The Very Large Princess (3 page)

“Bye and bye,” said her sister,
opening the doors to the balcony, and stepping out.

Only a sliver of moon disturbed the
darkness. Drusilla leaned against the balustrade, and tried to calm
her restless heart.

But voices soon sounded in the scented
air, and shadowy figures moved in the garden below. “John, I have
been a fool,” Drusilla heard, and knew the voice was
Aubrey’s.

“Aye and worse,” said John.

She stepped back and
turned to go inside, then stopped. “
‘
Tis wrong to stay,” she thought,
“and yet I cannot leave.”

“I shall abide here all the same,”
Aubrey was saying. “De Coeur hath agreed to school me in all styles
of poesy. “

“For a rare fee, I make no
doubt.”

“John, I beseech you to go to my
father and speak for me.”

“Lad, you served the King ill, and
played false with his daughters.”

“I truly repent what I have done, and
shall atone. But Margery is so very beautiful and Drusilla so very
large….That I chose to pluck the lily, and not the yew, should give
no cause for wonder.”

“I did wonder at it. Aye, she is
large. Large of heart and large of mind. Aye and bonny too. For my
own part, I fancy a wife that stands up tall beside me. Her hand
shall not be so wee that I canna feel it in mine.”

“Perhaps you are in the right. It
would please Father, were I to make the match, and Drusilla hath
ever been a friend….What did you say, John? I did not hear
you.”

“I must see to Fernanda now,” John’s
voice came gruffly. “For she was ne’er meant to pull a cart.
Princes oft take what they please, but we shall come to blows an’
you touch my horse again.”

“Forgive me,” called Aubrey, but John
did not reply.

Drusilla waited until it seemed the
Prince had gone, then quietly went inside. “I have ever been his
friend,” she thought, as she prepared for sleep, “and friendship
oft can turn to love. Perhaps in time….But no, ‘tis folly to think
of him so. He courted me, then left me, on a whim. And now he gives
up Margery. He is but a lad, pulled hither and yon by fanciful
desires….Oh, ‘tis hard, ‘tis very hard.”

Margery stirred as Drusilla crept into
bed. “Drusilla,” she murmured. “Aubrey told me a tale. He said we
would go to Father, and we did not.”

“Tomorrow we shall go,” Drusilla
said.

“Tomorrow,” murmured Margery, and let
her eyes fall shut.

Drusilla fell asleep less readily, and
was awake at dawn. Margery watched from bed as her sister
dressed.

“Take care,” she said suddenly. “You
shall tread on the pretty ribbon.”

“‘
Tis not a ribbon,” said
Drusilla, looking at the floor near her feet. “
‘
Tis but a wilted posy.”

“How its fragrance lingers,” she
mused, as she picked up the rose that John had given her. “Although
the bush grew wild and rough, its bloom hath more lasting beauty
than many a palace cultivar.”

She put it softly by, and quietly left
the bedchamber, thinking to have a quick word with the coachman who
would drive them home. She knew that William arose at first
cockcrow.

The household was so still that
Drusilla had reached the foot of the staircase without encountering
even a chambermaid or a drowsy page. “This Duc,” she thought, “lies
late abed, and so do his servants also.”

When she entered the Great Hall,
however, she was surprised to find Prince Aubrey standing at a
window, looking out. She thought to pass unnoticed, but suddenly he
turned and spoke: “I never saw John look so angry. And you,
Drusilla,” he continued. “Have I quite lost your good
will?”

“Nay,” said Drusilla, looking down.
“That can never be.”

“Ah, you stand fast,” he said gently,
coming forward with his hands extended, as if to take hers. His
face was pale, and his hair and clothes disheveled. “I knew it
would be so. While I am beset by contradictions. All night I stayed
awake and thought of love, and yet this morn, still am I left with
a riddle.”

“What riddle?” asked Drusilla, drawing
back slightly.

