A Royal Kiss & Tell

by Julia London

  “Susan? Susan!”

  Leo leaned forward slightly, listening.

  “What have you got there?”

  “Linens, Mr. Garrett. We’ve changed her bed linens.”

  “Fetch Ann. Have her take these flowers to Lady Caroline, compliments of His Royal Highness Prince Leopold.”

  Leo winced. Lady Caroline would read far too much into that, he was certain.

  “I beg your pardon, Mr. Garrett, but Ann has gone to fetch her soup.”

  Leo’s ears pricked up.

  “Then you take them,” Garrett said. “I must attend his lordship.”

  There was a lot of movement, a rustling of fabric, a small sound of exasperation. But then Leo heard Garrett’s sure footfall move away. An idea suddenly came to him, and he half leaped to the door before Susan could get away. He poked his head around the corner of the frame to see the maid standing where Garrett had left her, a pile of bed linens in one arm and his flowers in the other hand. When she saw him, her eyes widened, and she glanced nervously down the corridor. She looked as if she wanted to flee.

  “May I be of service?” He smiled his most charming smile.

  The maid blinked. “I, ah... I can...this is not...” she stammered.

  Leo stepped out of the salon. “Susan...allow me to be of service,” he said smoothly.

  CHAPTER TEN

  A stalwart patron of the opera has recently taken to riding on Rotten Row in the evenings. It is said she will not miss the appointment, for her husband’s gift of proper riding lessons has come with the services of an instructor who is not only a competent rider, he has eyes the color of a summer sky. Our lady does prefer summer to other seasons.

  The new trend in home ownership, begun by a royal visitor to our shores, is to find abandoned ruins to renovate for purposes that defy this writer’s imagination.

  Ladies, it is never too soon to introduce obedience into the lives of your children. Experts advise that when they begin to express what they want, either with words or gestures, obedience should be the first lesson taught.

  —Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and

  Domesticity for Ladies

  CAROLINE FELT AS if she’d been living in a cave somewhere far away from the world and from London, and it left her feeling very tired and cross. “Am I to live, Martha?” she asked. “Please answer truly. I want no false hope.”

  “You are to live a long and happy life, Lady Caroline,” Martha said reassuringly, and rolled her onto her side.

  Martha and another maid were putting fresh linens on her bed, which necessitated a lot of rolling her back and forth. “Can this not wait?” Caroline complained.

  “No, milady, it cannot,” Martha said firmly, and used another cold compress to wipe her face.

  Caroline pushed her hand away. She felt grimy and sticky, and when she put her hand to her hair, she felt on the verge of tears. It was a terrible tangle. She imagined it would take weeks to return to her former glorious self.

  The commotion around her eventually settled, and Caroline closed her eyes once more, ignoring the whispering as the maids scurried around her. She heard someone mention soup and said, “Yes, soup, please.”

  There was the sound of a door opening and closing, and then, blessedly, nothing. But as she lay there, she became aware of a smell so sweet that she had to open her eyes and see what it was. Well, she opened one eye, as her face was mashed against the pillow. She thought she saw the figure of a man standing beside her bed. It had to be a dreamy hallucination. Or the wire dress form, shaped to her figure, which she kept in her room. She’d been working on her latest sartorial creation when she’d taken ill.

  She lifted her head so she’d have the benefit of both eyes. That was not a wire dress form, nor was it a hallucination or apparition. No, that was very clearly the Arse of Alucia, smiling down at her and holding her grandmother’s vase full of fragrant yellow flowers.

  “Am I disturbing you?” he asked pleasantly, as if they were at an afternoon social function, or as if they were just leaving church services and strolling along a path. What the devil was he doing in her room? And why was he holding those flowers? She managed to get herself up on an elbow to look him over. “Do you...do you live here now?” she asked uncertainly. She wouldn’t put anything past Beck.

  He laughed. “No, but I’m very close by. I’ve taken rooms at the Clarendon.”

  Caroline let herself drop, and rolled, facedown, onto her pillow. “This is unbelievable,” she said into the soft cover, then rolled onto her back. “Have you been here all along?”

  “All along?”

  “For the two days I’ve been sick.”

  “No. But I’ve come periodically to see after your brother. He’s been consumed with worry for you. It’s not been two days, however—I believe we’ve entered the fourth day of the death watch. But you keep defying the odds.”

  Something about that didn’t make sense. “Day four?” she repeated. “That’s not possible.” She turned her head to look at the window. Gray light filtered in through the gap in the drapes. Was it possible? Had she really been ill for so long? Good Lord, her legs were probably entirely useless now. She pictured herself in a wheeled chair, being pushed about by Hollis.

  “It is entirely possible, Lady Caroline. And once again, you’ve created quite a stir.”

  “What do you mean?” She turned her head to look at him.

  “Have you forgotten the many stirs you created in Helenamar?”

  She thought about that a moment. “I did wear some stunning gowns,” she conceded.

  “I wasn’t...that was not...” He shook his head.

  “What are those?”

  He glanced at the bouquet he held. “Flowers.”

  “Yes, but...did you bring them for me?”

