by Julia London
“Thank you,” Caroline said, and dipped a small curtsy. She whirled back to the mirror, and in doing so, caused one side of the train to come unbuttoned and fall. “Oh bother.”
“Come,” Hollis said, gesturing her forward like a child. She refastened Caroline’s train to one of the buttons meant to keep it from dragging twenty feet behind her. “Remember, no sudden movements. They come undone when you twist and lurch about.”
“I do not lurch, and you remember to put your pencil away tonight,” Caroline said. “It’s the royal wedding ball, Hollis.”
“As my sister is the bride, I am keenly aware of the occasion, darling. And I am dressed for it, as you can see. But I will not risk forgetting a single detail! The only way to ensure that I don’t is to write things down as I observe them.”
Hollis’s dark blue eyes flashed with determination. Caroline knew that she wanted more than anything for her gazette to be taken seriously by everyone in London.
Ah, but Hollis looked so much like Eliza, even though her hair was so darkly brown it looked nearly black, whereas Eliza’s hair was the color of spun gold. The sisters were very comely women. If Caroline didn’t love them so, she would be envious. “You know, darling,” Caroline said slyly, “if you were to look up from your notes, at an event like this it is quite possible that you might meet your one and only.”
Hollis gasped as if Caroline had slapped her. “How dare you even suggest it, Caro! Percival was my one and only, and there won’t be another! It’s not possible there will ever be another love like what we shared.”
Caroline turned slightly so that Hollis could not see her roll her eyes. The way she went on about her late husband was enough to make womankind across the globe give up any hope of finding perfect love, because Hollis and Percy had taken it and locked it away, never again to be experienced in this world with the same intense passion.
And yet there were some—including Caroline, frankly—who believed that the beautiful Widow Honeycutt had found her next love in her houseman, Donovan. Everyone who had ever called at Hollis’s house noted the striking good looks and virile physique of her butler. Or manservant. Or cook—whatever role it was Donovan filled. Hollis was rather vague about it, and Donovan was slavishly devoted to her. Caroline assumed he and Hollis were having a forbidden love affair. She certainly would be tempted if she were in Hollis’s shoes. A woman of her standing would not publicly consort with a manservant, but behind closed doors, well... Hollis was a widow after all.
“Keep your mind to your one and only,” Hollis muttered.
Caroline didn’t say anything. She supposed it was possible—after all, important gentlemen of all stripes would be in attendance. So would that wretched Prince Leopold, who always looked so detached, as if he thought himself above everyone else in the room. All right, she would concede that by virtue of his very good looks and his princely title he was above most, but he wasn’t a king, for heaven’s sake. But never mind him. She refused to think about him another moment. She had thought about him entirely too much in the last few weeks when she should have been thinking about much more important things.
She examined her reflection in the mirror. She practiced moving, taking care to dip this way and that, not only because of her elaborate train, but also because her décolletage, dear God, plunged so low that it was entirely possible that everyone at the ball would spot her navel.
Beck would be so displeased with it. She smiled.
She was equally certain that if Prince Leopold saw her, he’d be very pleased with her figure...if he wasn’t already swimming in his cups. He seemed to swim in them quite a lot.
It was getting the prince to see her that was the bother. Not that she cared if he did, but it was the principle of it. They were practically kin now, and yet she had the distinct impression he didn’t care for her. She couldn’t imagine why not. She hadn’t done anything untoward. She hadn’t spread awful rumors about him. She hadn’t committed any social faux pas in his presence.
She could never seem to get as much as a moment with him—he was constantly surrounded by footmen, Alucian gentlemen, and women. Scads and scads of women. Why were there so many women in the world?
Caroline grew restless, and as Hollis could not be persuaded to stop making her notes, she would not wait politely for Beck to arrive. So she went out of their suite and wandered down the hallway without Hollis even noticing.
