There would be no portrait of himself in Brecon’s hallowed halls. His brother Edward had promised to strike his name from the family records, remove all trace of him from their lives.
To Edward, or even their mother, the diamond would have been the most important aspect of the watch, an expensive gift that conveyed the giver’s wealth, and consequence, one that she would have preferred untainted by cumbersome emotions and fond portraits.
This watch, with its sentimental pictures, sweet music, and tender engraving, Ever and always, spoke of a family that treasured each other. His gut tensed with a wave of longing for that kind of connection with a woman, a family. Try as he might to picture someone else, when he imagined the owner’s face, he could see only one woman’s face in his mind. Julia . . .
He snapped the case shut. Yes, he decided, whoever the lady was, she would definitely want her watch back. The parts she would find most precious were still intact, and whether it had been lost or stolen, she would be most glad of its return.
All he had to do was find her. He stared at the wall, his aching head spinning, and wondered how to begin.
“How is this possible? Where did she get the laudanum?” Stephen demanded as they hurried through the corridors to Dorothea’s room. His harsh whisper echoed off the walls, his anger emphasized by the ring of his boot heels.
He wasn’t really angry with Julia, just angry he had forgotten that her prime responsibility was to take care of Dorothea. How must it have looked to Doe, Julia dancing and flirting at a ball, while he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her? Doe was astute and would have noticed that. Was this his fault? He had decided once they left London that Dorothea would not be allowed any more laudanum. He thought her strong enough to face life without it, especially with Julia by her side and himself to protect her. He’d thought that enough time had passed to dull the pain of her grief without the drug. He was wrong about everything. His throat closed, thickened at the thought of losing her.
“I don’t know how she got it,” Julia said. “The doctor is with her now.”
Dorothea’s door was ahead, and he stared at the blue and white panels, the brass latch. He stopped, unable to go on, to enter the room, if—
He stood in the middle of the hall, his fists clenched, his jaw tight. Breakfast roiled in his belly, and he had the same feeling of dread he got before a battle.
Julia stopped by his side and waited. “My lord?” she asked.
“Will she live?” he asked tightly, unable to look at her. He was a man used to death, a soldier. He knew how fragile the human body was, how easily it shattered, fell prey to disease. One day a man might be whole and healthy, the next— He swallowed. His sister wasn’t a soldier. She’d been a fragile creature already when she lost Matthew and her child. He shut his eyes, ready for bad news.
Julia squeezed his arm. “The worst has passed. I didn’t want to fetch you until the doctor was certain.” He met her gaze, seeing the truth there. She was tired, bewildered, but she gave the last of her fragile strength to him.
“When did . . . ?” he asked, the rest of the sentence stuck behind the lump in his throat.
“Dorothea dismissed her maid when she returned from the ball, said she was tired and wished to go straight to sleep. Fortunately, she left the window open, and the maid felt the cold air and came to shut it. She noticed the vial on the floor by the bed. She came to get me, and I sent her for the doctor. I’ve been with her ever since. She will live, my lord,” Julia said fervently, as if she could feel the fear in him.
He searched her eyes, read compassion in the hazel depths, determination. He felt the shame of the situation, his own weakness, his inability to help Dorothea past her grief.
Julia should have been watching Dorothea, protecting her. But she’d been playing games, spying. They both had.
Stephen closed his eyes, imagined the scandal this would cause. Was it wrong, wanting to protect his own reputation now that he knew Doe would survive? His career was everything to him.
Angry at the whole situation, he shook Julia’s hand off his arm and walked on, grasping the brass latch and twisting it, throwing the door open, leaving her to follow.
Dorothea lay on the pillow, her eyes half shut, as pale as the linen beneath her. The doctor rose from a chair beside the bed.
“Good morning, Major. I’m Dr. Bowen,” he said.
“You’re English,” Stephen said, surprised.
“I’m part of the delegation, here to tend anyone who might fall ill. I’m Lady Castlereagh’s physician in London.”
