The Princess and the Pea

by Victoria Alexander

  She nodded pleasantly to the trio and strode off toward the castle, head held high, back ramrod straight and step brisk. From this angle she was certain no one would notice the tears trickling down her face, or the trembling of her chin.

  Or the crack in her heart.

  “She certainly does carry herself like a countess,” Olivia said approvingly, her gaze on Cecily’s determined march back to the castle.

  “I’d say Jared’s a lucky man,” Quentin said.

  “Indeed.” Olivia nodded.

  “A very lucky man,” Emily said staunchly. “He does not deserve her.”

  “Loyalty is to be commended, my dear.” Olivia’s voice was deceptively mild. “However, you should take care as to when and where you display it.”

  Emily blushed, and Olivia smiled forgivingly. “However, in this case I certainly can understand your point. Quentin”—she cast him a steady gaze—“I believe you have some information I might find useful.”

  He stared, his gaze searching hers. Finally he sighed in defeat, as if he knew any protest would be futile.

  “It’s about James,” he began.

  It was worse than Olivia had suspected. Cecily and Quentin were right: This would devastate Jared. But there was no choice in the matter; Jared had the right to know the truth. As difficult as it was, Olivia refused to sacrifice the future happiness of a living son for the reputation of a dead one.

  Telling Jared would not be easy. Quentin’s story was not an easy thing to hear. She would have to deal with her own reactions to James’s treachery privately.

  A wry smile touched her lips at the odd twists this day had taken. After all her scheming and plotting and planning to test Cecily’s worthiness to be Jared’s wife, there was one test she could not devise. One quality she could not control. One attribute, above all others, she would wish for in her son’s wife. And the girl had passed without question.

  It was the final test.

  The ultimate test.

  The test of love.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cece paced back and forth in her room in the castle. A soothing bath and a change of clothes had refreshed her body, but nothing could revive her spirit. Her mind was a turmoil of emotion and thought and pain.

  There was only one real solution to her dilemma, only one way to resolve this crisis with Jared. But telling him the truth was not an option. No, she had to think of some other way to reach him. Some other way to convince him she did indeed have faith in his motorcar and in him. Some other way to prove her love.

  She stopped short and stared unseeing at a point far beyond the walls of her room. What if she failed? What if Jared could not forgive her? What if the love he held for her had vanished? What then? Would he abandon her? Would he break off their engagement?

  A sudden thought struck her and her breath caught. Surely Jared would believe it was his duty to marry her. He had committed himself publicly, and honor forbid his retracting now. But what kind of a marriage would it be? Cold and lifeless and without love? She would not, could not, condone such a state.

  And why not, if that is the only way to spend my life with the man I love?

  She slumped onto the bed at the devastating revelation. Were these the depths to which she had sunk? Was this the woman who wanted to forge into the twentieth century in the footsteps of Nellie Bly? Had love turned her into a silly twit of a girl more than willing to marry a man who might possibly despise her because she could not bear the thought of living without him? A girl weak and cowardly and pathetic.

  Dear Lord, what had happened to her? She could never abide such a life. She buried her face in her hands. No. Even if it meant struggling with the agony of his loss forever, she would not submit to a lifetime in his presence but without his love.

  She rose to her feet and wrapped her arms around herself. Think! There had to be a way out of this. A logical, rational solution. She racked her brain for an idea, any idea. At this point it didn’t have to be particularly interesting, just viable. But her mind was too filled with the bitter ache of his final words to concentrate.

  Perhaps if she got out in the fresh air? It was only mid-afternoon. So very much had happened in such a short time. A long walk might clear her head. It would at least give her something to do, something to ease her restlessness, something to keep her busy. She always did think better when she was busy.

  She stepped to the door with newfound determination. She would come up with an answer. After all, she was an American, and Americans never accepted defeat. Why, no one enjoyed a good fight better than a patriotic American. Cece was nothing if not patriotic. And this would likely be the fight of her life.

  She squared her shoulders and flung open the door. She would do what ever she must to win back Jared’s love, and better, his respect.

  She nodded firmly and marched through the doorway. Yes, a long walk would do it.

  Or, better yet, a long drive.

  “I came as soon as I heard.”

  Phoebe glanced up at the well-remembered voice. She’d selected this bench in a relatively secluded spot in the castle garden to savor a quiet moment alone and collect her tumultuous thoughts. Her hands still trembled at how close she’d come this morning to losing her daughter.

  Robin strode toward her, and she suppressed a sigh of resignation. He was the last person she wished to see now, and a confrontation the last thing she wanted.

  He sat down beside her, his worried gaze searching her face. “I’ve just returned from London, and Quentin told me about the fire. I hope your daughter has not suffered any ill effects from her escapade?”

  Phoebe noted a slight shade of disapproval in his tone. “She’s quite well, thank you. I find myself today marveling at her courage.”

  “Courage?” Robin raised a condescending brow. “Recklessness is the more appropriate term, I should think.”

  “Do you?” she murmured, surprised by her own annoyance at his attitude.

  “It scarcely matters. My purpose here has far more to do with you than your daughter. The fire simply provided an appropriate excuse.” He took her hands in his. “I have come for your answer, Phoebe.”