Caroline had discovered in the last month that there was a point in the upper floor hallway that curved around an opening beneath a glass cupola in the roof, built to allow light to the floors below. At a particular bend in the hall, one could look over the balustrade and see down two floors below, to the entrance to this part of the palace.
She and Hollis and Beck were housed in a private wing of the palace, where family guests and some members of the extended royal family resided. Caroline liked to watch people come and go without being seen herself, as the shaft of sunlight made it difficult for people below to see up to the top floor. Standing here is where she’d seen Lady Senria Ferrassen arrive one evening in the company of the king’s equerry, and the two had parted with a quick and furtive kiss. Another blustery afternoon, she’d seen three chambermaids meet in the foyer and whisper excitedly to one another before all three of them disappeared quickly and in different directions when Lady Senria entered, her hair mussed, her cheeks rosy.
As Caroline was already dressed for the ball, she didn’t venture any farther than that point on the balustrade, hiding in plain sight. She wanted her gown to be seen for the first time when she made her entrance to the ballroom, as it ought, for maximum impact. At this hour, however, most were preparing for the evening or had already walked the distance to the main palace ballroom. There was nothing to see below, save the occasional footman or chambermaid hurrying across the black-and-white marble floor.
She grew bored with it and was turning to go when the entrance door swung open and a man walked in. He paused in the middle of the foyer, pushed his fingers through his dark brown hair, then settled his hands on his waist. That man, much to her great surprise, was clearly Prince Leopold. What was he doing at this hour dressed like that? He was wearing plain clothes and his hair was disheveled, and he stood a bit unsteadily, as if he’d just heard some bad news. And then, without warning, he looked up.
He looked up and directly at her with his ocean-blue eyes, and Caroline felt the intensity of his gaze radiating through her. She made a tiny little squeal of surprise and jumped back, clapping a hand to her heart. But she just as quickly surged forward and looked over the railing again. He was still there, and he suddenly smiled so charmingly and with such warmth that she quite lost her breath for a moment. He was actually smiling at her. And in response, she felt a very happy smile forming on her own lips. She could feel all sorts of things stirring, really—a laugh of delight. A gasp. A tingle in her groin.
“It would appear you’ve caught me, then,” he called up.
Caroline giggled. She didn’t know what to say for once. To agree would be to admit to spying. She would say that she was just passing by, or—
“I’ve caught you at your pleasure, I should hope,” responded a familiar voice.
Caroline gasped and jumped back again. That was her brother’s voice, and it came from the floor directly below her. He was undoubtedly on his way up to fetch her. She further realized that the prince had smiled so beatifically not at her but at her brother. At Beck! Blasted Beck! Always in the way!
“You could say,” the prince agreed.
“You’re to the ball, are you? I understand there is to be some high-stakes cards in the game room.”
Caroline backed away from the railing and began to hurry down the hall as quietly as she could, cursing the rustle of her skirts. She didn’t hear what the prince said in response, because her heart was thudding in her ears.
She burst into the suite
of rooms she shared with Hollis.
“Lord, Caro, look what you made me do!” Hollis exclaimed crossly, and abruptly stood. Ink had spilled on her paper.
“I’m terribly sorry.” Caroline pressed her hands to her abdomen in the vain hope to temper her breathing, trying to catch her breath from the surprise. Where had the prince been, anyway, dressed like that? She’d wondered what had become of him during the reception. She’d been speaking with the Weslorian ambassador to England, telling him the story of the country house party at which a horse had run wild with a man on his back, necessitating rescue by no less than four gentlemen, when she noticed Prince Leopold was no longer visible from the corner of her eye. And when she turned to have a closer look, he was nowhere to be seen. He had slipped out without her noticing! Not that she was watching his every move, because she was not. She just had a tendency to notice things.
He’d run off for a tryst. Of course! What else would have taken him from the palace on this day? What else would see him return to the palace looking as if he’d fallen out of bed and right into his clothes? Were men so desperately sexual all the time?
