White Roses a.b

chapter 15

The dining was still for a beat, two beats, three – before qwh's mother launched herself from the table.

'Whealagig! What are you waiting for? Get out there and greet him!'

'Er – right. Of course, darling.' The Marquess tossed his napkin on to the table and followed Mr Penguin to the parlor.

'We'll be right there! Do not let him leave!' The Marchioness rounded on Ashley, plucking some of her dark hair forward to hang in wavy locks over her shoulders. She pinched Ash's cheeks. Dipped a napkin corner into the nearest water glass and scrubbed at Ashley's mouth.

Ashley squirmed. 'Stop it! What are you doing?'

'Making you presentable! The King is here!'

'Yes, but he hasn't asked for an audience with me.'

'Of course he hasn't asked for an audience with you, but that's clearly why he's here!' Cupping Ash's face in both hands, her mother beamed. 'Oh, my precious, precious girl! I'm so proud of you!'

Ash frowned. 'Just a moment ago, you were—'

'Never mind a moment ago, the King is here now.' Pulling away, her mother shooed at her with both hands. 'Come along. To the parlor. Here, chew on this.' She plucked a mint leaf from a bouquet on the sideboard and shoved it into Ashley's mouth.

'Mother,' she said, chewing twice before pulling the mint leaf out. 'I'm not going to kiss him.'

'Oh, stop being such a pessimist.'

  Ashley blanched at the very idea of it.

She was bustled through the doors and past her father's library, into the main parlor where her father was standing with the King and the White Rabbit and two guards – the Five and Ten of Clubs – and . . .

Her heart leaped, but she silently chastised it until it sank back down again.

Andy stood at the back of the King's entourage in full black motley, his hands behind his back. Though he'd been inspecting a painted portrait of one of Ashley's distant ancestors, he straightened when Ashley and her mother entered.

A drumbeat thumped against the inside of her rib cage. She barely had time to catch her breath before a trumpet blared through the room and she jumped.

Andy's blue gaze fell to the floor.

The White Rabbit lowered the trumpet. 'His Royal Majesty, the King of Hearts!'

'Your Majesty!' cried the Marchioness. Ash followed her mother into a curtsy, trying to gather her scattered composure. 'Your visit honors us! Would you care for some tea? Abigail! Bring the tea!'

The King cleared his throat, smacking his fist against his sternum a few times. 'Thank you warmly, Lady Costello, but your husband already offered and I already declined the kindness. I do not wish to take up too much of your time.' He was smiling, like usual, but it was an awkward, nervous smile, not the joyful one Ash was used to.

He would not look at her.

She felt sick to her stomach and was glad, for once, that her mother had sent the dessert away.

'Oh, but won't you at least sit, Your Majesty?' The Marchioness gestured at the nicest chair in the room – usually the Marquess's seat.

Whipping his red cloak behind him, the King nodded gratefully and sat.

In unison, the Marquess and Marchioness sat on the sofa opposite him. Only when her mother reached up and yanked her down did it occur to Ashley to sit as well.