The Princess and the Pea

by Victoria Alexander

  Olivia suppressed a satisfied chuckle. This was the last pea beneath the mattress for Cecily. She had passed every trial, every test. Olivia could now give the couple her blessing without reservation and look forward to a life of her own, knowing her son’s future was in capable hands.

  Olivia looked up into Jared’s assessing gaze. “You appear quite pleased with yourself, Mother.”

  “I suppose I am.” Olivia cast him an innocent glance. “You have finally selected a bride who, although American, is still suitable both socially and financially. I am quite happy for you both.”

  “Are you?” Suspicion underlaid his words.

  “Quite.” She smiled.

  He studied her through narrowed eyes. “No more silly tests?”

  “Jared,” she said with indignation, “in the first place, it was all in your imagination. I would never subject Cecily to anything so ridiculous. Beyond that,” she raised her shoulders in a dismissive gesture, “you did threaten me with the most dire of consequences should you even suspect me of any activity whatsoever.

  “It really was not at all fair,” she chided gently.

  “Perhaps not.” In spite of his words, distrust still lingered in his eyes.

  She smiled back sweetly. With one last measuring glance, Jared stepped aside to greet the throng of guests eager to tender their congratulations. Olivia turned to find Cecily.

  The girl was surrounded by well wishers and fairly glowed with happiness. It warmed Olivia’s heart, and any remaining doubt she might have had as to Cecily’s suitability to be Jared’s wife vanished.

  “My dear child.” Olivia grasped both her hands and lightly kissed the air by each cheek. “I can’t tell you how very pleased I am.”

  A flicker of surprise flashed through Cecily’s eyes, but her expression remained pleasant and composed. “Thank you.”

  Something in her tone, the merest hint, the tiniest suggestion, caught Olivia’s attention, and she considered the girl carefully. Cecily’s gaze locked with hers, the look in her eyes direct and candid.

  Reserved success colored Cecily’s smile. There was no suggestion here of smug, self-satisfied triumph; only the honest victory of a battle hard fought and fairly won.

  At once understanding dawned, and Olivia smiled slowly. There was no doubt whatsoever. The girl knew of her tests. The knowledge did not make the trials any less valid, but Cecily’s perception raised her esteem a notch in Olivia’s book and added a final check to the list in her mind.

  “Someday,” Olivia arched a brow, “we shall have to have a very long talk.”

  Unexpected plea sure shone on Cecily’s face. “I should like that.”

  “I rather think we have quite a bit in common.”

  Cecily laughed. “I would not be at all surprised.”

  Olivia nodded agreement, then surrendered Cecily to the few waiting to offer their best wishes and the many eager to cast their own critical, assessing eye on the future countess. Olivia had not had this sense of serenity and fulfillment in years. It was as if, having assured herself her son’s future was in good hands, she could relax and concentrate on other, less pressing matters.

  She turned and surveyed the crowded ballroom, spotting Robert within seconds. Odd that she hadn’t had this desire for a new life of her own before his return to England. Was it mere coincidence or fate? Olivia had never believed in either. But now, well, perhaps…

  Olivia headed toward Robert with a determined step. Now that the course of her son’s life was firmly set in the right direction, it was past time to take charge of her own.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The day dawned clear and crisp, bright and beautiful. It was a perfect day for an outing, for a picnic, for a race.

  Cece stifled a discreet yawn behind a gloved hand. She had no idea what time she finally retired last night. It was long after the guests had left and long past the moment Jared kissed her good night. A shiver ran through her at the memory of that passionate embrace.

  She glanced around the surprisingly large group that had gathered here at daybreak at this inn on the outskirts of London. There were not as many entries in this race as there had been in Paris; still, the variety of motorcars displayed was impressive.

