Ficawesome Gift Echange- TAKE 2
Title: Hoodwinked
Written for: Quantum Fizzx
Written By: Psyche001
Rating: M
This story was initially written for the Ficawesome Gift Exchange, as a gift for the lovely & talented Quantum Fizzx. It then went on to be nominated for The Glory Awards and won first place in its category: The Mini Glory Award. See here - .
Thanks to all who nominated and voted. And thanks to the judges at The Glory Awards for their choice! Happy reading!
The story was created based on this promt (submitted by Quantum Fizzx): Our pair meet when one is brought to the other as part of an arranged marriage. They may or may not be the one to whom the other is promised. Preferably a period piece.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot of Twilight, are the property of the author, Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended.
Special note to QM: I was thrilled when I received your name, esp after having read your work! I have spied on you a little in FFA (in a nice way of course :p) and learned that you prefer to laugh than cry when reading a story. So in understanding that you enjoy reading for fun, I decided to step away from my usual angst obsession and attempt something light and funny, as my gift to you. I've never written anything like this before, but I hope you do enjoy! There are two chapters :)
~Hoodwinked~
Chapter 1
Setting: The year 1367 - Canterbury, England.
In a not so quaint setting in the not so modest Swan Manor, which stretched across acres of lush estate atop a not so humble hilltop, lived the Grand Duke of Canterbury Lord Charles III, his wife - the Grand Duchess of Wales, and their four beautiful daughters. To foreigners and those none the wiser, the Grand Duke and Duchess had it all. Their four daughters you see, Lady Victoria, Lady Rose, Lady Alice and Lady Isabella, had faces that dropped many a male caller to his knees; skin that made the creamiest milk more akin to sand paper, blue blood that effortlessly ran the delicate lines of their veins and eyelashes that could bat a zephyr into hurricanes.
Then why, one might ask, were such creatures who had everything from wealth to beauty, not married? Why weren't noble Princes and Dukes, Counts and Marquises, Viscounts, or at the very least...Barons, lining up to take the hand of one of the Swan Ladies? And why were numerous contracts of marriage, some of which were written as early as birth, all nullified before their teenage years?
The answer lay in the Dwyer Curse...
Despite the effort Lord Charles put into keeping it a secret, the legend of the curse made its way like gossip on wings throughout the kingdom. It did the same in generations past and hurt any chance of marriage for his daughters.
According to the curse, any man married to a female descendant of Lord Phillip Dwyer would not live past the age of 50, and despite his virility, would never bear a son.
As it happened, Lord Charles had only daughters, and before him; Lord Samuel, Lord William, Lord Michael and Lord James V, who had all been contractually betrothed to women of the Dwyer lineage, had only daughters. Also noted, though perhaps grossly overstated, was the fact that not a single one of them lived a day past 50.
Coincidental...or fated as it may have been, in the year 1367 when things were now modern and taking a tailspin into the Renaissance, people took such things to heart! Worse yet was the fact that Lord Charles was just six days shy of his 50th birthday and had an awful knack for sneezing.
People in the kingdom observed him imperviously for signs of death, waiting to witness the fall of yet another unfortunate bastard, especially too since at that time the Black Plague was prominent. He was sure to die any day now. It was his fate. He was married to a woman of the Dwyer lineage.
Should he dare sneeze or cough in public, the entire kingdom erupted in panic. Peasants and nobles alike pushed their way forward for a view of the dying Duke, women fainted and dramatic wailing ensued.
"Dear Lord, it's happenin'!" Some would wail. "The Duke! The Duke is dying! The Black Plague has finally gotten 'im!"
But then the Duke would wipe the snot off his nose and stick his sword in any face too close. Peasants and nobles would stare and gawk in disbelief, holding their breath, frozen, until their faces turned blue, just waiting for him to take to the ground...for good. Though it never happened that way and only after it was clear that he wasn't in fact dying would people go about their merry business and leave him alone.
Until of course he sneezed again.
Heaven forbid Lord Charles ever caught the flu. The royal bishop lost count of the number of times he was summoned to the Duke's bedchambers. Demanded of the bishop were scented oils and holy water, his prayer books and a recitation of the Duke's last rites.
