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“Of course you are! But I was of course speaking of our painting! I will want to see an assortment of outfits from each of you for my approval, and we will need to discuss the topic of location. The rose garden seems like an enchanting setting, I would think! Yes, the rose garden it shall be! I have decided and there is no changing my mind!” He continued, “It seems every portrait that is painted with any real feeling is a portrait of the artist, and not of the sitter. I daresay you will both be magnificent!”
Tulip blinked more than a few times, trying to understand his meaning.
“Will you be in the portrait with us, Maestro?” she asked. Both gentlemen laughed.
Princess Tulip Morningstar didn’t know if they were laughing at what she had said because it was clever or dull witted, but she decided to act as though it had been the cleverest thing she could possibly have said, and hoped the topic would change to something she needn’t partake in. The Maestro, seeing the dread in her face, added, “Don’t fret, dear Tulip. I am so clever that sometimes I don’t understand a single word of what I am saying.”
To this the princess could reply only by saying, “Oh!” and then giggling some more, which seemed to please everyone, because they joined in her laughter.
The next morning the magnificent trio was found in the rose garden as the Maestro sketched and the lovers did their best to hold their poses without giving the master painter cause to become cross with them.
“Prince, please! This is supposed to be the happiest moment of your life and your face looks like you’ve been eating something sour! Why do you look so displeased? What could you possibly be thinking of that causes one’s face to contort so?”
The Prince had in fact been thinking about the last time he was in the rose garden, the night he parted with Circe. The events had become blurred in his mind and he was trying hard to make sense of it all. Surely Circe had brought along her wicked sisters and they had proclaimed he was cursed for his misdeeds. He was certain he hadn’t imagined it, but the curse itself, that was balderdash…wasn’t it? Sometimes he couldn’t help fearing it might be true.
The Prince was brought out of his thoughts by Cogsworth’s voice.
“Lunch is served.”
The Maestro slammed down his drawing coals, cracking them into tiny powdery bits. “Very well! I think I prefer to lunch in my room! Alone!” he huffed, and he stormed away, not uttering a single word of salutation to either of the happy couple. Rather than giggling, as we well know was Tulip’s way, she wilted into a heap of tears at being scolded.
The Prince, it seemed, had his hands entirely full with the fitful Maestro, his weeping Tulip, and her sour nanny. How would the rest of the week go?
The next day Princess Tulip Morningstar and the Prince shared a very quiet breakfast together in the morning room. She didn’t ask the Prince where he had been the night before, or why he had missed dinner. She had been forced to dine with the Maestro by herself and was mortified when he inquired where the Prince might have been and she couldn’t answer. She wanted to rail on him, honestly. Inwardly she was seething, but Nanny warned her never to let her anger show. It wasn’t ladylike to appear upset. Nanny said that far too often a woman unknowingly sabotaged herself when reproaching her husband for his misdeeds. To stay quiet and say nothing was reproach itself. But to say something only gave him reason to turn the situation onto the lady, claiming that she was overly emotional and making more of the situation than needed, causing him to become angry with her.
Tulip didn’t understand this entirely, but she did notice that Nanny didn’t follow her own advice, and thought perhaps that was why Nanny had never married. So she said nothing. The only sounds in the room were those of the dishes clanking and the birds singing outside the lovely morning room windows. The room was made entirely of paned windows and had the most breathtaking view of the garden. Tulip thought of herself in the future, sitting here looking out these windows by the hour, languishing. She wished the Prince would say something, anything to break this silence. She couldn’t think of what to say; anything she said would surely sound reproachful, and her tone—she wasn’t at all positive it could be tempered.
She just sat there drinking her tea and picking at her scone, waiting for him
to speak. And while waiting, she thought about that girl she’d met at the ball. Oh, what was her name? It was pretty, rather musical. She was probably the sort of girl who would rebuke the Prince in a situation like this—demand, in fact, to know where the Prince had been the night before. Then again, the girl with the pretty name was probably not the sort of girl a prince would want to marry. She sighed. Her thoughts were halted with the sound of his voice at last.
“Tulip.”
Her eyes brightened when she heard him say her name.
“Yes?” she responded, hoping he would at last make his amends for stealing away the previous night and leaving her alone to listen to the Maestro talk endlessly about his art.
“We’d better not keep the Maestro waiting.”
Her heart sank.
“Of course, shall we go to the rose garden?”
“Yes, I suppose we should.”
The rest of the week went on very much the same. Princess Tulip Morningstar pouted and played with the castle’s cat, the Maestro gesticulated wildly while making grand speeches about art at every opportunity, and the Prince escaped every evening to the tavern with Gaston the moment they were done sitting for the Maestro.
On the day of the unveiling of the new portrait, quite a little family party had been arranged. Tulip was in better spirits to have her mother, Queen Morningstar, there, as well as some of her ladies to attend her. Also present was Gaston, as well as a few other close friends of the Prince’s. King Morningstar of course couldn’t take time away from his duties at court but sent along lavish gifts for both his daughter and his future son-in-law.
After they had feasted well on what was one of Mrs. Potts’s most outstanding dinners to date, everyone went into the great hall to partake in the unveiling of the portrait. The great hall was filled with paintings of the Prince’s entire family, including portraits of him that had been painted from the time he was a wee lad.
“Ah! I see you’ve hung the Maestro’s portrait here in the great hall, where it belongs. Good choice, old man!” said Gaston as he looked upon faces he had grown up with.
“Yes, I thought it was better suited in here.”
A rather loud clearing of the throat was heard from the other side of the room, where the Maestro was standing. It seemed he thought the occasion required more ceremony and this idle chat was debasing the situation at hand. Thank goodness he wouldn’t have to suffer this company much longer.
“Yes, well, without further delay, I would like to share the latest of my greatest treasures.” With that, Lumiere pulled the cord, which dropped the black silk cloth that had been concealing the painting. The room erupted into a loud clatter of sighs and applause. Everyone seemed to be highly impressed with the painting, and the Maestro soaked in the praise that was being heaped upon him like an actor on the stage would—bowing at the waist and placing his hand upon his heart to indicate that he was very touched indeed.
