Royal Bridesmaids

by Stephanie Laurens

  They were in the hiatus between coming inside and dressing for dinner; Valeria had changed her gown, but had yet to have her maid put up her fair hair, or don her jewels. Nell watched her mother frown as she digested the news.

  “Where is poor Frances?” Valeria eventually asked.

  “I left her lying down in her room. She’s mortified, of course, but I hope I’ve convinced her that as yet we’ve concealed the attacks well enough to pass—well, at least to all others except Robert and Frederick.”

  “And the attacks themselves?”

  Nell sighed. “They seem more acute than either she or I expected.”

  Valeria grimaced. “Well, then, given, as you keep pointing out, we have four more days before the wedding, I believe we have no option other than to confide in dear Robert, and also Frederick. Perhaps if you speak to Robert and explain, he can pass the information on to Frederick in the most appropriate way.”

  “Hmm. I gather Robert considers seeing this wedding to a successful conclusion as vital to furthering his career.”

  “Very likely. You know how competitive the Knightley boys are about their efforts for the crown in foreign climes. I gather that since the Corsican upstart’s fall, the family has gone from strength to strength in the Foreign Office. I know your father was told very favorable things about Robert before we came.”

  Nell arched her brows. “He was always observant and clever.”

  “Indeed. So I counsel you to see him and explain as required—and I see no point in hiding anything from him. He can then decide how much to reveal, and how, to his friend.”

  “Very well—that will solve that issue. But do you know of any way to”—Nell gestured—“ameliorate these attacks? If they grow more frequent, we’ll have the devil of a time concealing them.”

  Valeria compressed her lips as she thought, then she looked at Nell. “Distraction. If she’s thinking and doing other things, she can’t be panicking, so fill her day—from morn to night—as much as you possibly can. Have her engaged with something interesting every single hour—I gather that worked for Selena, my cousin’s daughter.”

  Nell frowned. “What sort of things—”

  “The same things you would find interesting and engaging—Frances and you are very much alike, after all. Felicity and Esme are similar, and you and Frances share many traits—I’ve often noted it.”

  Nell arched her brows, but then nodded. “Thinking of it, yes, I daresay you’re right. So . . .”

  “So once you’ve explained all to dear Robert, tell him what we believe we need to do to help Frances through these next days and ask for his help, and his advice.” Valeria smiled. “I find it’s always helpful to have a solution ready to hand when one explains a problem to a gentleman—and asking for his help is a sure way to bringing him around. Men love to be thought helpful, and if you can make him feel like a savior, so much the better.”

  Nell laughed and stood. “You’re incorrigible, Mama.”

  “Of course.” Valeria held up her face for Nell to kiss. “But I’m right nevertheless. You’ll see.”

  “Very well—I’ll engage to put your sage counsel to the test. I’ll arrange to meet with Robert later tonight.”

  Nell didn’t have to arrange to meet with Robert. After another near-disaster in the drawing room after dinner, which she barely managed to contain and adequately disguise, when everyone else retired, drifting out through the drawing room’s double doors and up the main stairs, Robert was waiting just inside the doors. He didn’t just catch her eye as, feeling harried and even more exhausted, having consigned an inwardly shaken Frances to Valeria’s care, Nell brought up the rear of the crowd; as she drew level with him, Robert reached out and caught her arm.

  It was the first time they’d touched in nine years. The jolt to her pulse was stunning.

  He paused, as if feeling it, too, then gentled his grip. For a moment, his eyes searched hers, then his lips thinned. “I’d like a word, if I may. In private.”

  She nodded. “Where?”

  Releasing her, he led her upstairs to his study. It was a masculine room, all dark brown leather and polished wood. Eschewing the cluttered desk, Nell made for the armchairs angled before the empty fireplace. Sinking into one, she watched as Robert closed the door, then came to stand before the hearth.

  Robert looked down at her, and asked the question she clearly expected to be asked. “What’s going on?”

