by Sandra Heath
“The grand duchess decided he was the very husband Mlle Arenburg requires, and told the czar as much. Alexander promptly promised a huge dowry with the bride, and Ludwig pronounced himself prepared to overlook her lack of title.”
“Her illegitimacy, you mean,” Camilla corrected astutely.
“Her lack of a title,” Dominic insisted. “Now the grand duchess has further decided the official betrothal must take place here in London in June, when the presence of both the czar and King Frederick will give the match an unparalleled seal of royal approval.”
“That cannot be denied.”
“But although Catherine is eager for this match, there is another which she is suspected of wanting to wreck,” Dominic went on.
“What match is that?”
“That between Princess Charlotte and the Prince of Orange. Russia doesn’t approve for a variety of political reasons with which I won’t bore you.”
“But the match has already been formally recognized. It’s one of the things we’re celebrating here tonight, for heaven’s sake!”
“That won’t stop someone like the Grand Duchess Catherine. Everyone knows Princess Charlotte has reservations about marrying the Prince of Orange and that she doesn’t get on with her father. That’s fertile ground for an intrigante like the czar’s sister, who comes here with a predisposition to dislike all things British, especially the royal family. Those in the know fear she has every intention of stirring up as much trouble as she can with Princess Charlotte. Therefore, bearing all this in mind, everything must be done to placate the grand duchess and keep her sweet while she’s here. This can best be achieved by giving her a very full social calendar, and also doing everything possible to accord Mlle Arenburg’s Prussian match every respect and importance, the plan being to keep Catherine too busy to have time to interfere in things that don’t concern her. The plan was well on course—until tonight.”
The pointed way this last was said provoked Camilla into indignation. “Are you accusing me of demolishing everything simply by spending a few minutes with the prospective bride?” she cried.
“No, I’m merely pointing out the delicacy of the situation now that de Marne is on the scene.” He drew a long breath. “I’ve probably been very indiscreet telling you so much, but I feel it’s important you understand the possible ramifications should events erupt into a full-scale scandal. If the Prussian match founders in any way because of what’s happened here tonight, you may bet your last farthing that the grand duchess will scream from the rooftops that the Prince Regent, the British government, and everyone else here has been gravely lacking for permitting such misconduct.”
Camilla looked at him a little mockingly. “And I daresay she’d be right,” she murmured,
A little dull color entered his cheeks. “I must ask you again to remember that everything you’ve been told is very restricted information.”
“I know when to hold my tongue and when not to, sir,” she replied stiffly.
He gave a ghost of a smile. “Oh, yes, my lady, I know how, er, discreet you can be when it serves your purpose.”
“That was uncalled for!”
“Was it? I think not. But we wander from the point yet again. Have I convinced you about how vital it is to keep Mlle Arenburg and de Marne apart?”
“You’ve made your point very lucidly indeed, sir. I admit to having been a little unwise earlier on, but assure you I didn’t have any knowledge of the affair until I happened accidently on the tryst in this very room. However, it may interest you to know that William has already agreed to end the affair.”
“Oh, you may count upon it being at an end, madam, for by the time I’ve finished with him, de Marne is going to wish he’d never even heard the name Arenburg.”
“How diplomatic, to be sure,” she murmured, beginning to feel for the unfortunate young lovers, even thought they’d been less than forthcoming with her.
“Well, Lord Ennismount, since you are trusted in high places with such a delicate responsibility until the grand duchess arrives to take over, I’m sure your vast reserves of tact, discretion, and sensitivity will equip you handsomely for the ticklish task of telling Mlle Arenburg she’s forbidden to see William again. I daresay you’ll be so caring and sympathetic she won’t shed even a single tear.”
“Your tongue hasn’t lost its edge, madam,” he remarked.
“Unlike your honor,” she replied in a tone that dripped vitriol.
“And what of your honor, my lady? You do remember once possessing such a thing, don’t you?”
“I’m sure I recall it much more clearly than you do, sir,” she replied coolly.
“I doubt it.”
“If honor counts so very much with you, I trust you’ll bear it in mind when you deal with William.”
