The Stolen Princess

by Anne Gracie

  Fourteen

  “Come along, time to break the news to everyone.” Gabriel offered his arm to lead her into the drawing room where everyone had gathered before dinner.

  Callie felt as though the pit of her stomach had opened into a great hollow void. She should never have sealed the deal with a kiss. It was a mistake. A huge mistake.

  She didn’t want to break the news to anyone, didn’t want to do anything to take this idea from the realms of fantastical nonsense into grim reality.

  Betrothed! To be married. To Gabriel Renfrew.

  Pretending to the world that they were in love. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

  But she had to, she reminded herself. For Nicky.

  And the first thing she had to do was to regain her normal calm mien. Forget the sensations that rocketed through her body when she’d kissed him. It shouldn’t have been like that. It was supposed to be a businesslike kiss.

  She couldn’t face anyone like this, all shivery and hot and unsettled.

  She needed a long, relaxing bath. A cold one.

  But everyone was waiting to go into dinner. She delayed the moment, hovering in front of the mirror, checking that her hair had not slipped from its knot. For a one-minute arrangement, Lady Gosforth’s maid had done an excellent job. It still seemed to be secure. And Lady Gosforth had given her an exquisite shawl of fine crimson cashmere, embroidered with gold thread, saying, “I adore crimson, my dear, but crimson, alas, does not adore me.”

  It was true, the color was too high for the middle-aged lady but it suited Callie perfectly. It looked so rich and elegant; the drab gray dress was a perfect foil for it.

  Last-minute excuses whirled around in her brain. She squashed them.

  The marriage would make Nicky safe. It was all that mattered.

  She could do this. It was all just for show, an act. The problem last time was that she hadn’t listened to all of Papa’s talk about what a convenient marriage meant. She’d fallen for Rupert’s handsome face and had allowed his attentiveness and gallant compliments to fool her into believing he returned her feelings. She’d convinced herself it was a love match.

  She wouldn’t do that again.

  Forewarned was forearmed.

  If she didn’t fall in love, she couldn’t be hurt. All she had to do was not to fall in love with Gabriel. She could do that.

  Once bitten, twice shy.

  It was amazing how many excellent mottoes there were to remind her. She’d stitched hundreds of the beastly things. Why hadn’t she ever taken notice of them before now?

  “What are you thinking?” her husband-to-be murmured.

  “A stitch in t—” she began, then amended it hastily. “Just checking my hair.”

  “You look very beautiful.”

  Hah! Gallant compliment number one, she told herself. She peered in the mirror again and saw a round face, undistinguished nose, tidy plain brown hair, and a flushed countenance. So much for very beautiful. She frowned at her rosy cheeks, thinking that perhaps the crimson shawl was the wrong choice after all.

  “Come on, you can’t spend the rest of your life hiding in here and hoping it will all go away. Dinner will be getting cold and I’m getting very hungry standing here watching you.” His voice deepened as he added, “You look like a delicious bonbon wrapped in that red thingummy, so unless you want me to start nibbling on you—”

  She whisked herself to the door. He tucked her hand into his arm and led her toward the drawing room. His arm felt warm and strong under her hand. He looked magnificent in his evening clothes.

  Not that she cared what he looked like.

  He smiled down at her, his eyes warm. She gave him a cool and gracious smile. Calm. Polite. Distant. That was the way to do it.

  She wished she could have worn her mother’s tiara, for courage and for luck, but it would be quite inappropriate for an informal family dinner. Callie held her head high as they entered the room, all eyes on them.

  Mr. Harry Morant, Mr. Rafe Ramsey, Mr. Luke Ripton, and Mr. Nash Renfrew rose from their seats in unison. She blinked, not having seen them dressed formally before. Ethan Delaney would be upstairs, eating with the boys, she recalled. Gabriel had arranged for there always to be someone with Nicky.

  “There you are, my dears.” Lady Gosforth, who was wearing olive-green silk and diamonds, swept forward. “Take your breath away, don’t they, dressed formally and en masse. You should have seen them in their regimentals. My dear, the palpitations! Every female from nineteen to ninety. Now come along, dinner awaits.” Commandeering Nash as her escort, she led the way into the dining room.

