{Oh my goodness...It's taken me a while to finally update! But thank you everyone, for your patience and kind words. Hopefully it will be worth the wait! -CB}
Chapter 8
He might have been there by the fireplace for ten minutes. He might have been there a week. He was there long enough to warm himself and start to doze, when a ruckus sounded from upstairs, startling him awake.
Fairweller's housekeeper, Mrs. McClurg, a portly woman in her fifties, hurried down the stairs, kneading her apron in her hands and hurrying to the kitchen.
"She's in a right state, sir!" she said to him as she came back with a kettle of tea. "She's having such fevers! We can't make out a work she's saying. Is the doctor here yet?"
Fairweller was on his feet and loping up the stairs in an instant, to the second floor. He burst through Clover's door to see her thrashing in her bedsheets, servants trying to calm her and put wet cloths on her forehead. She pushed them away, sobbing and crying out half-stuttered words.
"Miss Clover!" said Fairweller, hastening to her side.
Miss Clover pushed his hand away, sobbing and throwing off the bedsheets, then falling back on the pillow for lack of strength.
"Miss Clover!" said Fairweller again, and he grasped her thrashing hand. "Miss Clover-it is all right. It is all right, Miss Clover. What is wrong?"
Miss Clover stammered out a word that Fairweller understood-he had it imprinted in his heart.
"M-M-Minister!"
"Yes, yes-I am here," he said, pressing his other hand around hers. It was burning hot.
Clover calmed a degree. She swallowed, tears coursing down her cheeks, but she stopped thrashing.
"There we are," said Minister Fairweller. "What is wrong? You can tell me."
"M-Minister," Miss Clover hiccoughed, and Fairweller could only just make out the words: "I-I-I-Lily! I-I-I left Lily out-out-out in the-the storm!"
And Miss Clover began to sob anew.
Fairweller touched his hand on her cheek, and wiped her tears away with his thumb.
"Oh, is that all?" he said. "Nothing to worry about. I have taken care of it. When you left, I took her back to the palace."
"Y-y-you did?" Clover stammered.
"Yes, and she is in Miss Azalea's arms. She is fine."
Miss Clover collapsed back against the pillows, hiccoughing and weeping tears of relief.
"She is safe! She is-is safe-you brought her home-she is safe, of course she is-she was with you-"
She didn't let go of Fairweller's hand. She did press it to her bosom, and Fairweller didn't dare breathe, for fear she would release it. She fell asleep with it pressed to her, fever breaking, and Fairweller was lost in the softness of her chest. The rise and fall of her breaths. He wished he could have every moment of every day this close to her.
And then, Fairweller remembered: she loved someone else.
He gently removed his hand, stood, and left her to the care of the servants.
A hullabaloo was ensuing in the ballroom. Fairweller had only gotten two hours of sleep when the servants awoke him with the news. Fuming, he dressed and stormed through the halls that echoed with laughter to the ballroom, which was filled with uninvited guests.
King Albert stood in the center of the vast room, calling to the mezzanine full of servants to hang the gold satins and swaths of fabrics on the railings just so, and telling the musicians to rehearse certain songs, and finely-dressed guests paraded up and down the stairs, surveying the ballroom that hadn't been used in years. King Albert had arrived early with nearly a hundred guests, crowding over every surface like a plague of locusts. And they were preparing for a ball!
"King Albert!" said Fairweller.
King Albert turned around, and when he saw Fairweller, he beamed.
"Minister Fairweller!" he said, in a very different tone than Fairweller's.
"What is the meaning of this?" said Fairweller.
King Albert's doughy face softened into a long-suffering smile.
"Minister, Minister, Minister," he said, in an infuriatingly sweet voice. "Such ideas have come to me since we met several days ago!"
"Such ideas as what?" said Minister Fairweller. "Invading my home? You said you would only come for tea!"
"The idea has been added upon. Embellished! I thought: a ball! Everyone knows what a fine ballroom you have here. Well, of course I had to invite my friends and nobility to witness my wooing of Princess Clover-" King Albert strode to Fairweller and wrapped his arm around him and pulled him into the ballroom as though they were old friends. "It is every woman's dream, you see-to dress up like a princess, descend the stairs with everyone's eyes upon her, and to meet an adoring prince at the bottom, who will ask her for a dance, and then propose to her after the last gavotte. A dream!"
"Or a nightmare," said Fairweller, shaking Albert's arm off. "This is my property!"
"-Which you are so very kind to lend to us. Ah! And your dear stable boy told us that Miss Clover is already here! We asked him what he was doing out in such a storm-our ship came down the river and we hired sleds, you see-terrible weather, Delchastire never has such snow. Where was I? Oh yes-your stable boy said she was staying here for the duration of the storm. Well done, Minister! Well done. I shall see a great sum of money in your hands. Now, do go tell Princess Clover about the ball. Be certain she's ready!"
"What!" said Fairweller.
King Albert dismissed Fairweller with flick of his hand.
Fairweller only had two seconds to contemplate strangling King Albert when two Delchastrian-uniformed men gripped Fairweller at each side, marched him to the door, and shoved him out of the ballroom, and slammed the door in his face.
Fairweller fumed at the closed doors, then stormed down the hall. So! King Albert had brought soldiers, too! This was an act of war. Infringing upon his own property-even royalty! Men had died over less!
First things first. He would have to get Miss Clover back to the palace, away from King Albert. Fairweller glanced at the row of windows down the hall-virulent wind and snow battered the windows. Fairweller walked to them and leaned against a cold pane, staring hopelessly at the world of white. Miss Clover couldn't journey again in a storm like this.
A rustle sounded behind him; Fairweller turned.
Sitting on a long hall bench, across from him, was Princess Louisa, King Albert's older sister. She looked even more with child than he had last seen her, and her face was lined and eyes were red, and overall she looked uncomfortable and worn out. She'd been crying-Fairweller noted the handkerchief in her hands-but she straightened the best she could and nodded to Fairweller with royal grace.
"Princess Louisa," said Fairweller.
"Minister," said Princess Louisa, swallowing and gaining composure. "I'm so sorry. So sorry, indeed. About all of this. I can't even bear to go near my brother. I tried to tell him how-inappropriate he was being, but-well. He's someone I hardly dare say no to."
Fairweller considered her, his anger at King Albert ebbing for a moment.
"No is a very powerful word," said Fairweller, at last. "At least, that is what someone told me, once. Someone I daren't say no to as well."
Princess Louisa smiled. Fairweller smiled as well, and offered his arm to her. She hesitated, took it, and allowed him to help her to her feet.
"Would you care for a quiet room to rest in?" said Fairweller. "The journey appears to have taxed you."
"Oh-dear, no," said Princess Louisa. "My brother -he wishes me to oversee the servants in the kitchen-I'm afraid they've overtaken your kitchen as well-he'll be dreadfully cross if the pudding sets poorly-"
"Then you shall have a room he cannot find," said Fairweller shortly. "There are over forty rooms in this manor, I am sure there is one."
And it was found, away from the ballroom and the kitchens. Fairweller released the grateful princess to rest in care of his servants.
