Lucy couldn’t even feel insulted by the question. Jane knew that Lucy had a dreadful habit of being late, even to the most important of occasions.
“I won’t be late, Jane,” she assured the young maid. “Why, it’s nearly that now, I’m sure.”
She turned to look at the ormolu clock on the mantle and her stomach dropped.
“Tis not even two o’clock yet.” She frowned. “What am I supposed to do until then?”
“The other ladies are resting, my lady. Or freshening up.”
“Oh,” Lucy said weakly. “I suppose I should rest, too.”
But she didn’t feel like resting. She had been sitting for hours and was desperate to stretch her legs. And she was simply dying to start exploring the lustrous grounds all around her.
“I might just take a wa—”
“No, my lady!”
Lucy stopped in shock at Jane’s outburst.
“Please, my lady. Don’t go wandering. If you’re late –”
Lucy sighed in exasperation.
“I shan’t be late, Jane,” she said firmly. “A half hour walk in one of the flower gardens. That’s all. And I can’t sit around here twiddling my thumbs for an hour. I’ll go mad.”
Jane looked unconvinced, but she dutifully pulled out a light, white spencer even if she did so with a long-suffering sigh.
“You’ll stay close to the palace, my lady?” Jane was akin to a clucking mother hen.
“I will,” Lucy said as she hurried to leave, lest Jane try to barricade the door.
She waved off the spencer along with the straw bonnet Jane held out. She hardly needed them for a quick walk in the gardens and unlike Alice, Lucy didn’t mind a bit of sunshine on her skin.
“Don’t worry so, Jane,” she called gaily over her shoulder. “After all, how much harm could I do in thirty minutes?”
Chapter Three
“Your future wives are arriving.”
Christopher scowled at Jacob’s flippant remark.
“Only one of them will be my wife, Jacob,” he answered, though the other man was well aware of this fact.
“Hmm. So, have you picked the lucky lady yet then?” Jacob asked sarcastically.
“You think a lady would feel herself unlucky to one day be queen?” Christopher responded sardonically as he pushed a parchment across the desk for Jacob to run his eyes over.
His choices.
His potential brides.
Jacob studied the list, and then him for a moment.
“I think a lady worth having would care less about meeting your criteria than being loved,” he said simply. “Would care less about the Crown and more about the man she was marrying.”
Christopher snorted.
If Jacob truly thought that then he was very much mistaken.
In Christopher’s experience, the Crown was the only thing most women were interested in.
The ones who weren’t, the ones like Althea Furberg, who had risked a life in gaol or worse for this so-called love business, were more foolish than he could countenance. Although truth be told, Althea had been interested in the Crown. Just when it came down to it, she’d chosen this love nonsense over her blind ambition.
The only thing worse than a mercenary crown hunter was an idiotic romantic.
“Ladies like Lady Althea, you mean?”
The words sounded bitter, though he hadn’t meant them to. In truth, the only thing hurt by Althea’s behaviour had been Christopher’s ego.
He turned in time to catch the dangerous glint in Jacob’s eyes. Considering that Althea’s machinations had led to Harriet’s kidnapping, Jacob had nothing but ill will toward the lady.
“Althea Furberg was villainous and slightly deranged, as far as I’m concerned,” Jacob said. “Certainly not someone that other ladies should be lumped in with.”
“No, there are the others.” Christopher turned to the window again. “The ones who don’t care about anything other than getting their hands on the Crown.”
And there had been plenty of them.
Since Lady Althea’s disappearance from Court, ladies from all over Europe had been coming out of the woodwork, each of them willing to do almost anything to get in the path of Prince Christopher. Not a single one of them was interested in anything other than the fact that he would be king.
Most of them didn’t even pretend otherwise.
He might not like it, but he could respect it. At least, he thought cynically, they were honest about it.
“You’re a good man, Your Highness,” Jacob said softly. “And I have it on good authority that you’re not too bad to look at, though I confess I’ve never particularly noticed.”
Christopher rolled his eyes at Jacob’s nonsense.
“You should forget your lists and allow yourself to fall in love.”
The conversation was starting to make Christopher uneasy, though he couldn’t have said why.
He had narrowed the ladies down to three potential candidates. He had studied their backgrounds, their interests, and their breeding.
The last thing he needed was Jacob planting any doubts or unwelcome fanciful notions in his head.
He’d set himself on a course and was determined to stay on it.
“That will be all,” he said dismissively, even gruffly.
But Jacob said nothing. Merely nodded and moved to take his leave.
“One more thing…” He turned before he swept through the doorway.
Christopher raised a brow and waited.
“It’s as I said before,” Jacob said. “Love isn’t something we choose. It’s something that happens to us. Just – keep an open mind. And an open heart.”
“My sister has had too much of an influence on you, Lauer,” Christopher said in response.
But Jacob didn’t seem to mind.
With another swift grin, he was gone, and Christopher was alone again.
But the conversation with Jacob had made him feel on edge.
