The Twelfth day of February, the Year of our King 1569
I am writing this in the faint light of my favourite rose-scented candle, so please excuse the wobbly letters and ink splodges. The candle is lent by my best friend Ashley, which I am extremely grateful about. Ash and I have been best friends for what seems like nearly ten years. It is nearly midnight and thus the outside is coloured in the most discreet, mysterious shade of black. This is the time of the day that I can rest peacefully, and as I drift to sleep, many strange and rather brilliant thoughts weave their way in to my subconscious brain.
That is how I got the idea of having a secret diary, a book for me to pour my innermost thoughts in. A secret book about me, Lady Jasmine Annabeth Lily-Bella Rosewater, the most favoured Maid of Honour.
My favourite person, apart from my mother, is Her Gracious Majesty the Queen. She's a bit old and stout, which you are never supposed to say unless you want to be hit by a shoe, but she is very smart. But she is too old to have children – as Mrs Cobblenock complains when nobody is listening. I approve of the Queen's decision, for why would she marry to gain a king whom she would have to serve? Who would want to get married if they did not have to?
Unfortunately, I have to. The Queen says so.
The most exciting day of my life is supposed to be the day after tomorrow. Her Highness has arranged a magnificent Saint Valentine's Ball and I must choose one of the four suitors the Queen has selected for me to be my wedded husband. We will be handfasted once the lawyers have finished the contracts, and then I shall marry him properly when I turn sixteen. I suspect strongly that Sir Daniel, Duke Sainsbury's nephew, a good-for-nothing show off with nothing but his oily charm and money bribed the Ladies-In-Waiting to convince the Queen to name him the suitor.
I wish I didn't have to marry. But I must, being an heiress, I must – though I do not know why, for the Queen herself would not!
Although I dislike the idea of having to choose my future husband, I do love the idea of dancing. I have been learning to dance for nearly all of my life, for my mother, Countess Rosetta Rosewater, simply loved dancing. They say she twirled like a graceful swan at balls, a glowing phoenix when waltzing. The bright atmosphere of the ballroom, the exquisite music, the mouth-watering refreshments! And all the jugglers who will be tossing red satin hearts in the air! This was going to be a thrilling party!
It is nearly morning-teatime. I've got to go and pick some roses and lilies for my flower jar, for the dawn is approaching.
Later this day
I have just gotten back in from the gardens and – it is simply delightful out there! Combined with the shy glow of the rising sun, the meadow looked just like my imaginary Garden of Eden! I picked not only roses and jasmines but hyacinths, lilac blossoms, and other colourful and sweet-smelling blooms as well. Staggering slightly under the weight of the huge bouquet, I dashed towards my tower-chamber, too impatient to wait for the tea-maid to carry my cloak. When I got back, Mrs Cobblenock was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs to the Eastern Tower. As always, she started off with a growl at how unladylike it is to stomp down the stairs like that, and then she got on to something even more ridiculous, that I needed to have wheatpaste on my face and my hair in a stupid top-knot at the ball.
"When will you ever live up to that pretty name your mother gave you? Glide, child, glide across the floor like a graceful, weightless petal tossed in the light breeze! And surely you are not planning to wear those filthy streaks of mud in your hair for the ball the day after tomorrow? The Queen herself has especially spent hundreds of pounds for your new gown, you should know better!" she scolded.
That stopped me cold.
"Hundreds of pounds? Honestly?" I asked, my eyes wide with astonishment.
"Yes, child, hundreds." She replied smugly, her face distorting into a superior smirk, obviously enjoying the effect of her words. "That laundry girl, Nicole Felton, is just ironing the hems now."
I dashed up the stairs without another word, and in to my chamber.
And there, sitting on the fluffy white rug, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration, was Nicole Felton, folding something horrible, way-too-much-frill kind of pink. Nicole is the girl who once saved my life when I was nearly drowned. Since then we were pretty close. I snuck up to her, as lithe as a cat, and then whispered, "Boo!"
Nicole jumped two feet up into the air and scowled at me, heaving a sigh.
"Jasmine! You scared me stiff!" she huffed.
"Sorry. You looked so funny when you jumped though." I snickered.
"But my lady, surely beauteous, most stunning Lady Jasmine knows better than to scare a poor, lowly laundry girl." She said, a mocking smile twitching up to her lips.
"Oh stop that. You know I hate that my lady and mistress talk. But according to Mrs Cobblenock, you've got something to show me, right?"
"Yep. Wait…
"Ta-da!! I ironed the whole dress all by myself, Jasmine!" she said proudly as she produced the most beautiful gown ever.
It looked pretty.
Pretty scary.
