by Julia London
Henry made another sound of disbelief, then bellowed, “You can’t just walk out of here with one of my servants!”
“She’s not a servant—she’s a slave,” Leo said.
Henry stepped into Leo’s path.
Leo groaned. “I really rather hoped we might avoid this,” he said, but he knew that he would not avoid what was coming. Henry took a swing and landed it squarely on Leo’s jaw. An explosion of pain blinded him for a moment, but by some miracle, he didn’t topple over.
He let go Jacleen’s hand and swung back, connecting with Henry’s chest, and followed that with a slap upside his head. Henry came at him with both hands, but before he could put them around Leo’s neck, one of the maids raced into the kitchen.
“Your Grace!” she cried, arms flailing. “It’s time!”
Henry did not go to his wife at once but bellowed more things after Leo and Jacleen, mainly about how Leo would never be welcome in Britain again. The poor Weslorian girl was trembling so hard that he worried she’d collapse. But then Henry had seemed to decide he best go meet his child, and the bellowing ceased.
Leo hurried down a very long hall until Jacleen asked in a voice scarcely above a whisper if he meant to go out, for he was going deeper into the castle. “Then if you would be so kind as to direct me to the service entrance,” he said. Jacleen pointed in the direction they’d come. Which meant they needed to retrace their steps through the kitchen. With a groan, Leo pulled her along behind him. He avoided eye contact with the cook, who was, oddly enough, still standing in the very spot they’d left her.
At last they emerged from the castle into a service courtyard, and there, just as he knew they would be, were Kadro and Artur. They were on horseback, and in between them was a saddled horse without a rider.
And quite unexpectedly, there was also a young lad. He spoke to Jacleen in Weslorian, and she turned a panicked look to Leo. “My brother.”
“Your brother?”
Before he could think what to do, a sudden burst from the kitchen door startled them all. It was the footman who had witnessed the altercation in the kitchen. He had a cloth bundle of some sort, which he tossed to the boy. To Jacleen, he said, “Godspeed,” and disappeared back inside.
None of this was in Leo’s plans. He didn’t really have plans, but this was not what he’d anticipated, and it produced such anxiety in him that he thought his heart might give out. But there was no time to wait for that. They had to move. Kadro and Artur had not expected Jacleen or the boy, but when Leo told Kadro to put her before him in the saddle, he did as he was commanded without question. Artur lifted the lad up behind him, and Leo took the third horse.
Leo did not miss the look shared between his two loyal guards. They thought the worst of him, he supposed. He could hardly blame them. Through the years, they’d had to peel him up off floors and drag him out of beds. They knew what sort of sot he was on a normal day and no doubt they thought this was a drunken shenanigan.
But today was not a normal day. On the one end of it, he’d had those few stolen moments with Caroline that still lingered in his blood. On the other end of it, he had a frightened Weslorian girl and her brother, who surely thought they were being dragged off to an even worse situation. And in between those ends, he’d hardly had a drop.
He took Jacleen and her brother to Cressidian.
Cressidian met him at the door of his house in a dressing gown. He took one look at Jacleen, and then the lad, and said to Leo, “That’s three now, Highness.”
“I realize this is an imposition, sir, but I—”
Cressidian interrupted him by throwing his hand up and pointing down the hall. “Go,” he said to Jacleen and her brother.
Jacleen looked with alarm at Leo, then took her brother’s hand and walked uncertainly in the direction he pointed.
Cressidian glared at Leo. “I need money for their keep.”
“More money?” Leo asked, surprised. “I should think what I’ve given you thus far should suffice.”
“You think wrong, Highness. And if you don’t want to pay me fairly for their keep, I think the Weslorian ambassador would be interested in what you are doing.”
Leo arched a brow. “Beg your pardon, but are you extorting me?”
“Call it what you like. I’m just asking for their keep.”
Leo sighed. He looked at the grand house, at the marble floors and gold-plated fixtures, the crystal chandeliers. Mr. Cressidian was a very wealthy man. “I’ll have my secretary arrange a stipend.”