“The riddle of myself. In your great
wisdom, can you take pity on a blind fool?”

“Speak plainly, Aubrey. What do you
wish of me?”

“That you, like Juno, shall forgive
and wait, until such time as I’ve the heart of Jove. For I have
much to learn, and would not come to you unready.”

For a moment, Drusilla’s heart leapt.
Aubrey’s eyes looked deeply into hers, and seemed to hold the
promise of all that she most wanted. “And yet he hath not promised
e’en now,” she thought, and did not make reply.

“Who is it rides so early?” she
murmured, gesturing towards the window.

“John,” said Aubrey, sighing. “He
means to ride away on Fernanda, and put an ocean between us, I
fear.”

“
But I must speak to him,”
said Drusilla, feeling a sudden concern. Gathering up her skirts,
she nearly ran the length of the hall, and scarcely drew breath
until she had pulled open the heavy front door of the Chalet and
stepped outside.

“He would not leave without a ‘fare
thee well,’” Drusilla told herself, but hastened toward the stables
all the same.

John had just dismounted when she
approached. “Good morrow, John,” she said. “I did not think to see
you ride so early.”

“I must put Fernanda through her
paces,” replied John gruffly. “After yesterday’s misadventure, I
feared she would not be fit for journeying , but she hath ta’en no
harm.”

“I am glad to hear it. She is a
noble-looking creature…though of an unusual color.”

“Aye, she is noble.”

“John, I hoped that you would ride
with us to Court.”

“William is as steady a man as ever
breathed and shall convey you safely.”

“But if there were some mischance, you
could be of service. And Father shall wish to reward you for all
that you have done.”

“More like, he shall clap me in irons.
Nay, ‘tis best that I be travelling as I’d planned. You are a
stalwart lass, and equal to any mischance.”

Drusilla took a deep breath. “But
shall you not be lonely as you wander?”

“That I shall,” he said, looking her
full in the face. “Would that I had a suitable companion….But ‘tis
hard to find such a one as would join her life with mine. For you
see, I long to take a bride.”

“If you were to stop at Court, mayhap
your wife might there be discovered,” said Drusilla, blushing. “And
prithee do not mistake my father. Though yestermorn, he spoke to
you in anger, his Majesty holds you in high esteem and deems you
very able. I know that he would offer you employment.”

John hesitated, looking down a
moment.

“Forgive me,” said Drusilla sadly. “Of
course you must not delay your journey.”

“I wonder,” said John slowly, raising
his eyes to meet hers, “if I ha’e not misjudged
William.”

“I know not what you mean.”

“The man is foolish and
prone to adversity
—
”

“—
Nay.

“—
Aye. Whatever thou
sayest, lass, a greater dolt I have never known. ‘Tis a great
inconvenience, but I find that I must accompany thee to
Court.”

“‘
Tis regrettable,” said
Drusilla.

“Indeed,” said John severely. “Prithee
wait until I have stabled Fernanda, and then we shall awaken Cook.
For I must eat a vast breakfast if I am to right the coach when it
hath overturned….Nay, do not laugh, my beauty. Mayhap one day thou
shalt ride Fernanda, ‘an thou dost not tease and vex
me.”

Three hours later, Aubrey awoke from
his nap in the solar chamber to find a young page standing at
attention. “Your Highness,” stammered the page. “The Princess…she
that is so broad and tall…bade me deliver this into your hands.”
Taking the proffered sheet of parchment, the Prince began to
read.

Dear Aubrey,
the letter began….

The End

Dear Reader: “The Very
Large Princess” starts with a letter from Aubrey and ends with a
letter from Drusilla. Romantic stories often end with a proposal or
even a wedding, but this one didn’t. Do you think you know what
happened next? If not…if you’re still wondering…keep
reading….

