by Julia London
When Percy had finished, the ogre’s eyes narrowed on Greer and he asked, “What could I possibly have of yours?”
Again Percy intervened in Welsh, but the prince threw up his hand to stop him and peered closely at Greer, awaiting her answer.
“You have—”
“Miss Fairchild!”
Percy’s strong voice startled her; she jerked her gaze to him, and he began to address the prince in Welsh, his voice sounding almost frantic. Whatever he said seemed to perturb the prince; his expression was one of superior disdain. And when he spoke to Percy, he spoke in such a way that Greer knew his words dripped with rancor.
Percy responded with equal rancor, and the two men continued to speak in that awful language, Percy’s voice growing louder, the prince’s colder.
But then Percy said something that obviously struck a chord, for the devil prince pinned her with a very fierce look.
Greer took a small step backward.
“The hour has grown too late for you to safely return to Rhayader. We shall make accommodation for you here.”
“Here?” she echoed, glancing anxiously at Percy. “Surely we can return to Rhayader—it is not yet dark, and the rain—”
“It is impossible,” the prince said brusquely. “As for your…business…I shall entertain it on the morrow.” He snapped his fingers; the two beasts were instantly at his side. He strode out the door with them trotting behind him before Greer could say what she had come for, before she could utter another word.
As the door closed resoundingly behind him, robbing her of the opportunity to demand what was hers for the time being, she whirled around to Percy. “What…what happened?”
“I explained to him that we have come for our inheritances,” he said, moving toward her. “Of course he will not give in without a fight.”
Greer groaned. She was too angry and exhausted for this, really. She had wanted to ask him herself, had wanted to claim what was hers from that vile man in her own words, and she hadn’t even understood that her case was being presented at all. “Mr. Percy, I really must insist—”
“Miss Fairchild…Greer,” he said, interrupting her. “You don’t know him as I do. He’s frightfully unscrupulous—he will have no mercy for a defenseless young woman.”
At her skeptical look, he quickly closed the distance between them and took her hands in his. “I yearn to help you, to protect you. Miss Fairchild—Greer—what I have to say will seem indecorous, I fear, but…but I have contemplated it for some time.”
The intensity in his eyes and the gravity in his voice sparked her feminine intuition—she suspected instantly what he meant to say and panicked. He meant to do this now? “Mr. Percy!” she cried, trying to yank her hands free. “I beg you, please do not—”
“Surely you know that I have come to hold you in the highest regard,” he continued doggedly. “I would have preferred a proper courtship—you deserve no less—but as we have been thrown together by fate, I can no longer defer the honest and true declaration of my feelings. It is important that I speak up now, for I believe we will be far more successful together than we possibly can be apart.”
She tried to absorb this sudden admission. Of course she’d noted his attention to her, but she’d never suspected a depth of feeling such as this. And while she found him charming and was somewhat fond of him—after all, he’d been a tremendous help along the way—she had not thought of him in any capacity that even remotely resembled a husband.
And really, what an awful moment to offer for her hand! She could scarcely think of anything but that wretched prince! It was so absurd that it seemed almost a dream—she was standing in the middle of a medieval castle in Wales of all places, the guest of a murderer and a thief, receiving an offer of marriage she neither wanted nor had anticipated. “Mr. Percy, I could not possibly—”
“Don’t answer yet,” he said, and earnestly kissed her hand. “But please do me the honor of at least considering my offer. And as you do, be assured of the depth of my esteem for you. I have been captivated and bewitched by you, Greer, and I pray that you will return my good opinion of you by consenting to be my wife.”
“Mr. Percy, please!” she cried, pulling her hand from his grip. “This is a very ill-timed proposal!”
“I know it must seem that way, but given his nature, this may be the very best time. Just think of what this could mean, Greer! Together, with our inheritances, we will have a comfortable living, you and I. We might settle in a manor house in the country and rear our children—”
“You presume too much, sir!”
He smiled sweetly and touched his knuckle to her temple. “Consider it—that is all I ask.”
Oh God, it was too much to be borne. If only Ava and Phoebe were with her now! Surely one of them would have suspected Percy’s intentions, would have at least warned her, but Greer hadn’t seen it coming. She’d been too single-minded of purpose, too intent on retrieving her inheritance and returning to London to even consider—
“I have obviously distressed you,” Percy said. “But surely you cannot be so very surprised. Surely you knew—”
The door opened behind him, and Percy whirled about like a guilty boy caught peeking up his mistress’s skirts.
It was the butler, who spoke to Percy. When he had finished, Percy sighed, put a hand to his waist, and looked at Greer. “He’s readied a room for you,” he said irritably, then quickly smiled. “Promise me you will consider what I have said.”
“I will consider it,” she said, and escaped his probing gaze by stepping around him and hurrying forward to put herself in the hands of the butler, who had yet to speak a word of English.
Three
T he butler led Greer through a darkened corridor to a small, austere room with a bed, a rug, and a table that doubled as a vanity. There was a single window, which looked out on the sheep pens. The butler—a small, dark-haired, and stoic little man—told her in French that an evening meal would be served in her rooms.