He prowled to the desk and raked his eye over the shortlist of candidates:
Princess Sylvie of Berent
The Royal Duchess Dorothea Von Shull
Lady Penelope of Bonne
All three ladies were of excellent standing. And a marriage to either of the first two would form a strong political bond for Aldonia.
The third, Lady Penelope, was the daughter of an excellent friend of his father’s – the Count of Bonne.
Father, he knew, would be pleased by the match.
He had a vague memory of meeting the lady on a handful of occasions. He didn’t remember much about her. But she hadn’t been offensive and for now, that would be enough.
He remembered his mother mentioning that Countess Bonne was bringing her nieces along. The daughters of some peer or other in England.
Alex and Lydia would arrive next week and could very well be acquainted with the ladies.
But given that he knew nothing of the girls, and that there was no advantageous reason to consider an English lady as a wife, Christopher didn’t spare them more than a fleeting thought.
Just keep an open mind. And an open heart.
Christopher cursed under his breath as Jacob’s words rattled around in his head.
The last thing he needed was to be distracted by such nonsensical thoughts.
Prowling once more to the window, he looked out toward the gardens. His parents’ favourite maze was just to the right of his line of sight.
After the Duke of Tallenburg’s assassination attempt two years ago, he’d had his suite of offices moved to this side of the palace, so he could keep a closer eye on things.
His parents weren’t there now, of course. It wasn’t often that Father felt strong enough to walk in his beloved gardens, and Mother would be busy preparing to meet Countess Bonne and her party.
A movement to his left caught his eye, and Christopher swung his gaze to one of the walled rose gardens.
There.
A lone, female figure was sta
nding in the garden.
As Christopher watched, she bent her head toward one of the plentiful roses and inhaled its scent.
The oddest feeling came over him.
From up here, he could see nothing more than a blue dress encasing a small, slender figure, and an abundance of red curls, shimmering and fiery in the sunlight.
And yet, something stirred inside him at the sight of her.
She turned now, and he saw, with a suddenly dry throat, that though she was slender, she was certainly curvaceous in the most wickedly feminine way.
Her face was still a bit of a blur and bizarrely, Christopher found himself frustrated that he couldn’t see her properly.
He was busy. More than busy. He had a country to run and a wife to decide on.
Yet, he couldn’t drag his gaze from the young lady in the garden.
Who was she? Certainly, nobody of his acquaintance. If nothing else, he’d have remembered that hair.
He frowned as he watched her dart her gaze around, as though checking to ensure nobody was watching.
Ever since the assassination attempt of two years ago, Christopher was on constant alert for suspicious or worrisome behaviour.
Yet, even though this stranger in the garden was acting furtively, he didn’t feel worried. In fact, he felt only intrigued.
But that was foolish, as he well knew. Christopher had learned the hard way that females, even lovely, innocent-seeming ones, were capable of the worst sort of betrayals and behaviours.
He was half-minded to call on the guards stationed at the front of the gardens.
But something stopped him, though he couldn’t have said what or why.
As he looked on, torn between watching and taking action, her hand darted out and snapped off one of the garden’s famed Aldonian roses.
A bark of shocked laughter escaped Christopher as he watched her move around from bush to bush, repeating the action over and over until she’d stolen herself a veritable bouquet.
Why, the thieving little minx!
He couldn’t drag his eyes away. Just as he couldn’t find it in himself to be anything other than fascinated and even amused by her actions.
Her head suddenly snapped up, and her hands darted behind her back as she hurried to the entrance of the gardens.
Before she’d taken more than a few steps, another lady appeared. This one taller and slightly thinner, with hair more honey-coloured than the glorious red of the thief’s.
But there was some similarity there. Something that led Christopher to think they were related.
The ladies spoke for a moment before the taller one turned and swept from the garden, her spine rigidly straight, her chin tilted upwards.
Christopher’s attention turned immediately back to the smaller one. Even from here he could see her heave a sigh before rushing after the other lady, her hands and their stolen property behind her back the whole time.
In mere moments, she was gone.
Christopher shook his head and stepped back from the window.
He didn’t have time to be intrigued by a mysterious miss with light fingers.
Yet, even as he tried to concentrate on one of the many, many tasks needing his attention, he realised that he was intrigued just the same.
Chapter Four
“I knew you’d be late.”
“I’m not late.”
Lucy quickly closed her mouth as Alice turned to glare at her.
“Come along,” she hissed and Lucy, rather than argue, felt it more prudent to do as she was told.
She scurried along behind Alice rushing back to the palace.
Every so often the roses behind her back pricked her fingers, but she daren’t move them.
She would bet all of her pin money that Alice would fall into a dead faint of sheer horror if she knew Lucy had been stealing flowers from the royal garden only an hour after their arrival.
She couldn’t even say what had possessed her to do such a thing. It wasn’t as though she didn’t know how wrong it was.
