A Pearl Among Princes by Coleen Paratore

way.
    â€œWhen money talks, Mooney listens,” Father said with a chuckle. If only I could succeed at convincing dear Lu to approach him about sharing her sweets with a booth of her own. But she fears disappointing her family with such public dreams of other trades.
    Soon the square is filled with Miramores coming to purchase and trade. Spirits are high, as this is a day we all look forward to. A mop of Muffets stroll by stuffing their mouths with cream cups and savory tarts. They whisper and roll their eyes at me. They don’t think a girl should be running a business. I turn away to adjust one of my chimes. “When’s she going to act like a lady,” I hear one of them say.
    My face reddens, from anger, not shame. I’m about to say something, but then I see Sir Richard approaching.
    â€œLady Gracepearl,” he says, bowing. The Muffets stop and stare.
    â€œSir Richard,” I say with a curtsy.
    The Muffets’ antennae have perked up. They are coming toward us.
    â€œIs this your handiwork, Lady Grace?” Sir Richard says, reaching out to touch first one chime and then another. “I’ve never seen such whimsical ornaments, and what lovely sounds they make.”
    Before I can answer, one of the Muffets, Chappy Lure, a fisherman’s daughter, says, “Oh look, girls, come see Grace Coal’s new shell thingies. Aren’t they sweet?” And then all the pink-shawled spiders are swarming in front of my stall, making believe they are looking at my sea-chimes when they’re really trying to snatch up the prince.
    â€œWell, look what the wind blew in,” I say under my breath.
    Sir Richard hears me. He bursts out laughing. “Oh lady, you slay me, you do.”
    And then Sir Peter is there too. Good.
    â€œHere you are, Lady Gracepearl,” he says, a wide grin on his face. “The busiest spot on the square, no surprise. I’ve come to buy your wind chimes, the whole store please.”
    â€œNow wait just a moment, Peter,” the soldier prince from Ashland says. “You’ll have to wait in line. I was here first.”
    The Muffets are shocked, heads turning back and forth amongst themselves, to the princes and me. They know I’ve never been very interested in the summer royals before—they must not have believed Tattlebug’s rumor about my quest for a prince.
    Nuff rushes up to whisper in my ear. “Listen,” she says, and then can’t go on she’s laughing so hard. “Sir Humpty . . .”
    I giggle and she giggles. “Oh, Gracie,” she says, cupping her hands about her mouth by my ear. “The egg prince just came to Mother’s stall looking for bum balm.”
    â€œBee balm?” I say, thinking of the lip-soothing salve Nuff’s mother fashions from the wax of bees.
    â€œShh!” Nuff doubles over laughing again and then regains herself, whispering in my ear again. “ Bum balm, Gracie. Buttocks balm. It seems the prince from Oakland acquired a most unusual island rash.”
    â€œOh, no,” I say. “Not the dreaded Miramore ‘gotchagood’ weed? I hope you warned good Sir Humbert to exercise more caution as he gets ‘the lay of the land,’ so to speak.”
    â€œHmm, hmm .” Sir Peter clears his throat. I note that he and Nuff lock eyes for a moment. She looks away, and so do I.
    â€œLater, Grace,” Nuff says, a solemn tone now in her voice. “Mother needs me.” I notice Mackree strolling down the hill toward the market, and I wonder if Nuff saw him too. Maybe he comes to buy some of her mother’s special lotions for his horses. I shake my head and turn back to the princes as Nuff returns to her booth.
    â€œHow much for the store?” Sir Richard says.
    I smile.
    â€œWhatever the cost, I’ll double that,” Sir Peter says.
    The Muffets make twittering sounds.
    I look at my chimes.
    I look at the princes.
    I see Mackree