TFT 01 Beauty and the Beast (9 page)

“I see,” Prince Severin said.

Elle lowered her gaze and tried to gauge the prince’s reaction. He seemed
understanding
? His ears were upright and still, and his feline forehead was free of wrinkles. “Do you?” Elle asked, thoroughly intrigued.

“You find it difficult to move and recuperate in this year’s fashions. I will inform Heloise of the required change to your wardrobe.”

“Heloise?” Elle blinked.

“Is that all?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Elle said. She hesitated, wondering if she should attempt a curtsey. As much as she disliked his ethics he
was
a prince, and he
was
letting her stay at his chateau.

Prince Severin correctly interpreted her silence. “It’s fine. Good evening, Intruder,” he said waving a clawed paw at her.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” Elle said before she swiveled on her good foot and thumped her way across Severin’s study. She stopped to tussle with the door and glanced over her shoulder.

The cursed prince was looking down at his paperwork, but he was opening and closing his right hand, rubbing his thick fingers together as if feeling something. He flicked his eyes up and stared at Elle, who unabashedly smiled at him before she pulled the door open and slipped into the hallway.

Elle waited hopefully all night, but Emele did not mention her wardrobe, and the following morning she stuffed Elle into a mushroom skirted dress as was custom.

Elle ate her breakfast in her room and sorrowfully stared through the ceiling to floor windows of her room to watch it rain on the gardens.

“No going outside today, I suppose?” Elle asked Emele.

Emele shook her head.
It is just as well,
she wrote.

“Why?” Elle asked.

Before the ladies maid could write out a reply someone rapped on the door.

“Come in,” Elle said.

In walked the tall, storkish woman who had visited Elle once before. “Heloise,” Elle said, recalling her name.

Heloise snapped her head in a stiff nod. She tucked her arms beneath her chest and narrowed her eyes at Elle from across the room.

The door would have hit her when it swung open if the fast thinking woman hadn’t put a foot out, stopping it cold.

Bernadine bustled in, plump, round, and smiling as usual. She nearly knocked Heloise over with her round backside when she turned to close the door.

Heloise’s lips creased in a frown before she smoothed the bun her hair was pulled back into. The tall woman stalked across the room and stopped at the immense wardrobe that held Elle’s borrowed clothes. She flung the doors open and glared at the dresses with the same scrutiny she had given Elle.

Bernadine waddled over to Elle and Emele, affectionately patting both of them on the hand.

Emele looked off to the window before snapping a lace fan open and fanning herself. Her lips were pursed in a pout, and Bernadine shook her head at her.

Heloise stalked back across the room and opened the bedroom door before clapping. A gaggle of women stepped in, loaded down with bolts of silks, satin, velvet, and other costly fabrics.

Elle stood when one of the women beckoned at her before she started measuring her with a knotted rope.

“Prince Severin told you I require
less
elaborate dresses, yes?” Elle ventured.

She was completely ignored.

Heloise clapped again, and a buxom woman with stark red lips appeared with startling agility for one her size.

The buxom woman smoothed the edges of her mask as she trod a circle around Elle, plucking Elle’s crutches from her grasp. She grabbed Elle’s arm and pushed up the sleeve, inspecting Elle’s bare skin with pursed lips. The pushy woman then looked to the closest maid and pointed an accusing finger at Elle.

The maid descended on Elle, undoing the buttons and ribbons on the back of Elle’s dress.

Across the room Emele fanned herself with snappish gestures, frowning as she watched the maid strip Elle down until she was standing in nothing but her linen underclothes.

Elle shivered in the cool air. “Is this truly necessary?”

The buxom woman did not acknowledge Elle’s question, and snapped her fingers before again pointing at Elle.

A maid dashed forward, holding a bolt of bright blue silk up to Elle’s cheek.

Heloise frowned, and the pushy woman planted a hand on her ample bosom and recoiled in horror.

The next maid darted forward, replacing the soft colored silk with a tomato red colored velvet.

Heloise waved the maid on and the buxom lady cast a free hand over the eye holes of her mask.

Heloise and the dramatic woman—the chateau seamstress probably—reacted similarly to a shade of soft pink, egg yolk yellow, and a bolt of sunset orange cloth. (The seamstress almost stormed out of the room when the women tried an unflattering shade of smog black.)

It wasn’t until a maid held up a sample of mint green silk that Heloise and the head seamstress paused.

Heloise pressed her lips together as she considered the color combination. The seamstress darted forward to pull a lock of Elle’s black hair over her shoulder and on top of the cloth sample. The seamstress smiled and nodded once, and the maid scurried aside, clutching the bolt of mint green fabric like it was a priceless treasure.

Heloise and the seamstress also accepted a shade of lavender satin, a forest green velvet, and a swatch of blue-gray silk.

There were a number of samples left when a maid darted forward, holding a bolt of dark, rose red brocade.

The room—previously filled with noise of bustling skirts—hushed into the silence of stillness.

Bernadine—who was consoling Emele by the windows—waddled across the room to stand with Heloise.

The tall, angular woman threaded her arm through Bernadine’s. The pair looked like old friends, silently encouraging and supporting each other as they stared at Elle and the seamstress.

The seamstress arranged Elle’s hair on one side and carefully held the rose red fabric up to her hair, face, and finally her eyes.