The Duke had received his last rites at least seven times by the time his youngest daughter, Lady Isabella, was 18. It got to the point where, after having heard them so often, he recited them to himself.
At the time however, the world was ignorant about things like hay fever. Still, it should have been obvious that the Duke went into sneezing fits only when he wore his Grand Hat; the one with the prominent feather that hung off the top and dangled auspiciously over his nose. Only then did his sneezing fits ensue, and even though the tickling feather posed an obvious problem, he insisted on wearing the bloody hat.
The poor Duke. He had no time for worry of things like curses and such. All he ever worried about were his daughters who had as much hope of becoming betrothed as gnarled witches with warts on their noses. In fact, it was a gnarled witch who started it all in the first place.
Centuries before, Lord Phillip Dwyer cancelled a marital contract between his daughter and the witch's son, of course on realizing that the boy's mother was a witch. She cast the bitter spell on the Duke's daughter and all those that would come after her. Generations long after would pay for the embarrassment and pain brought upon her son and she made no secret of letting everyone know what she had done.
Or at least...so it was told, for it was simply a tale.
Truth or not, fear was instilled in the hearts of all men in the kingdom, especially since the past men who had been tricked into marrying women of the Dywer lineage had all died before 50 and never bore any sons. The testimonies went back decades.
What ever was Lord Charles going to do?
He had managed to hide the curse when his daughters were still very young and contracts for marriage were blissfully made. However, once news of the curse came around and made its way through the kingdom, one by one, the contracts were all maimed.
"It's ridiculous!" Lord Charles yelled one night over a glass of spirits.
In his irritation he waved his hand in the air and caused some drink to spill over the rim. "It's nothing but bloody hearsay! A lie! It's all in their heads, I tell you! All in their heads! Look at me! Do I look cursed to you?"
"My Lord," his wife, Lady Renee, cautioned him. "You're spilling on the rug."
"The rug?" He gasped, turning on her with eyes larger than the rim of his glass. "Isn't your heart the least bit troubled about the fate of your daughters? The rug?"
The Duchess laid her knitting in her lap and reached over to smother the flame of the candle at her side.
"It's late," she said, getting to her feet to reach for the lantern nearby. "My Lord needs his rest so that he may face the troubles he will create for himself on the 'morrow. Come now."
"I don't need rest. I need to get them husbands!"
"I assure my Lord, that there are no Princes or Viscounts milling about at this hour waiting to be tricked into marriage."
"Tricked! By the blood of my sword I swear to you woman, that if not for that face or your ability to work your seductive trickery on me, I'd have had you put before the King himself for treason!"
The Duchess stifled a giggle then, too accustomed to her husband's uncultured behaviour after his nightly drink and tapped him on his shoulder. It happened that way most nights and every night he threatened to have her summoned for beheading, feeling tricked into marriage himself. Then he'd apologize relentlessly afterward with thousands of kisses.
"You think you were tricked into marrying me, My Lord?" Duchess Renee answered with a smile. "You are forgetting that you had eyes for me regardless, even though you learned of the curse after our marriage like all the others. It's like you said. It's this face that made you marry me, not any trickery nor even our contract. I saw you watching me, Lord Charles. I knew you loved me already."
He hissed heavily, tossed his glass to the side and lifted her into his arms. He did love her, but had he known of the curse before his consent to marry so many years ago, perhaps, he may have chose differently. Regardless, he couldn't resist the Duchess once she had her hooks into him, and on their way to his bedchambers through the candlelit corridors of Swan Manor, he took her to bed and besotted her with thousands of kisses.
XXX
As it so happened, the very next day, the King of Aragon - Carlisle VII and his son, Prince Edward, were due in England for the royal games. They were invited by the King of England himself, King Aro.
King Carlisle accepted the invitation willingly since his heart had been set on an allegiance between Aragon and England. He hoped his visiting the English Kingdom for the royal games would put him in Aro's favour. His small country, you see, had suffered an economic blow because of the Black Plague. His people were dying and their crops were withered. Famine was imminent. He needed a strong tie with a foreign power where help could be sought for Aragon.