  She looked up at him for a moment, then stated, “Nothing that should impact the wedding itself. Rather . . . it’s a situation we—you and I—need to manage, one that will end with the dawn four days hence.”

  He blinked, calculated. “On their wedding day?”

  She nodded.

  When she didn’t say more, he arched a brow. “Nerves?”

  Her lips twisted. “Of a sort. I’m thinking of how best to put it—to explain it so that you’ll understand.”

  “Just tell me.”

  She sighed. “Very well—Frances has proved to be subject to the Vayne family failing. We didn’t know if she would be, although the chances were good that she would, given no other female in the family has escaped the curse to date.”

  “Curse? What curse?”

  She gestured. “You’ve seen it—the sudden inexplicable panics. That’s the Vayne family failing in action. More than anything else, that’s why I had to be here—because one of us who understands and can remain with her at all times needed to be here to . . . stop her. Shepherd her and steer her out of it. Stop her from bolting if that’s how the failing struck.”

  Blinking, feeling very much like shaking his head in disbelief, Robert shifted and sank into the armchair facing her. “Vayne—that’s your mother’s family, isn’t it?”

  Nell nodded. “That’s where the failing comes from.”

  “And this failing can take different forms?”

  Again she nodded. “With different ladies. For instance, Mama actually bolted. The day before their wedding, she got in a gig and was driving herself out of London when Papa caught up with her. But she’d felt no panic until that day. Luckily, Papa wasn’t the self-effacing sort—he raced straight after her, which, as it happens, was the right thing to do. Mama had no idea where she was going, or even why—she just panicked.”

  “So . . . if Frances bolts, Frederick has to go after her?”

  “One of us will need to, but I’m hoping it won’t come to that.”

  He felt . . . disorientated.

  “Felicity, now, had three days of attacks to weather, but they were relatively mild. She just got in a flustered dither and made no sense, but that wasn’t hard to gloss over. Esme, like Mama, only had one attack and that on the day before the wedding, but we were ready and no one believed her wedding gown had suddenly been torn and stained beyond redemption. Once she snapped out of it, Esme didn’t have a clue why she’d thought that.”

  “This . . . ah, curse. It doesn’t last into the wedding day?”

  “It never has, and that’s from experience of many weddings, my mother’s sisters and their cousins and my cousins—all the females with Vayne blood. For some reason, once we get to the day itself, the curse vanishes.”

  “Never to return?”

  “Never to return in any form.”

  Relief washed through him. “Having encouraged and facilitated this match, that’s comforting to know.”

  “I daresay. With Frances, we didn’t know if, or when, or even in what form the curse would strike. Sadly, it first manifested on the barge, six full days before the wedding. And you’ve seen what it’s like—she draws back, pulls back. But—and this is the critically important part—her reactions have nothing to do with her feelings, or what she truly wants. She’s horrified when she snaps out of it, but while the panic is on her, she’s not actually thinking at all. Frances is very much in love with Frederick, and she very definitely wants to marry him—the panic attacks don’t in any way reflect or alter her feelings.”


  “Hmm.” He frowned. “So we could characterize these attacks as an extreme case of bridal nerves and nothing more.”

  Nell nodded. “We could.” She smoothed one hand along the arm of the chair. “Mama and I suspect that, in the circumstances, and with four days still to go, we need to explain at least some of this to Frederick. He’s already noticed, and he must be wondering.”

  “He is.” Robert met her eyes as she glanced up. When she arched her brows, he hesitated, then nodded. “All right. I’ll speak with him and make sure he understands. Which leads to my next question, which will also be Frederick’s next question—how should he behave during these attacks?”

  “Essentially as my father did. Frederick won’t be able to ignore the attacks, but he absolutely mustn’t react to them by drawing back himself. That only gives the attacks a sort of internal credence, and will most likely make things worse. He needs to stand firm and not let Frances physically pull away. If he accepts that the attack is happening, but that it’s nonsensical and irrelevant and will be over soon, and simply smiles, nods, speaks soothingly, and goes on as if the attack hasn’t happened, that’s the surest way to snap Frances out of it, and all will be well.”