  “Robin…” she said, her words measured. She tried to withdraw from his grasp, but his fingers held firm. “I don’t know why you feel any relationship between us is even possible—”

  “I love you, Phoebe.” His blue eyes burned with desire. “I always have. I always will.”

  “Robin—”

  “And you love me as well.” His voice was intense with certainty. “I know it.”

  She jerked her hands from his and rose to unsteady feet. He jumped up, as if unwilling to let her put so much as a few inches between them. Why did his mere touch still take her breath away? “I did once, but that was long ago.”

  “And have you forgotten?” He stood so very close, she could see the rise and fall of his chest. “Have you forgotten how it was between us? The sweet sparks of passion we never allowed to flame?”

  “I remember,” she whispered and shivered with the memory.

  “And do you remember this?” He pulled her unresisting into his arms. “Do you recall how you fit into my embrace as if we were made, one for the other?”

  “Yes.” She sighed.

  “We still fit together, Phoebe.” His mouth trailed along the lobe of her ear, and she shuddered at his touch. “Leave him, Phoebe; leave your husband. We should have been together long ago. We can still be together now.”

  His lips crushed hers and she surrendered to the overwhelming rush of emotion pent up within her for years. This was mere lust, a voice in the back of her mind cried, plain and simple. It was indeed but, oh, for one, long, magnificent moment, wasn’t it glorious?

  Still, as much as this man made her senses pound and her body tremble, there was something lacking here. As swiftly as the urgent need to cling to him swept over her it vanished. Abruptly, realization struck her, and she knew with the certainty of life itself that what ever
desire still lingered for him, what ever questions still haunted her, what ever remnants of a long-ago love still remained were purged with this encounter as surely as if they’d been washed aside by raging waters.

  She pulled away from him and stared into azure eyes darkened by passion. “Robin, I am sorry, but”—she shrugged as best she could in his embrace—“there really is nothing left between us.”

  “Nothing left between us?” His eyes widened incredulously. “But you are in my arms.”

  “Robin,” she said firmly, “this is a mistake.”

  “It’s no mistake.” He glared down at her. “The only mistake here is the one you made twenty-three years ago when you left me. When through sheer stupidity you chose to marry some insignificant, provincial,” he sputtered as if searching for an appropriate word, “cowboy!”

  He released her and she stepped back, shocked at the vehemence in his words. “Have you ever considered what you gave up by that rash act?”

  “I know what I gained,” she said quietly.

  “Hah!” He snorted in disdain. “What could you possibly have gained? Look at your life. Of your children, at least one is a headstrong hellion who will no doubt come to no good, regardless of whom she marries. You move in the limited society of a city whose very existence is scarcely acknowledged in the civilized world. And your husband has certainly progressed far in the years of your marriage, well beyond the dubious skills of herding cattle to something a bit more down to earth.”

  He raised his brow in a gesture of contempt. “I believe now it would be accurate to refer to him as a glorified…butcher.”

  For less than a moment shock held her helpless. Then rage surged through her with a blinding force that shattered years of polite behavior and self-control.

  “How dare you insult my husband and my family!” Phoebe cracked her hand across his cheek with the power born of the indignity of today and the bitter betrayal of yesterday. “You arrogant son of a bitch!”

  “Phoebe!” He gasped, whether more at the slap or at her language she didn’t know.

  She clapped a hand over her mouth. She’d never used such language in her life.

  “I daresay, I never expected—” Robin stammered “—what I mean to say is—” He drew a deep breath. “I do apologize, Phoebe. Please forgive me. My comments were both uncalled for and untrue. My only excuse is that the thought of losing you once more was more than I could bear. I’m afraid I was simply trying to soothe the pain in my heart by hurting you.”

  “You no longer have the power to hurt me, Robin.” With her cool words came the surprising discovery that they were true. Her feelings for this man were at long last spent.

  “I must tell you, Robin, I have done a great deal of thinking since meeting you again. While I may well have loved you once, it was the emotion of an untried girl, a child. The passion I felt for you then was as intense as a summer cloudburst and, no doubt, just as fleeting.”

  She stared at him for a long considering moment. ‘True love, Robin, has more to do with living than lust, with sharing hand in hand the day-to-day joys and tragedies of life, and with the unquestioned knowledge that the one nearest and dearest to your heart will always be by your side. It has to do with faith, Robin, and trust, and a certain, quiet passion that springs to life with a gentle kiss or a chance brush of his hand or the meeting of his eyes across a crowded room.”

  Robin heaved a sigh of defeat. “We never had the chance to know that, did we?”

  “No, but I suspect it has all worked out for the best.” She smiled. “I find I am not merely content with my choices but happy as well.”

  “Then this is good-bye?” A last, hopeful look lingered in his eye.”

  “Indeed it is,” she said softly.

  “As well it should be.”

  Phoebe turned sharply at the familiar voice. Henry stood tall and strong and handsome, with the power still to make her blood pound and her heart flutter. How could she have lost sight of that, even for a moment? He was her rock and she would love him forever. His voice was mild, but menace simmered in his eyes.

