Red Wine For Miss Parker - Another very romantic Comedy (Delicious Regency by Ruby Royce, Book 2)

by Royce, Ruby

  She had seen every inch of that bronzed skin whilst falling from the tree. Every inch, and some inches more… It was shocking! When she saw him at the opera, she had been thinking of nothing else. In fact, she had not been thinking of anything else ever since it had happened.

  The image of him came back very clearly. Her body was instantly flooded by a delicious warmth as she wondered what it would be like to touch him, to caress him, to kiss him or to lie with him, in a lover's embrace. What would it feel like if those loins pressed against hers, if he was inside her! She had never been able to imagine it so vividly with anybody else. She had tried hard to picture it with quite a few candidates — actually with all of the men present at her current whereabouts, but before she had gotten to know them personally, of course — nevertheless, with him the images were like memories of past encounters. So plastic, so alive!

  She closed her eyes and sank back against her cushion.

  "Flora" he would say again, hot and longingly. He would cover her in kisses and touch her in secret places.

  "Oh Francesco!" She groaned.

  Startled by her own voice she opened her eyes again.

  She pressed her lips together to keep any other unwanted noises from escaping and quickly glanced around the room to make sure nobody had crept in in the meantime.

  Anyway, he had sighed her name against her shoulder and he was the only naked man she had ever seen, why should she not be thinking about him in that way? It was only natural! Nothing was to come of it anyway. She knew he was as far above her as the lofty snow caps of the Alps in the horizon.

  And she had broken his nose. Yes…that might enter into the equation as well.

  She drank more wine and picked up her pencil.

  He said "The Sulk of Dreary" but that is MY soubriquet for Surrey. Mine, mine, mine! I invented it.

  Does it mean his mind is working like mine? Are we soul mates after all? Maybe HE is the man I was always meant for…?

  Yes, I know, now I'm being silly, I could never marry him and I don't even WANT to get married! I want to be a prissy lady companion taking the waters in Bath. It sounds like the right career for me.

  But would it not be hilarious, if I, the little Flora Parker, were to become a Princess? My mother would overcome death and live forever, only to tell every single person in the world how her daughter had married a Karlsburg!

  She turned a page and pursed her lips. Then she swung her pencil with some flourish and wrote:

  Princess Flora of Karlsburg-Sforza

  L'Arciducessa Flora di Chiaroburgo-Sforza

  Her Royal Highness, the Archduchess of Lombardy

  HRH The Archduke of Lombardy and HRH the Archduchess have announced the birth of their son and heir, Franz Eugen Benedictus… their daughter Maria Theresa Grazia Eugenia

  To his Imperial Majesty, the Emperor of Austria:

  Mein lieber Franz, bitte besuche uns am Lago Maggiore! In Liebe, deine Flora!

  To his Holiness, the Pope:

  Good old Uncle Pius, I have sent you the recipe for the salve. It should help with your gout!

  Kisses, Flora!

  She closed her diary and giggled. Then she began to cry.

  He hates me! I broke his nose and I will never see him again!

  ***

  Flora remained in bed for another three days.

  On the morning of the fourth she decided it was time to finally get up, although she could not say she felt any better. She had been haunted by nightmares of the Prince being assassinated by Dominic St. Yves. In one of them, the Duke had lifted her up and banged her head against the Prince's. Sideways.

  After having completed her morning toilette she called for a maid to help her dress.

  Her mood did not improve throughout the procedure.

  Flora was scowling unhappily. She longed for England, for a place far away from Lombardy and its staggering Princes. A cold and rainy place to be sad in. Not this paradise on earth.

  She left her room, diary in hand. There were still many things she needed to ponder with the help of her paper friend and there was nobody else to confide in, not with the matters concerned.

  As she got down to the veranda, Lord Darlington and Lord Lackerby were sitting at the table, enjoying the view. When she joined them, they interrupted their conversation, got up and bowed as she sat down. She put the diary onto the empty chair next to her, intending to stroll down to the lake after breakfast for some privacy.