“Merci,” she said, and because her French was not very good she pleaded for someone who spoke English. “Y a-t-il quelqu’un qui parle anglais ici?”
“I speak English,” he responded solemnly.
This place seemed odder and odder by the hour. “Thank you,” she said, looking at him curiously. “Might I have a fire made?”
“A footman will attend you shortly.” He bowed and stepped out of her room.
With a sigh, Greer tossed her bonnet onto the bed and walked to the window, where she stared out at the muddied pens and the sheep who, in spite of the cold and wet weather, chewed contentedly on their cuds. She wished she could be as content as they, have nothing to worry over except when she might be let out to pasture again. Unfortunately, her burden seemed insurmountable at the moment. She’d gotten herself into quite a mess.
Greer stood at the window hugging herself tightly, contemplating what she should do, until a knock at the door roused her. It was a footman, come to build a fire. As he filled the hearth with wood, she asked, “I beg your pardon, but is Mr. Percy close by?”
The footman looked at her strangely. “Saesneg no good,” he said.
“Oh.” She smiled weakly and turned back to the window.
The day was fading into black, and the wind was picking up, making strange groaning sounds in the castle. When the footman left, she noticed that the wind sounded like keening cries at a distance. It made her nervous. She almost expected the witches from Macbeth to jump out from behind the single drape and chant:
When shall we three meet again
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?
When the hurlyburly’s done,
When the battle’s lost or won.
She stepped away from the window, and moved to the hearth, hoping that the crackle and hiss of burning wood would drown out the awful groans of the wind.
She thought of Ava and Phoebe, of their house in London, of the soirées and balls they’d attended since they’d come out
, their carefree lives in which their greatest concern had been which of the many young gentlemen they might marry one day. She missed them terribly, missed their counsel and confiding in them. She thought of her aunt Cassandra, who always laughed, always promised them great things.
She thought of Bingley Hall, where they had lived when they were children, and the balls her aunt and uncle had held. On those special nights, Aunt Cassandra would visit them in the nursery, dressed in her finery. She always looked like a queen to Greer.
On one such occasion, Phoebe had grown petulant. “I want to attend, Mamma,” she’d insisted.
“Not tonight, darling, but one day you will attend all the balls,” Aunt Cassandra had said reassuringly, and took Phoebe by one hand, Greer by the other, and nodded at Ava to take their hands, too, so that they formed a circle. “You remember the reel I taught you?” she asked as she moved them in a circle. “One day, you shall all dance as many reels and minuets and waltzes as you like.”
“Where?” Phoebe had asked suspiciously.
“Where!” Aunt Cassandra had playfully scoffed. “At Ava’s house, of course, for Ava will be mistress of a very fine house, and she will host balls and soirées and elegant supper parties that will be the envy of everyone in London.”
“Who will I marry, Mamma?” Ava, older than Greer by a year, asked.
“A lord. A very handsome and wealthy lord, darling, and he will adore you completely.”
“What about me?” Phoebe, the youngest of the three asked, frowning.
“You are my very special child, Phoebe,” Aunt Cassandra had said with a warm smile as they slowly moved in their circle. “When you are grown, your beauty will be so great that every man in Britain will desire you for his wife. But you will be quiet and very careful in settling your affections on one of them, for you will have an important secret. It will take a very special man to see your secret and its importance to you.”
“What is the secret?” Phoebe cried, happy to be the one to have an important secret.
“Why, how could I know, darling?” Aunt Cassandra asked gaily. “It is your secret. But it will be a precious secret, and you will share it with the one man who loves you above all else.”
“What of Greer?” Ava asked.
“Greer!” Aunt Cassandra laughed and squeezed Greer’s hand affectionately. “That’s quite easy. Greer is clever and witty and will be in great demand at all the most important social events because she is the life of any good party. All the gentlemen will esteem her greatly, but our Greer is so clever, she will prefer to play with the gentlemen as if they were mice and she the cat.”
“Won’t I marry?” Greer asked, daunted by the prospect of toying with grown men.
“Of course, darling! But you won’t marry just any man—he will be at least as clever as you and will recognize instantly what a jewel you are.”
The circle slowed as the three of them had looked at each other, trying with all their might to imagine themselves as grown women.
“I don’t want to marry,” Phoebe said at last. “I want to stay with Ava and Greer.”
Aunt Cassandra laughed and leaned down to kiss Phoebe’s blond head. “Men shall flit in and out of your lives, my lovelies, but the three of you will be together always and forever. You will be like a great brotherhood of knights, defending and protecting one another throughout your lives. You will share your sorrows and your hopes with one another, you will share in your joy and tragedy, and you will raise your children together. Never forget that while you will love your husbands and your children, no one will ever be closer to you than your sisters.”
“Greer isn’t our sister, Mamma. She is our cousin,” Phoebe had clarified.
“Thank you, darling, I am aware she is your cousin in name. But she is your sister in heart.”
She had kissed them all good night then and left them in the company of their nurse, sweeping out of the room in a gown that sparkled when she moved.
