Duchess Diaries [2] How to Pursue a Princess

by Karen Hawkins

  People were starting to move toward the doorways. As the three of them followed the other guests, Lily scanned the crowd.

  “Looking for Prince Wulfinski?” Emma’s voice was low so that Huntley couldn’t hear.

  Lily’s cheeks heated. “I wished to thank him, of course.”

  “You won’t see him here. The duchess has forbidden him to attend any more of her functions.”

  Lily stiffened. “Why would she do such a thing?”

  “She says that it would be awkward to have him here when his grandmother is not allowed. She told him yesterday after your accident.”

  Lily’s hands tightened into fists. How dare the duchess do such a thing? Why, I might never see him again— Her heart sank. But that would be for the best, wouldn’t it? She stole a glance at Huntley and her heart tightened, aching as if she’d bruised it and not her shoulder.

  Before she could sort through her turmoil to frame a reply, MacDougal and a footman opened the wide doors to the dining room and the procession in to dinner began.

  Seventeen

  From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe Tomorrow we visit the folly. While I am not fond of them, Roxburghe says that nothing inspires him more than a Greek ruin. I can only hope that my guests will feel the same. I must admit it is a rather romantic spot. I wonder if certain guests will be inspired by it? I certainly hope that Huntley and Miss Balfour are, although the decision is, of course, entirely their own.

  The next night, as the guests were all retiring to their rooms, Lily paused at the bottom of the grand staircase and listened to the rain beat furiously against the tall windows that lined the foyer. The glass panes were swirled with wetness, the air so moist she could almost taste it. The stormy weather matched her mood.

  She and Huntley had taken their walk after breakfast, and she’d tried to find out more about him, hoping to build their relationship into a real friendship. She’d asked him about his childhood, and his favorite horses, how long he’d held his title—oh, a number of topics all designed to help her get to know the earl better. But although he’d been forthcoming, the answers had all left her feeling vaguely dissatisfied.

  The entire walk had proven futile, and she felt no closer to Huntley now than before the walk. In fact, she’d been relieved when the rain had moved in and they’d had to hurry back to the house. She’d excused herself on the pretext of changing her damp gown and hadn’t joined the others until they’d gathered for dinner.

  Huntley had searched her out then, and although flattered, she’d spent the entire time wondering why she didn’t feel as close to him as she did to Wulf. Right from the beginning, she’d found herself sharing personal thoughts and desires with Wulf that she hadn’t shared with anyone else. She didn’t know why that was, but she wished she could re-create it with Huntley.

  Alas, that goal appeared much more difficult to achieve than she’d thought. Sighing, she turned and climbed the stairs to her bedchamber, murmuring good-night to the other guests who passed her.

  Longing for bed, she opened the door just as a brown dog flashed by, scampering into the bedchamber before she stopped and grinned up at Lily. “Meenie, what are you doing here?”

  Freya looked up from where she was running a bed warmer between the sheets. “Och, no!” She left the pan and came rushing over to capture the pug.

  Meenie gave a sharp bark and dashed around the maid, and the chase was on. Freya was thin and wiry and quick on her feet, but the pug could get in places that even the maid could not. Lily tried to help, but Meenie ran between her feet and, scampering madly, dashed pell-mell under the bed.

  “Och, tha’ dog.” Freya pushed her mobcap back onto her head and plopped her fists on her hips. “There’s no gettin’ her oot from under there wit’oot help. I’ll fetch some o’ the footmen and we’ll catch her.”

  “If the duchess doesn’t mind, she can stay here. I’d like the company.” Lily felt especially lonely tonight, feeling Wulf’s absence all the more after her failed conversation with Huntley.

  Freya’s gaze softened. “I must warn ye tha’ they sometimes snore, and loudly, too.”

  “So does my sister, but I’m used to having her in my room.”

  The maid chuckled. “Verrah weel, then. So long as MacDougal knows where the dogs are a’sleepin’, ’tis well with her grace.”

  “She doesn’t wish them to sleep in the same place each night?”

