Author Note: Good news peoples! I'm a college graduate now! :D Awesome possum, eh? All thanks go to God and my family, friends, and professors and internship supervisors for getting me through the process-I most certainly couldn't have done it without them, or you guys for helping me know that writing is what I want to do. Now I just need to find a job now. Do you know of anyone who's hiring someone who writes? :D Haha, just kidding, but I would appreciate your prayers as I take on this new part of my life. Anyway, hope you guys greatly enjoy this chapter, as I've been planning it for a good long while now. It came out a bit differently, but no matter what I write it almost never turns out quite how I have it in my head. Oh well, such is the life :D Thank you all for your patience, for your reading and faving and reviewing and for your support! I appreciate all of you guys very much!
Soli Deo Gloria
Disclaimer: Disney owns Tangled, its characters, and its story
Catherine did not fall asleep until a few hours before dawn. As a consequence, she failed to wake up at her usual time and instead slumbered on through the seventh, eighth, and ninth hours of the morning. She would have made it through the tenth hour had not Frieta opened her bedroom door.
"Of all the mornings for a blooming coach to—oh. Oh that's just pathetic."
Frieta crossed her arms, staring at the sight before her. Catherine was lying spread-eagled on the bed, her face pressed against her pillow with her mouth hanging open. There was certainly some snoring, even if it was just a low mumbling sound.
Frieta cleared her throat. "Katie, wake up! Didn't you hear me calling you?"
"Mhmmsnrghf." Catherine rolled over.
"Come on, you snorting beauty. There's a coach outside!"
Catherine's eyes snapped open. She sat bolt upright, staring at Frieta and wiping at the cold drool on her chin. "What?"
"It's been out there for at least fifteen minutes. Poor fellow's been waiting for you to—"
"Oh dear!" Catherine scrambled out of bed and raced past her sister to the hall. "Ohdearohdearohdear!"
The bathroom was locked, and Catherine pounded frantically on the door. "Who's in there? Open up—I need to get in there!"
"Katie? Is that you?"
"Open up!"
The door opened. Catherine reached in, grabbed someone's shoulder, and yanked whomever it was out with a shriek. She then slipped into the bathroom, slamming the door shut. Mary pulled her towel closer about herself, her eyes wide as bubbles popped in her wet hair. She watched as Frieta let out a low whistle and walked over to her.
"I—I was taking a bath. Katie pulled me out of the bathroom," Mary said, stunned.
"Apparently she's late and a bit worried about it," Frieta replied.
"Did I hear you say something about a coach?"
"Palace coach. Been downstairs less than five minutes. Daddy's talking to the coachman." There was a squeal and thud from the bathroom, and Frieta smirked. "Sounds like Katie tripped on the rug."
"Katie?" Both girls turned around to see their father coming up the steps. "Katie, there's someone down waiting for—Mary? What on earth are you doing standing about in a towel?"
Mary shrugged helplessly. "Katie—she—she needed the loo."
Frieta nodded. "Turfed poor Mary out, to be honest."
Lord Brian's eyes narrowed in disapproval. "That doesn't sound like Katie. Excuse me." He knocked on the bathroom door. "Catherine, let Mary back in this instant. There's no reason why you should—"
The door flew open and a blur ran out, nearly knocking Lord Brian over. "Sorry! Sorry—got to run!"
Lord Brian glanced at his third and fourth eldest, completely baffled. "What is going on?"
"Don't know. But I'm wet so—" Mary returned to the bathroom and shut the door, locking it.
Frieta grinned. "I think Katie forgot to tell us that she's nipping up for a visit with the prince."
"Yes. I spoke with the coachman and he told me all about it. But why didn't Katie say something?"
"Too nervous, I suspect. Anyway, toodle-loo, Da." Frieta started to walk back to her bedroom.
Her father frowned. "Did you just call me 'Da'?"
"Da?" Her eyes widened as she realized her mistake, and she stammered, "No—no, I mean, Daddy! Sorry, misspoke—got to scoot."
Lord Brian watched as his daughter fled. What was wrong with everyone this morning?
In her room, Catherine was going through her closet at top speed. No, that dress was the wrong color—that one had frills she didn't like—that one much too long and that one far too short. But what did it matter what she wore? She tossed a few potentials onto her bed and picked up her brush, quickly running it through her haystack of hair. She was going to be late. She had slept in and she was going to be late and the coachman would get cranky and they would get stuck in traffic and Thomas—
She dropped her brush and knelt down to retrieve it. The new bruise on her thigh, which she had gotten by stumbling into the bathroom sink, had started to complain. As if it really mattered. Everything was going wrong anyway and she had not even made it downstairs yet.
Her eyes fell on the letter that had arrived yesterday morning. Thomas's handwriting marked the page with a confidence born out of years of writing to diplomats and noblemen. What would he be expecting? What would he say? There were so many questions she had and yet it seemed like she could ask none of them.
