“Oh, miss, you look fabulous, you really do,” Dilly said earnestly we surveyed our reflections in the mirror and for once I knew that we were both satisfied with what we saw. I had persuaded Papa to give Dilly a bonus to buy a new dress and for the first time she had actually shown some really good taste in purchasing an off-the-rail grey brocade almost covered with black and silver embroidery. I had pulled her hair neatly on the back of her head with a few strands hanging down -which we had managed curling tongs on- around her exposed neck and shoulders.
And me? Henrietta’s ball was supposed to be black-and-white, but knowing that I looked good in neither, like Dilly I had opted for dark grey, yards of luxurious silk rustling in heavy swathes behind me. It had a boned bodice that left my shoulders bare and looking creamy. I wore Mama’s old little silver and diamond star on a chain. Dilly had curled my hair and clustered the ringlets on the top of my head with pearl topped pins. We had gone light on the rouge, using our pale skin to our advantage, and though Dilly had experimented -and succeeded- with false eyelashes, a bit of black mascara was all I needed for my abundant lashes- I’ve mentioned them already.
We could have passed as sisters, with Dilly’s hair only a few shades brighter than mine. Seeing as at such functions all single young women should be chaperoned, Dilly was coming with me to Henrietta’s. Or at least that was the official reason.
“So do you, Miss Delilah,” I murmured, and her face lit up as she allowed herself a flattered blush and genuinely selfish smile, a rare luxury for her. I turned away from the mirror, breaking eye contact with the mirror. “The Cole Sisters will be the belles of the ball tonight.”
She frowned. “But you don’t-”
“Yes, I do,” I said and linked arms with her. Realisation spread over her face like sunlight. Then, as if a veil were dropped-
“Oh, but miss, it wouldn’t be proper to-”
“Dilly, forget ‘proper.’ That’s a world neither me or you will ever fit into. Let’s stop pretending that we are who everybody thinks we should be, and start being who we think we should be. And I say that tonight, we’re just two sisters going to a ball.”
She grinned. “Right.”
We left and went to the carriage, arm in arm.
*****
I had forgotten, absorbed in my own problems over the past few months, how much fun Dilly was, her eyes bright and animated. She even rather outrageously danced three dances with the son of a lord who was actually enjoying it. I danced a few times myself, and was glad of the skirts that meant I couldn’t stand on my partner’s toes. I think I might have even flirted a little.
I was resting my feet (I had thankfully swerved away from the heels so they weren’t too bad), when who should come and talk to me but the Honourable Lilia. She had chosen an ivory taffeta to set off her dark complexion, with buttoned half-sleeves and a round skirt.
But for the first time, I actually felt like her equal.
“Good evening, Nicole,” she said sweetly.
“Good evening, Lilia,” I replied. “Please, do sit.”
She arranged her skirts and perched delicately on the edge of the chair. “I trust I find you well,” she said.
“Splendid, in fact,” I answered.
Her mouth turned to a little circle of surprise. “Oh,” she said. “Only after some rumours I heard…”
“You shouldn’t listen to rumours, I’m fine. And yourself?”
She ignored me. “So it isn’t true about flirtations between you and His Royal Highness?”
Flirtations? Flirtations? I -okay, sure, we had kissed, but how was Lilia to know that? Unless…
Henrietta’s announcer stood at the top of the staircase and gave an urgent little ‘up’ motion. Lilia and I stood. Oh no…
“His Royal Highness, Prince Charles-Edward-Henry.”
Seriously, who would call their child that? Then again, said my conscience. Nicole Cole?
Charlie -His Royal Highness- was wearing a black suit, white shirt and white tie, his honey gold hair in neat big curls. He looked, quite frankly, hot.
He stepped down the stairs and made a beeline, it seemed, straight to me.
And on past me. In a sweeping movement he bowed and kissed Lilia’s hand. “I know,” he said, his owl eyes meeting hers. “That it is customary to first greet the hostess, but I must say that tonight, you, your Honour, are the picture of beauty.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” she said with a fluttering of eyelashes.
I’m not an expert, but I’m pretty sure that was flirtation. He didn’t even spare me a glance.
Unable to catch Dilly’s eye, I ran to the powder room alone, tears streaking the black mascara.
And that was where he found me, leaning over the sink sobbing.
“Nicole?” he asked softly, and in that second the flirtatious Prince Charles-Edward-Henry was replaced by kind Charlie, funny Charlie, my Charlie…
I sniffed and refused to meet his amber eyes. Silence. Then,
“Nicole, I’m sorry, I-”
“This is a lady’s powder room,” I started, mustering my courage. “It’s not for men, not even for princes.”
“I wanted to tell you, I did-”
“Then why didn’t you?” I shrieked, and my bottled anger burst. “Why did you pretend that you were this cute, loving, friendly boy that I thought might be falling in love with me-” I stopped short. That last bit came out of its own accord.
Silence again. “But,” he said, his voice echoing in the empty room. “I am.”
“Am what?” I asked sarcastically.
“Am that cute loving friendly boy that is falling in love with you.”
‘…’ was all I could think, and Charlie stared at me desperately. “You’ve got to believe me.”
“Why?” I asked feeling a new wave of tears coming. “Why should I, when you’ve lied about everything else?”