Stephen felt his skin heat. Surely when her ladyship heard, she would insist that he be sent home in disgrace. He ran a hand through his hair, seeing disaster.
Dorothea moaned and her head lolled on the pillow, and Stephen stared down at her. The physician patted her hand, gently tucked it under the blanket. “You needn’t fear, sir. Lady Dorothea is out of danger.”
The ache in Stephen’s chest didn’t ease. He sat on the edge of the bed and touched her cheek. It was cold as ice.
“Doe,” he said, more sharply than he intended.
She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “Stephen—I’m sorry, Stephen. Dear, dear Stephen.”
“Who gave you the laudanum?” he asked.
She smiled weakly. “No one you know. You needn’t call anyone out or fire anyone on staff. There was a man at the ball last night. He had some laudanum in his pocket. I traded my watch for it.”
He felt his stomach clench. “The watch Matthew gave you?” he asked. She hadn’t let the timepiece out of her sight since her husband’s death. She listened to the lullaby a hundred times a day, kissed the painted faces good-night, whispered to them when she thought no one was looking.
“I thought I wouldn’t need it anymore, you see,” she murmured. “The laudanum lets me see them just as clearly as I see you. I thought if I had enough—or a little more than just enough—I’d never have to let them go at all and I could be with them again.” Her face crumpled, and he gathered her into his arms as sobs shook her and tears slid over her cheeks, wetting his face too, and glistened silver on her gray skin in the mid-morning light.
He’d been wrong. The grief had not passed at all. How could it ever pass, the horror of such a loss? He wasn’t enough to ease the pain. He looked up at the doctor, the question in his eyes.
“She’ll need watching,” Dr. Bowen murmured.
“I’ll stay with her,” Julia said at once, stepping out of the shadows.
“Not today, my lady. You need rest yourself,” Bowen objected. “You’ve been a great help, but perhaps her maid—”
Stephen looked up at Julia. Her hair was disheveled, long dark locks drooping over her shoulder. There were deep hollows under her eyes, though her mouth was set in a determined line, her eyes bright. She stood by the bed like a sentry, ready to object to the doctor’s refusal of her help. Her continued help, rather. He noted the stains on her gown, and knew she’d stayed with Dorothea through the worst of it, held her while they made her sick, forced her to expel the drug from her body. He felt a frisson of admiration pass through him.
“Who knows about this?” he asked, still aware that disaster loomed, even if his sister had survived her attempt to take her own life. It would mean gossip and scandal for the entire British delegation when word got out, and most especially for himself. Bowen would have to make a full report, of course. It was protocol. They lived and died by protocol.
The doctor glanced at Julia. “No one knows, sir. Just myself, Miss Leighton, and Lady Dorothea’s maid.”
“I didn’t think there was any point in waking Lord Castlereagh, especially once the crisis had passed,” Julia said. “This is a family matter, and Dr. Bowen agrees that it should remain so.”
Stephen stared at her for a moment. Of course Julia understood all this. She had face
d her own scandal, must have tried to keep that secret too.
“These are important times, my lord, for England, for you, and for Lady Dorothea,” Dr. Bowen said. “I don’t see any need to report this officially. It would only distract Lord Castlereagh, which is obviously unnecessary now. Lady Dorothea will need a few days to rest and recover. I will tell Lady Castlereagh that she has a head cold and must remain in her rooms.” He turned and smiled at Julia, admiration clear in his eyes, as if they were meeting in a salon. “Lady Julia makes a fine nurse, but we shall take turns watching Lady Dorothea. It will be good for her to wake up and find people she knows by her side.”
Stephen undid the top button of his tunic and sat down. “I will take the first watch,” he said, and turned to Julia, meeting her eyes, unable to speak, to thank her. “Go and rest,” he said gruffly.
She nodded and moved toward the door. The doctor went to pack his equipment into his bag.
“Julia?” Stephen said, stopping her. She turned to look at him, her hand on the door latch. “I owe you my thanks.”
