Hand-Me-Down Princess

by Carol Moncado

  He didn’t have to touch her for Lizbeth to want to shrink away in fear. He’d never struck her, even as an unruly child, but he knew how to manipulate her in other ways. It wasn’t until that moment, though, that she truly understood her mother’s timidity.

  Her father left, and Lizbeth sank onto the chair next to her. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks.

  She loved Malachi. Her father playing puppeteer may have led to the time they spent together, but he wasn’t the one who caused her to fall in love. She’d foolishly done that all on her own. Her heart broke as she watched the video feed of Malachi with his new bride on the balcony of the palace. Watched him gently wrap his coat around her shoulders to keep her warm. The tender way he’d kissed her temple. Her only solace had been found in the bottom of a carton of ice cream and a couple glasses of wine. In the privacy of her own apartment, she’d cried. A big, ugly cry when she’d determined she would move on, find someone else.

  Looking back she could see her father had been manipulating her interactions with other men. There were only a few on his approved list, and she’d dared to go outside it. She liked all of them. They were nice enough and likely would make good husbands to the right wife, but she’d known for years it wouldn’t be her, and her interactions with them only furthered that belief.

  Before her father could return and lecture her again, Lizbeth hurried to her car and pointed it toward her apartment.

  Maybe there she could find peace.

  * * *

  One more box. One more trunk. One more wardrobe in the back of the attic.

  Then Jessabelle would be done going through the things in her father’s house. She’d left these for last. These would be the hardest. Her mother’s he’d kept after her death. Most of the items that would remind anyone of her had been removed from the main portion of the house. Jessabelle had one picture in her room. Everything else had been either put in one of the three things in front of her or gotten rid of.

  Could she just have these removed? Moved to storage without going through them? Surely Malachi would know a place where they could be stored. He’d given her a credit card. He’d told her that, short of buying a life-size replica of the Titanic, she could buy whatever she wanted. The thought of movers coming in and taking these few things away unnerved her. What if they got mixed in with the things to be given away? A few heirlooms were being taken to the apartment in the palace. She supposed these could be taken there, too, rather than a storage unit of some kind.

  Jessabelle turned that over in her head. Perhaps. Would the king inadvertently come across them and snoop? Or send someone to do so on purpose?

  Unless she wanted to call Mrs. Padovano to help her, something she’d seriously considered, it was now or never. Before she could reach for the box, steps could be heard one floor down.

  “Hello?”

  Malachi’s familiar voice calmed the sudden fear of the unknown. Intellectually, she knew the guards stationed at the house at all times would make sure no unauthorized personnel would be inside.

  “I’m up here,” she called back. Cross-legged in the dim, partially-finished, still cobwebby attic and looking like something the cat dragged in. Just what every prince wanted in his princess. She didn’t stand up, didn’t turn around, just stared at the box in front of her.

  “What’s that?” His quiet voice held genuine curiosity.

  “These are my mother’s things. A box, a trunk, and a wardrobe. That’s all I have left of her.” She glanced up and noticed his suit and tie. For a second, she’d wished he would sit next to her and be her support as she sorted through the remnants of her mother’s life.

  “Is that all you have left to go through?”

  She nodded rather than give a verbal answer.

  Regret filled his voice. “I’m afraid it’s going to have to wait.”

  Jessabelle stifled a sigh, not surprised that something would keep her from finally finishing. A resigned tone snuck into her voice. “What did I forget?”

  “I’m to escort you to the Women’s Garden Club Extravaganza, look around with you for a bit, then make myself scarce.”

  “I don’t even know what that is.”

  “Apparently, there’s an annual floral arrangement competition. My mother usually judges it. She’s been under the weather the last few days, and the doctor says she has Influenza A. With her unable to attend, you’ve been tasked to take her place. It has been on your calendar for the last couple of days.” His voice held a gentle rebuke, for good reason. She avoided checking it as much as possible. “There’s a change of clothes downstairs for you, and Belinda is here to do your hair.”

  Belinda’s name just reminded her she needed to find her own assistant and stylist. “Fine.” She started to push herself up, but found Malachi holding out a hand to help her.

  Once standing he pulled her closer, but still not touching. “If this is all you have left, why don’t we have the packers and movers come tomorrow. We can be here to make sure they get everything in the right trucks, and we’ll take these back to the palace. I’ll make sure they’re secure, and you can look at them whenever you’re ready instead of needing to do it now.”

  She hesitated, then nodded. It made the most sense.

  He squeezed then released her hands and started for the stairs. “Then let’s get you ready to go.”

  Malachi didn’t follow her into her room where Belinda already waited.

  The other woman dropped a small curtsy. “Would you prefer to do your hair or get dressed first, ma’am?”

  “I don’t care. Whichever works best for you.”

  Belinda tipped her head to one side as she looked Jessabelle up and down. “I think it would be better to brush your hair out, get dressed, then do something with it.”

  Likely Yvette’s hair behaved better on its worst day than Jessabelle’s did on its best. She sat in the chair Belinda motioned to and tried not to wince as she tugged through the knots.