“Because this time it’s the truth,” he said, stepping forwards and taking my hands in his feverishly hot fingers. “I swear it is.”
I bit my lip to stop it quivering. “Then why did you flirt with Lilia?”
“To see if you cared. I couldn’t give a toss for her otherwise. Not my type. I prefer blondes.”
There was my Charlie, right there. I smiled through my tears. “Really?”
“I swear on your life and mine, under pain of death by chocolate.”
At that, I knew I had to forgive him. “Well,” I said slowly. “Alright then.”
He spun me round and kissed me and I felt lighter than air. Then we paused and he said, “There is one condition.”
I rolled my eyes. “What, that I have to wear a tiara or we have to get married or-” his eyes widened and I gasped. “Charlie, you’re not bloody serious?”
Charlie gave me an embarrassed smile. “I’m… supposed to marry my first love.”
I blanked again, then had to ask, “Did you just propose to me in a powder room?”
He paused and then nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”
I fished for something, anything, to break the silence. “But you haven’t got a ring!”
Anything but that, I meant. But Charlie smiled and held up a finger as he rummaged with his other hand in his breast pocket. No fecking way, I thought to myself, as he produced a little black velvet box. Incredulous, I watched as he knelt on Henrietta’s powder room floor and opened it to reveal a million sided diamond nestling in purple silk.
“Nicole Cole…” he said and I felt horribly embarrassed.
“Charlie…” I warned.
“Will you…”
“Charlie,” I repeated more urgently.
“Marry me?” he asked, grinning up at me.
I paused, meeting those owl-like eyes and said barely without realising, “Sure, why not?”
He grabbed my hand and pulled himself up as he put the ring on, then attempted to tip me backwards to kiss me, only even at times like these, a girl can still be clumsy. I lost my footing and with a bang brought both of us down, I in joyful tears and he in fits of laughter.
And that was how our hostess and the Honourable Lilia, no doubt coming to gossip, found us, lying on the powder room floor tangled in my skirts and laughing like nobody else in the world existed.
*****
Papa gave me a close-lipped but happy smile when I told him, and I think that he had known this would be the outcome all along. Dilly squealed and threw her arms around me. Lilia took the blow rather graciously and I decided to forgive her her faults. After all, we can’t all be perfect, and well, she’s closer than I’ll ever me.
Truth be told, I’ll be nearer seventeen when we do marry, I’d rather wait until after my birthday, but the queen says that there’s some special date that all royal weddings take place. Would I mind waiting another year? No. But neither do I mind marrying Charlie in six days. It’s been a long engagement and I know him more than ever. Like that his favourite colour is orange and he has an irrational fear of chipmunks.
His mother seems a little peeved that I’m to be her daughter-in-law, I think she was a Lilia supporter. She’s a little brisk, but she’s taught me stuff my own mother never had a chance to, like how to hold a fan properly and when to serve fish and when to serve meat. The king makes jokes and acts like I’m already part of the family.
I feel bad for leaving Papa. I asked if he would like to come and live in the palace, but he declined. Papa has always been quiet and at peace where he is, he wouldn’t like the palace bustle. I’ve said I’ll visit him every second day. And Mama?
She wouldn’t want me to marry before I’m seventeen, but I found out that she was a fishmonger until she was sixteen. I have this creeping feeling at night that maybe she only married Papa because he was rich. But then I remember that day they took me up the lighthouse, and the glint in Papa’s eyes when he talks about her, and think that they really were in love too.
I’ll miss seeing her in a big hat and silly shoes, but she never really liked this kind of thing anyway. She’d make an excuse not to come. Still, it’s not going to be your typical royal wedding -Papa’s giving me away and even though Lilia is to be one of my seven (yes, seven) bridesmaids, my maid of honour is to be none other than Miss Delilah White, dressed in a pretty pale blue. Myself, I’m wearing a huge ivory silk and lace concoction and the queen is lending me a tiara.
Am I scared? Yes, utterly. Whenever Her Majesty enters the room I immediately feel like I’m doing something wrong. Dilly is to come and be chief lady-in-waiting, but I know I’ll feel uncomfortable whenever the likes of Lilia visit. To be honest, I haven’t a clue what I’m doing and I’m quite often tempted to climb out the window.
But then I think of my reward. Charlie. Walks in the park, picnics, climbing to the top of the lighthouse. Paying state visits with him. Our honeymoon to his ‘hometown’ in the south. His laugh, the way his hair catches the light, the way he’s so casual and the way he, for some reason, loves me. And his owl eyes.
Life is rarely like the fairytales. But fairytales don’t always have a happy ending. In fact, Charlie told me, two out of three fairytale marriages end in murder, suicide, divorce or a combination of all three.
Even despite our age, I have a feeling Charlie and I will last.
Locking girls in towers doesn’t make princesses. Giving boys jewelled swords doesn’t make princes. What it takes is a strong will, good grammar and in my case, a huge engagement ring. Perhaps they’re right and it should be the Lilias of this world in charge.
But instead, it’s me and my owl-eyed prince, and she can lick our sensible-shoe-clad feet.
Well, did you enjoy? Yes, it's very cliché... I've been trying to add dimensions to her other relationships - with her father, Dilly, Lilia and her dead mother. I'm not sure if it worked. What d'you reckon? And if I were rewriting (which I may or may not), what would you change?
Thank you dearies! Stel x
