Tournament of Ruses

by Kate Stradling

  “I don’t think so,” said Flora. “Viola carries that title quite easily.”

  He smiled, and his fond eyes sought out his beloved’s figure among the other dancers. The adoration in his expression struck a pang of envy in Flora’s heart—not that she desired his adoration, but she wondered what it might be like to be so adored.

  “I knew the two of you went well together the first time I saw you,” she said, which brought his attention back to her.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” he replied with a wink.

  “You are going to propose to her properly, aren’t you? Or have you already? It’s not really fair just to ask her in front of a crowd like this.”

  “She’d probably turn me down if I did,” he answered. “I learned my lesson the first time. I do delight in ruffling her feathers when I get the chance, but I promise you I’ll be entirely proper in my formal proposal to her.”

  “Then you haven’t already spoken?”

  “She couldn’t very well start wearing an engagement ring before the Prince has officially chosen his consort. No, I promise you, I’ll give her the proper attention she deserves. It won’t be very long from now, either. I’ve already received her father’s approval. And her mother’s,” he added with a grin.

  Flora had been under the impression that Mrs. Moreland was kept insulated from most of the palace affairs, including the Prince himself. “When did you speak with her?”

  “Oh, weeks ago. I had to coerce her into becoming one of the interview judges, but don’t mention it to any of the other Morelands. Even the Prime Minister doesn’t know it, unless she’s told him. I’d wager she’s kept our little conversation to herself. She’s a very canny woman, though she sometimes likes to pretend otherwise.”

  Since Flora had already witnessed evidence of this, she did not doubt the Prince’s assessment.

  The dance ended soon afterwards, but rather than return her to her original position, Will left her by the head table. Flora thought it was a curious place until Mrs. Moreland suddenly joined her.

  “My dear, you do that dress such justice,” the woman declared as she grasped both of Flora’s hands. She herself was the epitome of grace in a deep blue gown and an array of sparkling diamonds.

  “I haven’t had the opportunity to thank you, Mrs. Moreland,” Flora replied gratefully. “It’s such a beautiful dress. I thought my maid was going to faint with ecstasy over it, and it certainly deserves the praise it’s received.”

  “A dress is no better than its wearer,” said Mrs. Moreland. “It’ll bring you luck, I promise.”

  “Are you feeling better, Miss Dalton?” asked the Prime Minister as he joined his wife.

  Mrs. Moreland echoed the question. “Oh yes, dear. How are you feeling?” She had visited the infirmary once with her husband, though of course she believed that Flora was recovering from over-exhaustion.

  “I’m always better in the evenings,” Flora assured her. A brief glance toward the Prime Minister showed that he understood how true those words were.

  “Are you prepared for your appointment tomorrow?” he asked her quietly.

  “I’ll be there on time,” she promised, though it was a dodge of his actual question.

  “No business,” Mrs. Moreland chided them both playfully. “This is a party, Nicholas, and I’ll thank you to keep your conversation to purely frivolous topics. Flora should be dancing the night away, not worrying about whatever little appointment you’ve made for her. And here’s Charles to answer our need!”

  Flora’s heart skipped in her chest, and she was acutely aware of a body just behind her as Mrs. Moreland said, “Charles, be a good son and take Miss Dalton for a spin around the dance floor. The next song’s just begun, and I do so hate to see amiable young people standing idle.”

  “That’s—” Flora started to protest, not certain she could survive a whole dance with him. She paused, realizing how ungrateful she would sound. Warily she raised her eyes to Charlie’s face, only to discover a perfectly calm expression there.

  “Miss Dalton, shall we?” he asked almost indifferently, and he held out a hand to lead her. Flora complied and, with a polite goodbye to the elder Morelands, she joined Charlie on the dance floor.

  “Am I back to Miss Dalton again?” she inquired, fearful of his answer.

  He barely glanced down at her. “I couldn’t very well call you Flora in front of my mother.”

  “No, of course not,” she murmured. That might give the wrong impression, she thought.

  The dreaded awkwardness settled in full force on her shoulders. It became even worse with Charlie’s seeming indifference. They danced in silence, as though they were only the merest of acquaintances, as though he were no different than any of the dozens of other partners Flora had danced with all night. Calm as Charlie was, Flora’s nerves were in utter chaos just by his mere proximity. The phantom memories stirred and replayed in her mind, summoning a deep blush to her face.

  “I can’t take it anymore,” she finally declared. They had circled only halfway around the room.

  Charlie stopped in the dance. “Do you need to rest?”

  “No. I need to talk. This silence is going to be the death of me.”

  Conscious of drawing too much attention, he resumed the graceful dance steps. Georgiana had once said that Charles Moreland was a good dancer; Flora knew now what an understatement that was. “What did you want to talk about?” he asked diplomatically. “The weather?”

  She frowned at him. He pretended not to notice. She looked away in frustration. “You saved my life,” she said. “I at least have to thank you for that. And apologize. I’m sorry you were put in that position.”

  He really did stop dancing then. Flora looked up in confusion, only to have his expression confuse her all the more.

