16
"Well, we were searching for something nice for you to wear for tonight," The younger cousin spoke with a small voice.
"Oh, dear, not the make Delilah look good mission. Tonight is not the night for such experiments," Delilah moaned as she tugged at a lock of hair, sitting down with a thump.
"Why not? Don't want to look nice for someone special," Cecilia teased.
"The assumptions you're making couldn't be further away from the truth," Delilah sighed, "Even Lady Beatrix has come to the wrong conclusion in spite of being so close to... "
"I couldn't ever have imagined Lady Beatrix acting as a messenger for someone," Cecilia shook her head, "Her head is too high in the clouds for something so trivial. It must be for someone important," she guessed not realizing how close to the truth she was.
"Does it even matter," Delilah slumped with a sigh. Cecilia got up abruptly and started ruffling through a pile of dresses on her bed. Delilah put her head on the side of the armchair feeling the beginnings of a head ache. She wished terribly that she could cancel the arrangement.
"Please wear this tonight," Cecilia spoke earnestly. Delilah looked up at the dress and her heart reached her throat. Cecilia was holding the dress Delilah had worn to the final dance of the ball. The ball that was the infuriatingly tiny bit of past which seemed to dictate such a major portion of her future. By all means it should have meant nothing to her but it did. She had lovingly chosen the sheer, beige material and designed it herself with the help of her tailor. It had fit her like a glove and she had known she would dazzle the whole room in the dress. She had wanted to wear it in happiness and yet it had been adorned in an almost state of mourning.
But those feelings didn't matter anymore and Delilah didn't want any significance of the garment to remain. It was just an outdated outfit.
"Isn't it too fussy for a simple dinner?" Delilah cocked her head considering the dress dispassionately.
"Times have changed. Sequins, frills and large bows are back in fashion. You should know that most of your outfits including this one barely look as spruced up compared to what the rest of the peacocks are wearing," Cecilia lectured, "I hardly think your respectability will be affected by wearing one nice piece of clothing."
Delilah took a deep breath preparing herself for the worst.
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"I shouldn't have worn this. It's too cold to have my arms wrapped in only the sheerest of satins," Delilah grumbled to herself. All five women were walking up the elegant stairs leading to a small garden balcony. There was chatter and clanking of glass from above and each girl steadily grew nervous for different reasons. Prudence tugged at her dress feeling it too snug while Cecilia felt her hair was more of a mess than usual. Isabella was just worried she might trip in her new shoes.
"I shouldn't have either. I don't know why I let anyone goad me into wearing this dress," Mary quivered in the dress bought at the bazaar. Her dress was an expensive silk sleeveless gown which would have looked wonderful on her if only she didn't look like she was going to be sick.
"Because we couldn't let your sister make you feel so horrid," Isabella burst out, "She wouldn't know beauty if it bit her since she's so ugly herself."
"Well, I don't see why should have been subjected to this. I assure you her words mean nothing to me," Delilah groused feeling like a martyr. While she had accepted their offer of choosing her dress she had refused to let them do more with her. She was still the plain old Delilah who had no business trying to look like a painted peacock when she was already on the shelf.
"It's the principle of such things," Prudence hissed as they reached the foot of the stairs, "One must show up ones aggressor."
"Not exactly a war," Delilah muttered to herself.
The servant at the foot of the stairs read their card and announced their arrival. The men in the party stood up to greet them like it was customary even though the party was much more informal. The girls huddled together frantically and whispered about the company in front of them. Prince Damian was one of the men who stepped forward to welcome them in. Seeing the Crown Prince led to a sudden expansion of their excitement and their delight was palpable.
"I was worried this lovely group would not make it tonight," Prince Damian smiled charmingly at them. His eyes stopped at Delilah and she knew that being the eldest meant that she should reply back suitably but her mind was suddenly blank.
"Even our kind of loveliness requires some preparation in front of the mirror," Prudence answered looking like she was melting by his charm. The rest of the girls gaped at the sweetness of her tone, "As hard as that is to believe."
"I am wounded to think I am considered capable of believing such an erroneous statement. Such loveliness could never be manufactured behind a mirror. It can only be brought down from the heavens above," Damian replied in a flowery way effortlessly, willing to play along.