She returned to brushing her hair, surveying the possible dresses she had laid out on her bed. Perhaps the purple would be all right. It was a nice color, and it was modest. Didn't scream gorgeous diva or desperate nun but certainly had hints of 'why yes, I am a pretty girl' hidden within its seams. It would have to do, though, because her mother was calling for her from downstairs.
Catherine put down the brush and set about getting dressed, pulling on a fresh chemise and buttoning up the back of the dress. She studied herself in the vanity mirror, and her eyes narrowed. At least she looked all right even if she did not feel completely calm. But really, she should relax. She was just going to go to the palace and spend some time with Thomas, like always. Spend some time talking and walking through the royal gardens alone with the prince. Nothing to be nervous about.
She made a few minor adjustments before hurrying down the stairs. Her mother and father were waiting for her by the door, both looking concerned.
Catherine managed a smile. "Good morning."
"Hello, Katie," Lord Brian said, watching her put on her shoes.
"Why don't you have some toast before you go, dear?" Lady Marie asked, holding out a plate of buttered toast.
"Oh, I can't—I'm late and—"
"The driver said he was told to wait as long as you needed. I think you can afford a short breakfast." Lord Brian gave his daughter a stern look, and she took a piece of toast.
There was a pause as she ate her toast and avoided her father's eyes.
Lady Marie cleared her throat. "So, you're going to the palace today?"
Catherine nodded.
"Are you going to see Thomas?"
Catherine swallowed. "Yes. He—he wants to show me the gardens."
Lord Brian's eyebrows shot up above his spectacles and he gave his wife a sideways look. His wife ignored him and instead smiled at their daughter.
"All right then, dear. Have fun. Make sure you're back before Lizzie arrives. She said she would get here by two."
Her daughter frowned. "I thought it would be at least four before she got here."
"Best plan for three-thirty, knowing Lizzie," Lord Brian said.
Catherine grinned. "Three-thirty it is. See you later, Mother, Daddy."
They watched as the front door closed behind her.
Lord Brian shook his head. "They're going to go look at flowers."
"It would appear so, dear."
"I don't like it."
Lady Marie patted him on the shoulder. "You're her father, Brian. Of course you wouldn't like it."
"Do you like it?" he asked, unable to prevent the accusation from his voice.
She smiled and began to walk back to the kitchen.
"Marie!"
"G'morning, Miss," the coachman said, hopping down to get the door for her.
"Hello," Catherine replied breathlessly. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting."
"Not a' tall, Miss, not a' tall." He helped her into the coach and shut the door, whistling his way back to the driver's seat. A moment later they had set off.
Catherine leaned back against the soft upholstery of the seat and closed her eyes. The rhythm of hooves and wheels against the pavement began to calm her. She heard the talk of passersby and, five minutes later, the general hubbub of the marketplace. They were crossing Denning Square. In a few more seconds they would be taking a side street and then enter the main thoroughfare.
They slowed down at that point, and she opened her eyes to watch the carts, taxi coaches, and gentlemen's carriages rolling alongside them. Some of the wagons pulled off, drawing their wares to the various plazas in the capital. One carriage stopped at an attorney's office, and a haughty-looking woman got out. Five doors down, a taxi skidded to a stop, allowing a doctor to enter the residence of what appeared to be an expectant father. And then there were more stoppings and goings and they were more than halfway to the palace before Catherine remembered what she was doing.
Unfortunately, her nerves came back as well. Catherine took a deep breath and told herself over and over again that it was just a trip to visit Thomas. Just a simple outing with a very good friend. Just like all those other meetings and conversations and everything else. But had it ever really been that simple? These last few months—every week and every day she had spent with the man—seemed so much more complicated and important than any other time. And it wasn't just because she liked him. It would never be just that. It was because Thomas had slipped into her life so easily and quietly. As if there had been a place for him all along.
The carriage hit a rut in the street, jerking Catherine from her thoughts. They were nearly there now—going past all the higher lords' houses and the townhomes of some of the more prominent dukes and barons. And that great building over there was the University, with its halls and turrets. And then they turned a corner and there was the palace, its white sides gleaming in the brilliant sunlight.
It felt like three years had gone by since she, Elizabeth, and her mother had taken a taxi up to the palace for that matchmaking affair. She remembered looking over the top of her poetry book to see that same collection of tarnished copper roofs, tall towers, and rows upon rows of windows. Thomas was up there, now. She could only imagine what he was doing.
The prince made a face at himself in the mirror, checking his teeth for a fourth time as he tied the knot of another cravat. The carpet around his feet was littered with rejects, and his bed strewn with the vests he had tried on before settling with a handsome shade of blue. It didn't exactly match his eyes—it was darker and had a pattern of diamonds in the fabric—but overall it looked rather sharp.
He smiled at himself. Yes, that would do nicely.
"Freddy, what time is it?"
"'Bout ten-thirty," his cousin replied, looking up from the set of reports he was reviewing at Thomas's desk. Frederick grinned. "Went with the blue, did you?"
"It seemed appropriate," Thomas said, walking over to the desk.
"Well, you look smart, and that's wot matters. That and wot you're going to say, obviously."