  “I don’t know what Will told you, exactly, but I know of no reason for you to apologize to me,” he said. “If anything… well, perhaps we can agree to view it as a necessity of the moment and leave it at that.”

  At long last he looked uncomfortable, which was some consolation to Flora’s nerves. Her fluttering heart, on the other hand, felt like someone had just crushed it in an iron grip. She rallied her spirits enough to respond, “That’s probably wise. At any rate, thank you.”

  He nodded, and they resumed their turn around the dance floor.

  “Are you ready for your test?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes,” said Flora certainly.

  He frowned. “You sound awfully confident.”

  “Nothing of the sort. I’ve simply resigned myself to the worst and prepared accordingly.”

  He made no response. The dance ended, and he didn’t even get a chance to lead her off the floor, for her hand was immediately claimed by the unfortunate lad she had abandoned at Will’s appearance. Charlie disappeared into the crowd and Flora, determined not to reveal the gloom within her, resumed her dancing.

  As midnight drew near, a restive atmosphere coursed through the company. The Prince was to announce his final choice, and even though most knew which direction his inclination went, the anticipation still ran strong. People whispered of an upset, with many furtive glances directed Flora’s way. She was hard-pressed not to laugh outright when she realized their meaning, the cat’s eye at her waist notwithstanding. When at long last the orchestra’s final strains faded and the Prime Minister stood, Flora sidled up to her father and affectionately slid her arm through his. He patted her hand. Silence blanketed the room as everyone breathlessly waited for the speech that was to come.

  “As you’ve all no doubt anticipated, we are privileged to hear a few words from our illustrious ruler, the Eternal Prince,” said Nicholas Moreland, his voice pitched to fill the whole room. “First I should like to say some things myself. This has been a most impressive event. As my wife fondly told me, we’ve always known that the caliber of women in Lenore was very high, but these past few weeks have proved that beyond our expectations. I would like to p
ropose a round of applause for all of the participants and to request the Prince’s indulgence that we make this a sort of tradition—not the search for a consort,” he added, and the audience laughed, “but an event that highlights the many accomplishments of our fairer citizens. Women of Lenore, I salute you.”

  Applause filled the banquet hall. Flora felt proud to be part of it, for in that moment she felt the strength of the women around her. It gave her hope for the coming years; she even wondered how soon she could convince her father to petition Parliament to open the Royal Academy to female applicants. Hers had not been the only scholarly submission to the exhibit, and certainly they could populate a school for the arts.

  The applause died as the Eternal Prince stood from his chair. Flora wondered if Will had resumed his rightful position. To her knowledge, the Prince had not moved for the duration of the evening, so she could only conclude that this was still his magic double.

  He raised his hands in a welcoming salute. “I would echo the Prime Minister’s words,” he spoke in an authoritative voice. It sounded like Will, but Flora still had her doubts. “This has been a most impressive display. The citizens of Lenore have every reason to be proud, men and women alike. As for the choice you’ve all been awaiting, I’m afraid it was never much of a choice to begin with. I have loved Viola Moreland for what seems to me like ages. Such it is. Prime Minister, with your approval, I would very much like to marry your daughter.”

  Nicholas Moreland had returned to his seat. His wife’s hand clasped in his, he inclined his head in a very aloof nod.

  “And that effectively ends the evening,” declared the Prince. “Good night to all!” To the astonishment of his audience, he swept majestically from the room.

  The Prime Minister and his wife gathered their wits enough to follow, and one of the sentries by the door had presence enough to cry a commanding, “All hail the Eternal Prince of Lenore!” as he passed.

  “Hail!” the crowd responded in a resounding cry.

  “That’s it?” said a woman near Flora. “We don’t even get to see them join hands?”

  “That’s the Eternal Prince,” her companion replied. “He always does as he pleases.”

  “But what if Miss Moreland refuses his offer of marriage?”

  “He wouldn’t have made it if there was any chance of her refusing, my dear.”

  Flora silently agreed with this. Viola had disappeared from the room—when, Flora did not know—and that alone lent to Flora’s guess that the Eternal Prince that had just left was indeed a double and not the real thing. She supposed that Will was taking advantage of the opportunity and hoped that he was giving Viola the consideration that he had promised. They would be happy together, of that she was certain.

  Really, they already were. It made her suddenly yearn to be half so well attached, a very un-Flora-like thought indeed.

  Chapter Twenty-Six: Final Examination

  I’m amazed at how much work I’ve put in for the last month, all leading up to this very morning. After everything that’s happened and the resolution I’ve come to, I think I probably could have saved myself a whole lot of trouble. There are many things I would trade, but good and bad, everything has brought me to this point.

  I’m off to the palace now to seal my fate. This was mostly fun while it lasted.

  Flora arrived at Mr. Sterling’s desk precisely at the appointed time. He tipped his head toward the Prime Minister’s office in a mute command for her to enter. She crossed the threshold to view Prime Minister Moreland behind his desk. He was standing, waiting for her to come.

  “Close the door behind you please, Miss Dalton.”

  She did so. A handful of papers sat upon the desk, several diagrams imprinted upon them. Prime Minister Moreland stooped to retrieve a flask of magic from a drawer. “Are you ready to begin, then?” he asked.