  Robert spent some moments digesting that, then nodded. “All right. As Frederick is deeply attached to Frances, I don’t foresee any problem in enlisting his aid, especially as this is purely a case of temporary and understandable nervy panics.” He saw Nell’s lips twitch upward, and permitted himself a self-deprecating smile; he was, indeed, already framing the situation in diplomatic language. “Let’s assume we—me, you, and Frederick—are all apprised and acting in concert. I assume we can count on your parents if need be?”

  “Yes, but they will only be with us during the evening events.”

  “Indeed. So is there anything we can do to . . . avoid the attacks, or minimize their severity?”

  “We—Mama and I—think distraction might work. If we can fill Frances’s days with events that keep her actively engaged and entertained, we believe that will reduce the scope for an attack.”

  He nodded. “That has a certain logic. What events are most likely to engage her interest?”

  “As Mama reminded me, Frances and I are much alike, so what would work for me . . .”

  Frances and I are much alike. Robert’s brain seized on the words, focused on them—and their implications. All of him stilled. The Vayne family failing had manifested in Frances as a pulling back, a drawing back from the man she loved, even though she loved him and wanted to marry him. Frances’s attacks had started earlier, further ahead of the wedding, than her family had expected. And no Vayne lady had ever escaped the curse.

  Nell was as much of a Vayne as Frances. And Nell and Frances were much alike in many ways . . .

  While Nell sat in the chair and talked, listing various excursions and events she felt would provide suitable distraction, and some part of his mind listened and cataloged, and he nodded every now and then, most of his mind, certainly all of his attention, followed her earlier revelations to the inescapable conclusion . . .

  A conclusion that rocked him. That shattered his perceptions of their past, and reformed them.

  Leaving him with a new and novel perspective.

  A much more accurate view of how things had been.

  Dragging a breath into lungs suddenly tight, he refocused on Nell.

  To discover her looking at him quizzically.

  His mind caught up with her words; he nodded. “We can arrange most of that, and yes, I think we should.” Rising, he crossed to the desk, found a sheet of paper and a pencil, picked up a ledger for her to use as a support, and returned to her. He handed her the items. “Let’s make a list.”

  While she settled the ledger on the chair arm, smoothed out the paper and lifted the pencil, he sat, and ruthlessly forced his mind to the matter at hand. “Let’s do it day by day, and crowd as much into each day as we can.”

  Eyes on her list, she nodded. “So—tomorrow.”

  “Well!” Nell let herself fall into the armchair in Robert’s study. “That went better than I’d dared hope. One attack only, and that relatively minor—and I have to compliment you. Whatever you told Frederick, however you phrased it, must have been exactly right. He came up trumps, and you may pass on from me that he isn’t doing himself any harm at all in Frances’s eyes.”

  Smiling, Robert came to sit in the other armchair. “I’ll let him know. He was quite nervous, although I know it didn’t show. But he did, indeed, hold the line admirably.”

  He’d brought their list of events, now superimposed on the affianced couple’s official schedule. It was presently mid afternoon, and he’d suggested they seize the half an hour between their last event—a viewing of the castle’s stables and kennels—and a formal afternoon tea to be attended by all the young ladies of the court to review their upcoming arrangements. He perused the revised schedule. “After this tea—and if Frances is immersed and entertained, we can extend the event until half an hour before the dressing gong—then we have the formal drawing room and dinner with all the ambassadors.” He glanced at Nell. “I’ll do my best to keep the ambassadors and envoys circling, but several are pompous old windbags, so be prepared to step in and divert any who linger too long. A few—the Russian envoy, for one, and the French ambassador almost certainly—will attempt to monopolize our pair. While Frederick won’t need to leave Frances’s side, it would be best if between us, we—you and I, because your parents will be fully engaged themselves—try to ensure one of us is there to back Frederick up at any time.”