Greer never forgot that night. Aunt Cassandra had been right in many ways—she was invited to all the social events and sought after as a partner in games and dancing and at supper tables. Gentlemen always seemed to like her, but she had yet to meet one in London that held her interest for very long. It saddened her, for she wanted the life Aunt Cassandra had painted for her that night. She wanted children, and to live near Ava and Phoebe in London in the midst of the social whirl. And she did very much want to marry a man who was clever and kind and not the least bit intimidated that she knew the latest news of Parliament, as some of her suitors seemed to be.
Greer missed Aunt Cassandra desperately, especially now. Her aunt would know what to do about everything—about Greer’s inheritance, about Percy, about this awful castle.
And of course Greer thought of her mother, a woman whose face was frozen for all time in the tiny personal portrait Greer carried with her. She did not have a portrait of her father, and could not remember what he looked like. She couldn’t remember him at all, really. But her mother—Aunt Cassandra’s half sister—she remembered in vivid snatches.
But she was chasing a ghost, she thought morosely. Scattered bits of memory, a tiny little portrait, and nothing more than the recurring dream she’d had of her mother in the last few years. In the dream, her mother stood at the door of a white mansion, bathed in sunlight, beckoning Greer inside. And Greer would run to her mother, trying to reach her before her mother disappeared inside. She could never do it.
It was hardly enough of a dream to have brought her here, to a remote and gloomy castle, as far from the Wales of her memory as she could possibly be.
It was ironic, really—she’d always been so very practical. She excelled in her studies and yearned to know more of math and science and literature. She was not the sort to follow a flight of fancy, no matter how dire the situation. So how was it that she’d allowed herself to risk her life and her virtue on a wild-goose chase?
The room was growing colder in spite of the fire in the hearth. Fortunately, another footman appeared with Greer’s trunk. She lit a candle and opened the trunk, found a serviceable evening gown and a Kashmir shawl that she donned for warmth, and performed her toilette with the ice-cold water in the basin. Sometime later a third footman appeared with her meal. As he stoked her fire, she removed the silver dome and looked at the food. Fish stew, from the look of it. She replaced the silver dome; she had no appetite.
When the footman left, she tried to occupy her thoughts and hands by taking her hair down and brushing it. The wind grew fiercer still, and rain lashed at the small-paned glass window as if someone hurled pebbles at it. It was too nerve-racking to endure, so Greer tied her hair at her nape and began to pace.
The light of her candle flickered with the strength of a draft, and Greer was suddenly reminded of a novel Phoebe had read to them aloud one long winter night of a girl trapped in a castle with a ghost. The story had caused the three young girls to sleep in the same bed for several nights.
Another gust of wind rattled the window, and Greer’s anxiety increased to the point she felt she might very well crawl out of her skin.
She could scarcely bear it, felt an almost desperate need to leave that wretched room before a witch or a ghost appeared. She glanced at the small watch she wore pinned to her breast. It was a quarter to ten. Surely she might move about the corridors of the castle without disturbing anyone at this hour—the place seemed so large and devoid of human life. Just a quick walk-about to find Mr. Percy, who would undoubtedly keep her company until the storm passed.
A clap of thunder sent her to the door. She opened it carefully and peeked out. There was one light at the far end of the corridor that was flickering so badly it looked in danger of being extinguished. But it was light, and where there was light there might be a person—a living, breathing, person.
She picked up her candelabra and stepped out into the corridor, retracing the path the butler had taken to bring her to her room. At the end of the corridor, however, sh
e could not remember if they had come from the left or the right.
She went right.
After walking for several minutes with her heart pounding loudly in her ears, she reached another corridor that was long and narrow and lit by beeswax candles in wall sconces. It was an extravagance that few people could afford, but Greer was glad for it. She blew out her light and put down her candelabra, then moved quietly down the corridor, looking at the paintings as she went.
She found it quite interesting that the devil prince, for all his sins, had quite an impressive art collection in this hall, but really little else in the castle.
As she neared the end of the corridor, she came upon a painting of a woman seated beneath the boughs of a tree. Greer recognized the distinctive work of Thomas Gainsborough, and paused to admire it. The woman was wearing a white dress over panniers with a blue sash. On her head was a wide-brimmed summer bonnet and her bejeweled slippers peeked out from beneath her hem. A little black dog was lying at her feet, looking up at his mistress. Greer stepped closer to admire the painting, squinting up at it, when she heard the creak of a floorboard behind her.
She jerked around with a cry of alarm, which caused the two dogs behind her to start barking ferociously, their bared teeth gleaming in the candlelight.
Just behind them, a man appeared in a doorway, filling the frame, and Greer’s heart stopped beating. He spoke sharply to the dogs, who instantly went down on their bellies.
Terrified, Greer gasped for breath, her hand on her throat, and tried to focus on the prince. He had divested himself of his cloak, and for that matter, his coat and waistcoat and neckcloth, too. In fact, he wore nothing but a pair of trousers and a lawn shirt with the tails hanging midthigh. The shirt hung open at the neck; she could glimpse the dark hair that covered a muscular chest. His dark hair was mussed, his feet bare, and he leaned against the door frame, holding a bottle in one hand. He looked hardly civilized, and he was scowling at her.
“I beg your pardon,” she said instantly, and moved to flee.