Delilah had absolutely nothing to say and wished Prudence would be done with fluttering her eyebrows. Delilah knew Prudence didn't give a wit about the Prince; she was only trying to make her sister, who was sitting in a semi circle next to Lady Beatrix, jealous. She bowed to the Rossi brothers who were the only other men she knew. Delilah took Adriano Rossi's hand before anyone else could offer especially the Prince. She really did not want to engage in any kind of small talk with him and this social setting probably gave him too many opportunities to do so. He already seemed to be in an overly friendly, chatty mood which annoyed her. Prudence proudly took the Prince's arm while the other gentlemen offered themselves to the other ladies. Beatrix eyed her again as she walked up to them and looked even more unimpressed by her appearance. Delilah did not quite care but Cecilia seemed jubilant.
The ladies settled down next to each other in an informal seating arrangement. Delilah observed there was a round table settled in the corner of the roof garden which was set for dinner.
"She looks so unhappy that you look so wonderful. Next time we must do something with your hair," Cecilia plotted ambitiously. Delilah raised her eyebrows but said nothing.
She was relieved her seat was at a distance from the Prince. She did not wish to converse with him any more than necessary. She did not even want some half hearted apology; she just wished he would leave her alone after having that talk he seemed intent on having.
"Anyone care for some port?" Damian asked congenially, "We have a milder sherry if that suits the ladies."
"No, thank you," Delilah replied firmly giving Cecilia a quelling look who had perked up at this offer.
"Do you speak for the rest of your group or only yourself?" Damian asked with a probing look as he settled down with one arm around Lady Beatrix.
"She speaks for her charge, I'm sure. No chaperon worth any salt would allow their charge to get intoxicated in polite company," Lady Beatrix interrupted before Delilah could reply.
"My cousin knows my tastes and I can safely say she speaks for all of us," Cecilia announced with her nose stuck in the air. All the other girls nodded not wanting to let anyone crumble their solidarity. It was important to keep up appearances.
"I see," Lady Beatrix said. She spoke again after a pregnant pause, "You have changed your usual attire. I hope my earlier words did not offend you."
"I did wonder why you looked different," Damian added making Delilah feel insignificant and she sat up straighter, instinctively.
"You look stunning as usual, Lady Delilah," Agapito Rossi complimented her sunnily. While Delilah knew such compliments could be extracted from a gentleman like water from ice she was still pleased the man came to her rescue.
"Always so charming, Agapito," Lady Beatrix drawled.
"Yes, very charming," The Prince repeated stonily.
They continued to converse amongst themselves and Delilah immersed herself in Mister Agapito's tales about his country. She was enthralled by stories about the different places and lifestyle the people were used to. Delilah terribly wished that she could stowaway in the man's luggage just so she could see the Clementine waterfall and the exotic plants around it but she doubted that the exercise would be fruitful even in her imagination.
When dinner was served she was led by her companion towards the table and was saddened to see herself separated from him and his exciting conversation. His name card rested three seats away and she knew it would be rude to speak over the heads of people. Delilah fiddled with her own name card and was struck by the peculiarity of the arrangement. The Prince had gotten rid of such formalities a while ago at his hosted dinners so to impose them yet again at such a small scale function could only mean one thing.
The hair at the nape of her neck stood when the man she was thinking about sat down next to her. She glared at him, hoping he wouldn't notice but he smirked back all knowingly.
He made some polite small talk with the rest of the guests while Delilah picked at her dinner woodenly. She was expecting some kind of harassment but he left her alone and she was grateful for the reprieve but annoyed by the longer wait. She looked at him from the corner of her eyes and was surprised to find him watching her already.
"The meal not up to your usual standards?" He asked flippantly, almost as if he were trying to mask his being caught.
"It's lovely," Delilah answered curtly and looked towards the laughter at the other end longingly. Delilah felt the time during each course was getting exponentially longer. She could feel eyes all over her and she knew it was either her friends, who were still trying to solve a mystery that was none of their business, or the Prince and his friends; which meant that everyone at the table. The lack of conversation between them was probably as odd as the fact that they were seated together. The Prince obviously ordered her seat to be next to him but there seemed to be no reason since their interaction was minimal. Beatrix kept sending Delilah scathing comments every now and then but Delilah continued to ignore her which seemed to annoy the woman further.