"I know exactly what I'm going to say. I wrote it down." Thomas lifted the edge of the reports and withdrew a folded piece of paper, sticking it into his vest pocket.
"Just don't forget you have it in there, all right?"
"I won't. Now, do you have everything ready for the meeting?"
Frederick nodded, gesturing at the desk. "'Course I do. I've looked over these proposals at least twenty times and I have all your little irritating notes scribbled in the margins. The trade meeting will go along splendidly, particularly since you won't be there, and all the bigwigs will start chatting about that remarkably promising future duke of Livesley."
"And what will you tell my father when he asks where I am?"
"That you're off canoodling with the daughter of one of his lords."
Thomas glared at him, and Frederick laughed.
"Kidding—kidding. I'll tell Uncle Will you're feeling ill. Lovesick, to be precise."
"Will you be serious?" Thomas said, going over to his wardrobe and selecting a jacket. "This is an important meeting, after all."
Frederick raised his eyebrows. "A meeting so important that you're skipping it so you can woo Kitty-cat."
"Some things are more important than important meetings," Thomas muttered, straightening his sleeves.
Frederick pointed at him. "Too right you are. You just need to make sure you're successful. Wot with all this 'filling in' I've been doing for you lately. Half the work you turn in nowadays I've had more than a peep at."
"As soon as everything has been settled with Cat, I will do whatever you ask of me. I owe you that much, if not more."
"Just name your firstborn after me, eh?" Frederick said, grinning.
Thomas smirked. "Yeah, okay. We'll make it as a middle name so it can be for a girl as well as a boy."
"Is that sarcasm?"
"Slightly."
"'Course it is." Frederick sighed, turning back to his paperwork.
"Oh, don't feel bad, Freddy. One day maybe you'll have your own Frederick Hadrian IV." Thomas gave himself another once over in the mirror before starting for the door. But then his cousin called him.
"Hey, Goliath, one more thing before you go scooting along."
"Yes? What is it?"
"How did your pillow practice go?"
Thomas stiffened, his ears flashing crimson. "You heard?"
Frederick gathered up his papers, chuckling. "Ferdinand told everybody. You know, you should've locked your door."
"It was morning—I didn't expect anyone to come in."
"But?" Frederick looked up, watching his cousin.
Thomas rolled his eyes, admitting, "But I do feel a little more confident about the matter."
Frederick laughed. "Go on, Goliath. I'll catch up with you in a bit."
Thomas frowned. "You're not coming down there. You have a meeting I need to be at."
"I'm planning on nicking a biscuit or six from the kitchens before resigning myself to that conference for two hours. Think of it as a last meal." He got to his feet and walked over to join him at the door, folder of reports tucked under one arm.
"It's just a meeting, you know. It's not like I'm asking you to leap through flames," Thomas said.
"Oh ho, you'll be the one playing with fire today, Tom, not me. I wouldn't be caught dead in that garden."
Thomas shook his head, the first trace of unease appearing in his face. "I just hope this works. I'm worried because I want to get it right and get it right the first time around. I don't want to mess up and have to do it again."
Frederick patted him on the back. "You'll be fine. Now, get on down there and say hello to Kitty-cat."
Catherine was waiting down in the front hall. More accurately, she was pacing, while at the same time considering that a jump out of the nearest window wouldn't be too crazy of an idea. She'd easily escape, leaving only a Catherine-sized hole to indicate she had ever been there. Yes, that could be a good plan. After all, it wasn't like she really wanted to see the flowers anyway. The only reason she had come here was for Thomas and he was also the reason she wanted to leave. Oh, this would be difficult.
Unbeknownst to her, Thomas had just reached the bottom steps of the staircase. He could see Catherine appreciating the view out of one of the windows, and a broad grin crossed his face. There she was. The woman he loved. The preoccupation of his thoughts and desires. He felt nervous—but it was the good kind of nervous built on excitement and happiness.
"Hello, Cat," Thomas said, his voice echoing off the ceiling as he approached.
She turned around, smiling hesitantly. "Good morning."
"I hope you haven't been waiting long."
"No, not long. I've only just arrived."
"Brilliant. And how is your family? All your sisters?" he asked, clasping his hands behind his back.
"They're fine. How are your parents?"
"Doing well, doing well. So, were you, ah," he came up beside her to gaze out the window, "admiring the day?"
She had actually been calculating the distance from the sill to the courtyard, but Catherine only shrugged.
Thomas nodded at the blue sky and ocean beyond the glass. "It is quite lovely outside. Sunny with just the slightest breeze, according to the almanac."
"You read the almanac?" Catherine asked, amusement momentarily replacing her apprehension.
He looked down at her, grinning. "Now I do."
A genuine smile crossed her face. For the first time that morning she felt warm and happy. Just to see him beaming at her this way made everything else disappear. In his eyes was a mixture of fondness and devotion and any number of wonderful things. She couldn't imagine not feeling that way when he looked at her—not sensing the strength of his affection when he was with her.
"Cat?"
"Mmm?"
"Are you ready to go to the gardens?" Thomas asked, his voice sounding puzzled.