  A footman rushed towards her, inquiring after her choices of food.

  "Miss Parker!" Lackerby cried with delight. "Heard marvellous things 'bout you! You perchance a revolutionary en déguise?"

  "Yes, Sir, I'm quite the Jacobite," she said wearily.

  "Good morning, Miss Parker." Darlington softly smiled at her. "How good to see you recovered from your affaiblissement."

  How could anybody be that flawless? He made her feel dreadfully inferior. And why did they always have to speak French, anyway?

  "Good morning, my Lords. Have their Graces not been down yet?"

  Lackerby made a puffing noise. "Yes they have, but they've gone up again. Thank Goodness! They're not to be borne! Tell us, Miss Parker, what's with the starry eyes? They're in a haze! Have been for days, really! Quite a nuisance. Am thinking 'bout going back to Paris. Had not thought it could get any worse with Surrey, but look at the man! What's the woman done to him? Used to be such a sport. Now this! Love's a terrible thing. Telling you, Parks, I'm happy it's never inflicted itself upon me."

  Parks? PARKS? Flora's mouth twitched.

  "Eh?" Lackerby's mouth curled into a snooty snarl.

  Flora coughed, trying to overcome the "Parks".

  "I couldn't say my Lord," she gurgled rather unconvincingly.

  Gigi and Surrey had not chosen to let the men in on their secret, so she was not going to reveal it.

  "Oh yes, you know it, Miss Parker, but you have certainly been asked for secrecy. We will not hassle you in the matter any further." Darlington smoothed. "I have figured it out already."

  "What is it, Darl? You know and you don't tell me?" Lackerby turned around.

  "My dear Lacks, you astound me."

  A door opened behind them. "Yes, James, what have you figured out on your own?" Clara joined them at the table.

  Flora still had not gotten used to Clara and the Earl being on a first name basis and it always took her aback.

  "That you're going to be Aunt Clara soon, Freckles. Don't tell me you haven't guessed, Lackerby?"

  "Aaaah… no." Lackerby shook his head but was not perturbed by his own ignorance.

  Lucky soul.

  Clara crossed her arms. "And high time it is. I had almost given up hope. Couldn't blame them for not trying."

  "Shush, Clara, you sound like a cocotte and it doesn't become you," Darlington said sharply.

  Clara stuck her tongue out. "You're only thirty-two, James Crawford, stop sounding like a grandfather!"

  Darlington's expression was blunt. "Freckles, you're most rude. You have been ever since we got here. You talk like a washer-woman and you dress like a saloppe. You may be only little more than a child, but you should get that temperament of yours under control. I believe seeing Francis has not helped, I'm sure he's been the instigator of your disadvantageous attitudes. He should never have been allowed to spend so much time with you when you were a babe."

  Clara got to her feet. "I don't feel like having breakfast after all, not with you at least. I hate you, James Crawford!" She stormed off.

  "Freckles, come back! I'm not finished." Darlington shouted. "Someone has to tell you, since nobody else seems to care about your prospects in this house!"

  "Drown yourself in the lake, James!" Clara could be heard from further away.

  "Excuse me. Miss Parker, Lackerby," Darlington got up as well and went after her.

  "Ha! You know, she's right!" Lackerby chirruped joyfully. "He's always been Baby Darlington at Eton, one forgets so quickly!"


  Flora rolled her eyes.

  Their directness confused her, too. She could never speak to any of them in such a fashion. But of course, their fathers had been good friends, and so had their grand-fathers before them, and all the Surreys and Darlingtons and Lackerbies and Raleighs and Sunderlands and Spencers had known each other since the beginning of time.