His plan was simple. He would arrange for his son, Prince Edward, to marry the King's daughter, Princess Elizabeth, since rumour had it that she refused to marry her last suitor. Princess Elizabeth was no looker, not by any exaggeration, and word of her temper was discouraging to say the least, but King Carlisle was positive that his son would do what was necessary for the sake of his country.
Aragon needed Prince Edward, and the Prince was nothing if not noble at heart.
They entered England with their Cavalry - The King, his Queen Esme, and Edward. The royal ball was the first and opening event for the royal games that would span the next seven days.
On their way to the palace ballroom soon after their arrival, Prince Edward found himself looking upon a curious scene as they crossed the courtyard. The young girl sitting on the water fountain in the middle of the courtyard was quite frankly talking to herself. As if that wasn't enough of a spectacle, the topic of conversation between her and the thin air was funny enough to have her keeled over in fits of laughter, making her face cherry red.
By this point the prince was walking backwards, eyes fixated on her instead of looking where he was going. Just before he backed into his father, the strange girl poked at the air then clapped, very much like a child with an imaginary friend. This girl however was no child. She looked to be at least in her late teens.
"Edward," King Carlisle grumbled, clearing his throat loudly.
Edward spun to face forward, tugged at his robes and nodded at the royal entourage who would take them in to see King Aro and his party.
"What in heaven's name has gotten into you?" Queen Esme chided under her breath.
"My apologies, Mother," Edward replied, and very quickly forgot about the strange girl by the fountain.
Princess Elizabeth was even more unattractive in actuality than the rumours gave her credit for. And even though Edward felt the bottom most parts of his gut churn whenever she smiled at him, he would consent to an arranged marriage if an agreement could be made...for the sake of Aragon.
"Edward," Queen Esme said softly, resting her hand on her son's forearm. "Why don't you offer the princess a drink?"
"She already has one, Mother," he bit out through clenched teeth and a forced smile. "Her servants are quite efficient."
"So replace her drink with a new one."
"Of course, just allow me to get my insides in order first."
The Queen tightened her hold on her son's arm, pressing her nails so sharp into his sleeve that he felt it.
"Darling," she whispered with a faint smile. "You'll have to learn to stomach whatever it is. It would be good for King Aro to see you two connect, especially since your father is working very hard at the moment to state our case."
Adjusting the high collar of his robes he bent closer to his mother's ear and bit down on his words. "The rumours hardly did her justice, Mother. She's even harder to look at than expected."
Digging her nails into him deeper, she widened her smile and increased the fluttering pace of the fan in her free hand. "Minor detail. She is the princess and you are a prince. Her face won't matter once the lights are smothered in your bedchambers. She'll feel quite the same as any other woman. Her breasts look quite supple."
"Dear Lord, I just lost my gut again. Thank you for that."
With a strong hand, he undid his mother's clutch and glanced at the princess a few paces away. She was surrounded by her servants and other maidens. Then he looked over at his father in laughing conversation with King Aro, working hard at winning his favour.
With a deep breath and trepidation in his heart, Edward summoned a servant and requested another goblet of drink for the princess.
"Your Highness," he said to the princess with a small nod a few minutes later. All those around her scattered the moment he approached. The princess smiled.
"I already have a drink, My Lord," Princess Elizabeth said cheekily, noting his offering.
"I see, but this one comes from me."
With a snap of her finger, a servant materialized at her side and took her present glass away. Elizabeth, keeping her eyes on Edward, took the fresh drink from him and smiled into the cup.
"My thanks, Prince Edward. I see the rumours of your charm are true."
She smiled politely, but Edward couldn't help but notice that her attention kept averting across the hall. Moving to her side with his hands clasped behind his back, he looked in the direction she glanced.
"What, or...who are we looking at, Princess?"
Her sharp intake of air and the slight blush in her cheeks betrayed her. She turned her face stiffly and raised her chin, pretending to be engrossed in something arbitrary. Edward quickly realized that the princess was in fact not interested in him, which both surprised and relieved him.
It was obvious by the embarrassment in her demeanour that she had been caught noticing another, someone who, perhaps, she should not be noticing?
"If it pleases the princess," he said, offering his hand to her. "I believe the waltz is about to begin."