She blinked, and then suddenly realized that he had probably asked this question once before and she had not answered. Immediately, her anxiety flooded back and she had to look somewhere other than his face.
"Yes—yes we should, um—go and see the—the, um—" she glanced to the side and spotted the unmistakable beaky nose of Frederick.
"Freddy!"
Thomas frowned. "Freddy?"
And then Catherine's feet were taking her towards the other man before she knew what they were doing. And she had grabbed Frederick's hand, words spilling out of her mouth.
"Freddy! Dear Freddy, how are you? I haven't seen you in ages!"
Frederick looked almost as surprised as his cousin felt. "Kitty-cat, why are you—aren't you supposed to be off smelling posies?"
"Yes, but oh, Freddy, you must come with us!" Why must he come with them? Why was she even saying that?
Frederick's eyes widened even more. "Wot?"
"I haven't seen you in far too long—we should catch up. Come on," she took the man's arm, "I bet you know all about the gardens."
The man coughed, casting a bewildered look at his cousin. He adjusted the folder of reports under his arm. "Um, Kitty-cat, I don't really—strolling through the flowers is more of a two-person sort of thing—"
"Nonsense. Tommy wants you to come with us, don't you Tommy?"
Thomas opened his mouth, intent on saying that no, he most certainly did not want Frederick to come with them, but Catherine had already started pulling his cousin towards the garden doors.
Thomas stood beside the window, his mouth still hanging open, quite perplexed about what had just taken place. He stared in the direction they had gone. A second later he was walking briskly after them.
The finest gardeners of Corona tended to every blade of grass, leaf, and flower that bloomed in the royal gardens. As a consequence, the plants and bushes were still doing well even with early autumn winds tickling stems and branches. There were colorful flowerbeds nestled here and there amongst the crafted topiary animals and neatly paved walkways. The sound of a running fountain filled the air, its musical water splashing within the harmonies of buzzing bees and twittering songbirds. The day was breezy, the sun bright, and the ever-present crash of ocean waves made the place seem almost like paradise.
Unfortunately, the gardens' occupants were not quite as relaxed as the atmosphere around them.
"Freddy, look at these little yellow ones!" Catherine called, pulling Frederick along to examine a patch of cheerful daises.
"Quite nice. Little wee plants…" He glanced over his shoulder at his cousin, almost positive there were two holes burned in the back of his head by a pair of glaring eyes.
"And over here—look at these! I've never seen such flowers." She steered him to a grouping of short bushes with spiky leaves and orange and purple blossoms.
Frederick let out a cough, muttering out of the side of his mouth, "Um, Kitty-cat, why am I here?"
Catherine paused in her examination of the bushes, her mind racing.
She honestly had no clue why she had grabbed the man and dragged him to the gardens. All she could remember was that she did not want to be alone with Thomas. Well, that wasn't exactly true. She did want to be alone with Thomas—she was just afraid of what might happen if she was.
But she couldn't tell Frederick that. He was Thomas's cousin, for goodness sake!
"Freddy, do you like petunias?"
"I'm actually more of a lilies' man to—" The remainder of his sentence flew back into his throat as Catherine yanked him further down the path.
Thomas, meanwhile, continued to walk after them, a frown on his face. He couldn't understand it. What was going on? And why on earth was Frederick here when he knew very well that he wanted to speak to Catherine alone? He tried thinking back to how her manner was in the front hall. She seemed relatively normal as far as he could tell. They had even been sharing that joke about the almanac when she abruptly left him to grab his cousin.
But he had thought, surely, that after a few minutes in the gardens he could get her attention again. He had tried accosting her at the sunflowers, but that failed to work. And then, five minutes later, his attempts at chatting about the servants' vegetable garden were completely ignored. Now they had been wandering around for nearly a quarter of an hour and still Catherine was avoiding any chance at eye contact or even exchanging a vague remark about the weather.
He watched as she fingered the edge of a petunia while Frederick kicked a clump of dirt at the corner of the bed. Thomas narrowed his eyes in determination and made his way over to them, pointedly coming up on Catherine's left side, away from his cousin.
He cleared his throat, immediately noticing that she jumped. "So, Cat, are you enjoying the flowers?"
"They're nice," she replied, moving ever so slightly away from him. "I'm a bit surprised at how many there still are even with the weather changing."
"We have good gardeners," Thomas said.
"I suppose you do."
"The roses are particularly beautiful. They're at their last bloom and, according to Lloyd, that's when they look the best." He tried to catch her eye, but she wouldn't look at him. He cleared his throat again. "Cat, I wanted to speak to you."
Catherine's heart beat faster. Oh no. Oh no, here it was—he had started talking and he was going to say something fantastic. He was going to break the tension. He was finally going to make a move and say his piece and get somewhere and she—what on earth was she going to do? She would have no clue what to say. She would just stand there, gawping, and ruin everything and they could never be friends again and she would have to leave the country because she couldn't bear to be in the same country with him if she couldn't see him and it would all just be awful and—
"It's a bit of a—a personal matter," Thomas said, reaching into his vest pocket. "And I think—I hope you understand why I wanted you to come—"
"We should get going!" she blurted, so loudly that doves roosting three bushes over took flight.
