The Little Selkie (retail) (14 page)

Inside her own room, she shut her door and threw herself on her bed, almost smashing a cloth-wrapped bundle. A plain piece of paper lay on the bundle, reading:

For this afternoon.

More will arrive this evening
.

Dylan set the paper aside and unwrapped the bundle. Out spilled rich fabric, tailored into a garment her size—a dress of blue silk that reminded her of the sparkling ocean in the noon sun. The dress wasn’t like the ones the noble ladies wore; it was better. It had a white kirtle made of breathable, gauzy material and overlaid with lace. The blue gown was more form-fitting than Dylan’s saffron gown or red gown. It fit snug at the bust and waist, and the skirt flowed down like a waterfall as opposed to poofing. Its sleeves were fitted and cut off at the elbow, and a ribbon that was the same ocean-blue color laced the gown together across the stomach.

I don’t think Cagney could afford to get me more than one…Dooley could, perhaps, because he is so eccentric.
Dylan silently snorted, amused by the idea.
Yes, it must be Dooley, trying to win favor with Cagney by making me more presentable.
I will thank them this afternoon at the garden party—before I shake Bump and Lump.

She ran a hand over the gown with pleasure. It hadn’t bothered her that she had two dresses—clothes were just clothes after all—but the ocean blue color of her new dress was so
beautiful
.

As long as I must be stuck here, perhaps I better understand nobility’s obsession with clothes
, Dylan thought.

Chapter 9

Breaking and Entering

When Dylan knocked on Jarlath’s door right before the garden party, the ruddy-faced tyrant opened the door and blinked at Dylan, taking in her new dress. “Where in the blazes did you get that?” He shook his head when Dylan reached for her slate. “No mind, I don’t rightly care. Look, you will have to escort yourself to the garden party, you hear? Lady Shauna has agreed to let me follow her to the party. She’ll get mad at me if I have you trailing me like a dog. So get.” Jarlath made a shooing motion, stepped into the hallway, and locked his door.

Dylan rolled her eyes at Jarlath before she went off on her own. Lady Shauna said she would let Jarlath
follow
her to the party, that meant he wouldn’t walk in with her, the dunce.

The party—much less formal than the ball—was to be held in a garden just off the main palace. There were the usual party staples—musicians, food, and drink—but no dancing. Instead, everyone was viewing flowers and shrubs trimmed to resemble animals—or they were supposed to. Mostly the nobles ignored the gardens and sat on silk cushions or walked in groups, talking about business, gossip, and fashion.

Cagney was already there, drinking an alcoholic beverage with a sour expression, which cleared when she saw Dylan. “Miss Dylan, you look beautiful.”

Dylan smiled and smoothed her gown.
Thank you. You do, too
, Dylan wrote. The personal assistant was still wearing a subdued dress, but it must have been one of her new ones, for it was a blueish-purple that softened her eyes and hair and was much brighter than her usual colors.

Cagney pressed her lips together and didn’t reply to Dylan’s compliment.

Where is Dooley
?

Cagney scowled and tossed back the rest of her drink. “Making an entrance,” she said, her voice icy.

“It is often said, the most beautiful flowers of Ringsted grow in the Summer Palace,” Dooley boomed. His voice was loud and carried over the mosquito-like buzz of the partygoers.

Dylan turned to see Dooley, being lowered in a sort of rope swing from the ballroom patio. Pink flower petals fell with him, matching his coral pink waistcoat and tri-corner hat, and complementing his white breeches.

“But I see even more beautiful, priceless flowers of youth and beauty before me, arranged in bouquets of elegance and refinery,” Dooley finished.

Cagney groaned and massaged her forehead with her palms, but the lords and the ladies—used to Lord Dooley’s eccentricities and accepting of them due to his vast fortune—clapped.

When Dooley’s swing reached the grassy ground, he bowed deeply, eliciting more claps.

“I should kill him,” Cagney said, her voice thoughtful and her eyes narrowed.

Think of the work you would have to do if he was gone
, Dylan wrote.

“It would be
less
!”

Exactly
, Dylan wrote.

Cagney frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Before Dylan could reply, Dooley swept up to them, smelling of flowers and flashing his dazzling smile. “Good afternoon, ladies. Both of you look beautiful! Did you enjoy my entrance? Was it not poetic?” he asked, puffing out his chest.