“De Marne and honor are hardly compatible at the moment, Lady Camilla. No doubt he’s as unreliable and treacherous as his damned sister.”
“I seem to remember you once found Elizabeth amusing and agreeable company.”
“That was before—” He broke off.
Camilla looked curiously at him. “Before what?”
“It doesn’t matter. Suffice it that in my opinion Lady Elizabeth Oxforth is beyond redemption, as I’m certain her brother will soon prove to be as well.”
“How pompous you’ve become,” Camilla murmured.
“And how withered and sour you’ve become, madam.”
“If I’m withered and sour, sir, it’s because I have lost the man I loved, the man you did nothing to save!”
“Ah, yes, dear Harry. When will you admit that the Harry Summerton who was laid to rest two years ago had changed from the man you insisted upon marrying when you were twenty? The old Harry was everything to be admired, but toward the end I found nothing to admire in him at all. Or do you deny that he had become sharp, selfish, and uncaring?”
“I deny every word!” she cried.
“Madam, the blinkers you wear are entirely appropriate for the mule that you are.” He sketched a scornful bow. “Well, I think we’ve said enough, don’t you? I trust you soon mean to remove yourself back to Gloucestershire and that it will be at least two more years before we encounter each other again.”
“My sentiments precisely, sirrah, for when I’m faced with you, I find the thought of far-off Gloucestershire very appealing indeed.”
“Good. Pray go there as soon as possible.” Inclining his head coldly, he turned and left the room, leaving the door open behind him so the sounds and color of the ball swept more loudly over her.
Furious tears stung her eyes, for she felt she’d come off worst in the bitter exchange. She stared after his tall figure, and suddenly she found herself remembering a long past spring afternoon. It was fifteen years ago, just before her marriage. Harry had promised to take her to a boating party on the Serpentine in Hyde Park, but at the last minute he’d been unable to come. He’d sent Dominic instead.
They’d walked together among the daffodils and sailed on the glittering water, and she realized she was drawn to him more than she should be. He’d been different then, charming, witty, and warm, and to be with him was such a pleasure. But there had always been another side of him, a dark and dangerous side of which she was sometimes a little afraid. Perhaps that was what made him so devastatingly attractive. It was certainly what colored her opinion of him now ...
That day in the park she knew he was drawn to her as well, but neither of them said anything or attempted to take matters further. He’d driven her home afterward, and at the door had raised her hand to his lips. The moment was caught in her memory, jewel-bright and exquisite, like a brilliantly executed miniature, for in those few seconds she knew that if she’d met Dominic before Harry, he would have been the one for her. His touch had blazed through her veins, and his glance kindled a fierce desire that was to burn endlessly over the following years. It excited her to wonder how it would be to kiss him, to lie naked in his arms, to gladly relinquish her vir
ginity to him ...
She’d been ashamed of these secret thoughts, which made her feel unfaithful to Harry. She was also confused, for how could she love Harry so much, and yet desire his friend? There was no question about the strength of her love for the man she was to marry, but the sense of powerful attraction toward Dominic was with her all the time, especially at nights, when he invaded her sleep. In her dreams she surrendered completely, time and time again ...
After that she tried never to be alone with him, but it hadn’t always been possible. Sometimes they’d been flung together unavoidably, and on those occasions the atmosphere between them had been charged, like the air before a thunderstorm. She could only hope that, unlike Elizabeth, Harry had never become aware of it.
As she stood there, the guilty past faded away, and the glitter of Carlton House swept back. She pulled herself together sharply. This did no good. She’d once found Dominic more attractive than she should, and couldn’t forgive herself. Or him.
Meeting him again tonight would have been deeply upsetting even without the unfortunate circumstances involving Sophie and William. Now it was impossible to stay on at the ball, or even in London. She’d return to Cavendish Square immediately and tell Hawkins, her butler, that she was going back to Summerton Park as soon as arrangements could be made.
Gathering her skirts, she hurried to the room where all the outdoor garments were kept. Then, clad in her crimson velvet cloak she ordered her carriage and went to wait at the main entrance.
