My Darling, My Disaster (Lords of Essex)

by Morgan, Angie

  As she stared at the woman who had turned the last few weeks into a living purgatory, Lana felt only pity. It was sad that her life was so absent of joy that she took such pleasure in making others miserable. Lana picked up her valise and stood tall, looking at the housekeeper, who suddenly seemed about as fearsome as a soaked kitten. “I forgive you, Mrs. Frommer.”

  Lana slipped the diamonds into her reticule as the housekeeper flinched and moved back behind her desk, still silent.

  “I can only hope that, in future, you will choose to be kinder to those who rank beneath you. That you do not use your power as a way to oppress and threaten.”

  And with that, Lana had swept out of the housekeeper’s office.

  Afterward, she and Irina had moved into the earl’s home and had become celebrities practically overnight. No longer a servant, but the absolute story of the season. Not a scandal, but a sensation, or so Brynn had whispered to her in delight the last time Lana had paid a visit to Ferndale.

  And, needless to say, everyone who was anyone in the beau monde wanted to meet the mysterious Princess Svetlanka, who had been hunted by a traitor to the tsar and driven into hiding—as a maid, of all things. They wanted to meet the woman Lord Northridge had been held at gunpoint trying to protect, the one who had been vetted by two of the most respectable men of their set—Lords Langlevit and Thorndale. The papers throughout London had run numerous stories and accounts of Baron Zakorov and Count Volkonsky’s treachery, but it had been the scandal sheets with their opinion pieces on Lana and Irina that had stirred such fervor.

  But Lana had not been ready for any of it.

  The idea of such wild attention had made her ill with nerves. Brynn had claimed she and Irina were sensations, and the opinion pieces had only supported that, but what if the fickle ton changed their minds? What if she and Irina were met not with the kind curiosity the papers were printing, but with scorn?

  What if she was still an undesirable and socially impossible match for Gray?

  “We don’t need to stay long,” Lana said as the driver stopped the horses and a footman swung the door open.

  She knew Langlevit did not enjoy such crushes and would have much rather been at home in his study. And though he had said next to nothing on the matter, the death of the duke’s sister, Lady Eloise, had definitely affected him.

  “Stay as long as you like, Princess. You needn’t worry about me,” he replied as she took the footman’s proffered hand. “Besides…I have a feeling you’re going to fill your dance card within seconds of your arrival.”

  Irina scooted forward on the bench. “And what of me?”

  Lana laughed and descended the steps. Once her sister had followed, she took in the sight of her and breathed out in relief that Lord Langlevit was indeed their guardian. While Irina still had the stickish figure of a young girl, she had a countenance that would surely capture attention.

  “You should count yourself lucky. All other fourteen-year-olds are far too young to attend such a ball, but Her Grace, Lady Bradburne, insisted on your presence,” Lana said. “You can be certain to have a full dance card this evening.”

  It was something she knew her sister would revel in.

  “Will you dance with me, my lord?” Irina asked Langlevit as he joined them. His discomfort seemed to increase as he considered his answer.

  “Irina, you must allow the gentlemen to propose a dance,” Lana said, laughing again.

  “Well, that seems a risk. What if the gentleman I wish to dance with doesn’t ask?”

  This time, it was Langlevit who cracked a grin. “The lady has a point.” He extended his right elbow to Irina and his left to Lana. “And I will certainly dance with you, though your toes may suffer for it.”

  Lana doubted he was a horrid dancer, though he did move with definite stiffness. Whether it was his fine breeding, his serious nature, or some old wound, she didn’t know. And as they entered Worthington Abbey, her nerves decided it didn’t truly matter at the moment.

  The doorman took their wraps, and they were led toward the grand ballroom. The last time Lana had been at a ball, she had been a servant. She had been next to invisible. Now, as she walked the corridor, she saw as well as felt eyes falling upon her. The main crush would be in the ballroom, but there were plenty of guests and footmen moving through the halls, and the looks they cast Lana were of pure astonishment. At least, that is what they felt like. They did nothing to quell her nerves, either.

  “They have been waiting for this for weeks,” Langlevit said.

  “For what?” she asked.

