Pansy said with an excessive amount of enthusiasm. ”And Galen and Heinrich should go with you; they've both worked in the gardens as well.”
Petunia finally saw what Pansy was doing and tried to kick her under the table but it was too wide. Pansy's voice was so bright it sounded strained. Petunia dropped her knife with a clatter.
”Clumsy!” she exclaimed, and s.n.a.t.c.hed it up again. ”I would be delighted to have a tour of the hot houses tomorrow, Grigori. But don't worry, I shan't think less of you if you aren't interested.” She gave a tinkling laugh that was just as false as Pansy's bright tones, then quickly changed the topic. ”Violet, would you like to play for us after dinner? The grand d.u.c.h.ess's pianoforte is very fine.”
”It is of Romansch make,” the grand d.u.c.h.ess said, as Violet and her husband, Frederick, exchanged eager looks. ”My granddaughter Nastasya plays, but since she went back to Russaka, there has been no one to play for me.”
”I would be thrilled to play,” Violet said, and squeezed her husband's hand.
”I would love to play a duet with you,” Frederick said, giving Violet a smoldering look.
”Oo-ooh,” said Poppy, and winked at them.
”Poppy!” Daisy poked her twin in the side.
”And perhaps you could play for us while we have a little dancing?” the grand d.u.c.h.ess asked. ”There are not enough gentlemen to go around, but then, dear Petunia does not dance.”
Petunia looked down at her plate and sighed.
”Petunia loves to dance,” Lilac told the grand d.u.c.h.ess. ”For quite some time, she was the only one of us who did.”
”But did your father not send a letter, Petunia, when you were at court stating that you were not to dance?” The grand d.u.c.h.ess's green eyes studied Petunia's still-red face.
”Petunia had been ill, we all had, but the effects hadn't lingered,” Hyacinth said quickly. ”Our father was rather overprotective of us, the way that fathers can be.”
”I certainly know how overprotective fathers can be,” the grand d.u.c.h.ess said, her voice dry. ”So if that is all it is, I would love to see Petunia dance with my Grigori later.”
Just when she thought her blush couldn't get any hotter, Petunia felt her face absolutely burning. And it didn't help that she could not stop thinking of Oliver lying underneath her bed upstairs. Suddenly her made-over gown felt awkward, and the lace at the decolletage was scratching her.
”Are you all right?” Heinrich murmured.
”I'll be fine,” Petunia said under her breath. She smiled brightly down the table at the grand d.u.c.h.ess, who was also watching her. ”Shall we have the dancing now, Your Grace?”
”Of course, dear Petunia,” the grand d.u.c.h.ess said with a chuckle. She rose and led the way into the drawing room.
Dancing with Prince Grigori was somewhat difficult. He was so tall that she had to either crane her neck to see his face or converse with his coat b.u.t.tons. It was easier to dance with Galen or Heinrich, who were tall but not freakishly so. Heinrich, despite the old injury to his leg, was a steady, reliable partner, and Galen was quite skilled. Violet's Frederick was the shortest gentleman present, but he liked to add little flourishes when he danced.
Daisy took a turn at the pianoforte twice, to let Violet dance with her husband, and Petunia even gave in to the grand d.u.c.h.ess's urging and played a valse, the only dance music she knew.
”Now look at my Petunia,” the grand d.u.c.h.ess said. ”She dances, plays music, gardens, and knits! Such an accomplished girl on top of all her beauty!”
Petunia didn't have to fake an embarra.s.sed smile, fanning herself to cover her warm cheeks-would the blus.h.i.+ng never stop this eve ning? Looking at Iris's face, Petunia could see that she was preparing some biting comment and frowned at her sister.
The grand d.u.c.h.ess held out a slender hand, elegantly gloved in gray silk. ”Dear Petunia, please help me to my room. I will retire for the night.”
”Of course, Your Grace,” Petunia said at once.
They all made their bows and curtsies, and then Petunia took the fine-boned hand and helped the grand dame to rise. They went out of the drawing room and past the stairs to the long hallway that led past the ballroom and the portrait gallery to the grand d.u.c.h.ess's apartments. As she rang for the grand d.u.c.h.ess's maid, Petunia tried to a.s.sume a casual air.
”Do you spend a great deal of time looking out at the gardens?” she asked as the grand d.u.c.h.ess sank down on a sofa near the windows.
Petunia couldn't help but notice that, while the curtains were open, the windows were not. She was sure that the windows of her own bedchamber were wide open, letting in the icy air. And Kestilan.
”Not during the winter,” the grand d.u.c.h.ess said with a chuckle. ”At least, not during the Westfalian winter. So bleak! Russakan winters, you remember, are a fantasia of snow and ice. But this?” She shrugged one silk-covered shoulder at the window. ”I don't know why my maid hasn't drawn the curtains to night.”
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