The Perils of Pursuing a Prince

by Julia London

  “I am far more concerned that you will inadvertently harm someone in your desperation to walk ahead of me.”

  She gave him a pert toss of her head. “And precisely who are these guests, if I may ask?”

  “Old friends.”

  “Mmm,” she said, staring straight ahead. “How interesting. I was of the firm opinion you had no friends. Then again, I undoubtedly have not accounted for the power of a locked tower to persuade one into friendship.”

  Rhodrick chuckled softly. “I should think a woman as clever as you would view this as a prime opportunity to employ your woeful tale of being orphaned to fleece someone less suspicious of you than am I.”

  She snorted at that as they hurried down the staircase. “It is not a tale, sir, it is the truth, and at last, I may have the pleasure of speaking to someone who will listen to reason.”

  “I predict that without Mr. Percy to sully the occasion, my friends will find you quite charming.”

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, and jerked her elbow from his grasp as they moved down the main corridor to the grand salon. “Kindly allow me the pleasure of at least appearing to be free.”

  “Not only will I allow you the pleasure, I will make certain that you are not bound at Llanmair by any possible means, and if you should be charming enough as to secure passage to London tonight, I urge you to take it,” he said as they came to a halt before the double doors of the grand salon.

  She lifted her face to him, her deep blue eyes sparkling with ire. “You may rest assured I will.”

  “Excellent,” he snapped, and opened the door, stepping back. “After you, Miss Fairchild.”

  She shifted her gaze to the interior of the grand salon and smiled as brilliantly as he’d ever seen—so brilliantly, in fact, that Rhodrick was momentarily distracted by it. He watched her walk across the threshold with the grace of a bloody queen, instantly lighting up the room.

  He followed behind her, noting that his good friends were not only surprised, they looked absolutely dumb-founded.

  Perhaps he might have mentioned Greer Fairchild before now. He hadn’t intended to be coy, but in truth, he hadn’t known exactly how to explain her.

  Margaret was the first to come to her senses. She walked across the room and curtsied deeply before rising up to kiss him on the cheek. “Rhodi,” she said, peering closely at him. “How are you this evening?”

  “Never better,” he said, and put his hand on Miss Fairchild’s elbow. “I would like to introduce you to Miss Greer Fairchild.” To her, he said, “My good friends, Mr. and Mrs. Awbrey. And Lord and Lady Pool.”

  Margaret, as fair-haired as Miss Fairchild was dark, smiled warmly. “It is indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she said sincerely. “You must forgive my surprise, but Rhodi had not mentioned his houseguest before this very moment,” she said, casting a brief but accusing look at Rhodrick.

  Rhodrick smiled, but Miss Fairchild laughed. “Oh, I am hardly surprised he hadn’t mentioned it!” she said gaily. “It has only recently been established that I would even be his guest. Unfortunately, I had a wretched experience with a coach that necessitated my stay.”

  “Oh?” Margaret asked as Thomas shook Rhodrick’s hand.

  “Oh yes. The part that connects the wheels broke in half,” she said, making a sort of circular motion with her hand, and looked at Rhodrick. “What is it called?”

  “Axle.”

  “The axle,” she repeated with a devilish smile for him. “It will take much longer than I anticipated to repair it. Naturally I insisted on taking rooms in Rhayader until my business in Wales could be completed, but his lordship is too generous.” She cast a brilliant smile on Rhodrick. “He was quite insistent that I remain his reluctant guest.”

  “Oh,” Margaret said, glancing curiously at Rhodrick again.

  “And from where did you say you had arrived?” Lady Pool was older and seemed more suspicious than Margaret.

  “I did not say, but I am from London.”

  “London!” Lady Pool exclaimed. “That is quite a long way, particularly at this time of year, is it not? What brings you all the way to Llanmair?”

  “I shan’t bother you with all the dreadful details,” Miss Fairchild said charmingly. “It’s rather complicated.”

  Lady Pool, however, was not so easily put off. She slipped her arm through Miss Fairchild’s and nodded at Margaret. “It’s hardly a bother. Do come and sit with us, dear, and tell us how you came to be at Llanmair.”

