The crowd followed her, growing larger, and the faces were wary and interested and eager.
When she was close, she stopped her horse and said, “Sir, I’m a peddler. I sell things.”
“Sell things?” he repeated, not comprehending why she would say such a thing here, now, when there was so much more to say.
She just grinned down at him.
With a jolt his stunned mind started working. He drew himself into military posture, took an officious tone, and said, “I’m afraid you’ll have to get permission from the lord of Freya Crags before you can sell things here.”
“Oh, dear.” She put her gloved finger to her cheek. “I hear he’s quite the frightening chap. Do you think he’ll let me?”
“It depends on what you’re selling.”
“Happiness. I’m selling happiness.”
“In that case”—he put up his hands and she slid down into them—“I’m buying.”
Epilogue
In the end, love conquers all.
—THE OLD MEN OF FREYA CRAGS
He was back from Edinburgh.
Clarice leaned back in a chair with her feet on an ottoman and her eyes closed, and smiled as she recognized Robert’s footsteps. In the two years of their marriage, she had come to know his sound, his scent, his touch. She reveled in everything about him, even his passionate madness, for he strictly controlled that madness, and he reserved it for her. All for her.
Kissing her gently, he rubbed her swollen belly.
“Um.” Opening her eyes, she put her hand over his and feasted her eyes on his countenance. On the strong bones of his face, the silky black hair, the treasures of his blue eyes.
He was still dressed in his traveling clothes, his boots scuffed from the hard ride, his saddlebags over his shoulder. “Are you awake, then?” he asked softly.
“I was sitting here feeling him kick. He’s a fine, healthy lad.”
Robert teased her with a smile. “He could be a daughter. It’s not as if the babe’s mother and both of her aunts are docile and domestic.”
She pushed herself into a more upright position. “I’m almost mooing, I’m so domestic.”
“A man would have to be a fool to answer that.” Before she could retort that all men were fools, he dropped the saddlebags and scooped her out of the chair.
He seated himself with her in his lap. It was his favorite position, even with the added weight of the child pressing him down.
“How is Millicent?” Clarice asked.
“She’s very well, the belle of Edinburgh and a leader of the bluestockings. She sends her love and told me to do this.” He kissed her cheek.
“She’s a dear.” Clarice looped her arms around his neck. “And Prudence?”
“She and young Aiden are having their first fight.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is it serious?”
“I don’t know that either. I got out of there as quickly as possible.”
Clarice sighed. Men never paid attention to the important things. “That’s probably what they were fighting about,” she said darkly.
Robert cast her a confused glance, then from his saddlebags withdrew a letter stamped with the royal seal of Beaumontagne. “Here’s your note from Grandmamma.”
Ah, Grandmamma. On that day two years earlier when Clarice had stood on the dock in London and stared at the ship that would take her across the Channel, she had thought of Grandmamma. She had thought about Amy finding her own way in the world, and about Sorcha, lost. She had turned to look at Prince Rainger, and found him looking at her with an odd twist to his mouth.
“I find,” he had said, “I’m not much interested in marrying a woman who is already in love with another man.”
She had been startled. “Have I been sulking?” She had thought she’d admirably hidden her misery.
“You’ve been tragically brave.” He held up his hand when she would have objected. “Perhaps I should say—tragically cheerful. You’re everything a princess who has been crossed in love should be.”
“I thank you.” During their journey she had discovered she rather liked Rainger. He’d grown up to be a reliable man, a man as good with his wit as he was with his fists, and she had tried to tell herself that marriage to him wouldn’t be so dreadful.
Then she thought of Robert, and every night she did as she was afraid she would do. She cried into her pillow.
Rainger continued. “You know, you have two sisters I have yet to find, and your grandmamma, a terrifying woman, is too disagreeable to die. I fully expect she’ll live forever. And the truth is, she won’t let me marry any of her granddaughters until I’ve found all of you. So you, Clarice, would be sitting in the palace, waiting, while I rounded up Amy and Sorcha.”