Thomas stopped, his hand halfway out of his pocket. "What?"
"We don't want to miss those famous roses, right?" Catherine asked brightly, quite certain she never felt more terrible.
"Yes, but—"
She interrupted, calling, "Freddy, come here, we need to go see the roses."
Frederick inched his way over. "Righto Kitty-cat, but are you sure we should—" he gulped, seeing the look on his cousin's face. "C-coming."
And they had gone again, Catherine quick-marching Frederick further down the lane. Thomas finished withdrawing his prepared speech and unfolded it, looking down at its contents. He crumpled it up in his fist, and felt his heart crumple with it. She had made her thoughts very clear. She didn't want to hear what he had to say. Perhaps what had occurred earlier this week had caused her to change her mind and she didn't know how to break it to him? Perhaps she no longer felt—or had ever felt quite what he had hoped. Perhaps he would do better to just get the reports from his cousin and go to that stupid meeting.
He continued along the path, glowering at the pavement. He found that Frederick and Catherine had stopped to look at the fountain. Moodily, Thomas picked a leaf from a potbellied topiary giraffe and began tearing it into pieces.
Over by the fountain, Catherine watched as water spurted out of the top. But of course, she wasn't really looking at the water. She was far too busy mentally smacking herself in the head. Oh, why hadn't she just let him talk? The poor man probably thought she hated him when it really was the exact opposite. The problem was she liked him too much—but if he said something and she couldn't respond—or if she said the wrong thing after he said the right thing—especially since she had already messed this day up by making Frederick come along… What was she going to do? What could she do? She couldn't even speak to the man she was so afraid of spoiling everything!
Frederick watched her fret for a moment. He wanted to help, but he had a meeting he was supposed to be at and really the best way he could help at this point was to be far away from here. He began to sneak away and had made it out of the alcove when a hand landed on his shoulder and all thoughts of sneaking fled from his mind.
"What do you think you are doing?" Thomas asked through clenched teeth.
Frederick gingerly removed Thomas's hand from his shoulder. "Calm down, mate."
"Calm down? Freddy, she doesn't even want to talk to me! And it's all your fault!"
Frederick's eyes widened. "My fault? How in the name of bally St. Anthony's left knee is it my fault?"
"Because it was supposed to be just Cat and me, alone—private. And—and then you had to go prancing out of the kitchen stuffing biscuits down your shirt!" Thomas turned away, rubbing his eyes in exasperation.
"Wot?"
"Look," he turned back around, holding out his hand. "Obviously this isn't going to work. Just give me the reports and I'll make up some excuse and get to the meeting."
Frederick hugged the papers tighter to his chest. "You're not going to the meeting—you're supposed to be courting the gal."
"Freddy, just give me the papers please. Cat doesn't want to talk to me anyway and the longer you're away from that meeting the more in trouble I'm going to be. Now give it."
"No."
Thomas glared at him. "Marquess—"
"Oh don't you dare pull rank on me, Tom! You know, I've had it with you." Frederick snapped his fingers. "I've been trying to get you and Kitty-cat together since the very start and if you're just going to give up now after everything I've done—"
Thomas snorted. "Done? What have you done but ruined every—"
"I've filled out your paperwork, I've gone to your boring lectures, I've sat through your meetings—I was going to go to the one today before Kitty-cat towed me here and I have half a mind to tell—"
"You're supposed to be in a meeting?"
Both men turned around, suddenly remembering that Catherine was within earshot.
"What?" Thomas asked.
"Eh?" Frederick clutched his reports.
"Are you supposed to be in a meeting right now?" Catherine asked, staring at Thomas.
He swallowed. "How—how long were you there?"
"Long enough to know that you're skipping out on a meeting." She looked angry now, not nervous at all, just plain angry. "Is that why you invited me here today? So you'd have an excuse to shirk work?"
"Who said—what do you—no!" Thomas shook his head. "No, I'd never do something like—"
"I can't believe you would actually do this, Tommy! You of all people!" Catherine turned her blazing green eyes at Frederick. "And you—you were going to let him?"
"I had absolutely nothing to do with any of wot's going on here," Frederick said.
Thomas reached out, trying to set a hand on her shoulder. "Look, Cat, it's not—it's not like that at all."
"Oh it isn't, is it? Then why did you ask me up here, hmm? Why did you even bother if you have work to do?" She folded her arms, shrugging off his hand.
"Well—I—I—" he glanced at his cousin, received a worried expression in return, and snapped, "What do you mean 'why'? You know very well why!"
"Enlighten me."
He groaned, frustration mounting. "For the record, this is not the first time I've skipped a meeting because there are some meetings that can be skipped. I have skipped out on loads of meetings for various reasons and the kingdom has not burned down yet. The meeting going on today is just a simple talk about business, nothing more, and there really is no reason why I should be there."
"You're the prince—you're not supposed to skip out on any meetings."
