Miranda Jarrett

by Princess of Fortune

  Isabella nodded eagerly, hoping such details might be useful. “They wear coarse scarves around their throats, too, dyed a purple color from the ink of a shellfish to be found in our bays and nowhere else.”

  “Most interesting, ma’am,” murmured Cranford, scribbling his notes. “Yet you never saw the triangle before you came to London.”

  “I didn’t say that at all,” said Isabella defensively. “Do not put words into my mouth. I first saw the triangle hanging from the neck of one of my mother’s maidservants, the night I left the palace.”

  She heard Tom make a little grunt of surprise beside her, enough to make her wince. She should have told Tom about old Anna before this, and she wasn’t sure now why she hadn’t.

  Thoughtfully Cranford tipped the twig triangle on its edge between his fingers. “Was she loyal to your family, this maidservant?”

  “Until that night, I believed her to be so, yes.” It wasn’t a memory Isabella wished to recall—her first indication that her life as she’d always known it was ending—and she looked down at her lap. “She was to travel here with me as my servant, but instead she betrayed me, refusing to come and saying—saying many hateful and disloyal things to me.”

  Cranford leaned across the desk, not bothering to hide his eagerness. “Exactly what manner of things, ma’am? You must remember. You must tell me. What were the woman’s exact words?”

  Abruptly Tom stood, his hand on the back of Isabella’s chair. “You press too hard, sir.”

  The admiral rose to his feet, too. “You forget yourself, Greaves.”

  “What I recall, sir, are my orders to protect this lady from harm, and you, sir, are overstepping your—”

  “The admiral is merely doing his duty as well, Captain,” interrupted Isabella, determined to hide her racing heart. Here she’d been worrying over revealing too much with a sidelong glance, while Tom might as well be pasting broadsides all over London. “Pray, sit at once, both of you, so I might answer his question.”

  Tom searched her face. “You are certain, ma’am? You are not too distressed to continue?”

  “I can continue,” she said to him, more softly than she should have. “I will.”

  Slowly Tom retook his seat, and the admiral did as well, while Isabella took a deep breath, both from relief and for courage.

  “The woman called me a tyrant, a—an evil woman. What you would expect, yes? Then I noticed her necklace—exactly like the one you have there—and asked her if it was some heathen symbol, and unwelcome in the palace. She hid the triangle away in her bodice, and said it was not a heathen symbol, but one special to her family. After that, I gave the necklace no further thought.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” said Cranford, satisfied. “You have been most helpful.”

  But Tom’s impatience spilled over again. “Her Royal Highness has told you what she knows, sir. She deserves to know what your experts have told you.”

  “Indeed she does. You both do.” Cranford raised the little triangle up in his fingers. “Our scholars were delighted that you sent this to us yesterday, Greaves. They’d only heard of the wretched things, and never seen one firsthand.”

  “So what is it?” Isabella’s hands clutched the arms of her chair. “If you know, Admiral, why won’t you tell?”

  “It is the sign of Trinita,” said the admiral, so solemnly that at any other time she would have laughed. “An ever-growing group of revolutionaries working from within to overthrow the Monteverdian monarchy.”

  “Trinita—the Trinity?” Isabella gasped, horrified. “To overthrow my father’s kingdom? Oh, Admiral, that is not only evil—it is blasphemous!”

  Cranford nodded. “Especially because in this case, it stands for a revolutionary trinity of the people, the army, and the state.”

  “Traitors, all of them!” Now Isabella was the one on her feet, pacing back and forth across the small carpet while the men stood as awkward witnesses. “What of a king, a leader? Such people can scarcely expect to rule themselves! They are like children, tempted to eat too many sweets. They need someone like my father, someone with wisdom and experience to guide them, and decide what is best!”

  “They have decided for themselves, ma’am,” said the admiral gently, “and they’ve decided to, ah, do without your family.”

  Isabella froze, the dread sick in the bottom of her stomach. She tried not to envision the worst: her mother, her father, her brother, slain with the same barbaric efficiency that the French had shown their king and queen. “My family are still alive, aren’t they?”