  He stared at the bouquet as if he wasn’t certain why he’d brought them. “They were... Yes.” He met her gaze. “I did.”

  “Oh dear. You really must have feared I would die. No doubt you will demand an apology from me for not going through with it, but I won’t give it to you.”

  A wry smile tipped up one corner of his mouth. “I would most certainly think you on the verge of death if you apologized for anything. Can you sit up?”

  “Of course I can sit up,” she said irritably, and gamely tried to push herself up. But the exertion was overwhelming.

  The prince put the flowers on her bedside table and leaned over and slipped his hands beneath her arms and lifted her up. “Stop that!” Caroline cried out with alarm. “I’m perfectly capable.”

  “No, you’re not,” he said as he held her up, then shoved some pillows behind her. “All right, then?”

  “All right,” she grudgingly admitted. She felt entirely conspicuous with him hovering over her like he was. “Must you stand just there?”

  “Your brother was right. You are cross. I’ll report to him that you cannot possibly be in any danger of departing this earth. I understand that people on their deathbed are more repentant.”

  “Whatever would I have to repent?” she asked him, quite seriously. She thought herself rather good, all in all. She wasn’t perfect by any means, but she did love her brother, and she loved her friends, and she was generally kind to everyone she met. Even this arse. Well, she’d been kind to him before he’d been rude to her, at least. “Why are you here?” she asked. “I should think you would be on your jolly way after your attempt to defile our servant was thwarted. Who was she?”

  “What on earth are you talking about?” he asked with a smile of bemusement.

  He stood there looking impossibly handsome and innocent. Oh, but he thought she’d forgotten. Well, she hadn’t forgotten a blessed thing. She looked at the flowers he’d brought and pondered his entirely suspect motives. “What a curious place a dark hallway is to meet a proper acquaintance,” she said.


  The prince leaned casually against a poster at the foot of her bed. “You must have been entirely delirious. You’ve created a fantasy.”

  “It was no fantasy, Your Highness. You were in the hallway with a woman, and now you are in my room. But how? Garrett would never allow it.”

  “He doesn’t know I’m here.”

  She blinked. “What? Where is Beck?”

  “Preparing to go out for the evening. Which is why Garrett was not available to bring these flowers. I thought to do it for him.”

  She flicked her gaze over his magnificently masculine figure. His perfect appearance reminded her of how she must look. She wanted to sink under the covers and hide. “I’m not ready for callers,” she said. “I am not at my best. I’m feeling rather weak, so perhaps you’d like to return to the study to wait for Beck.”

  “I think you will be feeling better very soon. I understand soup is being prepared for you.” He smiled slowly, and it was warm and sympathetic, and it made her feel a little tingly in her head.

  “I should think the Alucian government would want you as far away from illness as possible.”

  “I suspect if the government were to get a good look at you, you’d be right.”

  Caroline tried to snort, but it was impossible due to her stuffy head.

  “Your brother has been terribly worried.”

  Caroline had snatches of memory of Beck leaning over her, his hair dangling across his forehead.

  “I lost a sister to fever, you know,” he said.

  “Pardon?”

  “She was quite young, only three years when a fever took her.”

  Caroline pushed up a little higher in her mountain of pillows. “I never knew you had a sister.”

  “It was a very long time ago. I was awfully young, too, but I remember it very well. Hawke certainly feared losing you, notwithstanding the fortune he claims you have spent on dressmakers and modistes and cloth merchants.”

  “Has he complained of it again?” Caroline asked with a weary sigh. “I try to intercept the invoices before he sees them.” She actually hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud.

  The prince chuckled and eased himself onto the foot of her bed. “He takes very good care of you.”

  That was true. Beck could have made her life miserable if he’d wanted to after their parents were gone. But he’d always been very protective of her. “I take care of him, too. It’s been only the two of us for so long now,” she said wistfully. For some reason, tears welled in her eyes. Lord. “He’s been like a father to me. I scarcely remember my real father. You’re fortunate, to have your father still with you.” She swiped at one tear that had leaked. Is this what illness had done to her? Made her wretchedly sentimental?

  “My father was not much of a father, really,” he offered matter-of-factly. Caroline waited for him to clarify, assuming he said it in jest. But the prince didn’t smile. He merely shrugged again. “Old complaints die hard, I suppose, but my brother had my father’s attention. He spent our youth preparing Sebastian for the throne. I was... I was merely there. He scarcely noticed me at all.”

  Surely that wasn’t true. Caroline couldn’t imagine having a father who didn’t notice her. What little she remembered of her father came with warm, loving feelings.

  “Ah, but such are the hazards of being born the second son in a royal family,” he added with a wistful smile.

  Someone knocked softly on the door. The prince stood as it swung open, and the new maid came in, carrying a tray with a bowl of soup. The scent was so savory that Caroline’s stomach growled.

  But the maid stopped walking halfway across the room. She was obviously flustered by the prince’s presence, as well she should have been, and dipped an imperfect curtsy and almost spilled the soup. “Don’t mind him, Ann. He shouldn’t be here.”