A loud rap on the door was followed by it swinging open, and Beck strolled in. He paused just inside the doorway and stared at the two of them. “I had hoped that someone might have come and whisked you both down to the ball you’re determined to attend and thus spare me the deed. Alas, I see my dreams have been dashed.”
“A splendid good evening to you, as well, Beck,” Hollis said cheerily.
“My lord is customary, Hollis, but I’ll allow it in light of your obvious delirium of happiness at your sister’s nuptials.”
“Where have you been?” Caroline demanded. “I’ve been waiting and waiting.”
“What are you talking about? I was giving you ample time to admire yourself in the mirror,” he said. “Are you ready?”
“Is it not obvious? I’ve been ready. We both have. You were expected a half hour ago.” She checked her hair in the mirror once more.
“I beg your pardon, but I was out with my Alucian friends. Cheerful lot, I must say. What has happened to the bodice of your gown, Caro? It looks to have gone missing.”
“You were with friends?” Caroline said, arching one brow, hoping to skim over the fact that her bodice had indeed gone missing, and moreover, she didn’t intend to look for it. “What friends? Of which gender?”
“One of two possibilities. Is that another new gown?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “How can you even ask? Of course it is—I couldn’t wear anything that I’ve already worn, not to tonight’s ball. Even you know that.”
“Do you think our funds flow from a bottomless well?” he asked crossly as he dropped into a seat. “You buy gowns as if they cost nothing.”
“Pardon, but wasn’t it you who purchased an Alucian racehorse just last week, Beck?” Hollis asked as she closed her notebook. “You buy horses as if they cost nothing.”
Beck pointed a finger at her. “You are not allowed to offer any opinion or observation just now. Did no one ever tell you to mind your own business?”
Hollis laughed. “Many times. But be forewarned—if I’m not allowed to speak my observations, then I shall write them.”
To the casual observer, this behavior between Hollis and Beck might have been deemed alarmingly impolite, but Beck had known Hollis and Eliza as long as he’d known Caroline. They were family, really. For years, Eliza and Hollis had summered with them at the Hawke country estate. Caroline was a frequent visitor to the home of Justice Tricklebank, their widowed father, who treated her like one of his own. And when their mothers, the best of friends, had died of cholera—Caroline’s mother succumbing after caring for Hollis and Eliza’s mother—Beck had treated Eliza and Hollis as if they were his wards, too.
In other words, he paid them no heed most of the time, and they paid him even less.
Beck stacked his feet on an ottoman. “I’m exhausted. All of this wedding business has taken its toll. I could sleep for days—”
“No, no, no,” Caroline said quickly. “You mustn’t make yourself comfortable, Beck. We’re already late! We must carry on to the ball—it would be the height of inconsiderate behavior to arrive after the newlyweds. You, too, Hollis. It’s time to go.”
“Just a moment,” Hollis said. “I’m making note about the purchase of a racehorse.” She glanced at Beck sidelong.
“Am I never allowed any peace?” Beck groaned. “For God’s sake, then, come on, the two of you. What joy I will experience when you’re both married and I may be relieved of my never-ending duty to escort you about town.”
“What an absurd thing to say,” Caroline said as she checked her headdress one last time. “We are the very reason you are able to attend these events without looking as if you haven’t a friend in the world. You need us, Beck.”
“What I need is silence and a bed,” he said blithely as he offered one arm to Caroline and the other to Hollis. “Let’s get this over and done, shall we, ladies?”
“Oh, Beck, how charming you are,” Hollis said dreamily. “Just when I think I despise you, I discover I love you all over again.”
* * *
WHEN LORD HAWKE and his charges had been announced and had entered the crowded ballroom, Caroline looked around for Prince Leopold. Naturally, after his afternoon of debauchery, he was nowhere to be seen.
She was inexplicably exasperated by his absence. Should he not have been here, in the center of attention, doing his duty as brother of the groom? Prince Sebastian and Eliza were due to arrive at any moment, but his brother couldn’t be bothered to arrive in time?