“Not at all,” she murmured. “I am only glad—” Tears formed in her eyes, and her mouth crumpled. She fled before the first drop could fall.
He watched her go. In that moment Julia Leighton ceased to be notorious. She was perfect.
Chapter 16
The intimate supper at Princess Kostova’s lavish apartments turned out to be for four, not two.
Katerina greeted Thomas at the door with a warm embrace and a promising kiss, then stepped back, running her hand over his lapels.
“My oldest and dearest friends have arrived, and I could not turn them away.” She kissed him again. She tasted of champagne, smelled like gardenias. “I think you will like them. Come.” She clasped his hand in hers and tugged him toward the little dining room, since the big dining room was being set to accommodate the luminaries who would attend her salon later that evening.
An elderly gentleman stood as they entered, his dark eyes assessing Thomas at a glance.
“You have a new gentleman, Katya. How delightful. We shall grill him like a squab and devour him. I do hope you’re up to it, monsieur.”
“Behave yourself, you old roué,” the princess admonished gently. “This is Viscount Merritton. Thomas, this is the Prince de Ligne.”
“Ah, Thomas is it? First names already,” another voice purred. “Then he is more likely to be dessert than the main course.” Thomas turned to look at a large woman reclining on a chaise longue, her eyes bright, her smile suggestive, though she was old enough to be his grandmother. Thomas’s eyes popped. The woman’s bulky figure dripped with jewels, from the tiara on her gray head to the waterfall of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and pearls that flowed over her vast bosom.
“This is my godmother, and my mother’s oldest friend, Madam Anna,” Katerina said.
“Charmed,” the jeweled lady said with a thick Russian accent, letting her eyes wander over him as if she were indeed contemplating dining on him. She extended her hand to be kissed. Every finger bore a glittering ring. Thomas smiled.
“Likewise charmed, madam.”
The prince nudged him. “Be careful, Viscount. Anna and I met many years ago in Russia, at the court of Catherine the Great. I was bewitched by her beauty and her wit, and I have been under her spell ever since.”
Anna grinned, her jewels twinkling with delight. “I have a penchant for military men. So did Empress Catherine. I was the empress’s ‘tester.’ Does that shock you, young man?”
Thomas’s brows rose. “You tasted her food?” He took a seat near the chaise.
The prince chuckled. Madame Anna purred. Katerina smiled behind long fingers.
“It’s nothing to do with food at all, Thomas,” Katerina began. “When the empress admired a certain gentleman—”
Anna took over. “Oh, they weren’t all gentlemen. In fact most were not—not even nobly born. She liked soldiers best of all. Are you a soldier, Viscount?”
“He would be in uniform, Anna,” the prince said gently. “When Catherine the Great admired a certain gentleman, Anna had the great responsibility of testing his, um, sexual prowess, before he was invited to the imperial bedchamber.”
Thomas’s surprise must have shown on his face, for everyone laughed.
“I see you are shocked indeed,” Anna said. “But it was a privilege, you see, a great honor, and—” She sighed, and trailed a be-ringed finger over her finery with a wicked smile. “Each time I recommended a man to the empress and he pleased her, she would reward me with a bauble.” She ran a long rope of pearls through her fingers and gazed lovingly at the ruby pendant on the end. “I have named all my little trinkets for the talented gentlemen who were unknowingly responsible for them. The pearls are called Lieutenant Dashkoff, and the pendant—oh the pendant!—that is General Semyon.”
“And where is your emerald pin, the Sergeant, tonight?” Katerina asked.
Anna pursed her lips. “Alas, he is away on duty at present. Of course, the sergeant himself was hardly one of my favorites, nor Catherine’s—though he pleased her for a night or two—and a lady needs to eat.”
Katerina patted her hand. “I will send someone to buy the pin back for you.”
“Oh would you, my dear?”
The prince smiled at Thomas. “All very baffling, non? It is a game they play. When one is . . . How do you English say it? In Queer Street? Without blunt? One must do what one needs to survive. Anna refuses to accept charity. Instead, she pawns her jewels, and her goddaughter buys them back.”