“It was terrible. I can’t believe you can happily show your face,” Cagney said, getting a dainty pewter plate and starting to pile it with food.

“Why not? Wasn’t it lovely?”

“It was embarrassing!”

“It would have been even better if you rode in on the swing with me, jewel of my desire.”

Cagney looked like she was going to disembowel Dooley with the pastry tongs, so Dylan slid her slate between them.

Thank you for the dress, Lord Dooley
.

“Oh, it wasn’t me,” Dooley said with a big smile.

Dylan blinked.
Cagney?

“Not I.” Cagney placed a roll on the mountain of food heaped on the plate.

Then who was it?

“I can’t say, for he wished to remain unnamed,” Dooley winked before staring in Prince Callan’s direction.

Dylan blinked, trying to process it.

“Though I will be sure to pass your thanks along. However, I suspect presenting yourself to him whilst looking so lovely would be thanks enough for your admirer,” Dooley said.

Dylan self-consciously brushed the fabric of her new dress.
Prince Callan bought my dress? But…why?
Her thoughts swirled in a confused tangle, so Dylan took the safest path and shoved the dress and its purchaser from her mind and instead concentrated on food.
What kind of pastry is this?

“Stop acting ridiculous, Dooley” Cagney passed the filled plate to Dylan. “All of Easky knows Prince Callan bought Dylan a slew of dresses. I would be surprised if there wasn’t a lord or lady who didn’t know.”

“You don’t approve?” Dooley asked as Dylan dug into her plate.

“It’s not that. It was very kind of him to see that Dylan is…properly outfitted. But did he need to do it in such a public fashion?” Cagney asked.

“You said it was a good idea when we talked about it the morning before we visited Easky, Cagney—that was when we had you measured,” Dooley said to Dylan.

Dylan shrugged, content to watch the two discuss her clothes and voice her various questions and concerns while she stuffed her face.

“Because I thought he would be more discreet. It’s inappropriate.”

“How was it inappropriate?” Dooley asked, his good cheer still infusing his words. “Her guardian doesn’t see that she is clothed, so our prince did.”

“Yes, he gave her clothes as a
personal
gift. It comes attached with his name and all that intones. It is cruel of him to do that as there is no deeper meaning besides kindness in his actions.”

“How can you know that? You cannot presume to see into his heart. Perhaps our little…tall ocean flower makes his heart swell with delight,” Dooley said. His words were still pleasant, but Dylan thought she could detect a hint of a strain to his voice. She suspected Dooley was no longer talking about Prince Callan’s feelings toward her, but about his own for Cagney. Cagney, however, didn’t seem to see it.

“I don’t care what he thinks or feels!” Cagney suddenly burst. When a few people looked in their direction, she ground her teeth and forced her to lower her voice. “Can’t you see he has just about hanged Dylan, socially speaking? Women will
hate
her for this. Lady Aisling cannot ignore such a blatant action! All the scorn he thought to shield Dylan from? The insensibility of his actions has just opened the floodgates to subject her to it at a far worse intensity!” Cagney hissed.

Dooley blinked. “Oh,” he said. “We didn’t think of that.”

“He has no right to treat Dylan with such favoritism as long as his engagement to Lady Aisling stands,” Cagney said.

Dylan nodded seriously.
One must be loyal to their intended
.

“It was never made official,” Dooley said.

“No, it is more than official. His parents publically approved of their relationship, and he spent the past season escorting her everywhere,” Cagney said.

Dooley dipped his head toward Dylan. “The bottom line—in case you were wondering, ocean flower—is that Cagney is concerned for you. You must be a great favorite of hers indeed. I have never heard her speak out against Callan before.”

Cagney blushed and lifted her chin. “That is because the prince has never done anything so insensible before. It is as if he has lost his head.”

“Sometimes there are certain things…or people…that make men insensible,” Dooley said, his brown eyes were soft as butter when he looked at Cagney.

Dylan munched on her food and looked back and forth between the pair, wondering if she could take her food elsewhere.

“Has Dooley ruined another business deal and earned your wrath, Cagney? I could feel your ire across the gardens,” Prince Callan said, joining the conversation. He stood next to Dylan and stole a tart from her plate.

“No—for once. We were just discussing—” Dooley started.

“Nothing of importance. Good afternoon, Your Highness,” Cagney curtsied.

“Good afternoon. You look beautiful, Miss Dylan, as do you, Miss Cagney,” Prince Callan smiled.