As she waited, Elizabeth approached her again. “You’re leaving already, Camilla?”
“Yes.”
“But—”
“I’ve had a very disagreeable skirmish with Dominic, and it’s more than I can stand. I can’t bear to be anywhere near that man, and London simply isn’t big enough. I’ve decided to go home to Gloucestershire as soon as I can.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Camilla, but it’s probably for the best. Just promise to come back for the wedding.”
“The wedding? Oh, William and Alice.” Camilla felt dreadful. Should she say something about what had happened tonight? She didn’t want to leave Elizabeth in the dark, but if William abided by his word not to see Sophie again there was surely no need for his sister to know anything. Was it perhaps a case of allowing sleeping dogs to lie? Yes, it was, she decided.
Elizabeth looked curiously at her. “What is it? Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing at all.” Camilla smiled.
“Dominic must have really upset you.”
“He did.” Camilla found herself wondering what it was that had colored his opinion of Elizabeth, whose infidelities were legion, but who was surely never guilty of anything else.
At last her carriage drew up, but as a footman lowered the rungs and opened the door, she remembered Elizabeth’s husband. “Did you know George is leaving the ball to go to Brooks’s? In fact, he’s probably already gone.”
Elizabeth’s eyes brightened. “Oh, good.”
Camilla was a little cross. “You really are the limit, Elizabeth Oxforth. George is a good man, and you should value him much more than you do.”
“Why should I do that when he clearly prefers the card table to my company?”
“Perhaps he chose the card table because of your incessant amours,” Camilla pointed out.
“Just like chickens and eggs, Camilla, one will never know which came first. I know I’m unkind to George, but I just can’t help it. He brings out the worst in me.”
“You’ll lose him one day, Elizabeth, and then you’ll appreciate what you’ve forfeited.”
“I’m surprised you defend George when you know he didn’t care much for Harry,” Elizabeth said then.
“George has always been kind to me, and I have always liked him.”
Elizabeth gave her a wicked grin. “If you’re so fond of him, you can borrow him for a while if you like.”
“Elizabeth!”
“I’m sorry, but I simply couldn’t resist it.” Elizabeth chuckled and then kissed Camilla’s cheek. “Write to me when you get home.”
“I will.”
“Au revoir, Camilla.”
“Au revoir.”
Elizabeth stepped back as the carriage swept out of Carlton House into Pall Mall.
Chapter 4
Cavendish Square was quiet. A carriage drove past as Camilla alighted, but most of society was at Carlton House. She inhaled the icy night air. It smelled of the city, reminding her how much she missed the fragrance and freshness of the countryside.
The vigilant butler opened the door as she approached. “Welcome back, my lady,” he murmured as he assisted her out of her cloak in the warmth of the entrance hall.
“Thank you, Hawkins. Is everything all right?”
“Yes, my lady.”
She turned to him. “I’ve decided to cut short my stay here and return to Summerton Park.”
“Very well, my lady.”
“Make arrangements for us to leave the day after tomorrow. That’s the thirty-first of March,” she added, in case he should be confused by the exceedingly late hour at which she was informing him.
“I understand, my lady.”
“That will be all.”
He bowed and she went slowly up to her room, where her maid was waiting. Her name was Mary Brown, and she was from Summerton, the village after which the park was named. The Browns were one of the oldest families in the neighborhood, and had always served the big house. Mary was twenty years old, a gentle creature with fair hair and hazel eyes who’d been taken on when her predecessor married a Tetbury innkeeper.
Mary didn’t care much for London and so was delighted at the prospect of an imminent return to the country. She hummed as she helped her mistress out of her ballgown.
* * *
Camilla lay awake in bed. The faint light of dawn was approaching and she hadn’t slept at all. Suddenly she heard a frantic knocking at the front door, and she sat up in alarm.
The urgent hammering continued, arousing the whole household. The startled servants emerged from their rooms as Hawkins took a lighted candlestick and went downstairs with a coat on over his nightshirt. As he opened the door, the distraught caller burst tearfully into the hall.