  “To see you.”

  She and Irina had sequestered themselves at Hartstone, wanting only to be together after having been apart for so long. Not to mention that they had absolutely nothing to wear. Irina had taken one glance at Lana’s lady’s maid dresses and had doubled over in laughter. So they had paid Madame Despain a visit, and she and her assistants had been flushed with excitement to be the shop that would outfit the remarkable, and instantly popular, Russian princesses. They remembered her from Briannon’s visits, and Madame Despain had gone so far as to say that Lana had, in her opinion, carried herself suspiciously well for a lady’s maid.

  Lana drew a sudden shaky breath as they arrived at the ballroom entrance. She did not know why she was so nervous. She’d been to hundreds of balls in St. Petersburg, but for some reason her knees wobbled beneath the voluminous skirts of the gorgeous sapphire satin gown that rippled like liquid every time she moved. Silver thread shimmered through the material whenever it caught the light, creating the illusion that the fabric had a life of its own.

  With a black lace overlay, the perfect foil for its vibrant color, it was undeniably one of the loveliest gowns she had ever worn. Diamond earbobs and a stunning matching sapphire-and-diamond teardrop necklace glittered at her ears and throat—a gift from Countess Langlevit. The crowning piece was the magnificent tiara that rested upon her upswept curls.

  Lana knew she looked the part, but deep down, she felt like a sham. A fake. How could that be? For so long, she had been pretending. She’d been slowly forgetting what it was to be a princess. And now that she was restored to her true position, even that didn’t feel right.

  Her breaths shortened, and she grasped the earl’s fingers as their names were announced by Heed, the duke’s butler.

  “Lord Henry Radcliffe, the Earl of Langlevit,” he intoned. “Princess Svetlanka Volkonsky, Princess Irina Volkonsky.”

  Conversation winked into silence as every eye in the ballroom turned to fix on them. She caught Briannon’s startled smile and the austere but approving expression of her new husband at her side, but Lana was only looking for one person.

  Her heart felt as if it would burst as her eyes traveled the crowd, fluttering in her chest like a frightened bird. And then, as the trio descended the marble steps to the floor, she saw the object of her frazzled thoughts standing at the bottom. Dressed in raven black from head to toe, except for the crisp white of his shirt and cravat, Gray made her breath catch. If she hadn’t kept firm hold of the earl’s arm, she would have stumbled. Heat saturated every inch of her skin at the admiring look in those blue eyes. Eyes she had come to know so well. Eyes that had seen her in ways no one else ever had. As she reached him, everyone else ceased to exist.

  Until Langlevit’s voice drifted in between them. “Lord Northridge,” he said, a laughing note tingeing his voice. “May I present Princess Svetlanka Volkonsky, and her sister, Princess Irina Volkonsky.”

  Gray first greeted Irina with a formal dip of his head and shoulders, and then winked surreptitiously at her, making her giggle. He then turned to Lana and took her hand. He bent over it and pressed his lips to the satin. Heat seared through her gloves, making her entire body burn. “Your Highness, it is a pleasure to meet so beautiful a princess.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” she said, flushing not from his praise, but from his utterly possessive expression and the seductive way his lips had framed the wor
d pleasure. It reminded her of things she had no business thinking of right at that moment.

  “May I?” He extended his arm to act as her escort. Irina smiled up at her and remained at the earl’s side. Lana was acutely aware of Gray’s body beside hers as they walked toward Briannon, her new husband, and their surrounding family and friends. Though he held himself rigid and proper, she also felt a yearning. From his body or her own, she wasn’t entirely sure. She only knew that beneath those crisply starched clothes was warm skin, hard muscle, and a man that had held her in the most intimate of ways.

  She pushed the thoughts from her mind as Gray performed the introductions to the Duke and Duchess of Bradburne. Lana nearly laughed at the pretense, as if she hadn’t existed before this moment, but it was the way of the haute ton. Men and women who came into fortunes and titles were greeted with pomp and circumstance as if no one had known them before.

  “Congratulations, Your Grace,” she said to the duke before meeting the amused gaze of his bride. “Your Grace.”

