My Sweet Daisy

Princess Elisandra dismissed the maid who had brought her a glass of orange juice, her attention fixed entirely on the diamond ring resting in a velvet box before her. She held her breath, apprehensive about what that small stone might signify.

“Elisa?” her brother prompted.

With considerable effort, she forced a note of cheerfulness into her voice as she looked up. “Richard dear, thank you. My birthday was over a month ago, but I suppose I can accept one more gift from my favourite brother, even if it is rather late.”

“I am proposing to Juliet,” Richard said.

Elisa dropped her head into her palms in dejection, her purple eyes drifting back to the gleaming piece of jewellery with distinct disappointment. “Oh.”

Her brother pulled out the other chair around the garden table and took his seat.

“After all your incessant demands that I disclose the name of my intended, I had anticipated considerably more enthusiasm than this long face, Princess.” He gestured at her expression. “You look as though I have announced my own execution.”

Well, he might as well have. She had been eager—desperately eager—for him to mention any name but Lady Juliet's. But the gods of true love had evidently chosen not to grant her so modest a wish. Seeing the unmistakable excitement upon his face, her heart sank even further. He was very much infatuated with Juliet still. She could read it plainly in his eyes, which had deepened to that particular shade of dark blue they always assumed whenever emotion gained the upper hand over his customary composure.

“I love her dearly. You do know that, do you not?”

“Brother, your affection for her is not in dispute,” she replied with a smile as sour as her tone. “Frankly, I did not believe you capable of developing feelings for a living, breathing woman until I saw you with her.”

Richard’s lips twitched—whether in amusement or irritation was difficult to tell. He had never been one to take offence easily, nor was he known for any particular sense of humour.

“Then you should be proud of me, Elisa, because Juliet is not only a living, breathing woman but also everything you admire in Bella. She is decent and well-behaved. You will have nothing to object to.”

Elisa rolled her eyes.

Decent and well-behaved was an understatement when describing Lady Juliet Christabel Armstrong. She prided herself on being society’s perfect lady, which regrettably made her rather tiresome to contend with. And to compare her to the sweet and adorable Crown Princess Bella—whom Elisandra herself loved more than her own sister—made her want to sneer.

“We shall be very happy together, so although it is not truly necessary, do try to be happy for us. And, if you can manage it, remain optimistic about my happiness in the years to come, for I have every confidence that it is assured.”

“Well, you said it yourself. It is absolutely unnecessary for me to offer my support, and my happiness on the matter is hardly a requirement,” she replied frankly.

“Well, dear little sister, your support usually means your approval, and your approval means good behaviour from you. I shall tolerate no nasty surprises.”

“My approval is that valuable to you? I am honoured,” she chirped, placing a hand dramatically over her heart. “Take a moment to consider what I stand to lose if your devotion shifts from me to another. Would I, in my right mind, offer you my backing?” She shrugged nonchalantly. “If you truly wish to avoid my disapproval, dote upon me for the rest of your life, and there shall be no nasty surprises beyond those I simply cannot help. In fact, do not tell me any more of your proposal plans. You never know what I might do to ruin them.”

“I am prepared to wager on the small degree of maturity I believe—or rather hope—you have attained. Juliet and I shall be riding to the waterfalls tomorrow morning. It is her favourite place, and I should like her to remember it fondly as the place where I asked her to be my wife.”

“Oh dear me, the standard for romance has officially been raised. How is any man ever to compete?” Elisandra murmured, idly stroking the puppy dozing beside her. “Shakespeare himself would have had a fit if he saw himself so thoroughly outdone.”

When Richard first mentioned that there was a lady he favoured, Elisandra had suspected it would be Lady Juliet, much as she had hoped otherwise. Richard would turn twenty-one before the year’s end, and unless he found a bride deemed suitably qualified to become a Grand Duchess, the Prime Lords would choose one for him—if they insisted on preserving tradition, as those old men were so fond of doing.

During the two years he had spent courting Juliet, Elisandra had hoped his fascination would amount to nothing more than stolen moments in her company and extravagant gifts bestowed to compensate for the times he could not spend with her. Surely such youthful infatuation would fade as he approached the age at which he must announce a bride to the kingdom. Then the choice could be anyone... anyone but Lady Juliet.

One thing Elisandra believed instinctively was that Juliet would not make her brother happy, and she prided herself on her ability to judge character.

Lady Juliet was undeniably beautiful. With her enviably thick crown of auburn hair, captivating green eyes, and flawless ivory skin, she had ranked third among society’s beauties when she made her debut two years earlier. By the following year, she had effortlessly risen to first place. Juliet was, of course, perfectly aware of her beauty, and she took care that everyone else noticed it as well.

Her vanity troubled Elisandra far less than her reserved nature and the manner in which she seemed to regard Richard’s devotion as something owed to her. That reticent demeanour was another thing Elisandra found uncomfortable when around her, for it rendered Juliet impossible to read. One could never tell whether she was pleased or displeased, delighted or plainly disappointed. As a result, Richard worked all the harder to please her, and Elisandra feared that one day Juliet would succeed in bending him entirely to her will.

She bit her lip, wondering whether it was cruel to hope her dear brother’s proposal might be rejected.

No, even that was too much to wish for.

When a handsome gentleman presented a diamond ring, how many ladies would refuse him? And when that gentleman happened to be a prince of the Royal House, third in line to the throne?

Lady Juliet would have to be mad to reject Prince Richard.

And mad she most certainly was not.

“I am still waiting for your answer, Princess,” Richard prompted. “A favourable one, mind you. You are in agreement about this, yes?”

“Richard, I am fifteen. I am in no position to discuss proposals and grand royal weddings, and frankly, I am bored already. Wait until I am seventeen and my mind is occupied by nothing but men, weddings, and babies. Then I shall have nothing better to do than listen to your tales of romance.”

“You little brat,” Richard chuckled.

Did he understand she was not particularly pleased by his grand announcement? Most likely. It was probably the only reason he resorted to threats.

“Once I leave your quarters, that is it. I shall depart for Reneway Manor early tomorrow morning. You are not to cause trouble for me afterwards.”

He snapped the lid of the ring box shut and rose to his feet.

“Why does that sound as though you are begging me to cause trouble now, so that this romantic proposal never takes place?” she asked, shooting him a suspicious glance.

“It is a warning, sister dear. Do not attempt anything mischievous. I shall see through it—you know I will. And I shall not let you off lightly,” he cautioned, though there was amusement in his voice.

He bent down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“But if you behave yourself and offer your good wishes, the first daughter Juliet and I have shall bear your name.”

Elisandra gasped in mock horror.

“Oh, dear God, that was not a joke. You actually entertain dreams of making babies with Lady Juliet!” She shuddered dramatically. “It is not my approval you ought to be seeking, brother. It is my prayers on your behalf.”