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“No,” Camellia answers curtly, obviously keen to be rid of her.

“Then I’ll be going.” Clover shoots me another strange look, and this time I know she’s secretly laughing at me. “Please…carry on.”

With one last glance over her shoulder, she disappears the way she came.

“Oh, I hate her,” Camellia breathes when Clover is gone.

My surprise must show on my face because Camellia looks back at me, and her eyes narrow with anger. As if she believes she must defend herself, she says, “You don’t know how awful she is, Henrik. You don’t know what I’ve had to put up with all these years.”

“You needn’t convince me,” I say. “But do not fret. Soon, I’m sure Lady Clover will marry, and you will be rid of her.”

Camellia’s smile warms. “You’re so sweet. But I cannot imagine there is a man in his right mind who would wish to marry Clover. She’s not even pretty.”

Before I can stop myself, I give her a skeptical look—one Camellia thankfully doesn’t notice.

She laughs wickedly. “And she has her heart set upon my brother, poor thing. As if Lawrence would give a girl namedClovera crown.”

Suddenly, the memory of the lady and Lawrence leaps into my mind. They were standing close, smiling at each other.

“But I don’t wish to speak of her anymore,” Camellia says, pressing herself flush against me once more and locking her arms around my waist. “You’re leaving. At least tell me you love me before you go.”

The move effectively brings my thoughts to the present. Gently, I set my hands on the princess’s shoulders, holding her in place as I step back. “Those are words that may only be confessed by a man who has a right to speak them.”

“Fine.” She steps away, finally tired of the fruitless banter. “Enjoy your holiday.”

I frown. “I’m not sure I’d call it a holiday.”

Camellia makes to leave, but then she shoots me a flirtatious smile. “Just remember, while you’re gone, I’ll be here—pining for you. Don’t forget it.”

She then leaves, following the same path as Clover.

Once she’s gone, I smile to myself, replaying the meeting in my head. I’m almost back to relieve Bartholomew of his task when I stop short.

It isn’t Camellia’s face in my mind.

“You look positively horrified,” Bartholomew says brightly. “Something troubling you?”

I shake my head, dismissing my rogue thoughts. “No, nothing. How is it going here?”

“Well,” Bartholomew says dramatically, making me wish I hadn’t asked. “One of Lord Kelvin’s hounds got loose a few minutes ago, and he chased a cow clear across the courtyard. She ended up stampeding right into a farmer’s stand—you see it there? The one that’s standing askew, with all that splintered wood surrounding it? It was quite a sight. Turnipseverywhere.”

I stare at him for a moment. “I was asking about the supplies.”

“Oh.” Bartholomew looks down at the list in his hand, and then he looks up with a grin. “I’m not sure. To be honest, with all the excitement, I forgot why I was here.”

I extend my hand, silently asking him to give me the list. Chagrined, he hands it over.

“Go…” I can’t think of a reason to send him away.

“Do something?” he supplies helpfully.

“Yes.”

He stands straighter. “As you command, it will be done.”

“Good, fine.” I scan the list. “Leave now.”

Bartholomew hasn’t been gone for even a minute when a horrific scent accosts my nostrils. I turn sharply, wondering what in the world could be emitting such a putrid stench.