“A hundred pounds per head,” Mr. Cressidian said.
Leo bristled. “They are not cattle, they are human beings.”
Mr. Cressidian shrugged. “All the same to me.”
So now Leo had a castle, could hear his chickens behind the hotel, had added a young boy he’d not expected to his improbable rescue mission, was paying a very wealthy man one hundred pounds for each of them, and half the town was avoiding him altogether. He would have quite a lot of explaining to do when he returned to Helenamar.
But he still had three more women to rescue. That was going to prove to be difficult because all of Leo’s invitations had dried up. Even the gentlemen who had greeted him each day in the lobby of the Clarendon Hotel avoided him now.
He read about the parties happening around him in Honeycutt’s Gazette, parties he could no longer attend.
He was reading about one now, as it happened, and he lowered his paper to look at Josef over the top of it. “Not a single invitation?” he asked again.
“None, Your Highness.”
Leo shifted uncomfortably. There had been a time in his life here that a party wasn’t anything at all to write about in the papers if he didn’t attend it. “What of Hawke?” Leo asked glumly. “Has he responded to my invitation to dine?”
Josef was pointedly silent.
Leo had guessed Beck would be unhappy with what had happened at Arundel, but this was more than he’d anticipated. His friend had disappeared from the earth. But Caroline was still flitting from salon to salon, apparently. According to the gazette, some lady was wearing a dress she’d made, and the sleeves were unique and all the rage now.
Leo was completely obsessed with any mention of Caroline in that gazette. When he wasn’t thinking what to do with his three wards, and how to reach Rasa, he was thinking about her. He even felt unusual pangs of jealousy at the mention of suitors. Bloody hell. What a mess he’d made for himself. He couldn’t even get her brother to respond to his invitation.
He sighed and glanced at his secretary. “Well, Josef, I suppose you might inquire of the hotel if one of my chickens might be made ready for us this evening, as I’ve no place to dine.”
“Ambassador Redbane has asked for a moment, Your Highness. He has some dispatches from Alucia.”
“Oh,” Leo said, perking up a bit. “Is he here?”
“Je.”
“Bring him,” he said, eager to have some company.
Ambassador Redbane, a jovial gentleman, hailed from the southern border of Alucia—the wine region, where people were known for their hospitality.
Redbane greeted Leo enthusiastically, which gave Leo a glimmer of hope that news of him hadn’t reached into every corner. The ambassador had very little for him, mainly a letter from his mother the queen, which said very little. “Not a word from Bas or Eliza?”
Redbane shook his head.
Leo studied him. “Do you know what I think, Redbane? I think we ought to have a party and celebrate my time here in England before it draws to a close.”
For the first time since he’d arrived, Redbane’s smile dimmed. He looked down at his leather pouch in which he carried the official correspondence and winced.
“Oh dear,” Leo said. “What’s that look?”
Redbane sighed. “I would be remiss,” he said carefully, “if I w
ere to allow you to believe that such a gathering would be...well attended.”
“Is that so,” Leo said. He sniffed back a wave of offense. He was still a bloody prince, wasn’t he?
“I mean no offense, Highness,” Redbane hastened to assure him.
“Offense taken,” Leo muttered.
Redbane’s face began to pinken. “It, ah...it has to do with what some perceive as your proclivities.”
“My proclivities? I have no proclivities, Redbane. I am proclivitless.”
“With housemaids and...women of the night.” Redbane whispered the last part. “And...and it has been suggested that perhaps you should return to Alucia.”
Leo stiffened. “Women of the night, Redbane? You mean prostitutes, for heaven’s sake. We are grown men here.”
Redbane turned redder. He cleared his throat. But it wasn’t this poor man’s fault. It was solely on Leo’s shoulders, and he couldn’t let the ambassador suffer any longer. He waved a hand at him. “Pay me no heed, sir. I’ve heard the same. Has the king heard the rumors, as well?”