She took his hand in all politeness and they joined the queue of nobles at the center. The music began. He bowed with the men in his line and she dipped with the women in hers. They moved with each other as the waltz progressed and after dancing for a few seconds, changed partners one after the other and made their way down the line.
Quite used to and bored with these waltzes, Edward moved automatically, making sure to keep the princess' location in check for when they were to switch back. Then an unexpected pair of hands met his at the very end of the line and his focus shifted.
He couldn't believe when his eyes fell on the fountain girl from earlier. His unmasked surprise made her self-conscious and she dropped her stare to his chest before spinning out of his hold toward another partner.
Put off center, Edward fumbled on the spot and the couple at his side danced right into him.
"Pardon me," he apologized, stepping away clumsily. Like a robot, and with his attention now focused on the fountain girl instead of the princess, he danced with his next partner without even noticing.
The next switch took him back to the Princess, and this time, it was he who was caught distracted.
"Someone has stolen your eye, Prince Edward," Elizabeth chimed, knowingly.
He blinked back to her face with a frown, clenched his jaw and swallowed. "I know not to what you refer, Princess."
"Bollocks," she whispered with a giggle, much to his surprise. "I know distraction when I see it, since I am a victim to it myself."
Twirling her on the spot, he glanced at the fountain girl again. "Perhaps you could be more specific about your distractions?"
"A terrible idea if there ever was one."
"Then allow me to ask directly."
"You may try."
"What is his name?" He asked. "Your distraction, I mean, and is he in the waltz right now?"
Flushing in her cheeks, she spun out of his hold and toward the next partner in line. Moving up the queue was faster this time, especially since Edward found himself working his way toward the fountain girl with more intent than he realized. The fact that she danced in this particular line meant that she was of noble blood. That put even more questions in his head. Such odd behaviour in nobility was uncommon. Though if he was to be completely honest with himself, he'd have admitted that her face was part of the reason he stared at her so. Petite and put together like the most delicate of china dolls, her eyes shone large and happily and her lips seemed always parted with a smile. When they met in the line again however, that smile fell away. She averted her stare and her disposition changed.
"Your name, My Lady?" He asked.
The fountain girl's eyes nervously shot down the queue to where Princess Elizabeth was being twirled.
"News travels fast I see," Edward said with a chuckle, following her stare. It was obvious that fountain girl had heard news of a possible arranged marriage between him and the princess.
Her deep eyes, not so laughing anymore, flicked back to his and she half smirked.
"I am Prince Edward of..."
"Aragon. I know," she dared to cut him off.
On the sound of her voice his eyebrows jumped up off his forehead in amusement. Apparently she didn't like his reaction because she shook her head stiffly and dipped away to the next partner.
Princess in arms again, Edward found himself more relaxed with her than before.
"Have you gotten her name?" Elizabeth asked teasingly.
"I know not to what you refer, Princess," he answered with like cheek, twirling her around with a smile.
"Her name is Lady Isabella," Elizabeth offered. "And she is the Grand Duke's daughter. However, I feel obligated to warn you."
Tightening his neck muscles around a deep breath he shook his head and regained focus on the more pressing matters. "Your Highness, I assure you that whatever it is you think you have seen does not matter. I came to your Kingdom with another idea in mind, one that ..."
You need not be so defensive, prince," she interrupted him. "You have no obligation as it pertains to me. I know what your Kingdom desires and what your father is so earnestly trying to arrange with my father right now. I also know that neither your heart nor mine are invested in it."
Stunned but impressed by her forwardness, Edward spun her away from the waltz where they could dance independently and talk privately.
"Do you even know what you're saying right now, princess?"
"I do," she answered. "And I think we can help each other."
After staring at her in mute awe for a few moments he nodded then dipped her, putting on quite the show for their onlookers.
"While I am sympathetic to your cause," she went on. "And I realize that your country needs a strong ally right now, I pray that it won't be at my expense."
"You are in love with another," he said.
She nodded with a small blush.
"May I ask?"
"Prince Phillipe will approach my father later this evening with an offer of marriage, and I regret to tell you that my father will find an allegiance with France more profitable than one with Aragon."