  “Well sir,” Thomas said to Rhodrick as the ladies situated themselves on a settee, Miss Fairchild sandwiched between them, “you are full of surprises.”

  Rhodrick smiled wryly, watched Miss Fairchild take the champagne Ifan offered her with a pretty smile, and speak with great animation to the two ladies.

  “Indeed you are,” Lord Pool agreed. “Most men would boast of having such a treasure under their roof.”

  Rhodrick shrugged and took a glass of champagne from Ifan’s tray.

  Thomas exchanged a look with Lord Pool and said carefully, “She is…quite appealing. An unmarried man might be tempted by her good looks.”

  “Or a married man, for that matter,” Lord Pool muttered.

  A bit of heat slipped under Rhodrick’s collar, but he hid his expression behind a sip of champagne. When he lowered the flute, his two friends were looking at him with amused curiosity.

  “Well?” Thomas asked, nudging him.

  With a rueful smile, Rhodrick said, “A woman as handsome as Miss Fairchild would naturally expect to be wooed by a handsome man. She would not be tempted by the likes of me, and undoubtedly, she will be gone soon enough.”

  Lord Pool laughed, but Thomas looked at him with an expression that was uncomfortably studious. Rhodrick did manage to steer the conversation for a time, but when supper was announced, they all stood and politely assembled for the promenade into the dining room, four pairs of eyes shifting expectantly to Miss Fairchild.

  She smiled charmingly and glided forth to put her hand on the arm Rhodrick proffered as if she had done it a thousand times before. He smiled at the ire flashing in her eyes, covered her hand with his, and began to walk. “I couldn’t help noticing that you regaled the ladies with colorful tales of London,” he remarked low as they led the way to the dining room.

  “And I couldn’t help noticing that you knitted two entire sentences together,” she whispered in response.

  “The broken axle on the carriage was nicely done, I must admit,” he said.

  Miss Fairchild smiled a little. “I rather thought so myself.”

  “You seem to be practiced at inventing tales,” he said as Ifan opened the doors to the formal dining room ahead of them.

  “I am practiced at being polite. It would not do to tell your guests you hold me prisoner here, for they would be shocked and would flee, and Cook’s gone to a lot of trouble to make an excellent supper.”

  Rhodrick couldn’t help himself; he smiled, and his smile broadened as she gasped with delight upon seeing the room. Rhodrick was always impressed with the way Ifan managed to set a table, and this one looked as if it had come straight out of Windsor. Four gold candelabrum were centered down the table. Each place setting was laid with gold-rimmed china, fine crystal, and silver cutlery. Tiny crystal vases at each place setting held pristine Welsh hothouse roses, freshly cut. Four footmen—two on each side of the table—stood in perfect formation, awaiting their charges.

  Rhodrick seated a notably silent Miss Fairchild and waited until all his guests had been seated before taking his place at the head of the table. The moment he did, the footmen began to serve wine, Ifan personally tending to Rhodrick’s glass.

  As the first course of Welsh cakes was served, the conversation covered the usual subjects: the weather, the latest parish news, Parliament’s desire to levy a new agricultural tariff that had Lord Pool particularly irate.

  Rhodrick scarcely heard the exchange because he could not take his eyes from Miss
Fairchild. His imagination swirled around his doubts about her, but it was impossible to look at her now, so lovely and vivacious, and think of her in Owen Percy’s arms. That image forever shadowed his thoughts—he could not seem to put aside his suspicions completely because of her association with that bastard.

  “Rhodi, you are so quiet!” Margaret said, pulling him back into the moment.

  “What?” he asked, startled.

  “Lord Pool was just commenting on Parliament’s desire to tax even Lady Pool’s nerves,” she explained.

  “Ah.” He smiled and lifted his wineglass in silent toast to Lady Pool.

  “I daresay his lordship has no humor when it comes to a lady’s nerves,” Miss Fairchild said with a sly smile. “To that I can attest.”

  That was met with laughter from the ladies and indulgent smiles from the gentlemen.

  “Rhodi, you must endeavor to be good-humored.” Thomas laughed.

  “Miss Fairchild compares my good humor to that of the many young dandies with whom she is acquainted in London.” He smiled. “I am clearly at a disadvantage.”