  “All our latest dispatches say so, yes.” The admiral smiled, intending to reassure, yet there was still something in his smile that rang false to Isabella, and did little to calm the feeling of foreboding. “Be assured, ma’am, that to the best of my knowledge your family is safely removed from danger, though I cannot say precisely where they have found sanctuary.”

  She did not smile in return. “Are they safe because of their own devices and loyal supporters, or because of English assistance? When the enemy is Buonaparte, you will oblige, but when my father’s enemy is from within, you won’t?”

  Cranford’s gaze slid a fraction to the left, just enough to the left to make Isabella question whatever he said. “The navy’s resources are stretched most thin in Italy, ma’am.”

  “Meaning they have not stretched sufficiently to include the Fortunari?”

  Cranford’s face settled into a ruddy, defensive mask. “We arranged your safe passage from Monteverde to London, ma’am, didn’t we? Have not we protected you from these revolutionaries, ma’am, even though you are as much a target as anyone in your family?”

  She made a dismissive little flick of her hand. “Considering how many favors the Fortunari have granted your king and his precious navy over the centuries, that is a paltry beginning at best.”

  She’d known she’d been a target from the night she’d fled from home, especially now that others must suspect she had the Fortunaro jewels. But hearing the admiral say so made it somehow more real, and even as fear shivered through her, she refused to be cowardly and show it. She would be brave. She was defending hundreds of years of her family’s honor, wasn’t she?

  “Hasn’t Monteverde always been England’s ally against your hated French?” she continued. “Hasn’t her great harbor always been a haven for your fleet’s ships, whether fleeing from storms or enemies?”

  “That is true, sir,” said Tom beside her. “There’s likely not an English captain stationed in the Mediterranean who hasn’t thanked God for that lighthouse and the safe harbor behind it.”

  The admiral’s white brows twitched with irritation. “It is not necessary to supply such obvious information, Greaves. I am not so far in my dotage that I’ve forgotten landfalls.”

  But Isabella realized that once again Tom had come to her aid, and it gave her fresh confidence. “Then I do not need to remind you, Admiral, that to know one’s enemy is half the challenge of defeating him. You know this Trinita. Now all you must do is capture them, yes?”

  The admiral’s expression darkened. “It is not as simple as that, ma’am.”

  “For a great power such as your Royal Navy, with all your men and resources? To defeat a ragtag pack of scoundrels with twigs tied around their necks? Why, it should be as easy as that, yes?” She snapped her fingers, the sound muffled by her lace gloves but the emphasis unmistakable.

  “It is not, ma’am.” The admiral’s face was livid from struggling to keep his temper. “It is not.”

  “Kings and kingdoms should keep together in these times, shouldn’t they?” She smiled, daring him. “You are mistaken, Admiral Cranford, if you believe I came to England only to escape the French, running away like a frightened little chick. I have told you this before. I came here to help my country however I can, and I mean to do so.”

  “Very well, ma’am.” The admiral let out a long sigh of concession, like steam rushing from a teakettle. “I will speak with the ot
her admirals here, and we shall see what can be done. But mind you, I cannot promise—what the devil is it, Rogers?”

  A hapless clerk had cracked the door. “I am sorry to interrupt, sir, but you did request that you—”

  “To blazes with your damned request,” said the admiral sharply, rising to his feet. “Tell them I shall be there directly. Forgive me, Your Royal Highness, I must excuse myself for a moment.”

  He stalked from the room, leaving the clerk to close the door after him, and at once Isabella rushed to Tom to throw her arms around him and steal a quick, fervent kiss.

  “Here now, he could come back at any moment,” said Tom, even as his hands settled on her waist to pull her closer. “You don’t want him catching us like this.”

  “No,” said Isabella breathlessly, slipping into the Italian that had become their lovers’ language. “No, that would not be wise. But oh, Tom! Did you hear how vastly brave I was, standing up for Monteverde?”

