Page 89 of Twisted Kings
“A princess who has nothing to wear but a paper bag,” she says, going back to it. “I can’t imagine not having anything but one to wear. Wouldn’t it be cold in the winter?”
“Probably, but that’s why you put on an extra bag. At least one more, and I think it’d be okay,” I say, and she bursts into a giggle, like a tangle of tinsel on the wind. She grins, happy and wide.
“I think plastic would do better, but it’s bad for the environment,” she says, feeling her way around that last word carefully so as not to mispronounce it.
“Probably,” I reply. “Are you done with breakfast?” She looks at the table-top then nods. “Good, you’ve got piano after you’re dressed for it, and then I thought we could go look at the horses.You’re not riding today because your boots are being mended, but we can still stop by the stables. What do you think?”
She blinks slowly, thinking it over.
“I’d like that,” she says, “I want to see the new foal. But first can we see Daddy?”
I raise an eyebrow at her.
“Father,” she corrects herself. I wish I didn’t have to ask her to change how she spoke, but the rules are rules. It’s weird to think I’m bringing up a future leader of America, because she might get married to some other duke, or even, if she was lucky, a young prince.
And if she was really lucky, the whole system that forced girls like her to grow up to early in to proper young ladies would be absolutely demolished. The chances of that happening were next to none, though. We’d sooner see a democratic voting system put in place. They’d tried it in Canada shortly after World Word Two, but the royal house still held firm there even to this day.
The high-born families in America wouldneverstand for such an upheaval to their way of life. I couldn’t even imagine who would be on the backs of our coins? A Prime Minister? Absurd.
I sleep-walk with her to the music room. Madeline tags at my side, humming softly to herself, what I’m pretty sure isFour Seasons, maids scurrying about their duties to clean and dust every square inch of the house as they do each day. It’s exhausting to watch them, and I hold Madeline’s hand down the slippery marble steps. She looks up at me, eyes sparkling.
“Uncle Benedict says that when I’m a bit bigger, he’ll teach me to slide down the bannister,” she says in a conspiratorial, lowwhisper.
“I only hope I’m no longer here so I don’t have to get in trouble on your behalf,” I reply and she giggles, her fingers clenching on my hand. We get to the duke’s office door and she knocks, too fast and too loud. It echoes in the hallway, and when she reaches for the doorknob, it refuses to turn. The door is locked. A frown crosses her small face.
Footsteps sound off, and I see Mrs. Harris walking toward us.
“I’m afraid that the duke has been called away,” she says, her gaze on Madeline’s face. “We’ve got you all to yourselves for the rest of the week, my lady.”
Madeline’s mouth opens in protest, a look of sadness haunting her eyes, and it hits me that he didn’t even say goodbye to her.
So much for how he deeply he cared for his daughter. He couldn’t even be bothered to say goodbye before leaving—
A cool feeling rushes over me, followed by a blast of heat.
Our kiss. Did he run because he kissed me? He’d forbidden me from saying anything to anyone. And after everything else we’ve done, everything he’s done to my body, a single kiss is what did it? It broke him? Oh god. Is it my fault that he’s fucked off? My stomach clenches, gut miserable. I hope it’s not visible on my face.
“That just means we can have more fun without as many rules,” I say to Madeline, and Mrs. Harris looks like she’s sucked on a lemon. I shoot her a quick look. “Right? Hard to be sad he’s gone when we set up a fort in the music room and sleep there tonight. What do you think?”
Madeline’s expression shifts fast from disappointment to joy.
“Yes, oh yes, please?” She looks at Mrs. Harris, who sighs, and gives in.
“I don’t see why not,” she says reluctantly, and Madeline squeaks, letting go of my hand to take off running down the hall toward the music room. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Mrs. Harris says to me, looking displeased.
“Her mother’s gone and her father left this morning without saying a single word to her,” I say, noticing the flicker of shock on Mrs. Harris’s face.
“You—”
“He told me,” I say, sharp and quick. “And I wish you would have said before I agreed to this job.” Not that it would have changed anything. I still needed the employment, and the protection it was affording me.
“Does it matter? There are many great families with a dead mother or—”
I cut her off with a raise of my hand.
“Dead is different from deserted,” I remind her and start walking toward the music room. Mrs. Harris follows me, like a puppy on a lead. She seems to be shocked that the Truth has been revealed to me. That now I’m in the inner fold, and somehow it happened before she could approve of it.
“It was several years ago. Lady Madeline was barely out of her bassinet, and certainly doesn’t remember the Duchess,” Mrs. Harris says as we pause outside the music room. Inside, Madeline is already tearing into the couch cushions, pulling them apart from the couch, classical music playing on the stereo system. Well, if she doesn’t get her practice in today, at least shecan listen to something educational. That’s a compromise I’m sure she’s willing to make, given how much she loves Bach.