Glancing now at the French prince still in the waltz, Edward finally understood. Tall, lanky and pasty, the French prince made eye contact with Edward over his dance partner's head and nodded. Nodding back in comrade fashion, Edward looked back to the princess and sighed.
"I see."
"Are you disheartened, Edward?"
"Not as much as my father will be, but your honesty is admirable. However, I don't understand what you meant by we could help each other."
"Well, you could make your father understand this so that he doesn't put ideas into my father's head. They seem to be quite fond of each other, and truthfully...it makes me nervous."
"You're afraid that your father may actually agree to our union then?"
"It's not impossible."
"And if I talk to my father and get him to understand, where does that leave me? How do you help me?"
"There is still hope for Aragon if a contractual betrothal is arranged between you and someone else of nobility...say, a daughter of one of our members of parliament. However..." And she gestured to Lady Isabella with a pointed chin. "Lady Isabella is not a wise choice, or any of the Swan Ladies for that matter."
"Why not?" He asked, intrigued by the latent mystery in her words.
"Haven't you heard of the Dwyer curse?"
"The what?"
She dropped her voice low and stepped in closer to whisper into his ear. "Any man who marries a woman of the Dwyer lineage dies before the age of 50 and can never bear a son."
His head fell back in a sudden and unexpected roar of laughter. All eyes were on them now as speculation built to an audible hum. They danced closely together, were engrossed in conversation, were whispering into each other's ears and laughing at some private joke.
King Carlisle and Queen Esme couldn't be happier as they witnessed from the head table.
"Such bollocks!" Edward wheezed through his fit of laughter. "I've never heard a more ridiculous thing!"
"Hush!" Elizabeth hissed with a pink smile on her face, whispering in a fervent high pitched sort of way. "I tell the truth! It's why none of the Swan girls have been proposed to. They come from the Dwyer line and despite their looks and nobility, no man will go near them. They are cursed!"
"But..." Edward mused, looking around for Lady Isabella again. He hadn't realized that the waltz had ended and that he and the princess were the only two on the dance floor being watched by everyone else in the ballroom.
Setting the princess away from him slightly, he cleared his throat and continued. "Surely then, if what you say is true, their mother is of the Dwyer line as well? Isn't she married to the Grand Duke?"
"You are right, and she is."
"So how did that happen? Did he not know of this curse?" He asked, emphasizing the word "curse" with a playful widening of his eyes.
"He was hoodwinked," Elizabeth whispered, with a mischievous quirk of her eyebrow. "Just like all the other men that came before him. They were all tricked into marrying the Dwyer women and every last one of them died before turning 50."
"And no sons?"
"Not a single one."
"Hahahaha! And how old is the Grand Duke?"
"He is forty nine and quite irritable. His birthday nears."
"Hahahahahahahaha!" Edward couldn't contain his amusement. "Well of course he is irritable! He's about to die!"
"I don't see why you think this is so funny..."
"It's utterly ridiculous! I don't believe a word of it."
The princess was getting progressively more annoyed with Edward's reaction and even a little embarrassed now that all eyes were on them.
"If you will excuse me, My Lord?" She asked, stepping out of their dance with a curtsey.
"I apologize for my behaviour, Princess" Edward quipped, clearing his throat again as he gave her a reverent bow. "I enjoyed our dance and will do my best to help you."
"Thank You."
He kissed the back of her hand and escorted her back to the head table.
For the remainder of the ball Edward kept his eyes out for Lady Isabella, though she seemed to had disappeared. He was even more curious about her now that he'd learned of the curse. Could that be one of the reasons for her odd behaviour?
"Good work, darling," Queen Esme said to him at dinner. "You and the princess are getting along wonderfully."
"Don't raise your hopes, Mother," he answered levelly. "It's hardly what you think."
All through dinner, Princess Elizabeth cast Edward pointed looks of concern, urging him to talk to his father since King Aro and King Carlisle were getting along better than expected. They talked politics and world events, about art and literature. And finally after dinner, when the topic of conversation came around to the epidemic of the Black Plague, Edward interjected.
"Pardon my interruption, Father. King Aro."