  But Ann did mind him. Her face turned red and she so ardently avoided making eye contact that Caroline couldn’t help but notice. She couldn’t imagine how shy one would have to be not to at least steal a glimpse of the man—he was a handsome prince! But Ann Marble was working very hard to keep her gaze averted from him as she carried the tray across the room.

  She put the tray on Caroline’s lap and almost spilled it again when Beck burst through the door, his hair dripping from being combed wet.

  “Caro! You’ve come to! What a relief it is to see you sitting up. Martha says we ought to apply one more poultice,” he said, striding across the room. “The fever has broken, but we must be cautious and draw the last of the illness out of you. So if you have the slightest inclination to help the poultice along, I suggest that you do so.”

  Caroline picked up her spoon. “How on earth does one help a poultice along?”

  “What? I’m not a doctor, darling, so I can hardly be expected to know. But do heed what I say. I hope you are never so ill again. We were desperately close to having you leeched.”

  “Leeched!” she exclaimed as Beck straightened the tray on her lap.

  “You see? That’s why I need you to help the poultice along.” He gestured for her to sit up and removed some of the pillows from behind her. “Oh dear, your hair,” he said with a wince. “Well, Martha will repair it. If she can, that is. It looks as if some of it might need to be cut out—”

  “Beck!”

  “Ah, here is Martha with the poultice,” he said as her lady’s maid appeared at her bedside.

  Whatever she was carrying smelled bloody awful. “Might I have the soup first?” Caroline begged. “I’m famished.”

  “Yes, of course!” Martha chirped. “And then we’ll put this on your chest.” She pushed Caroline gently forward and put the same pillow behind her that Beck had just removed. She smoothed Caroline’s hair. “Dear me,” she said, wincing. “That will take some work.”

  This was exhausting. Caroline wanted only to eat her soup and sleep again. She looked around her brother to see if the prince was still standing insouciantly at the foot of the bed. But he’d disappeared.

  And so had Ann.

  The only way Caroline could be certain the prince had been here at all was by the presence of the very cheerful flowers on her bed stand. She frowned down at her soup as Beck nattered on, proclaiming himself so relieved she would recover in time for the Montgomery ball. “I know how you love a ball,” he said, pleased with himself for remembering.

  Caroline might have been desperately ill, but she was still whip smart when it came to men, and she still knew when they were catting about.

  And that rake of a prince was catting about with one of their chambermaids.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Invitations have been delivered for the Montgomery ball, an annual event that marks the beginning of the summer social calendar. All persons of import will be in attendance, including the new prime minister. His wife will not be in attendance, however, as she is said to be enjoying her cabbage garden in Kent. Other guests will include a recently widowed earl who is in much demand and, naturally, a visiting prince to round out the list.

  Ladies, a hint of rouge on your cheeks at dusk will give you a healthy, youthful glow, which will delight your husband and keep him at home.

  —Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and

  Domesticity for Ladies

  ANN MARBLE WAS a mousy thing, and Leo was mystified how she came to be involved in this indelicate matter.

  He caught her in the hall when Beck had come into Lady Caroline’s room. Cornered her, really, in a manner he was not proud of, particularly given how frightened she had seemed of him. “You’ve nothing to fear,” he assured her. “I need your help.”

  She looked frantically about, her eyes growing wider. “I told you, I could lose my position!” she whispered harshly.

  Leo was not used to anyone saying no to him and wasn’t quite certain how to convince her she must do as he said
without causing a scene. “It is imperative that I speak with you—”

  “Not here,” she said quickly, and craned her neck to see past him. “In the market on Wednesday.” She glanced up at him warily.

  Leo stared at her. “The market? What market?”

  She whispered something.

  “Pardon? I didn’t catch that. I am not... I don’t know the markets,” he admitted. How could he possibly know? Everything he needed was purchased for him.

  “Half past two. I’m to buy poultry. The good chickens come on Wednesdays.” And then she whirled and dipped to one side, as if she thought he would try to stop her, and fled down the hallway.

  Leo stood there like a dunce, confused. What had she said? All he’d heard was half past two on Wednesday and good chickens. But which market? How did he go about finding a poultry market without drawing attention to himself? And bloody hell, as if he didn’t have any number of things he must do on Wednesday, the lass had summoned him like a suitor...

  All right, he didn’t have so many things to do on Wednesday. Tea with the Alucian ambassador, that was all. He never had anything of importance to occupy him—he generally filled his days with social calls and gentlemen’s clubs. In light of what he was endeavoring to do now, that all seemed rather...indolent. Yes. In light of what he was trying to do now—very much on his own, thank you—it was embarrassingly indolent.

  Beck finally emerged from his sister’s room, his vivacity and naturally jovial spirit having returned to him, babbling about her renewed health and the fact that she’d lapped up that bowl of soup with the eagerness of a dog. Off they went to the club, where Beck passed around the room, reporting to anyone and everyone that his sister was “much recovered”—although she hadn’t looked so recovered to Leo—and “fit as a fiddle.”

  Then Beck sat and complained that Leo had hardly touched the gin and wondered aloud why that was. “You don’t think you’ve come down with an ague, do you?” he asked. “Caro might have been very contagious.”