“I can’t say for certain,” Redbane said carefully. “But I would suspect that he has. I have received word from the foreign secretary that you are to depart for Alucia as soon as is reasonably possible.” He handed him a folded vellum, sealed in wax and stamped with the official signet of the king of Alucia.
Leo took the vellum from him. “You’ve been holding out on me,” he said with a wry smile. He didn’t break the seal right away. “Fine. But there is something I must do before I leave England.” Leo abruptly stood up. “Will you send Josef to me?”
The ambassador came to his feet. He bowed and went out. When Josef appeared, Leo said, “I mean to go round to Lord Hawke’s house this afternoon.”
“Je, as you wish, Your Highness.”
What he wished was beyond Josef’s capacity to provide. He wanted to find all five women and see Caroline again. Beyond that, he didn’t know any more. He couldn’t imagine it. He couldn’t imagine being married to Lady Eulalie and thinking of a beautiful blonde woman in England every day for the rest of his life, but he feared that was his fate.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
A gentleman who inherited a fortune invested it all so heavily in a defunct railway that now he is left penniless. Reports are that there is keen interest in his Mayfair abode, which now stands empty.
An unfortunate encounter with a candle nearly set Lady Hogarth aflame. It is highly recommended that one not stand so close to the dinner buffet when dressed in formal wear.
The number of potential suitors for the sister of a baron has grown, as word of a sizable dowry has spread like the Great Fire of London.
—Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and
Domesticity for Ladies
FOR ONCE, BECK had proven himself to be dreadfully serious in his quest to see Caroline married, particularly after they returned from Sussex.
Two days ago, he’d wandered into her room and had surveyed the bolts of cloth and dress forms before leveling a gaze on Caroline. She was seated on the floor with her legs crossed, still in her dressing gown, poring over fashion plates.
“What has happened?” he asked, casting one arm out. “Has a cyclone struck? An earthquake? Has a gang ransacked our home?”
“You’re so amusing, Beck! As you can see, I am making dresses.”
“When did this become your leisurely pursuit? I’ve never known you to give your attention to anything other than the post and the invitations that might be there.”
“That is not true. I’ve been interested in very many things, but you’re so busy with your carousing you haven’t noticed. If you are truly interested, I’ve always been fascinated with the latest styles, but my desire to make my own began when the Alucians arrived in town.”
“Alucians have been in London since the dawn of time,” Beck pointed out.
“You’re right—my interest peaked when the royal Alucians came to London. Why do you care?”
“Because I’d rather not scare off any potential suitors with bolts of cloth and dress forms and any other indication of your wretched spending habits,” he said, fluttering his fingers at the piles of cloth. “Lord March was quite plainly frightened.”
She shrugged.
“Robert Ladley and his cousin Betina will come to dine this evening, and next week, we will join the Pennybackers and meet Mr. Trent.”
“Mr. Trent?” She looked up at him. “Who is Mr. Trent?”
“He is a gentleman of good looks and moral character, but more important, he’s made a bloody fortune in the manufacture of steam-powered agricultural implements.”
“Pardon?”
“Thrashers and whatnot,” Beck said with a flick of his wrist.
Caroline could not see herself married to a man who made thrashers and whatnot. She wasn’t entirely sure what that was, but it didn’t sound very glamorous.
Beck sighed impatiently. “He is a wealthy man, Caro. He is young and fit, and he is in need of a wife. You are a pretty woman with a generous dowry and in need of a husband. You might as well set your mind to it. I’m determined to do what our parents would have wanted and marry you well. Now, as you know, I am leaving this afternoon for Sussex and the Four Corners race. While I’m away, Uncle Hogarth and his wife will arrive in London with their cousin, Viscount Ainsley. Surely one of these gentlemen will be to your liking.”
“How can you even suggest it? Do you know Mr. Trent or Viscount Hainey?”
“Ainsley,” Beck said. He stepped over a bolt of cloth on his way to the door. “I don’t need to know them. I need only ensure that they have the means to provide for you and care for you. I’m to Sussex.”