"Edward!" King Aro exclaimed, patting him gallantly on the back. "How wonderful it is to see you enjoying the ball. My daughter has taken a liking to you!"
"Well...we have become good friends...yes. Thank you for your invitation, my King. Father, may I have a word?"
"Can it wait until later, Edward?" Carlisle asked in slight annoyance. "We shouldn't be rude."
"Nonsense," King Aro laughed. "I have other guests I should catch up with as well. You've monopolized my time, great friend. Please enjoy the rest of the ball! We'll talk again soon."
With that, King Aro ambled over to another group where Edward noticed the French cavalry were socializing.
"Edward," Carlisle bit out. "What on earth are you doing? I was just about to..."
"Save your energy, Father," Edward cut in. "It's not going to happen. At least, not in the way you think."
"What is this?"
"The princess and I won't be getting married and you'll hardly be able to convince the King into an agreement when he's about to be blindsided by something a lot more attractive than anything you can offer."
"Edward?" Esme asked. "What is the meaning of this? You know how important this allegiance is to our country and still you..."
"Prince Phillipe is about to ask the King for Elizabeth's hand in marriage."
Both Carlisle and Esme stopped with their mouths open and turned to look at the French contingent, where conveniently, the princess had gravitated to as well.
"And I would prefer not to interfere with it," Edward went on, "since they are in love with each other. Besides, no matter how much he likes you, Aro won't marry his daughter off to the Prince of Aragon when the Prince of France is up for grabs."
"But the two of you seemed to hit it off so well," Esme complained.
"Like I said, we've become friends, allies...even."
Just as he said that, Lady Isabella came into view and Edward's attention was immediately stolen. "Not to worry though," he continued, distracted. "There may be other ways to stay connected to England."
Following their son's stare and reading his sudden enlivened expression, King Carlisle frowned.
"Please don't tell me you have eyes for one of the Swan daughters..."
Blinking out of his stare and back to his father, Edward looked surprised. "You know of them?"
"Well that's them leaving the ball right now, and by the look on your face I can't say that I'm happy about your change of focus. I pray that I am wrong."
Just then, the Grand Duke sneezed as he was leaving with his wife and daughters. The sound of the sneeze ricocheted off the expansive walls in the most ridiculous way. Everyone in the ballroom froze with a unanimous gasp - including the music.
Edward was most enthralled by the scene that unfolded next. A sneezing fit erupted from the Grand Duke, women started wailing and fainting, the Duke's daughters got incredibly flustered and clumsy about shuffling their father outside, and someone shouted, "Oh 'Mi Lord! It's happenin'! The Duke is dying!"
Another woman fainted in panic. The Duke drew his sword, narrowly missing a commoner's nose. The Duchess started to cry, Lady Isabella starting screaming at the royal curtains and Lady Rosalie doubled over in a fit of snorting laughter so scary that Edward's pores stood at attention.
"Sweet heaven above," he gasped as the commotion moved outside. "The one with the laugh, which one is that?"
"That would be Lady Rose," King Carlisle answered with a sigh. "They're all terribly cursed."
"Hahahahahahaha!" Edward laughed out, clutching his robes in delight. "How intriguing! I wonder what earned the drapes a good screaming at by Lady Isabella?"
"What exactly do you find intriguing about a dying man and a bunch of cursed women?!" Esme blurted.
"Whatever it is you ought to forget it at once," Carlisle scolded his son. "And if you're thinking of courting one of them, that is out of the question as well."
"I simply won't allow it," Esme gasped, clutching her throat. "A cursed woman is hardly a replacement for the Princess of England!"
"I had no shot at the Princess anyway, Mother," Edward said, pointing to the group where King Aro socialized. "Since as you can see, what I have told you has come to pass."
The princess and French prince were currently hand in hand, gleaming smiles on their faces, while their fathers clasped theirs in agreement.
"It seems to be done," Edward said. "I expect they will make the announcement tomorrow. I bid you both a good night. I shall retire to my chambers now."
XXX
The next day was just as entertaining as the last. It was the first day of the Royal Games and featured activities like hunting and croquet. As was tradition, all the men suited up and headed out to the fields while the women stayed behind with their fluttering fans and umbrellas on the lawns.