"Well I skipped out on this one."
"Why?"
"Because I—" Thomas rolled his eyes. "Because I wanted to see you! Is that such a terrible thing?"
"If you wanted to see me you should've chosen a better time." She turned around and began to walk away.
"Cat? Wait—where are you going?"
"Back home. You're obviously too busy." She couldn't believe it. There she was expecting something and all he wanted was a reason to skip work! She refused to be part of his plan any longer.
Thomas gaped after her for a full ten seconds before striding over to head her off. "Now see here—I am not too busy. You're the one who has been ignoring me completely since we've stepped foot in this garden."
Catherine looked to the side, knowing full well he was correct but not wanting to admit it.
"And furthermore," he continued, "you know exactly why I invited you here and it had nothing to do with any idiotic, blasted trade meeting!"
She glared up at him. "No, actually, I don't know why you invited me here. You haven't been clear at all and you've been dragging your feet and since you've already failed to mention your meeting how can I be sure that anything you say is actually true?"
"What?" Thomas knew he missed something but he was too angry to try to figure it out.
"You know what, I'm not talking to you anymore."
"Oh, yes, since that's such a big change. You've barely said a word to me all morning."
"Well you—you've been cryptic!" she said.
"What does that even mean?"
"Oh, please, Tommy. You know exactly what I mean." Of course he didn't—she didn't know what she meant. She was just exasperated.
"Now you're the one being cryptic!" he accused.
"I've been perfectly clear."
"No, not really. Honestly, you're just—just—"
"I'm just what?" Catherine asked.
Thomas shook his head, about twenty admiring adjectives jumping to his tongue before "silly" forced its way to the front.
"'Silly?'"
"I—I didn't mean—"
She turned around again. "I'm going home."
"You're not leaving."
"There's no reason for me to stay."
"There's every reason for you to stay!" he retorted.
"And there's every reason you should be up at that meeting!"
"For the last time, I'm not going to that meeting!"
They continued to shout, both wanting to shout at someone as well as be shouted at. Strangely, it felt good to get angry, to get frustrated and annoyed and to release emotions for a change. It felt good to argue with the one person who was causing so much confusion and happiness, so much fear and hope.
Frederick, who had largely been forgotten, watched in amazement. This was not how it was supposed to happen. For goodness sake, they were supposed to be kissing each other to oblivion by this point. What was all the yelling about? At this rate, the whole palace would hear and—
He frowned, suddenly able to discern voices separate from the yelling. Who was… oh sweet muffins.
Frederick coughed. "Um, excuse me."
They ignored him; too busy fussing at each other.
"Kitty-cat, I really think that—"
"Not now, Freddy." Catherine said impatiently.
"But Goliath, you might want to—"
"Go away, Freddy!"
"But—"
Catherine waved at him. "Leave us alone Freddy! His Highness and I have a lot to discuss!"
Thomas's forehead wrinkled. "Oh, 'his Highness' is it now? Maybe I should just start calling you Miss Catherine again."
"Don't you—"
"Oi! Lovebirds!"
"WHAT?" they demanded, turning to glare at Frederick.
"If you weren't so busy whispering sweet nothings, then you might notice Reverend Eccleston and that bossy housekeeper Madam Lillian are coming up the path!"
Catherine frowned, but Thomas let out a self-mocking laugh. "Of course, as if this day could go any worse! I'll be washing windows from now until Christmas."
Catherine's eyes widened. "Wait—that's that lady. That lady who—" she looked at him. "Tommy, we've got to get you out of here."
He shook his head. "What's the point? As soon as she finds out I'm not in the meeting she'll drag me back by my ear and—"
"Come—we need to hide." She took his hand and started forward, tugging him along much like she had done with Frederick.
"Cat, it's no use. There's nowhere to hide."
"Don't argue with me," Catherine said sharply. "You're not getting into trouble on my account."
"It wouldn't be on your account."
Frederick glanced behind his shoulder. "Will you two stop bickering and hoof it already? The dragon will have me washing chamber pots if she catches us!"
"That was one time, Freddy," Thomas said.
"It won't be the last if you don't start moving your big feet!"
So it was, prodded, pulled, and insulted, Thomas walked the remaining pathway to the rose section of the gardens. Most of the flowers had shriveled or fallen by now, but a few of the larger bushes were displaying at least a hundred or so red roses. Unfortunately, there was no longer any pathway here. They would have to either go through the thorns or simply return back the way they had come in order to leave the gardens.
Neither option seemed likely at this point.
"What are we going to do now?" Catherine asked, looking around for a way of escape.
"They're almost here," moaned Frederick as he looked again over his shoulder. "Three turns and I'll be scrubbing pots!"
Thomas folded his arms. "We can't do anything. We might as well just give up and—"
"We're not doing that," Catherine said.
"Why not? Why do you even care?"
"Because I do!"
Thomas started to reply when Frederick hissed, "Quick—the bushes!" and ducked into the bush to the left of the pathway.