  While Jared hadn’t taught her to drive, his instruction in the mechanics of automobiles was thorough, and she realized just how good a job he’d done. She recognized cars powered by steam, by electricity and by gasoline. Only a small number of the vehicles entered were of British origin. Many more were from France, Switzerland and Italy. She strolled along the grounds, her educated eye discerning the differences between the vehicles, the possible flaws and potential advantages of each design.

  Jared and her father were engrossed in a discussion regarding some minor detail or other about his automobile, the only one of his three inventions housed in the stable that actually ran. After last night Jared had agreed to accompany Quentin in the race, and Cece could tell the man was delighted with the opportunity. And well he should be. She sighed in irritation. She would give a great deal to come along on this race. Goodness, she’d only spent one morning with the vehicle away from Jared’s protective eye, but already she could start the machine on her own. Steering and driving could not be nearly as difficult as he would have had her believe.

  Cece bobbed her head and smiled at those she recognized from last night or the various other social events they’d attended in London. Lady Olivia, Lady Millicent, her mother and Emily were here as well.

  The older women had varying reactions to the news revealed at Emily’s party. Lady Millicent seemed quite pleased to know Quentin’s partner was not some disreputable cur. Her mother was apparently impressed with Jared’s accomplishment. Lady Olivia’s response was a bit more difficult to judge. She seemed neither particularly surprised nor especially shocked. Rather, the woman had taken the whole evening with a serenity that indicated she knew far more than she ever let on. Cece wondered if her future mother-in-law had anything to do with the gossip about Jared’s invention that had swept the party. No, surely not. What possible reason would Olivia have to reveal that interesting tidbit? Cece was certain, however, that Lady Olivia knew full well that Cece was aware of her series of tests. But Jared’s mother appeared more pleased than distressed by that knowledge.

  Cece spotted Quentin talking to a short, wiry, dark-haired man and headed toward him. Really, he should be with Jared, preparing for the start of the race. Indignantly she started in his direction, then slowed and paused.

  Even at this distance she could see Quentin’s conversation was anything but cordial. The smaller man gestured furiously, waving around a sheaf of papers clutched in his hand. Anger colored Quentin’s face, the sharpness of his words apparent from his expression. The stranger thrust the papers at him one last time, then turned and stalked off. Quentin glared after him, his hands clenched at his sides.

  “Quentin”—Cece hurried toward him—“what on earth was that all about?”

  Quentin drew a deep breath and cast her a considering glance, as if debating whether to answer her question or not. Her apprehension grew. Finally he nodded abruptly, grasped her elbow and led her farther away from the crowd.

  “It’s not at all good, Cece,” Quentin said. “I’m afraid we have a rather difficult problem on our hands.”

  “What kind of problem?” Caution and concern underlaid her tone. “Who was that nasty little man?”

  Quentin’s eyes narrowed with disdain. “His name is Barton Sinclair. He’s another so-called inventor. Sinclair’s not especially clever, and I’ve had more than one occasion to doubt his honesty. But he’s always displayed relatively sophisticated designs, very similar to those of mine and Jared’s. I always wondered if he had someone else working with him. Now I know.”

  The serious tone of his voice tightened her stomach with foreboding. She forced herself to ask the question she abruptly feared to have answered.

  “Who, Quentin? Who was working with him?”
>
  “James.”

  Cece gasped. “James? Jared’s brother?”

  Quentin nodded grimly. “It seems James was selling our designs, our drawings and blueprints. Sinclair paid James just before he died for the design of our carburetor. Jared and I have managed to come up with a—”

  “I know all that,” she said impatiently, reciting by heart, “the main problem facing developers is achieving the proper mix of gasoline to air in the carburetor. It all has to do with creating an explosion in some kind of sealed metal tube that forces the engine piston downward.”

  Quentin stared, shock mingling with admiration in his eyes. “How on earth did you know all that?”

  She dismissed his question with an exasperated wave of her hand. “It scarcely matters now. All that’s important is dealing with this Sinclair creature.”

  “I don’t see a lot of choices.” Quentin sighed in resignation. “We’ll have to give him the damn carburetor—or at least the blueprints.”

