Free Garden Princess by Kristin Kladstrup Page B

than her lace morning dress; they looked like teeth against her golden skin. Krazo also admired the carved ivory combs in her hair. In itself, ivory was not really flashy enough for him, but these combs were set with tiny rubies.
    “I don’t know that I’ve ever enjoyed a party as much as yesterday’s,” said Hortensia. She was holding her portable writing desk in her lap. On top of the desk, which was made of polished black wood inlaid with mother-of-pearl, were a swan-feather quill pen, a bottle of ink, a bit of felt for blotting, and the satin-covered box that held her pink stationery. She folded a piece of paper and put it in an envelope. “I must say that the young men who came are
gorgeous.
That young gardener, in particular, is about as handsome as they come! And the girls provided all the usual entertainment.”
    Hortensia always took relish in going over the highlights of her garden parties, and it was Krazo’s duty to listen and respond to her clever comments. “Did you
see
that plump shepherdess wearing bright orange?” his mistress would say. “Her gown practically screamed tulip at me.” Then she would laugh heartily as she added, “Actually,
she
was the one who screamed when I turned her into one.” Krazo would then respond with a
Keck-keck-keck-keck-keck,
which was his approximation of laughter. Not that he ever understood what was funny about the whole business, and he really didn’t care much whether she changed a girl into a tulip, a trillium, or a trumpet vine.
    “That little dairymaid told me all about her cows,” Hortensia continued now. “Do you know that she actually
milks
them? The poor dear’s hands were all red and calloused, though I will admit that the rest of her was quite pretty in a country sort of way. She made a sweet little primrose.”
    Krazo’s mind began to wander. He thought of the shovel, of digging a hole, of finding treasure at the bottom of it.
    “And I must say those twins were most diverting,” Hortensia continued. “A little on the pale side, though I suppose the fact that there were two of them made up for that. Did you ever see so many freckles? Twice the usual amount, eh?”
    Krazo was so preoccupied with thoughts of treasure that he nearly forgot to join in her laughter —
Keck-keck-keck-keck-keck.
    “As for that shopgirl, you’ll find a new torch lily beside that big blue hydrangea — you know the hydrangea I mean — that one that used to be a seamstress. I caught the girl standing right beside it, flirting with Anthony and Paul.”
    Anthony and Paul, Krazo knew, had been at yesterday’s party. Anthony was the son of a wealthy noble, and Paul was the son of a well-to-do miller. No doubt they were somewhere inside the house this morning. Hortensia’s
conquests
— that was the word she used for the men who admired her — generally ended up there.
    “I’m afraid the darling boys lost all interest in Torch Lily when I arrived,” Hortensia went on. “I sent them on their way, and I could tell she was a bit piqued about it. She ought to try to hide that better, as it does nothing for her looks. Not that she has to worry about those any longer. Her flirting days are over. As are those of that daisy creature.”
    Daisy creature — that must be the girl with the diamonds. Thinking of her made Krazo remember the princess. Last night, when he wasn’t having nightmares about the woman in the dark room, he had dreamed about the princess. She had cried again in his dream, but this time, when she had seen him, she had smiled and spoken in the same soothing voice she had used with the dairymaid. He liked that voice.
    Just then Hortensia tossed him a packet of envelopes tied together with a white ribbon. “I’ve finished my letters,” she said.
    These letters were not invitations but carefully worded missiles addressed to the families of her guests. Krazo knew what they said because Hortensia often read them aloud as she wrote them, snickering when she