Page 53 of A Fragile Enchantment

It was only when he met her eyes that she realized she’d been staring at him. He raised an eyebrow, as if to say,Well?It did very strange things to her stomach. Perhaps she should have chosen a different gown, if only to keep her wits about her more.

Flushing, she curtsied. “Hello, Your Highnesses, Miss Lacalle, Sinclair.”

“You’re here at last,” Sinclair said warmly, with a tip of his hat. “Are you enjoying the liveliest party of the Season?”

“About that,” Niamh said. “What is going on?”

“The last of the staff quit,” Rosa said blandly. “I confess I’m relieved. My father is too busy yelling at the prince regent to hover over me.”

“What? But…”

The only staff members left were Avlish. Yet, last night Sofia had worried they were overworked and frustrated, taking on all the duties of the Machlish servants who’d already left. It left the nobility completely stranded. Niamh did not know whether she wanted to laugh or weep. All she could imagine were the skies opening up now, just to secure this party’s slot in the gossip columns as the worst of the Season. It would be a disaster. All of these bright day dresses hemmed in mud, all of those silk slippers soaked through, all the hard-won paper curls drenched and ruined. She shuddered at the very thought of wet silk.

“We were just about to fetch the croquet set ourselves,” Sinclair said. “Care to join us?”

Rosa dug her fingers into her temples and sighed deeply. “Oh, joy. You were serious.”

“It’s too dreary to sit around doing nothing,” Miriam chided.

The prospect of exerting herself any further sounded onerous, but the alternative—doingnothing—was far worse. “How fun!”

Together, they began their trudge across the lawn. At the farend, behind a thin curtain of mist, Niamh could make out the faint shape of a shed.

The clouds continued to thicken overhead. Sinclair laughed as a gust of wind nearly tore off his top hat. “Think you can do anything about this, princess?”

“Why would I alter perfection?” Rosa asked serenely.

Miriam fell into step beside Niamh and took her arm. Her face glowed with the chill in the air, and in the humidity, her curls loosened into a halo around her. “I feel as though I haven’t seen you at all since we arrived. You look like a dream today.”

“Thank you!” Niamh beamed. “How are you faring?”

“Well enough, I suppose.” She sighed. “Although I have to say, I feel somewhat out of place here. Burdensome, if I’m honest.”

“Who could ever think of you as a burden?”

Miriam lifted a shoulder. “No one has ever said as much. But the feeling has never gone away. In Castilia, Rosa’s decision to associate with me prevented her from making relationships that might have made her life in court easier. I cannot allow myself to get in her way again here.”

“Anyone would be fortunate to spend time with you.” Niamh rested a hand atop hers and squeezed. “Besides… I’d say the king is far more effective than you are in preventing Infanta Rosa from making friends here. Did you see him at dinner last night?”

Miriam snorted. “True enough.”

“Still,” Niamh continued, “I understand how you feel about not wanting to get in the way.”

Out in front of them, Kit and Rosa walked arm in arm through the grass. Of all things, jealousy tugged at her.Foolish,she scolded herself. She had always known his situation—and her own station.

Miriam did not answer. She was busy watching the royal couple with a strange, wistful glint in her eyes. She exchanged a look with Niamh before hurriedly glancing away.

The five of them stopped before the shed. Weeds grew wildaround its foundation, and a rusted padlock hung from its moldering door. It looked like it hadn’t been opened in half an age. Sinclair rattled it and regarded Rosa with a sly smile. “You may need to zap this thing off, Your Highness.”

Kit retrieved a rock from the ground and smashed it over the lock. It fell to the ground in a shower of rust and hardened mud.

“Well,” said Sinclair. “That works, too.”

Rosa hummed pensively. “Certainly less of a fire hazard.”

“And more style,” Miriam agreed.

Kit pulled open the doors. Inside, a collection of long-abandoned tools littered the floor, along with an old croquet stand filled with mallets. Each one’s handle was banded with a stripe of color. He hauled it out and stepped back so the rest of them could choose their colors. Rosa snatched up the black one covetously. Niamh selected the pink one with a rush of pleasure. Pretty things, no matter how small, never failed to delight her. While Sinclair began hammering the iron hoops into the earth, Niamh hefted her mallet. She swung it in a wide arc, testing its weight as it scythed through the air.