The Dog Princess — Chapter IX
In which Philomena acquires a whole new set of worries
Queen Patricia’s court was known for its frugality, but her siblings were left more or less free to dispose of their gold as they pleased. Lady Petra, royal princess and the queen’s second sister, was fond of music and dancing and a lover of fine wine, and not a month passed when she did not organize a gathering of sorts. And a fine hostess she was, too: her parties were known all over the realm as well as the neighbouring ones. Alliances were forged and marriages were arranged, conflicts were resolved and new friends were made: queen Patricia was willing to overlook Lady Petra’s extravagance as long as her active social life brought advantage to the kingdom. Plus, she was known to enjoy a glass of wine or two herself.
For many years, the queen’s only worry had been Philomena’s staunch refusal to participate in any social event, which she now realised was directly tied to the incident with Hartwell and his brothers. When the invitation came for a new ball, thrown in honour of the visit from the Vale’s Master of Pleasantries, the queen was surprised to learn that Philomena and her husband would be glad to attend.
The queen had expected Philomena and Hartwell to resign to their married fate and make the most of the situation. What she had not expected was that the royal couple would go beyond being civil to each other at meals. Two months into the marriage, they could often be found sneaking around the castle and emerging sweaty-faced and glowing, which the queen hoped would soon result in an heir. They also seemed to be talking to each other more, and Philomena had taken to washing and combing her hair at least every other day.
“They are a good match, after all” said the queen to the king, triumphantly.
“I don’t know” said the king. “Something smells fishy.”
“I have nothing to wear!” Whined Philomena to her maid, surveying the gowns hanging in her closet, ten identical dark blue dresses of the same cut and fit with matching hats. “The ball is in two days and I have nothing to wear! My cousins will make fun of me.”
“M’lady wants me to procure a new gown for her?”
“There is no time. I cannot simply walk into a shop and buy a dress, now can I? I need to be fitted for new gowns. My mother was right, I should have done this long ago.” She sat down at her vanity and stared at herself in the mirror. “Nothing much I can do about my face, though” she mumbled, as Piper started to run a brush through her hair, which was showing considerable improvement in shine and texture since she had started to wash the sweat out of it. It still wasn’t the glossy chestnut mane of her mother, but it was looking a lot less ratty since she had started to braid it before bed, wrapping the ends of the braids around rags to curl them. This required help, but Piper was more than happy to assist.
“I wonder if I could have one of my gowns altered. Just a little, so that it looks more appropriate for a party.”
“I’m sure it can be done, m’lady. I will take care of it, if you let me.”
“Can you sew, Piper?”
“Of course, m’lady. But my mother is a seamstress and I’m sure she would be willing to help. You just pick out a gown and we’ll see what we can do.”
Hartwell came in when she was already in bed with a book, as usual. “All tucked in?” He asked, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed. He was still wearing his day clothes. What did he do up so late after dark? Was he going to visit some maid in her chambers? Jealousy caught her off-guard.
They had shared her room for a few days while the carpenters were fixing the bed in the master bedroom, but had resumed their usual sleeping arrangements as soon as the work was done. Still, Hartwell often dropped in for a chat before she blew out the candle. She had come to expect him, and was disappointed when he did not show up.
They practiced fencing almost daily, and Hartwell had started practicing archery, too. His aim was middling, but switching from his right hand to his left had improved his performance greatly.
He was happier, too, less testy, at times almost affectionate to her. They still hardly touched, if not by accident, and she had caught herself facilitating those accidents. If he had noticed, he did not let on.
“I’m worried about the ball” she confided. “All my cousins will be there and they’ll be looking great as usual.”
“I thought you didn’t care.”
“I don’t. I mean, I can handle conversation and I can hold my wine better than most women, but Aunt Petra’s balls are loud, nobody talks much and there’s a lot of dancing involved.”
“Can you not dance?”
“I’m about as good at dancing as you are at fencing.”
“I’m getting better at fencing.”
“I’m still terrible at dancing. I hate what my body does when I dance. So I don’t dance.”
“I love dancing! I’ll teach you, if you want.”
“No. You go ahead and dance with my cousins. Perfecta is the best dancer in the realm, you will enjoy partnering with her.”
“You don’t mind?”
“No, no, of course not.”
“All right, then. I’ll go to bed. See you in the morning.”
He jumped off the bed and left.
You should have stayed, thought Philomena. I should’ve asked you to stay.