Thomas knew exactly how that worked.
At the delicate chime of a bell, a set of damask curtains at the end of the room parted, revealing an intimate table set for four. The prince escorted Katerina, and Thomas offered his arm to Anna. She squeezed his bicep, as if she were testing him too. She sniffed his cologne and nodded approvingly. Katerina raised one eyebrow and smiled fondly at the old lady.
“Well?” she asked.
“He will do, but let us see how he eats.”
“It is a theory that Catherine had,” Katerina whispered. “If a man enjoys his food, he will enjoy a woman similarly.” The table was so small her knee rested against his under the long white cloth.
Thomas stared at the variety of food. The table positively groaned with roast pheasant, caviar, and chicken. An equally eye-popping selection of chocolates, cakes, and fruit waited on the sideboard. He raised a glass of red wine, sparkling like Anna’s ruby in the glass.
“And yet, if a man ate so much, would he be able to perform to any woman’s satisfaction?” he asked.
Madam Anna looked pleased. “You have passed the second test as well, dear viscount. A man must savor, not gobble, his meat.” She waved her hand over the lavish meal as if casting a spell. “He must choose what to enjoy, do so slowly, appreciatively. Between courses, he must cleanse his palate, heighten his senses for the next dish.”
The prince chuckled. “I told you she was bewitching, did I not? You will never look at a chop or a bit of liver pâté the same way again, will you?”
“You will taste every mouthful,” Katerina said in a low purr, taking a spoonful of caviar.
“Especially dessert, the sweetest course—the rich cream, the tartness of the fruit, the smooth gloss of chocolate, and the pungent nip of cinnamon that comes at the end,” Anna added.
“Praise the Lord it comes,” the prince sighed, and mockingly fanned himself with his napkin. Katerina nudged Thomas’s knee under the table, rubbed it intimately, a promise of sweetness.
The prince raised a toast as the second course was served, chicken in a fragrant sauce, rich with garlic and wine. “I will now do my best to change the topic of conversation, so the viscount may eat his meal without having his bedroom skills analyzed. I encourage you to eat as you please, sir. Pick up a chicken leg and gnaw
on it if you wish, spread the caviar on bread, and let these hussies wonder what it means. It would give Anna great pleasure indeed to watch you, try to puzzle out if you like to start, so to speak, at the head or the tail.”
“Your toast, old roué?” Katerina reminded him.
The prince raised her hand and kissed it. “Firstly, to the lovely company we find ourselves in tonight,” he said, nodding to the two ladies. “Secondly, to the great pleasure of meeting new people,” he said to Thomas. They drank deeply, and a footman stepped out of the shadows to refill their glasses. Anna held the servant’s sleeve as she drained the glass, and smiled as he immediately filled it again.
“Tell me, Viscount,” the prince said. “How do you come to be in Vienna for this great and auspicious event? My old friend Rousseau, the king of philosophers, would have said such a confluence of emperors and kings is rarer than the conjoining of stars in the heavens. He would say it means the end of the world. What say you to that?”
Rousseau? “I am simply a tourist,” Thomas said.
De Ligne leaned forward. “Ah, on the Grand Tour, perhaps! I am pleased it is back in fashion. I took the tour myself, many years ago, before all the best places were spoiled by Revolution, and Napoleon’s grande armée trampled all the rest. Which country did you enjoy most?”
Thomas met the old courtier’s eyes, still sharp and dark as marbles. It was easy to imagine him as a great general, reading the battlefield, making tactical decisions based on what he saw. His gaze took a man’s measure, Thomas realized. As surely as Anna had her method, de Ligne had his. Thomas held his gaze, resisted the temptation to look away. Could the prince see what he was, what he’d become, what he feared most?
“Belgium,” he replied to the prince’s question, knowing the prince had been born there. “Brussels is lovely in the spring.” He could hardly say he had yet to truly find a place he loved above all others, a home.
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