  “Good heavens, Your Highness, so formal,” Briannon teased, rolling her eyes and drawing Lana in for a very unladylike hug. Lana hugged her friend back, grateful that some things, like Brynn’s unaffected warmth, hadn’t changed.

  “Lord and Lady Dinsmore,” Langlevit continued.

  Lady Dinsmore’s complexion took on its customary hue whenever Lana was present. It reminded her of a newly ripened tomato. Despite Lana’s protests that the Findlays had made her feel more like family than a servant, Lady Dinsmore couldn’t seem to get past her mortification of having had a princess for a maid in her household. She’d apologized countless times and, to Lana’s relief, didn’t have the chance to do so again now. The earl’s mother had moved forward for her proper introduction.

  “The Countess of Langlevit,” he said, and with a coy grin whispered, “Mother.” He bent to kiss his mother’s cheek, and Irina, defying propriety, flung herself into the lady’s arms.

  To Lana’s surprise, the countess only laughed and kissed her young ward on both cheeks, an adoring expression on her lined face. Irina had insisted that she and the countess had grown quite close during their time together, and now Lana could see it was so. She hadn’t thought it possible to be any more grateful to the earl or his mother, but knowing Irina had been truly cared for and not just a duty brought a sheen of tears to Lana’s eyes.

  She blinked them away as the introductions went on, the earl leading her and Gray through the ballroom, announcing names and titles, most of which she already knew. Though it was exhausting, Lana bore it with as much grace as she could muster. Gray’s firm arm beneath her fingers lent her strength. She couldn’t help sneaking glances at his handsome profile as she and Irina were presented to those in attendance. She’d never imagined the day would come when she would be with him in public—on his arm as if she had every right in the world to be there. It was unsettling. And exhilarating.

  “Lord Northridge,” a woman said, bobbing into a curtsy. And as she rose, Lana recognized her. It was Lady Cooper, and the smile she wore shone brighter as she looked at Lana. “Miss Volchek—oh, heavens, my apologies. Your Highness, of course.”

  “How wonderful to see you again, Lady Cooper.” Lana took Lady Cooper’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. She had increased since the last time Lana had seen her. Lana felt something stir in her own belly—a phantom desire to one day look as radiant as Lady Cooper did. A tiny, secret, and completely irrational part of her had hoped that something would have come out of what had happened between her and Gray, despite his precautions. But her monthly flux had come and gone, and Lana’s common sense had been returned to her.

  “Is Sofia in attendance, my lord?” Sir Cooper inquired as he joined his wife.

  “She is with her governess,” Gray answered, and Lana caught his prideful grin. “In the refreshment room.”

  Declaring Sofia’s legitimacy as his daughter hadn’t been as explosive as Gray had expected. Perhaps it had been eclipsed by the two Russian princesses in hiding that had taken London by storm, or by Gray’s own heroic role in rescuing them. Either way, Lana was grateful for Gray’s sake. As she had anticipated, after the initial shock, Lady Dinsmore absolutely doted on the child. Sofia’s laughter at Ferndale had been a welcome arrival in the wake of so much tragedy—not just the culmination of what had occurred with her uncle but also the death of the duke’s sister, Lady Eloise.

  Claiming a daughter was a much-needed ray of sunshine in a world so marked by cynicism and affectation. Although having little part in it, Lana couldn’t help feeling pride for Gray’s courage. Of course there were those who whispered of scandal, Briannon had imparted to her earlier, but that was all they were. Timid whispers.

  “May we say hello?” Lady Cooper asked. For a moment, Gray seemed to become even more rigid than before. He took his arm from underneath Lana’s, a gentle touch on her wrist as if to tell her he would return shortly. He took Lady Cooper’s gloved hands in his.

  “You need never ask for permission to see Sofia, my lady. You and Sir Cooper are our family, and always will be. I’m certain she will be delighted to see you both.”

  Lady Cooper’s eyes brimmed with tears, but she smiled and dipped into a short curtsy before they could fall. As the Coopers took their leave to visit the refreshment room, the strains of violins filled the ballroom.

  “That was kind of you,” Lana said to Gray, grateful the guests’ attention had started to transition away from she and Irina.

