Royal Fools

XVII. Betrothed

Emory stretched his neck as the carriage rolled down the road.

Henry, sitting beside him, frowned at him. "Where did you sleep last night?"

Florence choked on Mrs. Fitzwilliam's cookie and coughed beside Lucy.

"Did you spend the night in the tree house?" Henry asked. When Emory did not reply, he turned to Florence. "Did you?"

Florence cleared her throat.

"No," Emory answered, a brow arched at Florence. "She did not."

"Yes. She was in her bed this morning," Lucy said. "But what time did you get back? I waited for you."

Florence coughed a few more times.

"I'd like to know the answer, too," Emory said, eyes narrowed.

She smiled at Henry and Lucy. "I did not check." She could feel Emory's dark gaze from across the carriage.

"You also did not check if you left someone behind," Emory said through his teeth.

"I forgot," she said, taking the opportunity to taunt. "How does it feel to be forgotten?" His lips pursed, and she laughed. "Cookies?" she offered, giving him a cheeky smile.

His jaw twitched as he reached for a cookie. She chuckled, turning to the window. Then her heart hammered, the fear slowly creeping in.

When she arrived in Coulway months ago with Lucy, she didn't want to stay near the ports too long. And when Henry's men told them they were taking them to Birchfield, she readily agreed because it meant staying far from reach.

Now, here she was coming back. With no husband, and with her brother's ship just weeks away.

***

They arrived in Winfield with a welcome. Simon St. Vincent introduced himself again to both Florence and Lucy.

"You're not really a doctor, are you?" she asked.

"And you're not just the cousin, are you?" he asked back.

She smiled, turning to the woman standing beside him.

"My daughter, Ellise Dior, Duchess of Calbridge."

Florence suddenly felt smaller in front of the tall woman. Even more so as she looked down at her with her stoic hazel eyes, gauging her from head to foot before giving a small curtsy. "Welcome to Winfield, Your Highness."

Florence was too much in awe to give a spoken reply. The woman was in breeches, a white shirt, and a long, dark coat. She was one of Florence's imaginary heroines in the flesh.

A movement from the corner of her eye pulled her attention from the duchess. A little girl sashayed into the room with a large muffin in hand, her cheeks puffing as she chewed. Then she grinned, crumbs at the corner of her lips.

"And my daughter, Marion," Ellise said, never taking her eyes off Florence.

"Hello," Florence greeted, bending low.

"Do you have more of those muffins for the princess, darling?" the duchess asked.

Marion nodded and reached for Florence's hand.

Florence smiled and turned to Emory, who gave her a curt nod. Apparently, he had matters to discuss with the duchess that were not for her ears.

Lucy joined them, and as they walked away, led by Marion, she looked over her shoulder. Emory was already talking with the duchess, who then led him into another long corridor, Henry and St. Vincent close behind.