  “Have you ever thought about changing your hairstyle?”

  Jessabelle looked in the mirror straight into Belinda’s eyes. Was that a bit of fear or trepidation there? Why? Finally, she just shook her head.

  “I hope you don’t think I’m overstepping, ma’am, but I’ve seen what the family’s stylist can do. Stefan is a wonder. I think, if you let him, he could help you find a style you loved that also suited your face better. Not that there’s anything wrong with straight hair,” Belinda rushed on. “I just noticed the pictures downstairs. You’ve had the same hairstyle since you were young. I think he might be able to find something different that you love just as much.”

  She didn’t reply, just gave a slight nod. When Stefan showed up at her house three days before the wedding, she’d refused to see him. Maybe she should have let him in, but at the time she believed if they didn’t want her to marry Malachi just as she was, then maybe they would find someone else. Maybe it was time. “Would you talk to him about setting up an appointment for me?”

  Relief flooded Belinda’s face. “Of course. He’s terribly busy with his salon, but he always makes time for the royal family.”

  She hadn’t cared about embarrassing the family when she felt forced to join it. Now she was part of it, for better or worse. While she didn’t particularly care if she embarrassed the king-she’d always find a way-she did find herself caring if she embarrassed Malachi. It was time to do something about it.

  * * *

  Malachi noticed something different about Jessabelle when she came down the stairs. She wore the dress Belinda had picked out for her. Belinda had done something to her hair, pulling it partially back from her face, but none of that explained the difference he saw. In fact, he couldn’t really define what it was.

  “You look lovely,” he told her when she reached the bottom. He took her hand and lightly kissed her cheek, hoping she believed him, but knowing she would have a hard time doing so. “Your chariot awaits.”

  She didn’t even crack a smile, just
maintained a carefully neutral expression.

  “What?”

  “The last time someone said that to me was at the wedding.”

  At least she would tell him and not stuff it down. “Ah,” was all he said until they reached the front door. “This isn’t an actual chariot anyway.”

  “I didn’t think it would be.”

  Malachi waved off the chauffeur and held open the passenger door for her. He would rather drive. The driver would ride with the security team to take Jessabelle back to the palace later. He’d intended to try to hold her hand, but she kept them securely folded in her lap.

  A crowd waited for their arrival outside the Erres Conservatory and Belvedere, cheering as Malachi waved. Coming to a stop in front of the red carpet, he put the car in park and leaned toward his wife. “Let me open your door, okay?”

  She nodded, seeming to shrink back into herself. The change he’d noticed disappeared now that she was in full view of the public.

  He exited the car and buttoned his suit coat before waving again as he walked around to Jessabelle’s door. She took his offered hand. “Wave,” he whispered, hating that she likely felt like she was on display again.

  Her hand clutched his with a vise-like grip, but she waved to those gathered. Only a couple of small waves, but it was progress. He slid his hand out of hers as unobtrusively as he could, bringing it to rest on her lower back. With it there, he could use pressure to guide her toward the door. He’d hoped there would be an ante room of some kind so she could relax for a moment, but no such luck.

  The granddaughter of the Garden Club’s matriarch, rushed to their side, gushing about Jessabelle’s wedding dress. He slid his arm a bit further around her waist, trying to give her the support he knew she needed. She managed a small smile and said thank you.

  “Grandmother fell recently,” the girl went on. “She’s fine, but not as mobile as usual, so she asked me to greet you. I know she’s disappointed the queen won’t be here.” Her eyes widened, afraid she’d somehow offended them.

  Time to step in. “My mother wishes she could be here as well. Unfortunately, her doctor has restricted her activities for a few more days until she’s completely well.”

  “Oh, she understands that.” Her mouth opened as though to say something else then snapped shut. Finally, she went with, “This way please.”

  He kept his hand on his wife’s waist as they walked into the main conservatory. Filled with flowers of all kinds, it was a popular destination, especially in the winter.

  “Grandmother will be your tour guide through this area, but the flowers for the contest are upstairs on the belvedere.”

  Malachi had taken the tour through the conservatory several times before. Jessabelle politely asked questions and seemed to take it all in. One thing that bothered Malachi was the references to his mother’s favorite flowers. There seemed to be a special emphasis on what kinds the queen liked. Jessabelle replied politely to everything. Pride caused his chest to swell, just a bit. She likely would never love this part of her job, but perhaps she could learn to be good at it.

  They reached the wide, marble staircase to the rooftop garden. Malachi stopped at the bottom. “I believe this is where I say my good-byes, ladies. I’m told members of the male gender are quite unwelcome on the belvedere during this meeting.” He smiled to show there were no hard feelings.

  Jessabelle looked nervous but he squeezed her hand. “Have fun.” Leaning in to kiss her cheek again, he whispered, “You’ll be fine. I’m praying for you.”

  She nodded to show she understood and squeezed his hand back.

  “Ladies, it has been a pleasure.” Most of the entourage went up the stairs with Jessabelle in tow. She glanced back once, and he smiled to encourage her. When they disappeared through the doors at the top, he turned to leave.