  “Wha’ her grace wishes fer her dogs and wha’ she gets fra’ them are two different things. She had beds made fer the lot o’ them, all lined up in her bedchamber, but no’ a one will use them. So they’re allowed to sleep where they wish. Ye can ring me if’n Meenie gets too noisy fer ye.”

  “Thank you.”

  Freya helped Lily undress and slip into her nightgown, then combed and braided her hair. The maid removed the bed warmer from the now-toasty sheets, helped Lily between the covers, stirred the fire, blew out the candles, and bade her a cheerful good-night before closing the door. Nothing was left but the sound of the rain pit-patting against the windows.

  A few moments later, there was a scrambling noise as Meenie clawed her way out from her hiding spot. She found the step stool to the bed, climbed onto the thick coverlet, made her way to Lily’s feet, walked three times in a circle, and then settled with a sigh into the impression she’d made.

  It was rather comforting having the dog there. But though the bed was warm, the dog was cozy, and the house had grown silent, Lily was too fraught with her thoughts to sleep and lay awake staring at the ceiling. Why had the duchess banned Wulf? It hardly seemed fair; how could he be responsible for his grandmother’s behavior?

  Lily sighed. And why, oh why, do I care so much about seeing him?

  After a half hour of useless fretting, she turned onto her other side, tugging the heavy sheets and blankets closer. The dog grunted, but didn’t awake. Lily tucked her toes under its warm body and sighed at the softness of the sheets. She was completely spoiled, living here with such luxuries and a personal maid.

  Things at Caith Manor were far simpler. She had Cook, of course, and a manservant who’d served as butler and groom for longer than she could remember. Both servants were elderly, and Lily tried to lighten their loads as often as she could. Other than those two, they hired a lady to come from the village once a week to help with the laundry, while Lily and Dahlia did most of the cleaning, dusting on Thursday and polishing silver every Friday. Linens were washed and repaired on Saturdays, while floors were scrubbed each Monday. This difficult work used to be done by a small army of servants, but that was long ago, before Father had spent their funds on his greenhouses and horticultural experiments.

  Lily flopped onto her back, noting that the rain had finally stopped.

  The dog snuffled awake and, after giving a disgusted grunt, got up, turned in a few circles, then plopped back into the same place on the heavy coverlet. Within seconds, it was once again sleeping.

  Lily listened absently to the dog’s snores, her mind locked on her predicament. Surely, if I try, I can be happy with a man as kind as Huntley. He truly was a good person; but why didn’t he make her feel breathless the way Wulf did? And why didn’t his smile give her a fluttery feeling? Was she wrong in wishing for more than simple, calm affection? To hope that he’d actually come to care for her and—

  Plink!

  Meenie grunted in her sleep as Lily looked toward the window. That sounded like a pebble.

  Plink! Plink! Plink!

  Meenie jumped to her feet, a low growl in her throat.

  “Hush,” Lily said softly. She threw back the covers and slipped from the bed, her feet hitting the hard, cold floor. She shivered and rubbed her arms beneath the thin night rail and tiptoed to the window. She’d just reached it when— SMACK! Something hit the window with a decided crack.

  Meenie, who’d walked to the edge of the bed, hopped back to the middle with a yelp.

  “Some brave protector, eh?” Lily pushed back the
curtains and threw open the shutters. A pebble rolled to the floor as the shutter swung open, and she could now see where a spiderweb of cracks surrounded a small hole in the glass.

  From outside came a low string of foreign curses uttered by a familiar deep voice.

  Her heart thudding, Lily peered out. The bright moon shone upon the courtyard below, making the wet flagstones look like a shimmery pool. And right in the center of it stood the prince, a flowing, black cloak flung back from his shoulders, his booted feet planted firmly on the flagstones while his loose white shirt hung open at the neck. His arm was cocked back as if to throw another pebble, but at the sight of her, he dropped the rock and cupped his mouth. “Moya, open your window.”

  His voice was low, but Lily still held her breath and listened for the sounds of other shutters being thrown back . . . but nothing happened.