And why had he come into the private wing of the palace looking as if he’d been wrestling? The king and queen were here, as were a variety of Alucian nobility Caroline had met in the month she’d been in Helenamar.
Well, no matter—Caroline didn’t care a whit. Whenever he did deign to make his appearance, she was quite confident that her stunning dress and her obvious appeal would catch his eye. By then, of course, it would to be too late for him. By then she would be surrounded by admiring gentlemen and have no room for him on her dance card. Being admired was her forte, after all.
She checked her train to make sure it was securely fastened and sallied forth to meet all the gentlemen.
CHAPTER FIVE
With all the excitement of a very grand royal wedding, most would be content to come away with the experience of it. But for the families of several young women, the royal wedding ball was a perfect opportunity to begin talks of a new royal wedding. Alas, while Prince Leopold was seen dancing with no less than a dozen such young women, it is common knowledge that an engagement to a Weslorian songbird has all been arranged, and an announcement will soon be made.
This news did not prevent the only remaining bachelor prince in Alucia from departing the ball before anyone else.
—Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and
Domesticity for Ladies
LEO REQUIRED TWO cups of medicinal tea and a cold bath before he began to feel in control of his faculties. He did not feel himself, really—that encounter in the alleyway had left him rattled. From his initial fear of imminent death, to the more insidious fear that someone was plotting against him, to the new fear creeping into his thoughts about what this Lysander fellow needed to say to him, he couldn’t seem to find his footing.
Were there truly spies among them? He had hoped that the cancer had been rooted out after the murder of Matous in London. That the palace had been swept clean of those plotting to overthrow the king. Then again, that sounded awfully naive, to think the palace had been swept clean of plotting and intrigue. Still, plotting and intrigue never had anything to do with him.
What could Lysander possibly want?
As Leo soaked in the bath, he tried to recall the details from the workhouse riots a few years ago. Lysander was
a priest from the northern mountains of Alucia that formed the border with Wesloria. He’d come to the capital city, like so many other mountain people, in search of work. According to the reports about him at the time of the riots, he’d found deplorable conditions at the workhouses.
Once, Leo had been riding with friends through the streets of Helenamar. They had happened upon the man standing on an overturned crate, shouting at a crowd of people who gave him their rapt attention. “People are dying!” he’d bellowed. “The people in the workhouses lack clean water and decent food!”
“Did he say workhouse or whorehouse?” Edoard, one of Leo’s companions, had quipped. Their friends had laughed. Leo had not laughed. He’d wondered if what the man said was true.
He’d been intrigued by the mountain of a man with the unruly blond hair, and his courage to rebel about those conditions and thereby risk arrest and detention. “Do you suppose it’s true?” he’d asked his friends.
“No,” Edoard had said immediately. “He wants attention, that’s all.”
“He’s lucky he doesn’t have the attention of the metropolitan police,” Jacques had said.
“If Helenamar is to be the jewel of Europe, can such conditions exist for her residents?” the big man had asked the crowd. “If Alucia is to lead the way in economic development, can she treat the most common of her workers like dogs?”
The crowd was riled and began to chant back at him. Pane er vesi. Pane er vesi. Food and water.
“Will any of the men at the highest reaches of your government listen to a man like me?” he shouted.
“Noo!” the crowd roared back.
Lysander shook his head. “No. But they will listen to all of us.”
“Je, je, je, je!” the crowd began to chant.
“Come,” Edoard had said. “Before it gets out of hand.”
It wasn’t until another fortnight had passed that Leo’s curiosity peaked, and he found a way to have a look at the workhouses himself—incognito. He was completely unprepared and unaware of the conditions in which common people lived. The workhouses—dank, overcrowded and dirty—certainly had not been part of his education. People were suffering without adequate food, clothing or shelter. They were made to work long hours for a meager existence. He’d been incensed on their behalf. He’d been reminded again of how privileged he was. His conscience had been pricked.