  “You can’t do that,” she said quickly. “It would give him a competitive edge that simply isn’t fair. The man hasn’t earned it.”

  “No.” Quentin’s tone was glum. “But he did pay for it.”

  “Quentin,” Cece said, her words slow and measured, “Jared doesn’t know about this, does he?”

  Quentin shook his head, his gaze meeting hers, and she could see her own realization of what this knowledge would do to Jared reflected in Quentin’s eyes.

  “We can’t tell him.” Her tone was urgent.

  “I don’t see how we can avoid it.”

  “From everything he’s said I gather he adored his brother.” Compassion for Jared mixed with a firm resolve to protect him. “This would devastate him.”

  “I know.” Quentin’s lips compressed in a grim line. “I just wish there was another way out of this.”

  The couple fell silent for a long moment.

  “What would Nellie Bly do?” Cece said under her breath.

  Quentin pulled his brows together in confusion. “What did you say?”

  “Never mind,” she said absently, still trying to come up with a solution to this dilemma, a solution that would prevent Jared from ever learning of his brother’s duplicity. At once the answer struck her. So easy and obvious, she was amazed she hadn’t thought of it sooner.

  “Why don’t we just give Sinclair back the money he paid James?”

  Quentin cast her a look of disbelief. “And where would we get it?”

  Her heart sank. “How much money are we talking about?”

  “Three hundred pounds.”

  “Three hundred pounds?” She gasped. “That’s a small fortune.”

  “Sinclair has more money than talent,” Quentin said sarcastically. “I could perhaps get it from Aunt Millicent, or even my father, but not without telling them why. And I would not trust either of them to keep this from Jared, or Lady Olivia for that matter.”

  “Three hundred pounds,” she murmured. She certainly did not have that kind of money readily available. But she did know one man who could easily furnish the funds. A man she had complete faith in to keep quiet, and a man who, hopefully, would have complete faith in her judgment without insisting on detailed explanations. “Will Sinclair be driving in the race?”

  “No. He has hired a driver.”

  “Good, that gives me some time. I think I can take care of this, Quentin,” she said firmly. “Just don’t say anything to Jared.”

  “What are you planning?” Suspicion colored his words.

  “I know where to get the money. I’ll pay off Sinclair.”

  “I can’t let you do that.” Concern stamped his face. “Not alone.”

  “You have a race to run. Besides, I don’t plan on doing this alone.” She crossed her fingers behind her back. There was no way in the world she would allow anyone else to know about this. Besides, it wasn’t actually a lie. She wouldn’t be alone in spirit. Her gaze skimmed the crowd until it rested on her father.

  “I have an interesting idea.”

  “Where is she?” Jared glared at the assembly as if each and every person in his line of sight was somehow responsible for Cece’s absence. “The race will be starting in just a few minutes.”

  “I’m certain she’s here someplace,” Quentin said, a slight nervousness apparent in his tone. Jared cast him a sympathetic glance. He could well understand Quentin’s apprehension. Jared too was filled with a stomach-clenching mix of excitement, anticipation and sheer terror.

  So much more rode on the outcome of this race than the mere satisfaction of winning. Jared had no doubt of the potential of automobiles; he simply needed to convince others. And this race could do that. If their machine showed well here, there was a distinct possibility of attracting investors who would put down good money in a gamble that someday it would be paid back tenfold or better.

  “You really are pleased to be coming along, aren’t you?” A crooked smile quirked Quentin’s lips.

  “I know I never said anything, but the thought of letting you do this without me…” He shook his head wryly and grinned. “I hated it.”

  “Well, you certainly hid it well,” Quentin said mildly.

  Jared shrugged. “I didn’t feel there was much choice.” His tone turned somber. “We have to do well today. We have a great deal to prove.”