  “I know I should have imported a few females to make up the numbers,” Lady Gosforth said as footmen came around the table, serving turtle soup from a silver tureen. She looked around the table with satisfaction. “But why dilute ’em, I say? Whets one’s appetite with all this masculine beauty at table, don’t you agree, Miss Tibthorpe?”

  Tibby, who would never have thought of such a thing, but who, judging by her bright cheeks, was now considering the question, was spared an answer by Gabriel, who calmly changed the subject.

  “It might interest you all to know that Princess Caroline and I will be getting married next Friday. Of course, you are all invited.”

  Callie who had just forced herself to take a mouthful of turtle soup, choked. Under cover of patting her back and offering her a sip of his wine, he murmured, “Did I not warn you about that? It must be soon. Time is of the essence.”

  Callie took a large gulp of wine and tried to recover her composure. “Yes, Friday,” she said as brightly as she could manage. She was aware of Tibby staring at her with dropped jaw and flashed her a bright smile. Tibby jumped up and kissed her, but the faint pucker between her brows told Callie she was still concerned. Alone of all of them, Tibby knew her true feelings about marriage.

  There was a chorus of congratulations. Each of the men rose from their seat and came to kiss her hand. Lady Gosforth was torn between excitement and horror: excitement at her nephew’s approaching nuptials and horror at the timing.

  She ordered the best champagne to be opened and in the same breath berated Gabriel soundly for “rushing the poor girl so that she has no time even to buy her bride clothes, let alone arrange any decent reception.”

  He smiled at Callie and lifted her hand to his lips, the picture of lover-like impatience. His lips were firm and warm. “It will be just a small, private wedding,” he told his aunt.

  Lady Gosforth’s eyes bulged. “Small and private?” She looked at Callie and stated, “You cannot want a small and private wedding.”

  “Oh, but I do,” Callie assured her, “for I know so few people in London and a small, private wedding would suit me perfectly.” The smaller the better. She tried to ignore the way her hand tingled where he’d kissed her. She rubbed it surreptitiously on her napkin, as if she could remove it and somehow regain herself.

  She was being stupid, she told herself. It was just a kiss.

  “And a reception?” Lady Gosforth demanded.

  Gabriel pursed his lips thoughtfully, then conceded, “Well, perhaps a very small reception.”

  Nash added, “With only one’s intimate friends and nearest relations invited.”

  Lady Gosforth nodded. “Very well then, a small party on the following Tuesday, but with no notice at all, it will be positively meager, Gabriel, I’m warning you. It will, of course, be here.”

  “Meager will do nicely, Aunt, thank you,” he said. Callie wondered why his eyes were dancing. As were Nash’s. Even Harry who had said very little, looked faintly amused.

  Some family joke, no doubt.

  “And you are truly happy with a hole-in-the-corner affair?” Lady Gosforth asked Callie.

  “Oh yes. Thank you.” Callie smiled brightly. “Quite hap—very happy.” She could see the pucker between Tibby’s brow so she widened her smile, determined to convince her friend there was nothing at all to worry about. “I had a very b
ig wedding once, when I married the prince of Zindaria,” she reminded them. “I would like this one to be different.”

  Lady Gosforth sniffed. “It will certainly be different.”

  They drank several toasts to the bride and groom in champagne and then, thankfully, the next course was brought in. Callie ate nearly everything that was offered to her and tasted almost nothing. Gabriel was very attentive, passing her dishes and offering her tidbits.

  Acting, she reminded herself. It’s all acting.

  Luckily no one seemed to expect her to make conversation. They all made plans. Plans for her wedding.

  Lady Gosforth announced that she would take Callie and Tibby shopping in the morning. And “the boys” would entertain Callie’s son and Jim.

  And Callie remembered there was something she had to do, before she could go shopping. “Can I see you privately after dinner?” she whispered to Gabriel.