  Elite coterie. Always sticking together, letting nobody in. I'm only here because I'm Gigi's friend, and she's only here because she's a long-legged, buxom siren who happened to be at the right place at the right time. How can they complain about the Prince's lose morals and lax comportment when they are hardly any better? We mortals always have to behave properly, otherwise we are compromised or cut and left to our own lowly connections. It's at times like these when I can understand my mother's silly ambitions. It's not nice to be the lowest of one's lot. We're part of the ton, yes, but we are the meanest part. Poor Clara, any girl would be disoriented with such friends and relations. But Darlington is quite right, somebody will have to teach her some manners. She's so wild!

  Flora felt reminded of her own behaviour and quickly started a conversation with Lackerby.

  "Don't you find it sad, Lord Lackerby, that love has never inflicted itself upon you? At your age? Don't you ever want to get married or have a family?"

  "Oh, I'm getting married. Next year, actually."

  "Really?" Flora was honestly surprised. "And to whom?"

  "To a Miss Padmore. Never met her." He said it so nonchalantly, Flora thought she had misheard.

  "You never met her?"

  "No. I got engaged to her twelve years ago. You know, man in my position gets hunted like deer. Gained me thirteen years of liberty without assaults by ambitious mothers like— like so many."

  Like mine? Is that what he wanted to say?

  "TWELVE YEARS? Where is she?"

  "Somewhere near Durham, I believe."

  "But… I mean, why not marry her now? Why have we never seen her in London?"

  Lackerby furrowed his brows. "Why would she need to come out if she's already engaged? Her family has profited immensely by it, I grant you."

  Flora felt a flood of disapproving remarks coming up her throat but she forced herself not to let them out.

  "Well, Sir, a girl loves to dance, a girl loves to wear beautiful gowns. Sitting for years and years in the country and waiting to get married to an unknown man sounds quite dreadful to me."

  "She'll be twenty next year and then we'll be married. That's the contract. Sure you'll see her then. You'll be getting along splendidly. She's the daughter of a baronet, just like you."

  "Oh, is that so?"

  Flora had heard enough of Lord Lackerby's engagement. These people were simply not like her.

  Why had she ever come here? She should have known it would haven taken a turn to the worse, sooner or later.

  Silently, she finished her breakfast.

  "I wish you a pleasant day, my Lord," she sang hypocritically as she left the table and walked down to the lakeshore.

  Eight

  Somewhere near the western shore of Lake Maggiore

  Francesco had not been able to resist.

  Wounds or no wounds, he wanted to swim. Swimming had always been his remedy.

  It was a way of forgetting one's self, forgetting the world, forgetting fear, forgetting sadness. Even as a boy in England he had gone swimming in the river near Seventree as soon as the weather would permit it.

  Pulling himself in long strokes against the current, letting the the cold water wash over him… it had been the best medicine for his ails: The longing for his family, far away and scattered. The fear of a French invasion. The fear of more bad news from the continent, of more relatives in France beheaded. Later, the grief over the Duchess' death, over the Duke's illness and the senselessness of his existence.

  Now that Napoleon had been defeated and his family reinstated, it was easy to pretend those nineteen years of exile had been just a transitory holiday. Many a nobleman grew up on a foreign estate with another noble family. It was quite the norm, was it not?

  But in the case of the Karlsburg children, it was different.

  Nobody could have known the old rule would ever be re-established in Europe. A battle ending differently, maybe only a contract differently worded and the Karlsburg-Sforzas would have been condemned to a life of persecution or exile in lands even further away than England.

  As a boy, before the Congress of Vienna, Francesco had often played with the idea of emigrating to Mexico. One of his cousins was king there. Still today, he sometimes wondered whether he should not simply leave it all behind.

  Even if he was, again, a Prince not only in name, he still felt he had no purpose. His far older brother ruled since their father's death and he had sons of his own, of whom the first had recently married and fathered yet another male child. The Karlsburgs were a profligate lot, he mused, but how else would they have kept so many thrones over so many centuries?

  There was really no way for Francesco ever to rule in Lombardy.