  “Perhaps,” she said, and smiled, he thought, a little devilishly. “But indeed, my lord, you have scarcely smiled since I arrived.”

  “I am certain that I have.”

  “I do not recall it.”

  “Do you not? I smiled Wednesday night.”

  Everyone laughed, including Greer, whose eyes, he noticed, could cast a brilliant gleam the length of a table when she did.

  “And when did you arrive, Miss Fairchild?” Lady Pool asked. “It all seems quite a mystery.”

  “No mystery,” she said easily. “I arrived a little more than a fortnight ago.”

  “Now that,” Lord Pool said as he squinted at the contents of the bowl the footman sat before him, “is quite a long time in the company of an unsmiling man.” He glanced up at Miss Fairchild. “Your carriage was harmed in some way, did you say?”

  “Oh,” she said with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “A rock or stick or some such thing. I confess I did not understand everything the coachman told me.”

  “Did you arrive alone, Miss Fairchild?” Lady Pool asked.

  “No, madam. I left London in the company of Mrs. Smithington.”

  “And where are you hiding Mrs. Smithington, my lord?” Lady Pool asked Rhodrick.

  He glanced at Greer. Her cheeks colored slightly and she said, “Ah…well.” She cleared her throat. “Unfortunately, Mrs. Smithington…died.”

  All eyes suddenly jerked to Miss Fairchild, and Rhodrick could not possibly have been more entertained.

  “She died?” Margaret echoed incredulously.

  “Ah…” Miss Fairchild colored slightly and studied the dish before her for a moment. “It was the most tragic thing,” she said, frowning a bit, as if trying to work out a tale. “We were to call upon my uncle, and the poor dear was in excellent health until we reached Bredwardine—”

  “Bredwardine?” Lady Pool interrupted. “But that is almost to Wales. What is your uncle’s name, Miss Fairchild? Perhaps I know him.”

  “Vaughan.”

  “Vaughan!” Lady Pool echoed, and tapped her finger against the tabletop a moment before turning to her husband. “Do we know a Vaughan, Lord Pool?”

  “We know scores of them,” Lord Pool said gruffly. “There are Vaughans in every nook and cranny—”

  “If he is your uncle,” Lady Pool said, turning back to Miss Fairchild before her husband could finish, “then are you Welsh? You must be with a name like Vaughan.”

  “My parents were Welsh. But I was raised in England.”

  “And why, then, did your uncle not accompany you here?” Lady Pool asked, eyeing her skeptically.

  Miss Fairchild shifted in her seat. “The answer to that question,” she said, “involves another unfortunate tale.”

  She paused; it seemed to Rhodrick as if his guests all leaned forward, as if they were afraid they would miss her answer.

  “M-my uncle had, ah…well, as it turns out, my uncle had…he’d died as well.”

  “A remarkable coincidence and a tragedy,” Rhodrick said, enjoying her discomfiture. “Particularly since Miss Fairchild and her uncle were so very close.”

  Miss Fairchild shot him a murderous look.

  “Oh,” Margaret said, peering closely at Miss Fairchild, too.

  “Yes,” Miss Fairchild said, nodding as if she could scarcely bear to speak of it. “I was very saddened by his loss and it was the news of his demise that ailed Mrs. Smithington. When she heard he’d passed on, she felt the need to lie down, and regrettably, she never awoke.”

  “How…tragic,” Margaret said, looking and sounding confused.

  “Yes, yes, that is all very sad…but Miss Fairchild,” Lady Pool said, tapping her finger on the table to gain her attention. “Do you mean that you came all the way from Bredwardine to Llanmair alone?”

  Miss Fairchild nervously cleared her throat; her fingers fluttered on the stem of her wineglass. “Not…not exactly,” she said. “I was accompanied by Mr. Owen Percy.”

  Margaret gasped. Thomas jerked a startled gaze to Rhodrick. Lord Pool dropped his fork and fished about for it in his dish, and Lady Pool’s eyes narrowed on Miss Fairchild.

  “What?” Miss Fairchild asked, looking around at the other guests.

  Rhodrick was so amused that he leaned back, eagerly waiting to hear how she would ever extract herself from this debacle.