  His eyes warmed. “Of course. You can see me wherever you want.” He said it deep and low, as if arranging a lovers’ tryst.

  “Shall we say in the library after the gentlemen have finished their port and joined the ladies?” she suggested in a low but businesslike voice. There was no need to pretend when nobody else could hear.

  He lifted her hand and kissed it again. “I shall look forward to it.” His eyes caressed her. The place where his lips touched her skin seemed to throb. A shiver passed through her.

  Gallant gesture number four, Callie reminded herself. Or was it five? Or six.

  After the ladies withdrew to leave the gentlemen to their port and cigars or whatever it was gentlemen did after dinner, Callie found time for a quiet word with Tibby.

  Lady Gosforth had swept off in a frenzy of happy planning, consulting with her butler, chef, housekeeper, and secretary. Callie had felt a little uncomfortable letting a relative stranger take on the burden of organizing her wedding and had suggested that she could arrange something suitable herself, but Lady Gosforth told her instantly she was not to think of such a thing.

  It was soon borne home to her, most forcibly, that the planning of social events was the breath of life to Lady Gosforth, and that the lady’s only regret was that there was so little scope for her talents.

  “Leave it to me, my dears. I know just what to do. All you have to do is be the radiant bride.” And she’d swept out, leaving Callie and Tibby alone.

  Be the radiant bride indeed, Callie thought and caught Tibby observing her. She gave Tibby a rueful smile. “I expect you’re wondering what brought this on.”

  “I can’t say I’m totally surprised,” Tibby admitted. “I have noticed a certain intimacy developing between you and Mr. Renfrew.”

  “Intimacy?”

  “Perhaps I should have said a closeness—I wasn’t implying anything improper,” Tibby corrected hastily.

  “There is no intimacy. It is not a love match,” Callie explained quickly, unable to bear any misunderstanding between her and Tibby. Bad enough that she had to play the radiant bride for Gabriel’s friends and relations, she needed at least one person who knew the truth.

  Two people, she amended. Three if you counted Mr. Nash Renfrew. The others might suspect that this hasty wedding had something to do with protecting her son from Count Anton, but Gabriel was pretending to be happy about it, so the least she could do was feign happiness as well. But not to Tibby.

  “I do not want it widely known, for obvious reasons, but you are my oldest and dearest friend, so I want you to know. Count Anton has instituted a legal move with the English government to have Nicky returned to Zindaria under his authority as the regent.”

  “Oh, my dear!” Tibby clasped her hands in horror.

  “Yes, so Mr. Nash Renfrew, he is some sort of diplomat in government, he says marrying Gabriel—Mr. Renfrew—will help me keep Nicky here with me. That is why it’s to be so soon.”

  Tibby looked thoughtful. “I can see the logic behind it all, and of course I understand you must do whatever it takes to protect Nicky…but have you thought about how this will affect you in the longer term?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean…what we were talking about the other day, how things were between you and Prince Rupert.”

  “No. It’s not the same at all.” She was not going to let it be the same. “Tibby, dear, this wedding is nothing but a stratagem, a—a chess maneuver. It’s all been very clear from the start.”

  Tibby’s eyes were troubled. “You have a tender heart, my dear, and Mr. Renfrew is very handsome and can be enormously charming and persuasive.”

  “I know. And knowing how charming and persuasive he can be is what will prevent the same thing happening again. He is charming and persuasive to everyone—when he is not riding roughshod over their opinions, that is.”

  Tibby looked unconvinced.

  Callie continued, “I am not the foolish girl I once was. I was married for nine years. Now I am a mature woman of five-and-twenty and I have put all that nonsense behind me.”

  “Do we ever put all that nonsense behind us?” Tibby wondered a little wistfully.

  “I cannot speak for every woman, of course,” Callie said with all the confidence she wished she had. “But I can for myself. Now I truly understand what a convenient marriage is and can avoid any pitfalls. And I can deal with Mr. Gabriel Renfrew.”