  Quentin’s solemn mood matched his own. “I know. This could be the break we’ve worked for. We have a good design. All we need now is a little bit of luck.” He nodded toward the automobile and grinned. “This could be just the start. I can see it all now: The Bainbridge-Graystone Motorcar Company.”

  “The Graystone-Bainbridge Motorcar Company.” Jared returned his grin. “It has a better ring to it.”

  Quentin cocked an eyebrow. “That, my dear friend, is up for debate.”

  “We have to win,” Jared said, the urgent note returning.

  “And when we do, investors will no doubt flock to give us their hard-earned money and we shall be on our way.”

  Jared’s gaze skimmed the crowd once more. “I wasn’t thinking of investors.”

  “Oh?” Quentin slanted his friend a quizzical glance.

  Jared shook his head. “I was thinking of Cece.”

  “Come now, old man, there’s no need to impress the girl now. You’ve both publicly declared your intentions. She’s yours. Body, soul and, I might add, substantial wealth.”

  “I no longer care about the money.”

  “I find that difficult to believe,” Quentin said skeptically. “For months you’ve been on a quest for an heiress. Now you have one, and one whose fortune is impressive by any standard, and you say it no longer matters?”

  Jared laughed shortly. “It does sound absurd. “It’s a realization I’ve come to in the past few days.”

  He narrowed his eyes and tried to find the words to explain. “I find it difficult to understand myself. But Cece is the first woman I’ve ever met who cares nothing for my name or my title. The man she fell in love with was an impoverished inventor who had dreams of building motorcars. I suspect she would be as happy today if I were still nothing more than that dreamer.” He shook his head in amazement. “She believed in my farfetched dreams. She believed in me. In Jared Grayson, not the Earl of Graystone.”

  “I see,” Quentin said quietly. “Is there a difference?”

  “There’s a great deal of difference. There always has been. That’s exactly why this is so important. Why we have to do well.” Jared smiled wryly. “I have to prove myself—as much to myself as to her. I have to live up to those dreams.”

  The two friends stared at each other silently. Then Quentin extended his hand and Jared grasped it warmly. “Let’s do it.”

  “What ever are you doing?” Cece hurried up to stare accusingly at the men. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready? The other automobiles are lining up.”

  Jared grinned and nodded confidently at Quentin. “We’re ready.”

  “Then you really
should take your places,” she said impatiently, and Jared realized she was as excited and anxious about this race as he was.

  He grasped one side of the vehicle, Quentin the other, and they pushed the automobile toward the starting position. Cece stepped briskly beside Jared, one hand clutching her skirts and the other clasped to a hat ridiculous even by Cece’s standards.

  “Are you at all nervous?” she said casually, as if the answer was of little importance.

  “No,” he lied. They pushed the automobile into its place. “Not at all.”

  “Excellent. There’s no need for concern.” She nodded vigorously. Something, some bit of feminine frippery, a feather or a ribbon or perhaps a flower, bobbed atop the absurd concoction that perched on her head. “I have every confidence in you.”

  He turned, and his gaze met hers. Abruptly it struck him anew, and the revelation inspired awe and more—determination. This woman did indeed believe in him. Her earnest expression coupled with her preposterous hat broke the tension within him.

  “I have no fears at all about the success of this venture. The vehicle is in excellent shape. The route is relatively simple. The competition is stiff but not overwhelming.” He grinned with assurance. “With any luck at all, we shall be back by dusk.”

  Quentin circled the car to join them and handed Jared his goggles and duster. “It does appear everything is under control.”

  Cece and Quentin traded glances so swift, Jared thought surely he was mistaken.

  “Then I suggest you take your places,” she said quickly.

  The men donned their gear and Jared climbed into the vehicle. A surprising calm descended over him. He was definitely ready.

  “It’s a pity she can’t give you some kind of favor for the race,” Quentin said.

  “Favor?” Jared raised a brow.

  “You mean just as a lady would give a knight before a tournament?” Delight shone in Cece’s eyes. “What an interesting idea.”