  Robin’s glance slid from Henry to Phoebe and back to her husband. A wry note sounded in his voice. “No doubt my presence is no longer welcome; therefore I shall take my leave. Phoebe, I…” He drew a deep breath. “I wish you all the happiness in the world.”

  “Thank you, Robin.” She cast a quick glance at her husband. “I believe I already have that.”

  Robin nodded. “Indeed.” He turned to Henry. “You are a lucky man. Take care of her.”

  Henry’s smile never reached his eyes. “I always have.”

  Robin stared for a moment, then nodded, turned and strode off. Henry’s gaze never left the retreating figure, and Phoebe studied him thoughtfully.

  “How long were you standing there?” she said.

  His gaze met hers, the hard chill in his eyes softening. “Long enough. I arrived just in time to see Bainbridge take you in his arms.” A rueful smile touched his lips. “It was all I could do to keep from ripping him apart limb by limb, but I was afraid that might upset you so I refrained.”

  “Extremely thoughtful of you,” she murmured.

  He heaved a heavy sigh. “It wasn’t easy. But I decided if he was what you wanted,” he shrugged, “then I would have to let you have him.”

  Surprise coursed through her. “Why?”

  “Why?” He pulled his gaze from hers and stared at a far distant point, as if he couldn’t bear to meet her eyes. “It’s not an easy thing to admit, Phoebe, but I have found myself evaluating our life together in recent days, and I have come to realize a number of things. I believe I have taken your presence for granted and treated you somewhat shabbily through the years.”

  “Henry…” Her eyes widened with astonishment. “I don’t—”

  “No.” He shook his head firmly. “Please, allow me to continue.”

  “Very well.” She stared, fascinated by the tension in every line of his body. Apparently this admission was far more difficult for him than she would have imagined. She bit back an inadvertent smile. It was altogether charming of him to worry that anything he said would make any real difference in her feelings.

  He pulled a deep breath. “I have paid far more attention to business, to achieving what I believe is a respectable amount of success, than I have to your happiness.”

  “Why, Henry, I—”

  “Phoebe.” His gaze again locked with hers. “Since your renewed acquaintance with Bainbridge I have worried that I would lose you to him, to your first love.” His dark eyes flashed with an intensity that stole her breath and weakened her knees. “But a few moments ago, when you told him…well…that you were happy, did you mean it?”

  “With all my heart,” she said with earnest conviction. Relief and joy broke in his eyes and he swept her into his arms.

  “Phoebe…” His lips claimed hers with all the passion of a new love, and she met him just as eagerly.

  He drew his mouth from hers and drifted it along her neck. Shivers of pure delight coursed through her. Goodness, what would people think? Such scandalous behavior, here in the garden, with her husband? She wanted to laugh aloud.

  “Phoebe,” his words whispered against her skin, “I want always to share life’s joy and tragedies with you, to be always by your side, to be forever the gaze you meet across a room.”

  She sighed with plea sure. “So you heard all that, did you?”

  “Indeed,” he murmured. “And more. It was extremely informative. I never suspected…” he feathered kisses along her neck “…you even knew the term ‘arrogant son-of-a-bitch.’”

  “Henry!” She jerked back, heat flashing up her face.

  He laughed and refused to let her out of his arms. “As surprising as it was, I must say it was also appropriate.”

  “He was being quite horrid,” she said defensively.

  “Quite.” Henry grinned, then pulled her close, a serious light in his eye. “Things will c
hange between us, Phoebe; I promise. I can well afford to leave my affairs in the competent hands of trusted employees. After all, their fortunes are tied to ours. You have always wanted to travel. Paris shall be just the beginning.” He stared down at her and her heart stilled, and she wondered just how wicked it would be to retire to their bed in the middle of the afternoon. “Where would you like to go first?”

  “I should very much like to go home, Henry. As for now,” she bit her bottom lip and prayed he would not think her too wanton, “perhaps we are both in need…um…after the stressful hours of this morning, that is…I should think a rest…?” She gazed at him hopefully.

  He stared for a puzzled moment. Then a slow grin spread across his face. “A rest?”

  Dreaded heat again flushed her cheeks, but she lifted her chin to meet his gaze directly. She nodded. “A rest.”

  Henry tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and started toward the castle. “My only desire is to ensure your happiness. And if a rest is what you wish, a rest is what you shall have.” A low chuckle rumbled through him. “I can’t think of a more delightful way to spend the afternoon.”

  “Frankly, Henry”—she stopped and cast him a bold smile—“neither can I.”

  It was his third whiskey, or his fifth or more. Jared had lost count long ago. It didn’t matter and he didn’t care. In one hand he gripped a glass, in the other a decanter with steadily shrinking contents. Scotch whiskey was not generally his drink of choice, but it had been his experience in the past that, when oblivion was the goal, this liquor was the method. And oblivion was what he sought now.

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered to the world in general and no one in particular. He’d come straight to the castle library on his return home, straight to blessed solitude, straight to the pungent, powerful liquor. Soot still covered him, a gritty, uncomfortable coating that chaffed his skin and filled his nostrils with the lingering scent of wood smoke and treachery.

  How could she?