  Shortly after the gentlemen rejoined the ladies, Callie rose and excused herself. All the gentlemen rose and she felt ridiculously self-conscious, as though she was wearing a sign saying she was off to a secret tryst.

  Tibby immediately jumped up, too, and said that if Lady Gosforth didn’t mind, she had some lessons to prepare. Lady Gosforth said she quite understood and had lists to make.

  It was a signal for the evening to break up. Gabriel’s brother Nash and his other friends took their leave and Gabriel sauntered out into the street to farewell them.

  Callie hurried upstairs to her bedchamber, grabbed the fabric bundle, and went back down to the library to wait. A few minutes later the door opened and Gabriel entered.

  He seated them both on a chaise longue. “Now, what was it you wanted to discuss?”

  “If we are to go shopping tomorrow, I will need money.”

  “Yes, of course.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of notes.

  She stared. “No, I didn’t mean you should give me money. I wanted to ask you to get some for me. Papa left money in trust for me, but it’ll take some time for the lawyers to release it. In the meantime I’ll need money.”

  He looked rather taken aback. And intrigued. “How do you mean to do that?” He did not put his money away.

  “I want you to sell some jewels for me.” She took out the rolled fabric and showed him the jewels she had unpicked, hoping they would be enough.

  He bent over the fabric, fascinated. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Which piece do you mean?”

  “This.” He seized the fabric and lifted it so it unrolled. She managed to catch the loose jewels before they fell to the floor.

  “It is!” he exclaimed. “It’s a petticoat!”

  She snatched it out of his hands.

  “So you were smuggling after all,” he said. “I’m marrying a beautiful jewel smuggler.”

  “I was not smuggling,” she snapped, bundling the petticoat up in embarrassment. “I carried them sewn into my petticoat for fear of thieves.”

  “Some people would call Customs and Excise officers and the taxes they enforce a kind of thieving, but we won’t quibble.” He observed the remaining lumps and bumps still sewn into the petticoat. “Would these be one of the reasons Count Anton is pursuing you?”

  “No! They are all my own jewels. None of them belong to the royal house of Zindaria—and you need not look at me like that, they don’t.”

  “I was simply thinking how indignation makes your eyes sparkle brighter than any emeralds.”

  She decided to ignore that. He was a master of distraction.
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  “These are all jewels Papa or Rupert gave me: for my betrothal, for my wedding, for birthdays and other occasions. My husband was always very clear and specific about which things belonged to me personally, which were family jewels, and which belonged to the crown. I have brought only those which belong to me, personally. These pearls, for instance, Papa gave me for my sixteenth birthday. I wore them at my wedding.”

  “Then you are most certainly not going to sell them.”

  She looked at him in frustration. Only this afternoon he had promised not to ride roughshod over her decisions and now, here he was arguing with her. “They are mine to sell.”

  “And what if you have a daughter?”

  She stared at him in surprise. “I won’t.” She’d had one child in nine years of marriage, and now she was entering a paper marriage. How did he imagine she would have another child?

  He set his jaw stubbornly. “You might. But even if you don’t, when Nicky takes a bride, wouldn’t you like him to give her his mother’s pearls to wear at her wedding? Or if one day he has a daughter going to her first grown-up party, wouldn’t she feel special wearing her granny’s pearls?”

  She hesitated. She hadn’t thought of Nicky wanting any of her jewels. She’d only thought of them as her funds to start a new life. “Why do you care?”

  He shrugged and looked away. “It’s just that I know that women can be sentimental about things. Like that tiara of yours. It matters to you that it belonged to your mother.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “So you wouldn’t think of selling that.”

  She laughed. “No, I wouldn’t, but not for the reason you imagine.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the diamonds in my mother’s tiara are paste.”

  His jaw dropped.

  “I told you my mother was from a very distinguished, very poor family—all the jewels were paste in the end. But they are very good quality paste and will fool all but an expert.” She grinned. “As Mama used to say: ‘We are, after all, royalty; if my jewels are to be paste they must be the finest paste in Europe.’”

  He chuckled. “I like the sound of your mother.”