It was made of rose velvet and soft, cream coloured silk, the exact colour of my skin, just the right colour for Saint Valentine's Ball. The cream coloured silk was embroidered along the edges with fine threads, of crimson roses with emerald-green leaves and twirling vines. My mother, who died last year, loved flowers. Her favourite were jasmines, the very reason why she named me Jasmine. My favourite are roses, the red ones, though I like the smell of jasmine better. It comforts you. It smells rather like my mum's old petticoat she used to wear at night. There are lots out there in the palace gardens, which is why I like to spend so much time there. I thanked Nicole hurriedly then dashed out of the room leaving Nicole mumbling something unintelligible about my manners behind. I've got to go now. Time for my riding lessons with my pony, Ivory. I hope Sir Nicholas is well, and I can't wait to see my other friend, Richard, the stable-boy!
Later this day
As I was just changing out of my sea-blue petticoat and bodice and into my riding kirtles, Danielle, the scullery maid, came bursting into my room clutching a teapot! I was surprised, of course, but I took the desperate urgency in her usual calm grey eyes and asked quietly,
"What's wrong, Danielle? What ails you so?"
Danielle, who looked merely shocked before, whipped around to look at me and nearly shrieked with rage. Then, to my great astonishment, she burst into tears.
"O M-m-my lady! S-so gracef-f-ful, int-telligent, b-b-beauteous! Yet does that stinking mongrel of a woman care? Jealousy, t-t-that's what I say. N-no, she insulted you, my l-lady! The Second Maid of Hon-n-our did!" she wailed piteously.
No surprises there, then. I was almost relieved.
The Second Maid of Honour, Francia, was the sort of a person who one itches with the desire to crown her the Head of the Palace Gossip Squad when near her. She has long corn-silk blond hair which she dangles to her waist (though it is still shorter than mine, thankfully) and cornflower blue eyes which she shows off just about any chance she gets. Of course, just like those pretty-looking swan meat which taste gross, she is about the vilest, most wicked person in the whole court. She's pretty alright. Pretty annoying. She is very popular among the palace gentlemen due to the enormity of her bosoms. I do not want that, of course, never! Mine's just started to develop last summer and I am very uncomfortable with all those peculiar glances from the male members of the court (maybe I should not have written this all down, but I will keep this diary safe, so it is okay). Francia is really irritated with me. I am quite pretty I suppose, though Queen insists that I am the most beautiful of the girls. I'll bet she says that to every girl in the court. I have loose silk waves of crystallised-honey coloured hair that looks brunette when in darkness which is awfully long, just past my knees when let down, as I was never allowed to cut since my mother hated the very idea of cutting them off (my nickname is Rapunzel for a good reason!), and big pale green eyes fringed with long, dark-blond lashes. My mother always used to call my eyes, "the family jewels", for they glitter like faded emeralds in the starlight. Fran calls them "witch's eyes" behind (or in front) of my back. My cheekbones are quite high, and because I am very slim particularly around my waist (when I wear corsets, some stare, much to my discomfort), my wrists and my ankles, people think I am a fragile little baby bird. Well, Fran knows that I am not a weakling (she still likes to charge at me like a bull, Heavens know why). My upper lip is slightly fuller than the bottom, so I look like an angry kitten, a cute little fluff-ball. Ha! As if! Danielle seemed to be thinking along the same lines as me because just then she said, much to my embarrassment,
"How would Francia ever even think about competing with thy loveliness? How dare she do spake to disguise her own foulness, when at the same time affronting Lady Jasmine's exquisiteness? How-" I broke her off, my cheeks tinted cherry-red (which is quite an achievement, since my cream-white, nearly transparent skin hardly ever blush, let alone tint red), and told her with as much dignity as I could muster (while checking behind my back to see if anybody else has heard),
"Do not you worry, my dear Danielle, she asks for a good kick in the bum, that is true, but you must not take any notice of her." At my words she smoothed out her cotton apron and nodded stiffly.
"But your grace, if she does continue to use the gift of God to speak of stinking lies, then may I kick her in the bum for real?" at that I had to laugh, though I was not sure if she was kidding or not. Danielle is just one year younger than me, thirteen, and she is going through a lot of emotional changes. Even when she was little, I remember her crying her eyes out at Mr Timothy's tragic love story in the book Over the Rainbow and Into Thy Arms. I like her though. She has a kind spirit and intelligence. That got me thinking, how did Danielle, who hardly ever leaves the kitchen grounds and the cow fields, hear about Fran's nasty gossip? When I asked Danielle, she said, without much enthusiasm, that Fran visits the kitchen nearly every day now.
I was most appalled! The Queen's Grande Dames, also known as Queen's Gentlewomen, were not allowed in such places as the Dumping Grounds (where we dispose of our rubbish) or the kitchen. In fact, we were expected to be where people could always keep an eye on us, which is really irritating. Of course, I (and possibly Ash too) sort of didn't count because of my unstoppable nature to explore places. Too curious, those palace rumour-spreaders would say, why can't she be like Lady Francia and stay out of the way? Fiddlesticks!