But these flowers, Aldonian roses according to the name plate in the garden, were the most beautiful she’d ever seen, and she really wanted a souvenir from her royal adventure. So, she thought a few of their national flower pressed between the pages of one of her books would be a harmless and lovely keepsake.
And, she continued to tell herself guiltily, it wasn’t as though she’d stolen the crown jewels! What harm were a few flowers?
They reached the staircase that led to their appointed bedchambers, and Lucy turned to dash upstairs to deposit her flowers in her room.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
She spun back around at Alice’s biting question, glad that her sister didn’t seem to have seen the spoils of her crime.
“Er – I just needed to go to my room.”
“I think not,” Alice said. “You will not be late to meet the queen, Lucia Allenwood. Do you hear me?”
“But – but –”
“No buts.” Alice’s tone brooked no argument. “Now, come on.”
Lucy stood on the bottom step of the staircase, her eyes darting between the stairs and Alice’s swiftly retreating back.
What on earth was she supposed to do now?
Was it worse to be late to meet a member of royalty or to show up with flowers you’d stolen from her garden?
It had been a stupid, impulsive thing to do – stealing the flowers.
She had three weeks, after all. There would have been ample opportunity to get her keepsake.
Now she was stuck.
A sound at the top of the staircase drew her attention, and she looked up and into the handsomest face she’d ever seen.
Lucy felt her jaw drop as her eyes raked the man on the stairs, quite of their own volition.
He was tall. Very tall. And his shoulders were so broad! They filled his navy-blue coat spectacularly well.
Lucy’s stomach quivered in the oddest way as the man moved down the staircase toward her.
His hair was black as night, matched – she noticed with a stuttering of her heart – by the darkest, most sinful eyes she’d ever seen.
She didn’t know which part of him to stare at the most. The chiselled jaw, the surprisingly full lips, the devilish eyes…
Lord, she was fit to swoon, and she didn’t even know who he was.
He’d come closer now, and soon she’d be in his way. She wondered how it would feel to have him brush against her to get by, and that scandalous thought shook her into movement.
That and the impatient “Lucia” from up the hallway.
The man had stopped now and was staring at her expectantly, as though waiting for something. From her?
She knew better than to speak to a man she’d never met, and yet, there he stood…waiting.
How odd.
“Lucia Allenwood. Get over here now.”
Alice’s voice echoed down the hallway though she was out of sight, but it was enough to scare Lucy into action.
Without thought of anything but getting rid of her contraband before she had her head chopped off by the queen or something, Lucy removed the blooms from behind her back and thrust them toward the giant, staring man.
“Here, take these,” she whispered urgently.
He didn’t take them, instead he blinked in surprise then frowned at her as though she were a curiosity in a museum or something. One that wasn’t particularly pleasant.
“Lucia!”
“Oh please, quickly.” She waved them in front of his nose. “I’ll be positively murdered. Just – just take them. Hurry!”
To her relief, he held out a hand, though he still looked as horrified as if she were handing him a dead body.
Their fingers brushed as she practically threw the roses at him, and she was shocked by the frisson of awareness that shot through her arm at the contact.
But she didn’t have time to think of that right now.
“Thank you,” she whispered with a grat
eful smile before turning on her heel and dashing down the corridor after her long-suffering sister.
He might be a bit odd, this tall, handsome stranger.
But at least he’d helped her keep from embarrassing herself in front of the royal family of Aldonia.
“Christopher, there you are. Did you – what are you doing?”
The sound of his sister’s voice snapped Christopher out of his baffled daze, and he turned to see Harriet hurrying toward him.
“Are those flowers? Where did you get them?”
She came to a stop beside him, frowning at the roses in his hand.
Christopher shook his head slightly, not knowing quite how to answer her.
“They were thrown at me by a madwoman” would sound unbelievable, yet that was exactly what had happened.
He couldn’t quite fathom what had just taken place.
Had he, Crown Prince of Aldonia and future king, just been accosted by a beautiful yet clearly deranged stranger who didn’t seem to know, or perhaps care, who he was?
And even more strange, had he actually done as she’d demanded and taken her blasted flowers?
Well, yes. He had. Because he was standing here holding them like a dolt.
Thankfully, none of the guards were stationed close enough to have witnessed the bizarre exchange. And by sheer luck, none of the palace servants had happened by.
He could only imagine how tongues would wag if anyone had witnessed Prince Christopher being ordered around by the beautiful little oddity he’d spied in the gardens.
Lucia. That’s what the other lady had hissed down the corridor at her.
Somehow, it didn’t suit her. It seemed far too proper for one so – well, not.
“Er, yes.” Christopher remembered to answer his sister. “I – they—” He fumbled for something to say and saw the widening of Harriet’s eyes.
Christopher was never unsure about what to say. He never fumbled. Never.
One encounter with a crazy woman with the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen, and he’d lost the ability to speak.
At that moment, a maid glided past them, pausing to curtsy before moving quickly on.
“Wait.”
Redeeming A Royal (The Royals of Aldonia Book 3) Page 3