Edward came out early, his eyes on the hunt for any sign of Lady Isabella and her sisters. He wasn't sure why he was as curious as he was about the Swan Ladies, Lady Isabella in particular, but something about their story entertained him. Things rarely entertained him anymore. In fact, life had been more than depressing and stressful with the Black Death epidemic and all his political troubles. The load of pressure he carried around at his young age was more than he could stand, but he carried his cross quietly as was expected of him - as he was raised to do.
When he walked onto the lawns of the royal gardens that morning all the women noticed him. He was tall and gallant with this chiseled good looks and fair skin. His hair had a way of shining red in the sun and his eyes were a clear emerald green. He also had an ease with his body that made him graceful on his feet. The lines of his body slanted with his stance and he had a habit of opening his robes at the center to slide his hands into his pockets when he moved, making the robe bounce at his sides.
Lady Alice was the first to spot him as he walked out onto the terrace.
"Oh dear, it's him," she whispered harshly, tugging Rosalie's sleeve. "The Aragon Prince!"
Rosalie turned her fine head to the side, and on seeing him, kicked the book out of Isabella's hand, forcing her to look up.
"Bella look," she teased. "It's your prince."
Fishing her book out of the grass with a pretty scowl, Isabella sat up on her heels and hissed at her sister. "He is not my prince. And hush with that kind of talk before you get me into trouble."
Victoria bent forward to look over Rosalie's head, and on seeing the fine prince surveying the gardens, giggled to herself.
"I think he's looking for you, Bella."
"Oh shut up all of you. You're all cruel teasers!"
"My God!" Alice squeaked, dropping her fan into her lap. "He just looked over this way."
A series of nervous movements ensued. Hats fell away and were scampered back to their heads, fans were snatched off the mat, frocks were straightened, and Isabella shoved her book up in front of her face.
"He's...c-c-coming ov-v-ver here!" Alice gasped, turning pink as her dependable stutter showed itself. It always did whenever she got flustered or nervous, which usually involved members of the opposite sex.
"Rosalie!" Isabella hissed when she saw Rose raise her hand to wave. "What. are. you. doing?"
"Just adjusting my sleeves," Rosalie taunted. "And I'd put Jacob away now if I were you. I don't think you want the Prince to..."
"Good day, My Ladies," said the prince in his smooth voice.
Spit coughs and giggle snorts, gasps and pink faces were what greeted the Prince in return. It was immediately obvious to him, that despite their looks and status, the Swan Ladies were an odd bunch. They weren't poised like the other nobles in the Kingdom. They were restless and hyper, nervous and self conscious, and always uncomfortable.
"Allow me to introduce myself," Edward said with a small bow.
"Prince Edward of Aragon. How could we not know?" Rosalie spoke up, which earned her a kick from Isabella across the mat.
Edward smiled at the very visible kick and decided to ignore it.
"I don't believe I've had the pleasure, however" he said, bending slightly. "May I ask what are your names?"
By then, all the other women across the gardens were staring at the strange scene and wondering quite audibly what had gotten into the foreign prince. He was either half mad or completely stupid.
Squatting beside their mat on the lawn, the prince held his hand out to Rosalie first. In her excitement, however, Lady Rosalie snorted out the loudest and most unladylike round of laughter. He remembered it from the night before, and like then, it had the same effect on him. Uneasy goosebumps sprung and laced his body with something cold. He pulled his hand away automatically and shifted his eyes to the next sister on the mat.
"And you are?"
"A-l-l-l-l-...Al-llllll..." But poor Alice couldn't get her name out if her life depended on it. Her face had gone from red to blue and her knuckles turned white from clutching her skirt so hard.
"It's Alice," Isabella offered on behalf of her sister, never moving the book from in front of her face. "Her name is Alice."
"Thank you," Alice gasped as she exhaled in relief.
The prince observed the title of Lady Isabella's book and smiled. He would leave her for last. He then looked over to the third sister on the mat, the one with the vibrant red hair and striking blue eyes, but the moment they made eye contact, she froze. Her eyes widened like saucers. She stopped breathing. Her face went stricken white...and she fell flat on her back.