"Ay, my lady. The whole kitchen is filled with those stinkin' friends of hers; even the cook listens to them. T'is been going on for weeks!" Danielle told me as she left. They are definitely up to something. Though my mind was filled with suspicions and questions, I remembered the riding lessons and hurried to change.
I simply love riding horses; the speed, the exhilaration, the soft patch of fur between the horse's ears! But today I admit that I was rather occupied with some disturbing thoughts as Ivory galloped – or rather flew - in to the woods while Sir Nicholas hummed by my side. I did not even realise that we had halted when we stopped at the Duck Pond to feed the baby ducklings stale bread (which Ash had secretly supplied me with last night under the watchful eyes of Mrs Hasleen the cook) and I very nearly fell in to the pond. If Sir Nicholas didn't catch me in time, then I suspect strongly that I would've gotten a bath with the ducks right there and now.
"Are you alright, my lady?" he asked in his deep, booming voice.
"Ay, sir, though I must thank thee immensely for saving me from an unpleasant bath session." I replied, smiling.
Sir Nicholas is quite old for a horse instructor, but he is an amazing rider. He is one of the four suitors the Queen chose. He is very witty and fun to be with, but he is too wild and old for my taste. Those untamed and exploding beard of his!
Not that the other suitors are any better. Besides Sir Daniel and Sir Nicholas, there are Duke Anthony and Sir Joseph. The Duke is an extremely fat and lazy person, known to do anything for power and so extremely unpopular with palace maidens. And Sir Joseph is a –
SPLASH!
Ivory had just lurched away from the pond neighing in surprise for a huge goldfish had splashed water on him. Thanks to him, I slipped from my leather saddle and fell into the pond. Sir Nick was too late this time, it seems. Weeds streaming from my hair, I managed to climb out of the pond to scowl at Ivory, who was gingerly taking a step forward to greet me, her wide, clear black eyes so annoyingly innocent. Sir Nicholas started laughing so hard that there were tears in his eyes. I must've looked a sight, covered in muddy water, stray duck feathers sticking out all over the place. My new petticoat and silk stockings! Mrs Cobblenock was going to give me a very long rant about appropriate girly behaviour later. Mostly because I was all sodden, but also because the weather was turning bad rapidly, we hastened to get back to the castle before it started to rain.
So where was I before I accidently plunged into the pond? Yes - Sir Joseph. Well, he is a very tall and lanky boy, with limp mouse hair and pale milky-grey eyes. He is very, very shy but quite nice, and you can easily get used to his stutters. He doesn't talk much; he's just there listening and sulking about one thing or other. All of this is very private information; I do not want to get Nicole or Richard into trouble because I had left this book lying around for someone else to read.
I hear someone coming up the stairs, I think it might be Fran coming up to get changed.
Still later this day
It was not Fran who was coming up the stairs, but Duke Carlisle Casander's son, Duke Edward Casander! I had heard about him coming to the Windsor Castle to visit the Queen, but surely not so soon!
It was a surprise to see him in the gardens though, for most noble gentlemen do not waste their time with me, too busy trying to catch Lady Francia's eye. But he is so different from others. He is quite tall and is the most handsome of any male being I had ever laid my eyes upon, like the Angel himself from the Heaven; his gorgeous bronze hair messed up from riding and dazzling smile lighting up his beautiful face. He has darkish-gold sort of eyes and he looked simply incredible standing there in a raven-feather black velvet suit streaked with gold, just like Sir Antonio from Princess of Vanessils by Isabella Ceyes.
"Hello, you must be Jasmine. My name is Edward. I am enormously pleased to meet you." He said in a soft voice, his voice even more velvety than his suit, unintentionally but unspeakably seductive.
To be absolutely honest, I was shocked. Gentlemen never, ever say a thing to a girl without permission (no my lady, or mistress at the end???), especially not sitting down next to them on a rock. But Edward did not once hesitate to brush the last of the duck feathers away from my wet hair with his hands then grin at me, perfectly at ease. I am appalled at myself for writing this, but I felt an electric current run through me at his satin-smooth touch, so powerful and intense that I was sure he could feel it himself.
Not that I did not like it, of course, I was so grateful that there was at least one gentleman who actually did not have any problems with calling girls by their names and laughing along with them. So I smiled back tentatively and spoke rather shyly,
"Yes, I am Jasmine. It is very nice to finally meet you, too… Edward."
His grin became even more pronounced then, his divine face perfect as he jumped up to follow his uncle into the palace.
"See you around…Jasmine." He called.
"'Bye!" I called back softly.
Trying to think of something else other than Edward or Fran, I tossed and turned in the bed, worrying about who I was going to choose to be my…my…
Ugh! I can't say the name aloud;
My future husband.
Tomorrow (and even more the day after) is going to be a really busy day!