After pausing for a few moments, the seamstress stepped back and took an unused slate. She wrote in dramatic, curling letters and presented her message to the room.
He will love it.

Elle looked around, confusion wrinkling her forehead as she watched the maids hug each other and beam. They clapped their hands and soundlessly giggled. The maid holding the rose red cloth sample preened as she joined the other maids holding the previously selected shades.

Heloise drew everyone back into order by clapping three times.

The maid with the knotted rope came back and measured Elle again as the seamstress swept out of the room, the maids holding the selected colors trailing behind her like ducklings.

By the time the maid measured every inch of Elle and recorded the measurements on a slate the other women had finished packing up the cloth samples. They left in a gaggle, leaving Elle—shivering—with Bernadine, Heloise, and Emele.

Emele flung her fan aside and helped Elle redress as Bernadine and Heloise held a conversation through slate exchanges.

“I don’t think it’s necessary to make
new
dresses for me,” Elle gratefully taking her crutches when Emele handed them to her after twitching the hemline of her gown into place.

It is
, Bernadine wrote.

Heloise added,
The payoff will be ample
.

Elle was unconvinced. She didn’t think the prince would stomach spending money on a wardrobe for a trespasser, but he
was
the one she sought out for help. He must have known what his servants were planning, right?

Elle sighed and carefully seated herself on a couch. “I find that I do not care for being ignorant and ill informed.”

Chapter 5

Prince Severin the Gardener

A few days later, Elle could not keep a smile off her lips. She was in the gardens with Emele—the inner gardens, the ladies maid refused to go anywhere near the hedge lined walkway where she and Elle had met the bratty village boy—walking with ease and wearing the first of her new dresses.

The design and mint green color immensely pleased Elle. Gone were the loose, puffy sleeves and the embarrassingly low neckline, which now cut off right below Elle’s collar bone instead of swooping further down her chest. The sleeves still ended at the elbow, but they were fitted and tight. The skirt was not puffed and required no underskirt unlike the previous dresses.

The dress allowed Elle to swing forward and walk confidently and with much more grace and quickness.

Emele was still off put that her choice of gowns had been removed from Elle’s wardrobe. However, even Emele could not deny that Elle no longer tripped, and her crutches did not slide out underneath her anymore.

“Today is a perfect day,” Elle pronounced, closing her eyes and briefly sunning herself. “The air is perfect, neither too hot nor too cold. My dress is fabulous, and Jock is getting exercise. Come, Jock!” Elle called, choosing a new pathway to explore.

Jock panted as he hurried after Elle and Emele. The girls wove their way through the gardens, stopping occasionally to admire a fountain or a pond.

“Look at that little pavilion on the other side of the pond, Emele. Do you know which path to take to get to it?” Elle asked, gesturing at a stone structure that was nestled into an inlet of the lily pad covered pond.

Emele didn’t seem to hear Elle. She was staring down one of the garden paths, rubbing the rounded corners of her slate.

“Emele?” Elle asked.

The ladies maid didn’t reply, but she broke into a grin when what appeared to be a burly red bear trudged down the path, swinging an empty bucket.

As the walker drew closer Elle realized it was not a bear, but a man. He was an impressive height and girth, and instead of following the tidy, clean-shaven look of fashion the man had a trimmed, wild red beard and short, curly red hair. The beard barely fit below his black mask, and Elle wondered how he kept himself groomed with the bothersome thing.

Jock ran two circles around the bear man, barking and jumping, before he grew tired and had to lie down in the shade. Emele greeted the man with scarcely less enthusiasm.
Elle
, she wrote.
This is Marc, chief gardener
.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marc,” Elle said. “The gardens are lovely.”

Marc bowed low.

His Highness Prince Severin greatly esteems Marc for his talent with growing and tending to flowers
, Emele wrote, her chest puffed with pride.

Marc bowed low, again.

“I see,” Elle said. “I imagine the royal palace does not have gardens half as well loved and tended to.”

Emele nodded, and Marc bowed low, as expressionless as a stone statue.

When we moved here there was almost nothing planted. Marc has worked diligently to amend that.

“His efforts have been greatly rewarded,” Elle said.

Marc, who was looking sideways at the pond, bowed low.

Emele started to write on her slate again, but Elle—noting Marc’s study of the pond—said for his benefit, “I am honored to meet you Marc, but please do not let us keep you from your work.”

Marc nodded once before he bowed low. He took his empty bucket and filled it with pond water. He plunged his hand in it and swirled the water before he turned to leave. He realized Elle and Emele were still present and bowed to them once each before he selected a different path and started down it.

Emele placed her slate over her heart and sighed deeply as she watched him go.

Elle smiled slyly. “You think he’s very handsome?” she teased.

Emele flushed—even her neck turned pink—and she hastily turned away from Elle. She nearly trod on Jock in her haste to start down a different path.

Elle laughed and followed her, enjoying the lightness of her dress and the warmth of the sun.

Elle was sampling her final course of dinner—dessert, which was a delicious bread pudding—when Prince Severin shocked her.

“Are you pleased with your new dresses?”

Elle swallowed her pudding wrong and coughed. She pounded her chest before sipping her tea. When she recovered she cleared her throat and said, “I beg your pardon. What did you say, Your Highness?”