Chapter 4
Minister Fairweller was no stranger to the country of Delchastire, a bustling, industrial and powerful island country. His family had owned a manor there, and as a child he often visited. When he was fourteen, his father sent him away to a boarding school in Delchastire. His professors knew him as a quiet boy; exceptionally bright but very serious...they attributed it to his Eathesburian upbringing. His classmates knew him as not much fun; Fairweller often stayed nights in the dormitory, studying.
They knew very little about his family, and Fairweller was all too happy to keep it that way.
Fairweller's father was a...dallier. A philanderer. A rogue. Fairweller had grown up close to his mother, who was often sad. His father traveled often to Delchastire and was gone for weeks at a time. Fairweller never connected the two until he was older. When he was thirteen, his mother fell ill, and passed away a year later. His father's coldness, Fairweller felt, hastened her death.
He and his father had a row. Harsh words were exchanged, which deteriorated to blows. His father, with a broken nose, sent the young Fairweller away to a boarding school in Hastings, the capitol city of Delchastire, and Fairweller wasn't sorry in the least for it.
Here at the boarding school he met Professor Newbold, a thin but very happy man who had great enthusiasm for mathematics. He dressed in black, always, and never drank or spoke a harsh word, and Fairweller discovered he was Temperance. Professor Newbold had a light inside him Fairweller's father had never had, and by the time Fairweller had turned seventeen, he'd become Temperance himself.
When Fairweller's father died-thrown off one of his prize-winning horses-Fairweller did not shed a tear. He packed up his things, said good-bye to Professor Newbold, and returned to Eathesbury in order to take charge of his estates.
Debt. Insurmountable debt. A deep pit of angry debtors and solicitors and nothing to show for it. The Fairwellian finances were in shambles. Fairweller's father had hosted massive balls and parties, entertained royalty, paid large sums to his mistresses-Fairweller discovered he had no less than twenty-seven, a repulsive revelation-and all of them carving chunks from what little money the Fairweller family had left.
Fairweller rolled up his sleeves and got to work. The Delchastrian manor, a palace built by the Fairweller family in the 1600s, was prime real estate. Fairweller shocked society by selling it. He had the priceless furniture inside auctioned. The Delchastrian upper-class was mortified and the gossip columns of the newspapers buzzed for months.
Fairweller did not care what they thought. They were as broke as his father. With the money from the manor, Fairweller paid all the debts, settled on sums with the mistresses to make them go away, invested in Delchastrian townhomes and railways, lived frugally, and bred prize-winning horses. He turned the family's fortune around so quickly that the servants, who at first were not quite sure what to think of their new sober young master, grew doggedly and fiercely loyal to him.
Now, instead of the Fairweller name being synonymous with philandering parties, Fairweller had turned it into something respectable once more. Now owning a "Fairwellian Horse" was a symbol of wealth.
Fairweller had not lied to the King the day he had left for Delchastire...he really did have earnest buyers in Delchastire. One had recently sent him a frenzied letter saying he needed a horse. Fairweller arrived at his stables in the Hastings countryside to discover a gangly young man in rumpled, umatching clothes pacing at the stable doors. He was not, Fairwller learned, interested in horses at all.
The Haftenravenschers-the young Lord Edward Haftenravenscher, and his mother-were eccentric, to say the least. They often donated items to charity auctions, then attended the auction and bid exorbitant amounts to get it back, laughing like mad at the auctioneers' faces.
Everyone tolerated them, of course, because they were wealthy. Fairweller was a step above tolerance. Though he did not know them well, he knew they were kind. Lord Edward Haftenravenscher had offered to repaint Queen Kathryn's portrait, a gesture that gained him respect in Fairweller's eyes.
Now, Lord Edward gripped Fairweller's hand in a handshake so tight the blood stopped to the fingers. His eyes were bright hazel and shone with desperation.
"You're the Eathesburian Prime Minister," he said, gangling after Fairweller into the stables.
"This year," said Fairweller.
"Then you know the princesses!"
Not again, thought Fairweller. His defenses rose.
"Do you believe in love at first sight?" said Lord Edward, desperately.
"No," said Fairweller.
"I do," he said, ardently. "I do! Miss. Bramble. Miss Bramble. Brambly Brambly Bramble! The very moment I saw her, the very moment my peepers caught sight of her-that very moment! My heart, it broke. Broke, I say! Minister! Minister, please-She is the only who can mend it. She's not engaged? I know princesses marry young. Please, tell me she's not betrothed or engaged or any other of those horrible temporary states?"
Fairweller considered him, practically collapsing with love against one of the stalls. What an odd turn of affairs, he thought. Someone who may actually love Miss Bramble.
"She is not," said Fairweller, leading Lord Edward's new horse, a chestnut, from its stall. Lord Edward visibly exhaled with relief. "I daresay, in fact," Fairweller continued, "you may have a chance with her yourself. Have you applied to visit the Eathesburian Palace?"
"I wish I could!" Lord Edward despaired. "The waiting list is months long! It will be at least a year before I can see her! She'll-she'll-she'll-Great buttons, everyone will be in love with her by then!"
Minister Fairweller doubted it.
"I will put in a good word on your behalf," said Fairweller, and he meant it. "Perhaps a Christmas visit is in order."