  He grimaced. “I have this persistent vision of one of the ambassadors deciding to buttonhole Frederick and draw him aside while I’m not by to stop it, effectively forcing Frederick to leave Frances standing there alone.”

  Nell frowned. “What about the wives? They’ll be there, won’t they?”

  “Yes, but they don’t generally come forward. At these sort of events they usually gather like a flock of geese and sit and cackle at one end of the room.”

  “With a new and shiny princess-to-be in their midst?” Nell threw him a look. “Leave it to me—and Mama. We’ll have them with their gloved hands on their husbands’ arms, sticking like glue to get as much time as they can with Frances. As they’ll be intent on her and Frederick in a personal sense, and not interested in anything political, I should think their presence will restrict their spouses’ ability to turn the conversation to political affairs.”

  He widened his eyes. “I hadn’t thought of that, but you might well be right.” He nodded. “I’ll leave the wives to you.”

  Raising the schedule, he studied the following events. “After dinner, there’ll be dancing in the ballroom.”

  “That will be no problem at all—Frances loves to dance, and as I recall so does Frederick.”

  Robert nodded. “So with luck we’ll weather tonight well enough, and then tomorrow we have the visit to the orphanage, and then the guilds’ luncheon at the Rathaus, and after that we’ve slotted in visits to a weaving factory, then the silk merchants’ warehouse, and last but not least, to the crown jewelers.” He glanced up. “That’s going to be quite a day.”

  Nell nodded happily. “Yes, it is, and the curse is going to have to fight for an opening. Excellent!” She rose and shook out her skirts.

  Rising, too, Robert laid aside the list and just looked at her for a moment—a rare moment when she wasn’t looking at him.

  Then she looked up and met his eyes. Searched them, then said, “It’s time I fetched Frances and Mama for the tea.”

  He smiled. “Indeed.” He waved her to the door. “I’ll go downstairs and make sure all’s in readiness.”

  He followed her out of the study and they parted, each to do their part in managing the Vayne family failing.

  The following day, they maneuvered to sit alongside each other at the end of one table at the luncheon the town’s guild masters hosted to toast the royal bride and groom.
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br />   When the speeches got under way, at the center of the high table Frances sat, apparently rapt, alongside Frederick, whose protective tendencies had only grown more marked with every passing hour, especially as Frances seemed to be increasingly leaning on him to help her through her panicky flutters. Which, Nell felt, was an unexpected boon.

  Satisfied her sister was as well-guarded as she might be, when Robert drew a sheet of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and smoothed it out, Nell readily consented to turn her attention to their plans for the afternoon.

  Having realized that she had an excellent memory for names, Robert duly filled her in as to whom they would meet that afternoon at the weaving factory, the silk warehouse, and the jewelers. “I estimate we’ll get back to the castle only just in time to change for dinner. It’s a family dinner tonight—only Frederick’s immediate family and yours.”

  “Good.” Nell sat back and met Robert’s eyes. Steady gray eyes, stubborn square chin. He was as she remembered him, but with depth, or was it new facets? No—more like previously hidden depths that were now more discernible. She smiled. “We’ve done very well so far. Especially this morning. The orphanage was fun—I think they can be certain that Frances will want to become their patron.”

  Relaxing in his chair, Robert smiled back, and wondered if she had any idea how revealing her interest in the children at the orphanage had been. Although Frances had certainly been interested, too, she had largely followed in Nell’s shadow. In truth, it was Nell who truly commanded the innate graciousness associated with a duke’s daughter; she had just the right touch, leaving those she dealt with feeling honored, without in any way making an issue of her status.

  Nell’s gaze had drifted back to the guild master currently at the podium, leaving him free to let his gaze rest on her, to let his mind dwell on what he’d finally understood about the unraveling of their romance long ago.