Read Online A Well-Timed Enchantment by Vivian Vande Velde - Free Book Online
Authors: Vivian Vande Velde
Tags: Ages 10 & Up
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stranger yet to Oliver. And if he was the closest thing she had to a friend here, she was the closest thing
he
had to a friend
anywhere.
Lady Marguerite insisted that Deanna join her in her apartments, where she spent the rest of the afternoon weaving a tapestry that she said was Hannibal crossing the Alps. Some of the women servants joined them to work on their own projects: embroidery or mending. They were all amazed that Deanna didn't know how to sew and insisted on teaching her. Deanna gazed out the window and watched the sun get lower and lower in the sky and wondered if she had made the wrong decision. "Was Algernon in the forest this morning?" she asked.
"That's hard to say," Lady Marguerite answered. "Algernon comes and goes. Why don't you ask him?"
"Maybe I will," Deanna said. She was sure she'd made the wrong decision.
Late in the afternoon, Leonard joined them. He brought a mandolin, which he played softly, but at least he didn't say anything embarrassing.
By evening she could make passable button holes; but while buttonholes were nice, they were hardly in the same class as saving human civilization. On the other hand, surely Oliver had everything under control. Surely. She hoped.
Oh, Oliver,
she thought as she went back to her room to freshen up before the evening meal,
be there. Please be there.
He wasn't.
NINE
Evening
Someone,
someone
—if she had three guesses, they'd all be Leonard—someone had put a potted rosebush outside her door. Deanna unsnagged her gown from it, then went inside and sat down on the edge of her bed in exhaustion. "Freshen up," they had said, as though it weren't her very life that was at stake. Lady Marguerite, after quizzing her on what might be Oliver's favorite color, had announced that she would change for supper. They were all supposed to meet in the Great Hall. Deanna threw down the silly conical hat in frustration.
Someone tapped on the door.
Oliver!
she thought. But before she could say anything, Baylen's voice called, "Lady Deanna?"
She told herself that the sinking sensation she felt was due to her need to compare notes with Oliver, to see what he had found out, and perhaps lay new plans. "Yes? What is it?"
Baylen entered. She still thought his droopy mustache gave him a romantic, melancholy air, but she had long since come to the conclusion that all of Castle Belesse's inhabitants were at least a little loopy. He said, "Father said to stop by when it was time to eat so you don't get lost getting to the Hall again."
"Thank you."
Mr. Tact.
"Did you find anything?"
"Find," he said, "anything?"
It was difficult for her to keep from shouting. "My quest."
"Oh," he said. "That. We didn't get started yet."
This time she didn't even try to keep her voice level. "What do you mean, you didn't get started yet? You've been gone all afternoon."
"Yes, but Father wanted to test Oliver out first See how good he is with a sword, that sort of thing. Why? Is there some rush with this quest thing?"
"Yes, of course there's a rush—what do you mean your father wanted to test how good he is with a sword?" she shouted all in one breath. She had a sudden awful thought. "You don't mean your father challenged him to a sword fight?"
Baylen nodded.
"Is he all right?" Deanna's heart pounded hard enough to hurt.
"Your Oliver? Sure. It was a friendly match. No training, but he's got good fighter's instincts—always lands on his feet."
Idiot,
she thought, now that she knew Oliver was safe. And just what did Baylen mean by
Your Oliver?
Baylen glanced out into the corridor. "Here he comes. Father set me to watch over him once he got sick."
"Who got sick?" Deanna asked, hoping, though it wasn't nice, that Baylen meant Sir Henri. But one look at Oliver answered her. For someone who was pale to begin with, he had no color at all, and his hair was damp around the edges as though he'd just rinsed his face.
"Him," Baylen said. "Been sicker than a dog most of the afternoon." He didn't see
he
had to a friend
anywhere.
Lady Marguerite insisted that Deanna join her in her apartments, where she spent the rest of the afternoon weaving a tapestry that she said was Hannibal crossing the Alps. Some of the women servants joined them to work on their own projects: embroidery or mending. They were all amazed that Deanna didn't know how to sew and insisted on teaching her. Deanna gazed out the window and watched the sun get lower and lower in the sky and wondered if she had made the wrong decision. "Was Algernon in the forest this morning?" she asked.
"That's hard to say," Lady Marguerite answered. "Algernon comes and goes. Why don't you ask him?"
"Maybe I will," Deanna said. She was sure she'd made the wrong decision.
Late in the afternoon, Leonard joined them. He brought a mandolin, which he played softly, but at least he didn't say anything embarrassing.
By evening she could make passable button holes; but while buttonholes were nice, they were hardly in the same class as saving human civilization. On the other hand, surely Oliver had everything under control. Surely. She hoped.
Oh, Oliver,
she thought as she went back to her room to freshen up before the evening meal,
be there. Please be there.
He wasn't.
NINE
Evening
Someone,
someone
—if she had three guesses, they'd all be Leonard—someone had put a potted rosebush outside her door. Deanna unsnagged her gown from it, then went inside and sat down on the edge of her bed in exhaustion. "Freshen up," they had said, as though it weren't her very life that was at stake. Lady Marguerite, after quizzing her on what might be Oliver's favorite color, had announced that she would change for supper. They were all supposed to meet in the Great Hall. Deanna threw down the silly conical hat in frustration.
Someone tapped on the door.
Oliver!
she thought. But before she could say anything, Baylen's voice called, "Lady Deanna?"
She told herself that the sinking sensation she felt was due to her need to compare notes with Oliver, to see what he had found out, and perhaps lay new plans. "Yes? What is it?"
Baylen entered. She still thought his droopy mustache gave him a romantic, melancholy air, but she had long since come to the conclusion that all of Castle Belesse's inhabitants were at least a little loopy. He said, "Father said to stop by when it was time to eat so you don't get lost getting to the Hall again."
"Thank you."
Mr. Tact.
"Did you find anything?"
"Find," he said, "anything?"
It was difficult for her to keep from shouting. "My quest."
"Oh," he said. "That. We didn't get started yet."
This time she didn't even try to keep her voice level. "What do you mean, you didn't get started yet? You've been gone all afternoon."
"Yes, but Father wanted to test Oliver out first See how good he is with a sword, that sort of thing. Why? Is there some rush with this quest thing?"
"Yes, of course there's a rush—what do you mean your father wanted to test how good he is with a sword?" she shouted all in one breath. She had a sudden awful thought. "You don't mean your father challenged him to a sword fight?"
Baylen nodded.
"Is he all right?" Deanna's heart pounded hard enough to hurt.
"Your Oliver? Sure. It was a friendly match. No training, but he's got good fighter's instincts—always lands on his feet."
Idiot,
she thought, now that she knew Oliver was safe. And just what did Baylen mean by
Your Oliver?
Baylen glanced out into the corridor. "Here he comes. Father set me to watch over him once he got sick."
"Who got sick?" Deanna asked, hoping, though it wasn't nice, that Baylen meant Sir Henri. But one look at Oliver answered her. For someone who was pale to begin with, he had no color at all, and his hair was damp around the edges as though he'd just rinsed his face.
"Him," Baylen said. "Been sicker than a dog most of the afternoon." He didn't see
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