“I must speak with Lady Camilla! Est-ce qu’elle est ici? Is she here? Please let me see her!”
It was Sophie! Camilla’s lips parted in dismay. Oh, no, please not the czar’s ward, who spelled trouble with a capital T! Flinging the bedclothes aside, she hurried from the bedroom.
“Mademoiselle? Whatever is it? What’s happened?” she cried anxiously as she went down to the hall, where Hawkins’s candle provided the only light.
“Oh, Lady Camilla!” Sophie ran tearfully into her arms. “I’m so unhappy, so very, very unhappy!”
Hawkins dithered disconcertedly nearby. He looked a little ridiculous with his wispy gray hair peeping around his nightcap and his bony legs protruding beneath his nightshirt. The candlelight flickered over his face, and shone pinkly through his fingers as he tried to steady the dancing flame. “Is—is there anything I can do, my lady?” he asked.
“Yes, see the drawing room is lighted and then bring some chamomile tea.”
“My lady.”
Sophie sobbed distractedly, and was still doing so when the second-floor drawing room was ready and she was ushered to a sofa by the fire. Camilla sat down beside her and took her hand. “What is it, mademoiselle? What’s wrong?”
But Sophie’s tears only increased.
Camilla’s anxiety increased. “Mademoiselle, you must tell me what’s wrong. You should be with Lady Cayne and Lord Ennismount, so what are you doing here?”
Sophie was still too overwrought to respond, and at last Camilla was obliged to shake her a little. “Please stop crying, mademoiselle, for how can I help if you won’t say anything to me?”
Sophie struggled to stem the tears. “They—they won’t let me see William anymore. Oh, Lady Camilla, Vous êtes mon ami
, oui?”
“I’m your friend? Well, I—I suppose so, but I hardly know you, mademoiselle.”
Sophie clutched her hand. “Oh, you must be my friend, mine and William’s! I know you did not tell about us, because Lord Ennismount told me how he lay in wait and saw you leave the music room with William.” She pressed her lips together defiantly. “I hate Lord Ennismount!”
Evidently Dominic had handled matters with all the gentleness of a mallet, Camilla thought angrily. “Sophie ... May I call you Sophie?”
“But of course.”
“Sophie, I’m sure Lord Ennismount didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Oh, yes he did!” Sophie interrupted heatedly. “He wagged his finger at me and told me I was undutiful!”
“Sophie, I know this isn’t the time to point this out, but you are undutiful. You’re to be betrothed to Prince Ludwig, a fact that neither you nor William troubled to tell me.”
Sophie got up agitatedly. “I know, and I am sorry. Oh, this is all so terrible, for I hate Prince Ludwig. He is a—a coxcomb!”
“Possibly, but the Grand Duchess Catherine has arranged the match, and the czar is fully in favor.”
“He always is when the grand duchess wishes anything,” Sophie replied. “They think it is an excellent match politically, but some years ago I met Prince Ludwig in St. Petersburg, and we loathed each other on sight. I will never submit to being his wife.”
“I fear you have little choice in the matter. As the czar’s ward you are—”
“Entirely in his hands. I know.”
“Then you also know it’s very wrong of you to see William, who is also in the wrong because he’s already betrothed to someone else.”
“He doesn’t love her, he loves me!” Sophie cried passionately.
“Sophie, William’s father is determined he is to marry Alice Penshill. If William refuses, at the very least he’ll have his allowance stopped.”
Sophie’s lower lip jutted obstinately. “My fortune is sufficient for us both.”
“Your fortune will depend upon the czar’s pleasure, as you’re well aware, and I doubt if he’ll be pleased to learn you’ve defied his wishes,” Camilla pointed out. “As for William’s father, I imagine he’ll turn blue with rage if he finds out, for he expects to be made a marquess but certainly won’t be if his son is at the center of a monumental scandal that is bound to cause bad feeling between Britain and Russia! He’ll do far more than just stop William’s allowance—he’ll throw him out altogether. Is that what you want? William’s disinheritance and disgrace? Oh, Sophie, you must see this love affair has to end.”
