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As the carriage winded down the long driveway flanked with towering oaks and broad elms, Flora’s heart began to pound.  Her stomach clenched in knots and her fingers plucked uselessly at the edge of her sewing bag.

“I guess you do this pretty often, huh?”  She leaned forward towards the driver.  “I guess Mrs. Nottingham likes her guests to arrive in style.”

“On the contrary.”  The driver’s voice was cool, with an edge of amusement.  “The last time I drove the carriage was for Madame’s granddaughter’s birthday party, to pick up her friends.”

The knots in Flora’s stomach yanked tighter.  “Oh.”

“Madame never entertains anymore,” the driver continued, flicking the reins as the horses slowed.  Every cheerful step brought Flora closer and closer to the mansion she saw every day through her cottage window.  Up close, it towered over them, the scarlet brick face highlighted by ornate black iron lamp posts scattered among the front garden as though they had purposely been planted there.  “She was actually going to cancel the Cornation Ball this year and demand it be held at one of the hotels downtown.”

Flora tore her attention from the mansion.  “Why?”

The driver shrugged.  “I can’t say.  I just know her grandson’s position of prince changed her mind.  A shrewd move from the city, of course.”

“Do you mean Nate?”  Flora’s fingers gripped her sewing bag tighter.  Her mind raced.  Was that why Eleanor Nottingham had invited her here?  Maybe Nate had told her about seeing her outside the cottage.  Maybe she couldn’t sew Astrid’s coronation gown if she lived too close to the mansion.  Or maybe they didn’t want her; maybe they wanted Professor Skippy or one of the other girls from class, a debutante or blue blood.  Maybe this was all a mistake, a terrible mistake…

“Yes. Nate is her eldest grandchild, and her favorite.”  Slowing the carriage to a stop, the driver turned and smiled.  “Madame has often remarked about how Nate bears a identical resemblance to a younger version of her late husband.  Please wait and I shall escort you to the door.”

Flora wanted to throw up.  Fighting the bile bubbling at the back of her throat, she numbly allowed the driver to help her out of the carriage and lead her to the front door.  The driver glanced at her, then leaned forward and pressed the doorbell.  Glancing up at the massive entryway, Flora clutched her bag to her chest. Maybe Nate was upset with her for blowing him off when she ran into him outside her cottage and had told his grandmother…Maybe Professor Skippy had called Mrs. Nottingham and told her Flora was terrible…Maybe the butler had said something….

Flora not only wanted to throw up, she feared it might be a certainty at any second.  Plastering her lips together, she squished them into a semblance of a smile as the door opened.  The elderly butler peered at her, the three strands of white hair stiffly arched over his gleaming head.

“Ah.  You’re here.  Thank you, James, for your services.”  The driver nodded, giving Flora a wink, and descended down the brick steps.  Repressing a urge to flee after him, leap into the carriage and ride back through the tall iron gates; Flora bobbed her head clumsily.  The butler sneered, ushering her inside.

“The mistress is waiting for you in the front parlor.”  Turning sharply on his heel, the butler marched down a long marble hall.  Flora followed, all too aware of her clomping steps as she lumbered after him.  She gazed around, drinking in the formal oil paintings, the dark mahogany double staircase lined with red velvet carpet and row of crystal chandeliers glimmering over her.   She couldn’t imagine anyone growing up here, much less living here.  She tried to picture Nate as a child sliding down the staircase, but the image simply refused to form in her mind, as if it was too ridiculous to even imagine.

The butler paused in front of one of the most ornate rooms Flora had ever seen.  “It seems Madame has not arrived yet.  Please wait here while I let her know you’ve arrived.”

“Okay.”  Gingerly, Flora stepped into the elegant room.  Eying the silk toile loveseats, she opted to stand, carefully examining the crystal and china vases and figurines scattered on mahogany tables carved with scrolled edges.  Hugging her cloth sewing bag to her chest, she stepped closer to the floor to ceiling bookshelf, skimming the titles.

“Would you like to read one?”

Flora froze.  Praying she was dreaming, she turned slowly.  The bile that had receded down her throat rushed forward up her throat, nearly gagging her.

Nate leaned in the doorway, grinning.  “You can borrow any book you want.”

Flora swallowed, peeling her tongue from her dry cheek.  “Thanks.”  Pressing her dry lips together, she said, “Listen, I’m sorry about rushing off yesterday.  I was just stressed because of class…”

Nate waved his hand.  “No worries.  I’m sorry for smacking you in the head with a golf ball.”

Flora grinned.  “It’s not like there’s that much to hurt.”

“Oh, but there is.”  Nate winked at her.  The bile at the back of her throat smoldered, threatening to crash forward in a monsoon of humiliation at any moment.  “So my grandmother wanted to see you?  What about?”

“That, my love, is simply none of your business.”

Flora gasped.  Flocked by the ever-scowling butler, the sophisticated elderly woman that had visited her in the shop that one morning stepped behind Nate, placing a hand on his shoulder.  Extending her other hand, she smiled at Flora.

“Eleanor Nottingham.  How do you do?”

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  We have a new All Hallow’s Eve tomorrow and more Christmas fun next week!

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