  “Well,” Lady Pool said. “It is certainly none of my affair, Miss Fairchild, but that might have been worse than coming here alone. Perhaps that is the way of things in London, but—”

  “But it is none of our concern, Lady Pool,” Lord Pool reminded her.

  Lady Pool pressed her lips together so tightly that they disappeared as Lord Pool chewed. “Delicious,” he said of the stew.

  “But…but I thought Mr. Percy had departed Llanmair,” Margaret said, more to Rhodrick than to Miss Fairchild.

  “He has,” Rhodrick added.

  “Then…”

  “The carriage defect has made it impossible for Miss Fairchild to return home just yet,” he said. “Please, everyone,” he added, picking up his fork, “enjoy your meal.”

  His guests slowly but dutifully turned their attention to their meals. Rhodrick glanced down the table at Miss Fairchild. If a gaze could actually spark fire, the whole dining room would have been ablaze at that moment.

  Seventeen

  W hen the ladies retired to the salon so that the men could enjoy the American cheroots Lord Pool had brought, Margaret smiled and chatted and did her best to maintain her composure, but it was very difficult to do, given her growing uncertainties about Miss Fairchild.

  She’d been so pleased to have made her acquaintance, so pleased for Rhodi…until the young woman had mentioned Owen Percy.

  Fortunately, Lady Pool asked the burning question for her. “How is it, Miss Fairchild, that you came all this way with Mr. Percy? Were you previously acquainted with him?”

  “Oh,” Miss Fairchild said, averting her gaze as her fingers flitted around a charm she wore about her neck. “We are cousins, actually.”

  Lady Pool seemed satisfied with that answer, but Margaret was not. She knew it was not true. “Cousins?” she repeated skeptically.

  “Once removed,” Miss Fairchild added hastily, then raised a brow, challenging Margaret’s scrutiny of her.

  “How remarkable,” Margaret said, forcing a smile. “Mr. Percy and I are second cousins, and I am quite certain he never mentioned another cousin. And Rhodi and I have been friends since we were children, and certainly he never mentioned—”

  “Perhaps our relation is more than once removed,” Miss Fairchild said, and glanced at her lap as she nervously cleared her throat. “You…you seem surprised by our acquaintance, but Mr. Percy has been gone from Wales a long time—”

  “Not long enough,” Lady Pool said curtly.

  Miss Fairchild looked shocked by Lady
Pool’s response.

  “I am sure he was a perfect gentleman in England, Miss Fairchild,” Margaret said politely, “for he is very good at pretending. But around here, he is very unwelcome.”

  “Margaret!” Lady Pool said. “You are speaking of her cousin!”

  “Oh,” Margaret said airily, looking at Miss Fairchild. “If Miss Fairchild is acquainted with Mr. Percy, she cannot be surprised, I am certain.”

  Miss Fairchild blushed. “How long did you say you’d been acquainted with the prince?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “All my life,” Margaret said. “Our fathers served in the Royal Navy together. We’ve known one another from the nursery.”

  “Then you must have known his late wife.”

  “Of course,” Margaret said. “Very well, in fact.”

  “You’ve been such a very good friend to him, Margaret,” Lady Pool said. “You were so dear to him when Eira passed.”

  Margaret smiled thinly. “I did what any friend would have done.”

  But Lady Pool looked at Greer and said, “The prince’s wife died in childbirth, you see.” She sighed and shook her head. “He was devoted to her. I daresay it broke his heart.”

  Margaret added, “It is the reason, I think, he has never remarried. He could never bring himself to consider another.”

  “If I may…how long were they married?” Miss Fairchild asked.

  “Three years—that is all,” Margaret said sadly.

  “And he never remarried?”

  “Oh no,” Margaret said, thinking back to the time Rhodrick had sequestered himself here, alone with his grief.

  “What of Lady Freemont?” Lady Pool asked. “She is newly widowed and living in that huge old house in Llandrindod Wells.”

  “He will not consider it,” Margaret said firmly. “Lord knows I have tried, and so has his sister, Nell.”

  “Oh, she is so bright and lovely,” Lady Pool said with an admiring smile.

  “And she has tried very hard to make a match for her brother, as have I, but he cannot bear to go through it all again.”