  She breathed a sigh of relief. If the duchess realizes the prince is outside in the courtyard at this time of night, she’ll call for her footmen to remove him. A flicker of anger at the unfairness stiffened Lily’s resolve. He wasn’t like the rest of them, trained in how to move through the complicated circles of their society, and it was frustrating to watch the duchess and others judge him for it.

  Well, she wasn’t so closed-minded. There was something appealing about his sheer enthusiasm and lack of care for the rules. He is caring and passionate, as his culture and heart dictate. What’s wrong with that? It was a relief to realize that what she felt for him was pure sympathy and nothing else.

  Lily unlatched the window and pushed it open. Instantly a swirl of damp night air grabbed it. She gripped it tighter and leaned out, shivering.

  “Why are you here?” she whispered as loudly as she dared. She glanced to either side and was glad to see that all the other windows were tightly closed and shuttered.

  Even from two stories up, she saw him smile. “I would talk to you. Alone. This is the only way I could think to do it.”

  It was a highly improper answer, as was her instant reaction, a flush of warmth that made the air seem even colder. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  His smile dimmed. “I am here, and that is enough.”

  “Come back in the morning and I—” She frowned. “How did you know this was my window?”

  He shrugged. “When I wish to know something, I know it.”

  “You bribed one of the servants.”

  “Perhaps. Or perhaps I have been watching your window and have seen you. Come down and speak to me. There are things we must discuss.”

  “No. Come back tomorrow.” She leaned farther out the window and whispered a bit louder, “The duchess has arranged a visit to the folly on the island, but not until noon or later. Call for me in the morning at eight; no one but the servants will be up that early.”

  “The duchess’s butler will just say you are not available.” The wind pressed his shirt against his broad chest. “That is what he said this morning when I came to call. He did not even pretend to find out if you wished to see me.”

  So he had visited her after all. “No one told me.”

  “I came more than once.” His brow lowered. “I left you a card and flowers, too. Did you not get them?”

  She turned to look at the vase on her dresser, the wind making her hug herself. I knew it! Her irritation with the duchess grew full score.

  Yet deep in her heart, Lily wondered if perhaps she was to blame for her grace’s machinations. Lily had asked the duchess to assist her in securing a good marriage; had her grace sensed Lily’s hesitations about Huntley and noted her equally inappropriate attraction to Wulf? Perhaps the duchess thought it necessary to keep Lily and Wulf apart. “I’m so sorry you’ve been banished.”

  “Do not fear, Moya.” Wulf grinned. “I’m too resourceful to be so easily thwarted. Even by you.”

  Lily had to fight an answering smile. It was tempting to think of slipping downstairs to see him, but the thought of getting caught stopped her. Such a scandal would ruin any chance of ever getting a good marriage. Still, she wanted to talk to Wulf, to discuss why the duchess had banished him.

  Lily sighed. “Emma told me that you’d been denied an invitation to the duchess’s events, but not that you weren’t allowed to visit at all.”

  “Emma must not know, then. She has been a good friend to us. If she knew, she would have said so.”

  So Wulf still considered Emma a “good friend”? An odd flicker of irritation traced through Lily. “Come back tomorrow,” she said, suddenly cross. “If you can’t speak to me, at least you can talk to your ‘good friend’ Emma.”

  “I came to see you, Moya. Not Emma.”

  Her irritation didn’t subside. “You’ve seen me, and you’ve broken my window, which I’ll have to explain in some way.”

  “I just wanted your attention. I’m sorry about breaking the glass; I tried to call out to you, but you were sleeping very hard.”

  She hadn’t been sleeping at all. She’d been thinking about him, blast it all. The wind must have kept his voice from carrying. “Wulf, you must go now. This is madness.”

  She’d leaned out as she spoke, lowering her voice to keep anyone else from hearing her. From where he stood below, Wulf noticed that the damp wind had caused the delicate fabric of her night rail to cling to her rounded bosom in an interesting fashion, her nipples peaked and eager. His cock stiffened at the sight and he had to force his gaze back to her face. “I must see you.” If he did not, he would explode in flames.