  He smiled crookedly. “You were only being yourself, Bella. Standing up for your country to other people is much of your charm.”

  “I know, I know, I know,” she said quickly, unable to keep from running her hands lightly over his arms and shoulders, “but it needed to be said, just as the admiral needed to listen.”

  “You didn’t leave him much choice, lass.” He couldn’t keep from touching her, either, and as he brushed his fingers along the side of her arm, he lingered on the curve of her breast, just enough to make her shiver. “You are an impossible woman to ignore.”

  “Oh, Tom, we shouldn’t,” she murmured. She stepped away again, out of his reach, but covered the place on her arm where he’d touched her, as if to keep the warmth of the little caress. “We cannot! I will not give him reason to order you away from me, the way you said he would.”

  He sighed deeply, clasping his hands behind his back with his legs slightly apart in the way that Isabella always associated with him.

  “He hasn’t yet, anyway. But I expect when he returns, he’ll wish to speak to me alone.”

  “Alone!” she cried, pressing her hands together with dismay. “But I do not wish to be dismissed!”

  “It will only be for a few minutes, and wherever they put you here in Whitehall, you’ll be safe.” He worked her hands apart, raising one to his lips to kiss. “Admiral Cranford is my commanding officer, Bella. I must do what he says, and so should you, if you care for me.”

  “You know I do, Tomaso.”

  “Then answer me quickly, before he returns. Are there any other, ah, details you should share with me?”

  “You mean the old maidservant wearing the Trinita’s triangle, don’t you?” Guilty despair washed over her. “Oh, Tom, I never intended to keep that from you! It’s only that—”

  “Don’t explain, Bella, because it doesn’t matter now,” he said gravely. “In difficult times, the mind often forgets things it doesn’t want to remember, and God knows you’ve suffered enough these last months. But if there’s anything else that you’ve just now recalled, any secrets I should know that would help—”

  “No.” She said it quickly, before she told him the truth that wasn’t hers to tell. “No.”

  “I am glad.” He smiled again, almost with relief, and that made her feel worse. “I haven’t forgotten your claim to being so clever at keeping secrets.”

  She smiled back, her mouth dry as ashes and the reality of the Fortunaro rubies pressing down upon her. She pulled her lace-trimmed handkerchief from her reticule, dabbing it nervously at her temples. Oh, saints in heaven, she did not deserve his understanding, his trust, his patience, his love!

  He glanced at the still-closed door, expecting the admiral to return through it at any moment.

  “I’ve been thinking since last night, Bella. It’s deuced hard to ask this of you, being a princess and all, but for your own welfare, I cannot put it off any longer.”

  His face was so serious, all captainish and dutiful, that Isabella’s heart sank with dread, even as she tried to make a jest of it. “Ahh, Tomaso, you are as solemn as the grave itself! Cannot this horrible subject wait until we’ve more time?”

  But Tom only shook his head. “We have to speak of it, Bella, or rather, them. The jewels, sweetheart. It’s time we spoke of the jewels.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Jewels?” asked Admiral Cranford as he came through the door. “What jewels?”

  “The ones belonging to Her Royal Highness, sir,” said Tom, acknowledging the other man’s return. “While the thieves last night fled before they could take her jewels from their cases, I believe it would be less tempting for her not to wear so many in public here in London, or perhaps to substitute some of the, ah, brighter ones with paste. That, sir, is what we were discussing.”

  But when he turned back to Isabella, he saw to his surprise that she’d be in no state for discussing anything. She’d turned as pale as the handkerchief in her hand, so white and frozen he feared she’d faint, and swiftly he grabbed her elbow to steady her.

  “Here, ma’am, sit,” he said, trying to guide her back to her chair.

  But Isabella was too rigid to move. “That is what you wished to tell me, Captain Lord Greaves? That my jewels, my rings and other little baubles, were too gaudy for you?”

  “Not for me,” he said gallantly. “I only wanted you to make less of a show, a target, for those who wished you ill.”