Lord Edward bounced about the stall after that, beaming so broadly his smile almost stretched off his face. He paid Fairweller for the horse and left the stable without taking it with him. The stablehand had to catch up with him and put the reins in his hand. Fairweller half-wondered if Lord Haftenravenscher could find his way home.
Speaking to Lord Haftenravenscher had put Fairweller straight back into his melancholy temper. It reminded him of how far he was from Clover, and all the other gentlemen who were visiting the Palace. He attended the ballet that night, fashionably dressed-Fairweller always dressed fashionably, in spite of his clothes being black, as he did not wish to shame his servants and the country he served-and agonized the entire time. He remained alone in a mezzanine seat, his arms crossed uncomfortably, sitting ramrod straight to keep from thinking about how Miss Clover ought to be sitting next to him, her gloved hand tucked around his arm...
Aaaargh why did he have to go to the ballet...
Around him, the ladies of fine clothes and jeweled necklaces whispered at each other behind their painted fans, casting glances at Fairweller. They were, he knew, verbally matching him with all the single ladies in their acquaintance. Fairweller had inherited the roguish dark hair and piercing eyes of his father, which interested the ladies all the more.
The audience was particularly abuzz tonight, when, half-way through the first act, the Delchastrian king and his sister arrived to their box at the side of the theater. The audience stopped watching any of the dancers on the stage and held their collective breath, praying for a glance from the powerful monarch and his sister.
The Delchastrian king, King Albert, was a boy, hardly twenty, unmarried and unbetrothed. He had heavy-lidded eyes that gave him the look of eternal boredom, petulant lips, and curly, colorless hair that was receding to the top of his head. He wasn't ugly, but he wasn't handsome either. Fairweller watched him as he sat on his chair, putting his legs out and leaning back in a lazy sprawl, his eyes taking in the dancers on the stage.
His older sister, Princess Louisa, had married a Prussian prince several years before and was now heavy with child. She did not look like she wanted to be at the ballet. She looked like she wanted to go home and go to sleep. Fairweller wondered why she would be visiting her brother, and not seeking solitude with her husband at such a time.
Theirs-Princess Louisa and her husband, Prince Frederick-was a famous love story: They had met when the prince was twenty-one and she just eleven, and she had fallen in love with him. After many years of affectionate love-letters, they were married when she was seventeen, and their marriage was a happy one. No one knew what to think of all that, but royals, they supposed, were a strange breed, to be sure.
Fairweller watched the two royals-because watching the dancers was too painful-and to his surprise, young King Albert looked over the crowd inside the giant theater, and his eyes stopped on Fairweller. A watery sort of smile crossed his face, and he poked his sister and leaned forward to whisper something in her ear. He pointed up at Fairweller.
Princess Louisa looked up toward the mezzanine at Fairweller as well, and straightened a little. She nodded and whispered something to her brother behind her fan.
Nonplussed, Fairweller wondered what they could be talking about. The relationship between the Delchastrian and the Eathesbury royal families wasn't a good one. Mostly because the King had-very publicly, on the battlefield, in front of the Delchastrian troops-called King Albert a coward, because he had chosen to stay at home in his palace instead of going to war.
Of course what the king had said was emblazoned on every newspaper in the world the next day. It was a wonder the Delchastrian king hadn't ordered his troops to go to war with Eathesbury. A thankful wonder, as Delchastire, the most powerful country in the world, could annihilate Eathesbury with its numerous fleets and endless soldiers.
Because the Delchastrian royals had noticed him from their opera box, Fairweller felt the susurrus around him susurrize with greater intensity. The ladies whispered like mad behind their fans. Fairweller couldn't take it any longer. He stood quickly, gathered his hat and gloves and opera binoculars, and exited into the red-carpeted corridors.
"Minister Fairweller!" a lady's voice called behind him.
Fairweller turned.
Down the long hall stood Princess Louisa, just exiting her opera box and brushing back a strand of her limp dark hair. She smiled at Fairweller. Fairweller bowed.
"Your highness," he said. She smiled again.
"My brother and I were just talking about you," she said. "We would both be quite honored if you could come to our Palace for tea tomorrow."
"For...Royal Business?" asked Fairweller, confused. Normally their prime minister would speak to him about political things, not the royal family themselves.
"No-well," she admitted, "Royal Business of sorts. We have some...questions for you. About the Eathesburian princesses. Will you have tea with us tomorrow?"
"Of...of course," said Fairweller, who dared not refuse.
"At two?"
Fairweller bowed.
"We'll send a carriage for you," she said, and disappeared back again behind the curtain of her opera box.
The Eathesburian princesses, Fairweller thought, and dread reared its ugly head inside his soul. The Delchastrian king wouldn't have questions about Miss Azalea, who could not be matched with someone attached to their own country. And it certainly couldn't be Miss Bramble, who would bite his head off at the altar...
The dread grew larger and darker, consuming Fairweller's soul.
The Delchastrian king wanted to marry Clover.
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{{{{DUN DUN DUUUUUUN the plot thickens! Thanks everyone for your kind comments on the previous chapters! I hope I can make the future chapters worth the wait. They are coming along! :) :) }}}}