Thank you for the dress
, she wrote, remembering her manners.

“So I’ve been outed, have I? You’re welcome. It looks beautiful with your eyes,” he said.

“Callan.”

Lady Aisling stood beyond the group, her voice flat.

“Good afternoon, Lady Aisling,” Prince Callan said with his insincere smile.

“I wish to see the flowers from Loire. Escort me there?” she asked, her tone expectant.

“Of course,” Prince Callan said, nodding to Dooley, Cagney, and Dylan. He swiped another tart from Dylan’s plate before approaching the young lady and extending his arm.

Lady Aisling took it and walked off with the prince. As she looked back over her shoulder, her eyes darkened with ice and disdain. Then, she turned, smiled, and started talking to Prince Callan.

The trio watched in silence.

“Perhaps you are right, Cagney,” Dooley said. “Callan is an idiot for not correcting Lady Aisling yet.”

“She’s going to eat Dylan alive.” Concern creased Cagney’s brow.

Dylan finished the food on her plate and set it aside.
She’s welcome to try
, she wrote.
I doubt she can do more damage than sharks.

Dooley read the slate and chortled. “You have a funny way of putting things, Miss Dylan.”

Cagney said nothing, but gave her a look of scrutiny.

Dylan reread her slate with a frown. She was being serious.

Typically sharks didn’t attack selkies—they knew better than to mess with the guardians of the ocean. But as Dylan was a sea lion, and all other selkies were seals, she’d been attacked by sharks on three separate occasions. One bit her shoulder before her sisters could rescue her.

It had hurt worse than anything Dylan had encountered before, but she had survived.
Some dainty little blonde can’t be worse than a shark
, she thought before she caught sight of Jarlath, trailing Lady Shauna like a lovesick duckling.

The sight did some good to Dylan’s heart, but it took her several moments to realize what that meant.

Jarlath is away from his room. If I can ditch Bump-and-Lump, I can search it!
But how could she lose them?

Dylan looked around the gardens, hoping to find tall shrubbery or a line of trees. Nestled into the palace wall, there was a mass of shrubbery. She stared at it, her forehead wrinkling.

“That’s a maze,” Dooley said, noticing Dylan’s interest. “It’s pitifully small. There used to be a bigger one, but Princess Fianna got lost in it once as a child, so the queen had it mowed down.”

I will be back
, Dylan wrote. She crossed the green lawn and approached the maze. She glanced over at her shoulder and waved off Cagney’s expression of concern while watching for her guards out of the corner of her eye. They stood in the shadow of the palace, their gaze fixated on her.

Dylan sashayed into the maze—it was just a few inches taller than she was. She found her way through the hedges, popping out on the other side.

A door into the palace stood just past the maze. She peeked around the hedge. Lump was speaking to Bump, their attention diverted. Dylan wrenched the door open and threw herself into the palace. She made her way to the kitchen where a plump cook from Loire was at work.

“Mademoiselle Dylan, how delightful you look!” The cook kissed his fingertips and threw his hand to the ceiling. She knew all of the kitchen staff with great familiarity, but the Loire chef was among her favorites—he was forever cooking up exotic platters and treats for her to try whenever she visited. “All pretty for the party—Princess Elle herself would approve of your dress.”

Thank you
, she wrote.
I’m sorry, but my guardian has swiped my room key and is occupied for the day. Could I trouble someone to find the chamberlain to help me open my room?

“For you? Anything, Mademoiselle,” the cook chuckled. “Neil, fetch the lady’s key for her from the chamberlain. Don’t keep the lady waiting!”

“Aye, sir,” the kitchen boy said, turning to her. “What be yer room, yer ladyship?”

Dylan described Jarlath’s room, and the young boy trotted off, disappearing from the kitchens.

“You wait in the hallway. You will wilt in this heat and ruin your dress,” the cook said, shooing her out.

She moved to write on her slate, but the cook held up his hands. “No, no! No protests. You eat this and wait for Neil,” the cook said, shoving a dish layered with whipped cream and sugared berries in her hand.

Dylan ate in delight, wrote a slate
full
of praise, and returned the dish to the cook. By the time she’d finished, Neil was back.

“ ’ere you are. Chamberlain said to keep it, and Lord Jarlath is a dunce—tho—I wasn’t supposed to tell you that,” Neil said, placing the key in her extended hand.