As soon as it was considered polite Delilah excused herself from the table. One of the Prince's friends was telling a rousing tale about a hunt and the meal was finished so nobody took notice of her sudden departure. She meandered along the garden towards the edge of the balcony. Delilah leaned against the railing and looked at the moon lit landscape trying to see beyond what her vision could offer. The hills undulated in an almost rhythmic fashion and Delilah wished she weren't confined by her gender to remain in the castle walls for her own safety and protection.
"I did not think you would accept the invitation," A deep voice startled her. She found this odd since he was the reason she was here dangling on the balcony. Delilah took a deep breath and reminded herself that her main priority was to keep conversation minimal and rid of his company forever.
"The girls were quite excited at the prospect so it would have been hard to refuse," Delilah answered careful to keep her voice even leveled.
"Did you tell… anyone?" The Prince asked leaning in, panic flitting at the edges of his eyes for a fleeting moment.
"Your secret is safe with me," Delilah asserted, looking away.
"As it should be," Damian pressed grimly "This revelation is not a trivial matter,"
"I understand and that's why your secret shall remain deep in my breast till the day you bid me otherwise. I am not someone to take such a grave matter lightly," Delilah spoke firmly clenching onto the marble railing.
"No, you're not but…" Damian began but he was cut off.
"But if I do then I shall have be tortured and put into stocks like a common traitor," Delilah completed plainly. She looked resigned to be treated as such if the secret ever slipped out.
"You have a very morbid imagination," The Prince's eyes flickered strangely in the candlelight, "and you think very poorly of me. I only wished to add that you shouldn't be so somber all the time. It doesn't suit you."
"My disposition is not something I am inclined to change and I don't take any such suggestions too kindly from strangers," Delilah felt the conversation derailing and found herself unhappy to be suddenly talking about something so personal. She belatedly realized that no matter how unpleased she was she couldn't forget she was talking to the Crown Prince, "Your Highness," She added with less agitation.
"It's such a bothersome title. I don't allow my friends to call me as such," The Prince spoke almost as if he were thinking out aloud with a casual wave of the hand. His other hand contained a glass of port and Delilah eyed it sharply wishing she could knock it away.
"I am not your friend," Delilah hoped she could extract herself from the conversation, "You are my Prince and that is all."
"My Prince," Damian spoke in a lower timbre with a lazy grin on his face, "I like that."
Delilah’s colour heightened alarmingly and she could not look at his face without feeling like she was going to go up in flames. She stepped away unconsciously feeling wretched for not minding her words.
"You are too easy to tease," The Prince chuckled and his laughter let some of the tension evaporate from her body though only just.
"I should like to rejoin the rest of the party. There are already too many misconceptions in the air about why we were invited," Delilah looked up accusingly, "Was it necessary to send those flowers?"
"I wanted your forgiveness. I wronged you once again and it was unpardonable to abuse you so and not beg you to forgive me. I regretted my actions the moment I committed them," Damian looked suitably repentant; "I knew you would not appreciate my company so I had to take indirect means to communicate until I thought you were ready to see my face."
"I am not in the position to grant you forgiveness. You are the Prince-" Delilah said.
"Your Prince," Damian interjected mischievously.
"The Prince of this realm," Delilah repeated with fragile patience, "and it is highly improper for me to assume this kind of liberty. I am too below you or your peers to think about forgiveness regardless of how I may have acted in the past. It was foolish of me to have accepted any apologies before because I was never in a position to have done so in the first place."
"So, you don't forgive me," Damian blurted leaning in too close in her personal space placing a hand very close to her on the railing. If he came any closer it might have looked like an embrace to an outsider.
"I-I," Delilah could not answer because in her heart she knew she had not. She could not make herself lie.
"Would you forgive me if I were your friend and not just the, no sorry, your Prince?" Damian pondered with a ghost of a smile. It seemed he would never let her forget those words as long as they were acquainted.
"We could never be friends. It's not even a possibility," Delilah commented on what she knew the Prince would suggest. The man could go to any lengths to ease his own guilt so she tried to rid him of any notions that familiarity could breed friendship; "People aren't friends because of a declaration. Friendship develops overtime and due to common interests. I am afraid we have none."
"Don't we?" Damian challenged with a glint in his eye and Delilah sighed wishing she had kept her mouth shut.