Here’s what happened next:
Drusilla left Aubrey a “Goodbye” letter and went home with John and
Margery. She was still a little bit in love with Aubrey at this
point, but over time, as she came to know John better, she fell in
love with him and eventually became his bride. A good relationship
takes time to develop, right? But clearly John was the better man
for Drusilla, because, unlike Aubrey, he loved her exactly the way
she was.

**************************

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Other stories by Sheela
Word are available wherever “The Very Large Princess” is sold. An
excerpt from “The Princess in the Armory,” is below.

On the name day of her eighth year,
Princess Theresa of Alcedonia was presented with a poppet,
fashioned from alabaster and painted to resemble herself. It was
clad in a comely gown of yellow silk trimmed with lace and ribbons,
and it smiled graciously upon its mistress, yet it pleased her
not.

“I would sooner have a culverin, a
falconet, or other such light cannon,” she murmured.

“What sayest thou?” asked her mother,
Princess Gertrude, raising a hand to her ear to shield it from the
ambient din. Many were gathered in the solar chamber: the Queen
(Theresa’s aunt), the Dowager Queen (her grandmother), Prince
Antoine (her father), several other aunts and uncles, numerous
cousins, and assorted lords and ladies.

“I would have a cannon,” said Theresa,
raising her voice. “Or mayhap a side-sword and buckler.” She cast a
glance at her cousin Mark, a lad of nine years, and saw that he was
plunged in melancholy. ‘Twas hard that all their expectations
should thus be o’erthrown. Mark had a crossbow of sorts, though
‘twas not well strung, and Theresa had fashioned a cudgel from the
limb of an oak, but what worth these against a monstrous horde of
Vandals? Their fortress, belike, would fall.

“Sword and buckler?” interposed the
Dowager Queen. “These are not seemly gifts for a
maiden.”

“E’en a halberd or a pike would be
most welcome,” said Theresa.

Prince Antoine laughed, then bade his
daughter to hold her tongue.

~~~~

On another day, eight years later,
Prince Mark left Court, to study abroad at the University of
Sautegna. His large family watched him board the ship, then
returned home in good spirits, for though they would miss their
kinsman, ‘twas a bright summer day, the carriage ride was pleasant,
and they looked forward to their dinner. Only Theresa was downcast:
the Prince was her favorite cousin and had long been her sole
companion.

Like Theresa, Mark was bespectacled
and very fair. The two were doubly cousins, for their mothers were
sisters; and they resembled each other in temperament, as well as
in person. Indeed, the Princess viewed Mark as a brother, and
preferred him to her brother, Hugo, who was a bold and boisterous
lad four years junior to herself.

Theresa was pale and small, with fine,
light hair that fell untidily out of its snood. Her large green
eyes were short-sighted and hidden by a heavy pair of spectacles.
In demeanor, she seemed older than her years, for she seldom
laughed or smiled, but dedicated herself with great ferocity to any
project she had in hand.

The sociability of her family was an
affliction to her. She had a scholarly bent and was oft to be found
poring over a book or manuscript. Yet her tutors did not love her,
for her manner was distant and her knowledge sometimes outstripped
their own. They deemed her odd and uncivil, and in private,
compared her unfavorably to her cousin Bess, a robust and rosy
maiden with ebon curls and a ready smile.

Court was ever lively and clamorous.
King Walter’s three brothers, Antoine, Hadrian, and Jack, dwelt at
the palace, and his sister Emilia spent several months of each year
at Court. The royal cousins numbered twelve: Bertram was the first
child of the King and Queen, William came second, and Mark was
third; Theresa and her younger brother, Hugo, were sired by Prince
Antoine; Bess, Charles, and Ronald were the issue of Prince
Hadrian; Colin and Helena (who was yet a babe in arms), were
fathered by Prince Jack; and Horatio and Julian were the sons of
Princess Emilia.

Now, as they sat down to dinner in the
Great Hall, Horatio tipped a pot of fish sauce into Princess
Theresa’s lap. His mother scolded him, but the rest of the assembly
laughed heartily.