  He was not even wanted as a political advisor, because everybody believed he lacked seriousness and did not feel rooted in Lombardy. He grew up in England after all! How ironic.

  He often did lack seriousness, that was true, but how could he take it all seriously? Did they truly believe, monarchic rule would last forever, now that the peoples of Europe had seen what power lay within their reach?

  No. He gave Lombardy another twenty, maybe thirty years before the Italian people would decide it was time to unite under Italian rule and kick the Karlsburgs out. Francesco had decided he did not want to be there when that happened. In the darkest corners of his heart, he even sympathised with the common man's desire for freedom. Had it not been all he had longed for when he had been cooped up in Seventree? Freedom?

  He did not want to think about it. As a matter of fact he had been thinking so much these past three days, his head was aching from it. But those had not been reflection on politics.

  No. He did not want to think at all. So he swam.

  His first intention had been to swim to a small beach further south, but as if pulled by an invisible hand, he found himself swimming towards his unloved cousin's residence across the lake.

  It was going to be a hot day but Palazzo Sforza still lay in the shade of the mountains rising up behind it. The beautiful yellow palace from the early 18th century had always reminded Francesco of a fairy-tale castle, with its little towers and merlons and the elongated arched windows.

  Dominic must have spent quite a sum on renovating it, Francesco reasoned as he approached. Palazzo Sforza had been just as neglected as all the other noble residences around the lake in the time of the French occupation.

  He turned onto his back an glanced towards his own home.

  Castello Maggiore was far bigger and older than the elegant Surrey-Sforza residence and whereas Dominic's house was merging into the surrounding nature, Francesco's baroque residence was build on top of a protruding peninsula.

  Looking at it from so far away, the Prince thought that it looked bulky and naked. The park needed to be changed, there needed to be life. Colours! He would have to discuss it with his gardener.

  The Prince turned around again and saw a figure walking towards the shore.

  "A figure" my foot, I know exactly who that is.

  His heart pounded strongly in his chest.

  Help. I'm absolutely besotted by that bloodthirsty mignon. I want her. I need her! My life will not be worth living without her! — Oh, please, I can't have been thinking that just now. I'm not THAT italian! "My life's not worth living without her". Really??? Get a grip, Francesco.

  Flora Parker was wearing a light yellow dress and her dark curls were loosely held by a ribbon of the same colour.

  Thank God, she's unarmed!

  So far, she had not discovered him.

  Carefully he slid closer. There was a landing stage leading into the water with a few rowing boat
s tied to it. He positioned himself behind it to watch her but he could not remain still for long. The lake's water was not exactly warm and he had to keep moving for his limbs to stay nimble.

  Flora had stopped by the shore and critically scanned the water at her feet.

  Francesco grinned. Not a good idea when one's face is halfway under water. The insolent liquid swashed into his mouth and he had to gulp it down to obtain his silence.

  Sitting down in the grass, Flora opened a little leather bound book. From time to time she smiled as she was reading and the Prince was at once immune to the water's chills. A gentle fire spread through his veins. My life's not worth living without her!

  He swam closer.

  When he was only a few yards away from her, he fully immersed himself and made the last few strokes beneath the surface.

  NIne

  In the park of Palazzo Sforza,…

  To his Holiness, the Pope:

  Good old Uncle Pius, I have sent you the recipe for the salve. It should help with your gout!

  Kisses, Flora!

  Flora giggled as she read her most recent absurdities.

  Maybe she had to start a career as a novelist. It might be more lucrative than taking the waters in Bath and more entertaining too. One simply had to look at the late Miss Austen and her successes. Flora's ideas were just as comical and as romantic. She would not write about the landed gentry, boring and well-behaved as they were, no! She would reveal the scandalous behaviour of the peers! The Darl of Smoothington's Love Affairs, the Sulk of Dreary's Dangerous Desires and the Lackscount Vickerby's Evil Crimes. Maybe The Archdukes Princely Privates…