She began to see what he was saying, and her hopeful heart tripped and hurried. “I see.”
“So if you were to go back to Scotland and marry your earl of Hepburn, Beaumontagne would not be harmed.”
She swallowed. She wanted to do the right thing, but what was that? “What if you don’t find my sisters?”
He bent his dark gaze on her. “I will.”
He would too. That was why Clarice had told him that Amy had hared off to the north of Scotland, when in fact Amy hated the cold and would go south. Rainger needed to concentrate his search on Sorcha.
Now, as Clarice sat in Robert’s lap, she held Grandmamma’s letter and sighed. “Every month, month after month. Do you think she will ever cease demanding my return?”
“If the news of an impending birth didn’t stop her, I don’t know what will.” Rubbing her back, he eased her discomfort while she moaned in appreciation. “We’ll go to Beaumontagne when the baby’s old enough. Tell her that next time you write.” He wrapped his arms around Clarice and held her close.
As always, when he embraced her, she knew she had found her home. He kissed her so that she knew he had missed her. With such passion that she remembered why they were lovers. As if they’d been separated forever.
In a way they had. They had given each other up. They had thought they would never see each other again.
Now she lived at MacKenzie Manor, and even with her worry about Amy and Sorcha and Grandmamma’s endless nagging, never had Clarice been so happy.
But when he drew back, she could see he had serious news. “Don’t be alarmed.” He drew the Edinburgh newspaper out of his bags. “But it’s Amy.”
She snatched the paper from him. “Is she ill?” As Amy had promised, there had been bulletins in the newspapers, sometimes as frequently as once a month, sometimes only four times a year. She had assured Clarice she was healthy and happy, but she never revealed where she was. “Or is it Godfrey? Did he find her? Has he hurt her?” For Godfrey’s role in scattering Beaumontagne’s princesses had been revealed, yet despite Grandmamma’s attempts, the perfidious messenger hadn’t yet been captured.
Now Robert looked grim and at the same time tried to reassure Clarice. “Amy’s fine. Or, rather, she was. The advertisement is dated three months ago.”
“Three months ago?” Clarice’s hands shook too much for her to read. “Why three months ago?”
“I suppose it took time to get here, and I doubt they felt any compulsion to publish it promptly. Here.” He pointed at a small box with only a few lines inside.
“Quick.” She thrust it at him. “What does she say?”
Taking the paper, he recited, “Clarice, have kidnapped a marquess and am holding him for ransom. Need advice. Come as soon as possible. Amy.”
About the Author
Christina Dodd’s novels have been translated into ten languages, won Romance Writers of America’s prestigious Golden Heart and RITA Awards, and been called the year’s best by Library Journal. Dodd is a regular on USA Today, Publishers Weekly, and New York Times bestseller lists. Some Enchanted Evening is the first book in her classic new series The Lost Princesses.
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Also by Christina Dodd
One Kiss from You
Scandalous Again
My Favorite Bride
Lost in Your Arms
In My Wildest Dreams
Rules of Attraction
Rules of Engagement
Rules of Surrender
Someday My Prince
Scottish Brides
The Runaway Princess
That Scandalous Evening
A Well Pleasured Lady
A Knight to Remember
Once a Knight
Move Heaven and Earth
The Greatest Lover in All England
Outrageous
Castles in the Air
Priceless
Treasure of the Sun
Candle in the Window
Credits
Cover design by Barbara Levine
Cover painting by Rick Johnson
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SOME ENCHANTED EVENING. Copyright © 2004 by Christina Dodd. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books™.
ePub edition June 2004 eISBN 9780061752452
FIRST EDITION
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SOME ENCHANTED EVENING. Copyright © 2004 by Christina Dodd. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ePub edition June 2004 eISBN 9780061752452
FIRST EDITION
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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Some Enchanted Evening: The Lost Princesses #1 Page 30