Both Thomas and Catherine stared at the spot where the man had been a second earlier. Frederick was nowhere to be seen. Catherine started pulling Thomas towards another bush.
"What are you doing?"
"You've got to hide—this is the only option."
"I'm not jumping into a bush."
"Tommy, if you don't get in there you'll get in trouble and I'll feel terrible!"
"You should feel terrible anyway," Thomas said stubbornly. "You've ignored everything I've said and—"
"They're coming! Get in the bush!"
"No, I'm not going to—" Thomas tried to protest, but she had knocked him off balance and suddenly he was falling.
Due to the difference in size and overall body mass, Catherine basically had to tackle the man in order to get him to move. As he fell, he could feel branches snapping under his weight. Thorns dug into his arms and back and his head hit knots in the trunk before landing on fallen petals. But, when Thomas opened his eyes in the shade of the rosebush, the first thing he thought of did not have anything to do with flowers.
After all, the girl was lying right on top of him.
"Cat, can you—"
She shook her head. "Shhh. Be quiet."
"But Cat, you're kind-of—"
"Shush, Tommy. Can't you see I'm trying to save your skin?"
And so they both lay there, hardly breathing as the footsteps of the approaching reverend and housekeeper grew nearer and nearer. Thomas tried to ignore how much he liked having her so close to him. He tried to pretend that her hands were not grasping his vest as she listened to the coming voices. He tried to convince himself that the increased thudding of his heart had to do with the imminent threat of Madam Lillian and not this amazing girl he had grown to love during the past several months. Finally, however, he gave up on these feeble lies and just stared at her in the sunlight lancing down through the rose leaves.
If there was something he got right today—just one thing he got right—he knew exactly what he wanted it to be.
"I think—I think they've gone," Catherine whispered, straining her ears for any sign of danger. Then she realized a hand was brushing her hair back from her face.
"Tommy, what are you—" she stopped. He was looking at her, his blue eyes intense.
Thomas sat up slightly, still gazing at her, his expression painfully tender. Without realizing she was doing it, Catherine slid one of her hands up his neck to tangle her fingers in his beard. She could feel his chest rising and lowering beneath her, and she moved closer even as he cupped the side of her face in his hand.
"You are a beautiful woman, Cat."
She smiled, and then almost melted when he set his lips over hers and kissed her as though he never wanted to kiss anyone else for the rest of his life.
Frederick poked his head out from his bush, glancing around. He winced as he stood up, knowing for certain at least ten thorns had attached themselves to the back of his trousers.
"Blessed buns—that rotten housekeeper ruins everything."
He frowned. Where had his cousin and Catherine gone? They seemed to have vanished, which was odd because he had been fairly certain they were intent on quarreling till doomsday. There was rustling across the way, and he nodded. Aha.
"Okay, the coast is clear. You can come out now and finish your blasted argument."
There was no response from the rosebush.
Frederick narrowed his eyes and stepped closer. "Hello?" He pulled back a few branches, a slow smirk crossing his face. "Oh, hello."
Something hit him in the eye. This turned out to be one of Catherine's shoes.
"Ouch! Oh, come on!" He staggered backwards.
"Peek in here again and I'll throw the other one!"
"Fine!" Frederick retorted. "I'll just fetch the old reverend and have 'em officiate right now, then."
"We could."
"Oh, shut up, Tommy. Let's—let's just get out of this rosebush before someone else comes along."
Catherine emerged from the roses, blushing furiously and keeping her eyes averted. She took a deep breath. "I—I should get back home. Mother—Mother said to make it a short visit."
Frederick, holding his eye, nodded. "Too right you should—wot would your mum think if she knew you were—"
Catherine glared at him and he stopped speaking at once.
She cleared her throat. "Good day, both of you. Tommy, I'll—I'll see you later."
"Righto. I'm sure you'll see him and give him a royal snog or two—"
There was a loud whack as Frederick's stomach received the partner of the shoe that had struck his eye. Catherine chucked the shoe away and hurried off down the path, ignoring the man wheezing behind her.
Thomas came out from the bush a moment later. He was grinning, and his grin only widened when he saw his cousin sitting on the ground morosely nursing a new black eye.
"All right there, Freddy?"
"Oh shut up. Yes, we all know you've finally gone and kissed the gal of your dreams, so you can wipe that smirk off your mug, Goliath. Honestly, do you know she smacked me with her other shoe?"
Thomas's grin faded. "Did she really?" He looked around, concerned. "Where did she go?"
"Who cares? I just got smacked about by a pair of women's shoes! I've got thorns in me trousers and I never even wanted to be down in this wretched garden in the first place and—"
"Freddy, I—I'm sorry but I have to go." Thomas started walking down the path. He had to find her. Balderdash, he had to make sure she was okay.
"Oi!"
He turned around, and was forced to catch the shoes his cousin was throwing at him. "What are these for?"
"They're your gal's. She shouldn't be running about barefoot."
"And she hit you with these?" Thomas frowned. The shoes seemed rather small.
"Yep," Frederick muttered, getting to his feet. "Make sure she feels bad about it after you're finished telling her how much you love her."
