Read Online Wisdom's Kiss by Catherine Gilbert Murdock - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Catherine Gilbert Murdock
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handkerchief—eau de toilette—fan—extra gloves ... So much responsibility! Not that the princess needed anything—nor doubtless would ever ask
her
—but Trudy intended to do her best. If the duty of a lady-in-waiting was to tender her lady assistance "before she even knows she needs it," then Trudy was probably more competent than most—or so she hoped.
The carriage door swung open. Ben exited, then Wisdom. Trudy found herself stepping down, a wigged footman at each elbow, as she struggled to remember if she should thank them.
No one—such a relief!—paid her the slightest attention. All eyes were on Nonna Ben, Princess Wisdom, and an older woman who cradled a lap dog and without moving her head managed to convey that she was looking down her nose at the newcomers: Duchess Wilhelmina. The entire court, it appeared, was arranged behind the duchess, gilded lanterns illuminating the jewels and gold of their ornaments. Roger beamed at his betrothed.
"Your Majesty. Your Highness." The duchess uttered this without emotion, though several listeners—queen and princess included—stiffened.
"Your
Royal
Highness," Roger interjected quickly, stepping forward. He bowed to Nonna Ben and kissed her hand. He kissed Wisdom's and beamed even wider.
Ben dropped her head, ever so slightly, toward Roger. "Your Grace—Your Most Noble Grace—may I proffer our heartfelt apologies for this catastrophe of a journey. I beg forgiveness and pray you take no insult from it, for 'twas the elements and the gods, not ill intent, that delayed us so."
The queen mother's words hung in the air. The crowd—or so Trudy sensed; certainly
she
held her breath—waited to observe how the duchess would react to such eloquent and earnest regret.
The silence was shattered, most abruptly, by Wilhelmina's terrier, who barked and squirmed for release, glaring behind Trudy. Turning with the others to ascertain the basis of this canine fury, Trudy observed Escoffier leisurely descending the carriage steps, his tail in the air.
"Think nothing of it," said the duchess, responding at last to Nonna Ben. "We would that you—valued safety—over speed"—here struggling to maintain her grip on the dog.
Tail swaying, Escoffier strolled to Ben's feet and sat. He licked one paw.
"How kind of you; your mercy speaks well of Farina, and the empire," Ben continued—her voice raised over the dog's hysterical barking, though her regal tone did not change.
The dog howled, and squirmed like a hooked fish, while Wilhelmina clung to his jeweled collar. Behind her, several members of her court were suddenly taken ill, or so it seemed from the coughing that broke out. Duke Roger—quite handsome, Trudy thought; even statelier than his representation—stroked his mustache repeatedly, and with unusual force.
Oh, Trudy realized at last, they're not sick: they're simply trying not to laugh! From the corner of her eye, Trudy could see Wisdom clenching her jaw, and the knuckles of the princess's fists were so white that her fingernails must have sliced her palms. Yet she otherwise remained serene—inordinately serene—and neither queen nor duchess, in voice or visage, gave the slightest acknowledgment of the great charade taking place between them.
"When word came of your approach, Your Majesty," Wilhelmina explained loudly, over the barking, "We were en route to the circus grounds to enjoy a performance by His Imperial Majesty's private troupe. We beg you join us..." The terrier twisted in her hands.
Escoffier took this opportunity to yawn—the longest yawn Trudy had ever observed. His pink tongue curled and his white teeth gleamed, and just for a moment, as his jaws closed, he looked straight into the eyes of the dog.
At once the yapping trebled in volume.
Ben smiled serenely. "That would be lovely." She turned to Trudy. "Lady Fortitude, perhaps you might attend to our trunks? It has been such a long journey—"
At last the terrier, losing control completely, bit
her
—but Trudy intended to do her best. If the duty of a lady-in-waiting was to tender her lady assistance "before she even knows she needs it," then Trudy was probably more competent than most—or so she hoped.
The carriage door swung open. Ben exited, then Wisdom. Trudy found herself stepping down, a wigged footman at each elbow, as she struggled to remember if she should thank them.
No one—such a relief!—paid her the slightest attention. All eyes were on Nonna Ben, Princess Wisdom, and an older woman who cradled a lap dog and without moving her head managed to convey that she was looking down her nose at the newcomers: Duchess Wilhelmina. The entire court, it appeared, was arranged behind the duchess, gilded lanterns illuminating the jewels and gold of their ornaments. Roger beamed at his betrothed.
"Your Majesty. Your Highness." The duchess uttered this without emotion, though several listeners—queen and princess included—stiffened.
"Your
Royal
Highness," Roger interjected quickly, stepping forward. He bowed to Nonna Ben and kissed her hand. He kissed Wisdom's and beamed even wider.
Ben dropped her head, ever so slightly, toward Roger. "Your Grace—Your Most Noble Grace—may I proffer our heartfelt apologies for this catastrophe of a journey. I beg forgiveness and pray you take no insult from it, for 'twas the elements and the gods, not ill intent, that delayed us so."
The queen mother's words hung in the air. The crowd—or so Trudy sensed; certainly
she
held her breath—waited to observe how the duchess would react to such eloquent and earnest regret.
The silence was shattered, most abruptly, by Wilhelmina's terrier, who barked and squirmed for release, glaring behind Trudy. Turning with the others to ascertain the basis of this canine fury, Trudy observed Escoffier leisurely descending the carriage steps, his tail in the air.
"Think nothing of it," said the duchess, responding at last to Nonna Ben. "We would that you—valued safety—over speed"—here struggling to maintain her grip on the dog.
Tail swaying, Escoffier strolled to Ben's feet and sat. He licked one paw.
"How kind of you; your mercy speaks well of Farina, and the empire," Ben continued—her voice raised over the dog's hysterical barking, though her regal tone did not change.
The dog howled, and squirmed like a hooked fish, while Wilhelmina clung to his jeweled collar. Behind her, several members of her court were suddenly taken ill, or so it seemed from the coughing that broke out. Duke Roger—quite handsome, Trudy thought; even statelier than his representation—stroked his mustache repeatedly, and with unusual force.
Oh, Trudy realized at last, they're not sick: they're simply trying not to laugh! From the corner of her eye, Trudy could see Wisdom clenching her jaw, and the knuckles of the princess's fists were so white that her fingernails must have sliced her palms. Yet she otherwise remained serene—inordinately serene—and neither queen nor duchess, in voice or visage, gave the slightest acknowledgment of the great charade taking place between them.
"When word came of your approach, Your Majesty," Wilhelmina explained loudly, over the barking, "We were en route to the circus grounds to enjoy a performance by His Imperial Majesty's private troupe. We beg you join us..." The terrier twisted in her hands.
Escoffier took this opportunity to yawn—the longest yawn Trudy had ever observed. His pink tongue curled and his white teeth gleamed, and just for a moment, as his jaws closed, he looked straight into the eyes of the dog.
At once the yapping trebled in volume.
Ben smiled serenely. "That would be lovely." She turned to Trudy. "Lady Fortitude, perhaps you might attend to our trunks? It has been such a long journey—"
At last the terrier, losing control completely, bit
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