  “Oh, let the lady keep her gimcracks, Greaves,” the admiral said indulgently. “She’s a princess. She should make a show when she steps out. Are you feeling better now, ma’am?”

  Isabella nodded weakly, but the color was beginning to return to her cheeks. “Thank you, Admiral, I am. The mention of the jewels brought back the memories of those dreadful thieves last night, that was all.”

  “Good, good,” he said, taking on the air of an indulgent host. “You’ve seen a spate of rough seas for a lady, ma’am, and according to my wife, the best cure for all that ails a lady is a dish of strong tea. How fortunate, ma’am, that Rogers here has just brewed a fresh pot, and if you’ll join him in the antechamber—”

  “For God’s sake, sir, let her recover herself first!” protested Tom, but Isabella waved him aside with her handkerchief clutched tightly in the black lace gloves.

  “Thank you for your concern, Captain, but I am recovered enough to oblige the admiral’s wish to be alone with you. For this once, I shall be properly obedient, and go sip tea with his lackey.” She smiled sweetly, and shifted to Italian that only Tom would understand. “And I wish you joy of that righteous old windbag of an admiral, Tomaso. See that he keeps his word about sending aid to my country, yes?”

  She sailed from the room before he could answer, already overwhelming poor Rogers.

  “So what’s she prattling about now, eh, Greaves?” With a grunt, the admiral sat heavily in his chair, obviously pleased to be rid of the responsibility of female company. “No doubt spewing more venom about me in her foolish lingo. Well, no matter. We’ll be done with her soon enough, won’t we?”

  “Will we, sir?” asked Tom, more sharply than he’d realized. He hadn’t let himself think of the future where Isabella was concerned. Day by day, that’s what they’d told each other.

  “Indeed we will,” the admiral said with far too much relish. “Go on, Greaves, sit, sit. I cannot tell you how pleased the admiralty is with you, and how you have handled this most difficult assignment. You have done precisely what we hoped, with verve and resourcefulness.”

  Though mystifying, that was better than the dressing-down he’d expected. “Thank you, sir, but I do not see how I—”

  “Don’t be falsely modest, Greaves,” the admiral said. “Why, just consider what you did for the service yesterday. A captain in uniform rescuing a princess from a pack of foreign rascals, there in the street for all the world to see. Blood and thunder and courage to spare, swords clashing, a maiden in real distress. No wonder the papers are full of it this morning!”

&nb
sp; “Thank you, sir,” Tom said again, his discomfort growing. “But I did it from duty, sir. My orders were to save Her Royal Highness.”

  “Of course, of course.” The admiral leaned over the desk. “Be honest, now. The scar—your old wound near the heart—it didn’t give you any grief in that skirmish, did it? Not a twinge whilst you fought?”

  “No, sir,” Tom said, and to his own satisfaction, he was being honest. “Not at all. But if I am to continue guarding the princess, then—”

  “You might, and then again you might not.” Cranford winked broadly. “The winds are changing, Greaves. I cannot say more than that at present. But I do believe you will be pleased with how you shall be rewarded for how you’ve acquitted yourself.”

  Instantly Tom’s hopes skyrocketed. The admiral could only mean another command, a new ship and crew at last. For over a year, during his long, lonely convalescence, he’d thought of nothing else. He’d been tested, and he’d proved himself and his heart, and now he’d be rewarded.

  And damnation, it wasn’t going to be enough. How could it be, when his every thought kept returning to Isabella, to her laughter, her courage, how she’d looked in his bed with her hair tumbled over the pillow and the sheets tangled over the curves of her breasts and hips?

  One day at a time was what they had, one day at a time….

  “What of the princess, sir?” he asked softly. “What is to become of her?”

  “I told you as much as I can, Greaves. Just mark what I said about those winds of change, and that they’re blowing toward Her Royal Highness, too.”

  “Meaning that the princess will soon be able to return to Monteverde, sir?” It was not a question Tom wanted to ask, but for Isabella’s sake, he would. As much as he loved her, he could never expect her to give up her homeland for his sake. “Meaning that she’ll soon be rejoined with her family?”