  Gray took up her arm again, fulfilling his silent promise to return. “Not at all. They are family. They raised my daughter for three years and love her.”

  “Not all men would think in such a way,” she said, knowing he was not, in any way, like most of the other men in his sphere.

  He cut her a sly glance. “Are you finally admitting I am exceptional?”

  She sealed her lips and made a show of not hearing him. He laughed but then quieted as the duke led his radiant duchess to the dance floor for the opening waltz.

  Lana’s heart melted at the sight of them. “Brynn could not look more beautiful,” she murmured.

  “Your Highness,” Gray said, his voice husky instead of playful now. “May I have the honor of this dance?” Her eyes flicked to Langlevit, who stood close by with Irina. He cleared his throat before escorting his young charge to the middle of the floor. Irina’s expression was beatific.

  “I would love to, my lord,” Lana replied.

  As Gray’s hand slid around her waist, scorching through the layers of satin and drawing her close, Lana almost lost her footing. Almost. The joy of dancing—real dancing—made her feel buoyant with delight.

  “This is much better, don’t you think?” Gray said, his eyes alight with mischief. “Dancing in a proper ballroom.”

  “I don’t know,” Lana said, matching his playful gaze. “I rather enjoyed the thrill of dancing alone in a horse stall.”

  He looked askance at her. “Thrill?”

  She leaned slightly closer and whispered, “The risk of discovery. Mrs. Frommer always searching for a reason to dismiss me. We did give her plenty of opportunity.”

  Something changed in Gray’s expression. He started to glower. “Ah, yes, that horrible woman. I should tell you the news—she’s been dismissed.”

  Lana gasped and pulled back, her feet faltering. “What?”

  Gray tugged her back into place, closer against him, as he carried them both through the next few dance steps. “A footman found her stealing from the butler’s pantry.”

  She gasped again and accidentally stepped on Gray’s foot. “Stealing?”

  “They found a few other things in her room. Small trinkets no one had bothered to miss. Including a few pieces of Lady Dinsmore’s jewelry, put aside from past seasons.”

  Lana couldn’t believe it. Why, that shameless hypocrite! Accusing her of stealing when she was off doing it for real. No wonder she’d seemed so unrepentant when she’d returned the bracelet
—she was a hardened thief. Lana pursed her lips and frowned.

  Gray looked down at her, curious. “Have I upset you?”

  She recovered, shaking her head and trying not to smile. “Not at all. I do wish she’d been discovered earlier, of course.” Lana considered a formal, suitable finish for her sentence, but it was not in her heart to do so. She grinned up at him. “If only to have given us a bit more privacy, that is. You see, I seem to have developed a distinct partiality for”—her voice was a provocative caress against his ear—“indecent outings in stables and gardens and gaming hells.”

  At her words, the amusement fled from his eyes. They darkened with immediate passion, and Lana couldn’t help reveling in her ability to affect him as profoundly as he did her. “Lana,” he whispered in a strained voice. “Do not say such things to me here in the middle of this room when all it does is make me want to kiss you until you are breathless and drag you off like a mindless brute to find a suitable linen closet.”

  “Linen closet?” she asked and then answered her own question at the hotly possessive look in his eyes. Oh. “It is what I wish, too,” she admitted with a fiery blush. Gray’s fingers flexed compulsively on her waist as he led her through another turn, almost stumbling himself.

  She laughed, and he laughed, too. Lana caught Brynn’s delighted smile as she danced with her duke two couples away and grinned back. A few weeks ago, she had never imagined she could be so happy…her sister safe, their identities restored, and dancing so openly in the arms of a man she cherished beyond belief. Their bodies moved in perfect unison to the tune of a magic that belonged only to them. Ballroom or stable, it didn’t matter, as long as she was in his arms and he in hers. Even if it were only this dance, she would safeguard it in her heart forever.

  “I have missed dancing,” she said, her happiness suddenly tinged with melancholy as Gray twirled her expertly. “It was my favorite thing, and now it’s my favorite thing to do with you.”

  His breath skimmed her ear. “I would agree, but dancing is only my second favorite thing to do with you.”