"Sweet Virgin Mother of..." Edward gasped, jumping to his feet. "Has she fainted?"
But none of the sisters budged, batted an eyelid or looked the slightest bit concerned. Rosalie leaned over lazily and fanned Victoria's face. Lady Isabella continued reading and Alice was still picking nervously at her frock.
Staring in horror, Edward shoved his hands into his pockets and looked around him. People were staring of course, but no one came forward to help.
"Happens all the time," an old man in garden wear said as he passed by and patted Edward on the back. "Never a chap could talk to dem ladies without eh spect'cle bein' made. She'll be OK in a moment."
Sure enough, just as Edward looked down at Lady Victoria again, she was propped up on her elbows and staring down at her wriggling feet as if she had never fainted.
At a complete loss for words, Edward glanced at the book in front of Lady Isabella's face, above which her fine hat hid the rest of her peculiar head.
"Lady Isabella," he said. "May I invite you to walk with me?"
The other three sat straight up in jerky unison, and very slowly, Isabella lowered the book to peek up at him over the edge.
Her unexpected prettiness hit him harder that day and when she squinted against the sun her brown eyes twinkled. However, Lady Isabella didn't get the chance to answer. Just as she was about to speak, a commotion broke out behind them and everyone on the lawn lurched to their feet.
"Oh Mi Lord! The Duke! The Duke is dying!"
"AGAIN?" Edward gaffed.
Scores of men came running out of the trees with the sneezing Duke in tow, and though he tried desperately to fish for his sword, he couldn't get a good handle on it with all the commotion.
"Papa!" Isabella cried, dropping her book to the mat. She and her other sisters ran across the great expanse of lawn toward him. The Duchess could be seen running from the other end as well. As it happened, though unbeknownst to them all, the pollen of a certain flower in the forest had tickled the dear Duke's nose to aggravation and aroused his hay fever.
"It's the curse!" A woman somewhere wailed. Then the fainting started. One by one, women fainted from the anxiety. "Call the royal Bishop!"
"Callllllll the royal Bishop!"
"Caaaaaaaalll the royal Bishop!" Went the echoing alert across the gardens.
More puzzled than ever, Edward scratched his head and looked on in silent wonder. Lord Charles didn't seem to be dying, though if the other men didn't get out of his way, one of them just might. He had managed to free his sword from his waist and the nearest face was about to get it.
"Unhand me! I am the bloody Duke of Canterbury! Respect - Achoo - me!"
It all happened in a flash and before he knew it, Edward was staring behind the retreating chaos of the Swan family as they hustled the Grand Duke out of sight.
Well Edward simply had to get to the bottom of it. He fetched Lady Isabella's book off the ground, rolled the mat up and took off behind the hullabaloo.
"And where are you going?" Came his mother's voice from behind.
"Oh Mother, there you are," Edward chimed, pretentiously. "Enjoying the English weather?"
"Edward Carlisle Cullen the eighth!" Queen Esme scolded. "I forbid you to go after those girls."
"Just one in particular," he corrected her. "And I'm simply going to return her belongings."
"Edward," she hissed under her breath. "Haven't you witnessed the spectacles along with the rest of us? That entire family is cursed. If it's not one thing it's the other. The stories are atrocious and the chaos is embarrassing! I'm not about to watch you walk right into it."
"You honestly believe all this bollocks about a curse?"
Widening her eyes, the Queen covered her mouth with a delicate hand and nodded.
"Watch your language, and why do you think none of them are married?" She challenged. "No man will go near them, not even for their nobility."
"Well I think it's all rather amusing," Edward said smilingly. "In fact, I'm quite happy to be here to witness the Duke's last days before his 50th birthday. I just have to see if he will survive it. All this talk about witches and spells makes absolutely no sense."
"Look, your father is on his way over. Thank goodness. Maybe he can talk some sense into you."
With a quick glance at the returning parties, Edward kissed his mother's forehead and bid her farewell.
"Please greet him for me, Mother. I will meet you both for dinner."
And with that, the prince skipped away in the direction of the Swan commotion.
XXX
A/N: That's chapter 1! Go straight on over to chapter 2...