  She hesitated. “I’ll send a note to your cottage. We will arrange a meeting.”

  “Moya, I—”

  “No. Wait for my note.” With that, she refastened the window and softly closed the shutters.

  Wulf stared up at the window, his jaw tightening. After two days of trying to visit her, he’d been beyond happy to see her leaning out the window. But now, staring at the empty spot where she’d just been, he wanted more. Much more, damn it.

  This was the duchess’s fault. She was actively curtailing his access to Lily, and because of the old woman’s devious nature, she was succeeding. It was obvious from Lily’s expression that she hadn’t received either his notes or the flowers, so the duchess’s servants were in on the scheme as well, which was daunting. He could fight an old woman, but not an old woman and an army of eyes and ears, all willing to do her bidding.

  His hands curled into fists. He’d wager his last ruble that Huntley’s missives had been delivered, and that he’d been encouraged to spend time with her, damn the man. Things were at an even worse impasse than Wulf had realized.

  He eyed Lily’s window with renewed determination. He could not wait for tomorrow to make his case; she’d be off spending more time with Huntley. He had to see her now. He scanned the front of the castle and noted a trellis two windows over. He could climb that and then use the ledge beneath the windows to reach her room. Lily had closed the shutters almost immediately, so he didn’t think she’d taken the time to latch the window. Good. That will help.

  He glanced about. The silent courtyard was empty; no lights shone in any rooms. This would be risky, yes, but necessary, too.

  Now, if only the vines were strong enough to hold his weight. There was only one way to find out. He undid his cloak and tossed it into the shrubs and then rolled up his sleeves. . . .

  Eighteen

  From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe Love is like a flower. It needs a certain amount of sunlight, the right mixture of soil, and a gentle but firm hand with the watering can. Too much or little of any, and the flower will wither and die on the vine.

  Such is the care I give my guests who show the bud of a promise of love. . . .

  Lily climbed back into her bed, tucking her toes under the warm spot made by the pug. Meenie snorted in her sleep, but didn’t awaken, thank goodness.

  The nerve of that man, to throw stones at her window. Did he think she was a misty-eyed chit who’d swoon at every romantic gesture? She was far too sensible.


  Still . . . he’d made the effort to visit her, even though the duchess had banned him. That was nice. And it wasn’t the milquetoast niceness that Huntley exuded, but a different, warmer, far more seductive nice. Wulf had taken chances trying to see her. And chances were the one thing she couldn’t see Huntley taking.

  A faint smile tickled her lips and she turned toward the window and wondered if she’d perhaps been a little abrupt? He’d just wished to see her. What was wrong with that? It was rather charming, in fact. And she’d been anything but kind about it. She’d even been a wee bit rude.

  She sighed. What was it about Wulf that made her emotions swirl between irritation and fascination?

  Perhaps her irritation came from the way he made her feel . . . naked, somehow. Exposed. As if he could see far more of her than she wished him to.

  She listened to the silence, expecting to hear his horse riding away, but no sound came. He must have ridden over the lawn. Such would be the way of an up-to-mischief prince.

  She smiled a little. If she were honest, it was flattering to be shown such attention. But a little uncomfortable, too, which was perfectly understandable considering—

  The shutters flew open, a blast of wind swirling the curtains. Blast it, I didn’t latch the window.

  Meenie jumped to her feet, barked once, then ran to the far side of the bed.

  “It’s just the window.” Lily threw back the covers.

  The dog growled and hopped in place, her gaze locked on the window.

  “Oh, hush. There’s nothing to be scared of.” Lily scooted off the bed, shivering as her feet hit the cold floor. She’d taken several steps toward the open window when a man’s boot appeared, followed by a large, muscular leg encased in military-style breeches.

  Lily froze in place. He wouldn’t dare.

  Meenie growled and ran forward to the front of the bed, then back to the farthest edge.

  How could he? Her heart surged against her chest.

  Wulf’s arm and then his shoulder and face appeared as he straddled the windowsill.