  “No,” said Flora. At his startled glance, she explained, “That is, I did prepare quite faithfully, but I’ve come this morning to refuse the test, not to take it.”

  Carefully he set the flask on the desk. “You wish to forfeit?”

  “Yes,” she said, and part of her seemed to die with that single word.

  “And the well?”

  “The Prince has already assumed a primary bond with it. I’m no longer needed. After everything that’s occurred, it seems to be the most logical course for me to withdraw. I discussed the matter with my dad, and he agrees with me. He’d prefer I not continue in such a perilous position.”

  “I must admit I’m disappointed,” he told her.

  “Are you?” she asked, surprised. “I would’ve expected you to be relieved, what with one less burden to worry about.”

  “After all the trouble the well has brought you, I cannot say I’m surprised by your decision, but… are you sure?”

  “Yes,” said Flora. In truth, she hadn’t completely made up her mind until that very morning, but she had considered it all week. The previous evening’s ball seemed like the perfect end to her adventures. “It’s probably not my place to request anything, but I’d be most obliged, Prime Minister, if you would encourage my dad to return me to the countryside. I’d prefer to live in peace there.”

  “You don’t believe you can live in peace here?” he asked.

  “That’s not been my experience so far,” she said with a nervous little laugh. “Look, I really am sorry for the trouble I’ve caused. I didn’t mean—” Her voice caught in her throat. She had not expected to cry, but the tears stung at her eyes.

  “Miss Dalton—” Nicholas Moreland began hesitantly.

  She interrupted him. “I should probably start packing. Good day, Prime Minister.”

  She left then without his leave, smiled to Mr. Sterling as she passed, and hurried on her way before she could change her mind. It hurt more than she had expected, but she knew she could re-accustom herself to her old life. It would seem dull at first, but she would embrace it as the perfect means to nurse a crushed heart back to health.

  The morning air was crisp as she returned home. Her father was meeting friends across town, and it was the servants’ day off, so she was coming to an empty house, which was a rarity for her. The solitude would do her some good, she thought. She would have a good cry and then start packing her things.

  Her front steps were before her, her hand was actually on the railing when she heard someone calling her name. She turned in astonishment to discover Charlie sprinting down Lords’ Row towards her. Flora, paranoid of witnesses in the windows of the surrounding houses, hurried up the stairs.

  “Are you running away?” Charlie demanded angrily as he bounded after her. “What on earth are you thinking?”

  “Only of the warmth of my house,” she replied. She would have retreated indoors, but he caught her arm.

  “What about your exam?”

  “I’ve already seen your father.”

  “He said you refused it!”

  “So I did,” said Flora, and she pulled her arm from his grasp. Her heart couldn’t take this sort of an altercation, not right now. “I realize it might seem ungrateful of me. I know what work you and Viola and Edmund took in helping me, but I do think this is for the best. Thank you.”

  Charlie followed her inside, to her increasing dismay. “What’s this rubbish about you returning to the countryside?”

  “It’s where I’m from,” said Flora, fighting exasperation. “It’s not very shocking that I’d want to return, especially given everything that’s happened.”

  “You can’t!” he declared. “I won’t allow it!”

  Flora’s spine stiffened. “And what say have you in the matter? You’re not Prime Minister yet!”

  “Oh, for—” He broke off in a growl of frustration. “You ruin everything, you know?” He raked one hand through his hair and began to pace.

  She shouldn’t have expected kindness from him. The disappointment stung too much. In defense, she retreated behind her frostiest civility. “Thank you,” she
said.

  Charlie stopped and stared. “That’s not what I meant. That really wasn’t—” He growled again. “Have you ever noticed how everything I say to you seems to come out hostile, or outright mean?”

  “I have noticed that, actually.”

  “That’s because I’m a complete idiot!” He began to pace again irritably.

  Flora didn’t know how to respond. Under the circumstances, she most wanted to sit down. Thus, she unceremoniously crossed to the front parlor and dropped stiffly into the nearest chair.

  Charlie followed her with a sheepish expression. “Look, would you please reconsider? My father said he’d still hold the exam if I could convince you to come back. I know that you’re prepared—you’ve learned more in a month than any of us did in our first year. You’re capable of it.”

  “Capability has nothing to do with it,” said Flora quietly. “I don’t want to. It’s not worth it.”

  “Even after all the help you’ve received? My own contribution you can discard, but Edmund and Viola gave their time freely—”

  “And I will properly convey my apologies to them,” Flora interrupted.

  “Is this because of the tournament? I told you the Prince was going to marry Viola!”

  “I knew he was going to,” Flora retorted. “Stop accusing me of trying to win over his affections! This has nothing to do with the tournament and everything to do with my quiet, orderly life being completely upended! I want to go back to the way things were before!”

  “You can’t do that!”

  “I can certainly try!”

  He suddenly sank down onto the sofa next to her and buried his face in his hands. There was a quiet desperation to his actions, one that Flora related to all too keenly. She remained silent, unsure of how to react. This proved to be the correct choice, for it gave Charlie the chance to collect his thoughts and blurt what was really on his mind.