"Right." Thomas tucked the shoes under one arm and jogged down the path, leaving his cousin to his moaning.
Catherine stopped running at the fountain, sitting down on the edge to rub her sore feet. She couldn't quite understand what had just happened. There was Frederick complaining and she had hit him and—before that—before that a lot of things—feelings…
She shook her head, panting. It was all mixed together in confusion. Her hands were shaking and her mouth still tingled from his beard and—and he had had coffee that morning. She was sure of it. Black with only a dash of cream. No sugar. She would remember that.
Then his footsteps came before she was ready for them. "Cat? Cat, where—oh. There you are."
Catherine glanced up. He was standing awkwardly at the entrance of the alcove, holding her shoes and looking just as uncertain as she felt.
"You um," Thomas held out her shoes, "you dropped these."
"Thank you." She took them and began putting them on again. There were scratches on her hands, and she knew from the stinging on her cheek that thorns had cut her face.
She turned back to him, saw the scratches on his face, and said, "I am sorry about—"
"I'm sorry—"
They paused.
"You go ahead—"
"After you—"
They stopped again, smiling at each other.
"How about you go first?" Catherine suggested.
Thomas nodded. "All right. Um, first, Cat, I—I want to apologize. I shouldn't have taken advantage of you and I'm sorry if I upset you or—or crossed some boundary or," he shook his head. "What I mean is—I'm not unhappy I'm just—I'm unhappy if you are and if you don't want this we can forget it ever happened. I mean, I probably won't forget but we can go back—just be friends. I should've asked first before I—"
His hair was untidy. It had bits of grass in it and was sticking up at all angles. How had—wait—she remembered weaving her fingers through those soft, brown locks. Inhaling an intoxicatingly masculine scent of coffee and shaving soap and sweat. Kissing him over and over and over…
"Stop," Catherine interrupted.
"Pardon?"
"I'm sorry. Just, please say what you were saying again."
"Oh—well—" Thomas glanced at his boots. "I said we could just pretend this never happened. If you want. We can just be… friends."
She shook her head. "No, I don't want that."
"Right."
"If we're going to do this properly you should talk to my father and your mother and I need to talk to my mother and—and we'll get it worked out."
"You want me to talk to your father?" Thomas asked, his heart lifting.
Catherine nodded. "Yes, that's how George did it with Lizzie. Daddy will expect the same from you."
"But I thought—I thought you were upset. You ran away."
She smiled. "That was because of Freddy. You did nothing wrong."
"So you do want to—I mean, us—you want—"
"Yes. My word, Tommy, have you always been this dense?"
A grin crossed his face. "I've just been recently surprised, that's all."
Catherine laughed, wanting nothing more than to get up and kiss the dear man again. But no—she had to go home. Thomas had work to do and she had to help her mother get ready for her sister's arrival and what on earth were they going to tell everybody?
She sighed, standing up from the fountain's edge. "I should get going. Mother's waiting for me."
"Yes, quite right. And I'll come speak with your father tonight," Thomas said, backing up to let her leave the alcove.
"He goes to bed by eleven so make sure you've arrived before then."
"Okay."
They looked at each other, not knowing what to do next.
"Well—goodbye," Catherine said, waving slightly as she started to walk away.
"Cat?"
She turned around.
Thomas cleared his throat. "Thank you for coming today. I had a—a wonderful time."
Catherine smiled, taking in his battered appearance and recalling their ridiculous argument. "Me too. I'll see you tonight."
Thomas folded his fingers together behind his head, watching until she was out of sight. He let out a hoot of joy, beaming up at the gorgeous blue sky and relishing in the green life around him. How amazing. How wonderful. How absolutely, without a doubt, fantastic and utterly magnificent this day had been! How could he possibly go back to work now? How could he focus on anything now? He was flying, he was free, he was—
"Yowch!" he yelped, two firm fingers pinching his ear so hard he doubled over. A stern Madam Lillian had found her favorite handle.
"Gotcha, you spoiled layabout!" the head housekeeper said triumphantly.
"Madam Lillian, please—I'm twenty-two years old. Do you have to grab my—ow!"
"What do you think you're doing, strolling about the gardens making all kinds of racket? You're supposed to be in a meeting!" She began towing him forward.
"Please let go of my ear."
"Just caught your lazy cousin sneaking off," the housekeeper sniffed disapprovingly. "The reverend is marching him up to the infirmary to patch up a black eye. You weren't fighting were you?"
"No," Thomas rolled his eyes.
She yanked him along. "Come on, then. You've got a palace of windows just waiting for you. Scoundrels, the both of you! Skipping out when your father has to deal with all manner of intrigue and trouble! And what have you been doing?"
"Falling in love, you dragon!" Thomas barked, his patience snapped.
"Don't you get cheeky with me, young man!"
"Ouch! Not so tight, you're going to pull it right off!"
Hope you guys enjoyed it! Also, if I have gotten anything wrong about gardening/roses/seasons in this chapter, I do apologize, and will only take refuge in 'plot reasons'! :D :D :D