  Waving again to the crowd, this time, he climbed in the back seat of the car his security team drove. Jessabelle’s security would stay with her, despite their gender. Everyone knew that was non-negotiable. Even the garden club matron wouldn’t press on that issue. He waved again as the car drove off.

  “Robby, keep me posted on how the event goes, would you?”

  “Of course, sir.” He spoke into the microphone on his lapel, requesting that he be updated regularly.

  The drive to the palace didn’t take long, and Malachi was soon in his office. He’d barely had time to log into his computer when the door swung open, hard.

  His father stood there, anger all over his face. “What have you done?”

  Malachi knew better than to let his father get to him. For the moment, he succeeded. “What are you talking about?”

  “Taking your wife to judge the garden club contest. You know what a disaster she is when it comes to speaking to anyone in public.”

  He needlessly rearranged the papers on his desk. “I didn’t make the arrangements. Mother was sick. I was told Jessabelle would be going. I told you she wasn’t ready for all this, but you insisted. First, you insisted I marry her without knowing how she would do under the pressures our family deals with. Second, after you knew she wouldn’t deal well, and I told you that repeatedly, you insisted she had to make public appearances. Now she is, and you’re mad. You can’t have it both ways.”

  “Do you know what will happen if she chooses the wrong winner?”

  The wrong winner? Was there a fix he didn’t know about? “Nope. Sure don’t. And I don’t particularly care. Jessabelle will choose the winner she believes to be best. That’s all anyone can expect her to do.”

  The king glared as only a king can do then turned on his heel and walked out.

  Malachi waited until the door to the rest of the palace had closed to slump in his seat. If only she would choose the right one because it was most deserving. Otherwise, this could get nasty. He did the only thing he could. He prayed for wisdom for himself, but mostly for Jessabelle.

  With the prayers still whispering in his head, he got to work.

  Chapter 20

  Jessabelle wished desperately Malachi had been allowed to stay with her. She had never done well with crowds. There was an undertone she didn’t quite understand. It was explained to her that calla lilies were chosen as the required element this year, as an homage to her wedding bouquet. She smiled politely and thanked them, not mentioning she’d had no idea what kind of flowers they were. The queen most likely had chosen it. It seemed that everyone wanted to talk to her. The only saving grace was that she wasn’t going to be required to give a speech.

  She walked around with the garden club matriarch, looking at all of the bouquet entries from the different categories of entrants. There were some from children ages ten to eighteen. The adults were divided into different categories based on their level of experience in the floral industry. Three entrants from each category had been chosen as finalists by the other judges. She would be the final judge, determining the winners as well as choosing a “best in show” bouquet.

  When everyone else began to file out for the luncheon, Jessabelle was left alone at the table containing the fifteen finalists. The categories were only numbered, giving her no way to know which was which, though she could guess which ones the professionals had done. According to what she’d been told, the calla lilies were provided to all contestants but any other flowers had to be procured on their own.

  Her judging sheets were on a clipboard. With a deep breath, she went to the first one and scored it based on her interpretation of the requirements and how much she liked each one. She then slipped the sheet with the score tallied under each one. The winning bouquet from each category would have its score compared to the other winners with the highest becoming the best in show.

  Finally finished, she walked toward the door where they’d entered. One of her bodyguards stood there, a serious expression on his face. “Is everything okay?” she asked, wishing she knew his name. Even after two months, her protection detail rotated through the available guards until someone settled on
the best combination.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered.

  “You seem unusually somber.”

  “My mother spent many years being a part of this group,” he offered as way of explanation but provided no more details.

  Jessabelle turned to look over the room filled with fragrant flowers. “My mother was a member for a time. I’m not sure why she chose to end her membership. I just know it was long before her death.”

  He simply nodded and reached for the door, holding it open for her to pass through. She was escorted to the luncheon by the granddaughter who had greeted her when she’d arrived with Malachi. The rest of the guests stood as she entered the room, a smattering of applause following her to her seat.

  It took every ounce of extrovert-ness she could muster, but she managed to converse with several women at her table. The roiling in her stomach meant she didn’t eat as much as she probably should have, but before long, the bouquets of all of the finalists were brought in. Someone, she wasn’t sure who, started by announcing third place in each category, reading the description provided by the contestant, including bits of information about the flowers included. She then announced the second place in the first category followed immediately by the winner. Each of the winners came to stand by their bouquet as it was announced.

  “And now, for the Best in Show grand prize. The winner of this accolade will receive a lifetime membership to the club, photo of herself and the winning bouquet on the Wall of Fame, and the waiver of entry fees for the competition for the next five years.” She opened an envelope. Jessabelle found herself holding her breath, though she already knew who the winner was. “This year’s Best in Show goes to the winner of the Young Adult amateur category!”

  For several seconds, there was no sound in the room. Shock covered many of the faces before they pulled themselves together and began to applaud, rising in their seats. The young woman who walked toward the podium looked speechless, tears streaming down her face.