“Is that all you need to know? What if you make your grand arrangement and attach the almighty pound to it, and we find we are hopelessly incompatible?”
“Unlikely,” he said flippantly.
“Why do you not attend to your own marriage, and leave me be? I am perfectly content the way things are.”
“It’s not natural. And when you are gone from my care, perhaps I will indeed invite a wife into this,” he said, gesturing at her room. “There’s no point in arguing, darling! You will be engaged by the year’s end.” He walked out.
“That’s what you think,” Caroline muttered darkly, and turned back to her fashion plates. She was not interested in the gentlemen Beck had rustled up for her. Even the two she’d never met, which, admittedly, would normally thrill her. She loved meeting new gentlemen and flirting with them and playing her little game. How long before they were smitten? How quickly could she turn their head? Hollis said she was vain, and Caroline had readily agreed that was true. But that wasn’t it, that wasn’t it at all. Until recently, she hadn’t met a man yet who truly deserved her, whose curiosity had emboldened her to show a different side of herself, to take that chance that perhaps she was not as awful as she feared...and when she did meet that man, he was the worst man on earth.
It vexed her no end that she could scarcely think of anyone else but Leopold. She would be glad when he was gone from their shores, because as long as he was here, she was consumed with thoughts of him. He was a sickness, a fever she couldn’t shake. It was maddening to think of him so often and to constantly recall that night and the way his mouth felt on her. It was absurd to pine for a man who would rather dip his wick into the poor maids across Mayfair. It was infuriating to still want to be near him after what had happened in Arundel.
Caroline didn’t make sense to herself anymore. She’d never been like this—she’d always known exactly what she wanted and was quick to withdraw her affections or attention the moment a gentleman became bothersome. But not this one—this one, this prince, made her feel ravenous, as if she couldn’t get enough of him. As if she’d eaten an entire raspberry cake and still wanted her supper.
Oh, but he’d done it,
that scoundrel. He was persona non grata in any respectable house after what had happened in Arundel. Word had spread quickly...perhaps because she’d come back and gone directly to Hollis.
She’d not heard a word from him since their return, either. Every time someone came to the door, she would rush to the railing above the entry and remain just out of sight to see who had come, in the same manner she used to do when she was a girl. In the same manner she’d done in Constantine Palace. It was never anyone but Beck and his friends. Why didn’t he call? Why didn’t he at least call on Beck? She was desperate to ask her brother if he had ended his friendship with the prince on principle. That didn’t sound like Beck, but then again, there were occasions when he would step out on principle.
On the other hand, she didn’t dare ask Beck a thing lest she risk him knowing all the confusing thoughts rattling around her.
Whatever had transpired between Beck and Leopold, it seemed apparent by week’s end that they’d gone their separate ways. Beck hadn’t mentioned him at all, and now he’d departed to Sussex. She was left with nothing. No explanation, nothing but the burning hole in her heart.
* * *
WHEN PRINCE LEOPOLD DID, at last, call on the Hawke household, he did so at the most inopportune time. Uncle Hogarth and Aunt Clarissa were in her salon, flanking their young friend, the perfectly polite and handsome Viscount Ainsley. Lord Ladley had arrived, too, clearly having heard of the Hogarth visit from Beck, and clearly not wanting to lose ground to an interloper who’d only just returned from America.
Generally, Caroline would be beside herself with glee to have so many gentlemen assembled in her salon. There was nothing more pleasing than when a prince came calling while others were around to witness. But not this prince and not this time. The moment Garrett said his name, she’d wished the floor would open up and swallow her guests whole.
The five of them were to dine at the Debridges’ house that evening, along with ten other souls. Someone had brought up the prospect of dancing, and Aunt Clarissa had lamented the fact that she had not learned the latest Alucian dance making its rounds of London salons. Uncle Hogarth had boasted that Caroline was a fine dancer, and to the merriment of all, Caroline was attempting to show her aunt the dance steps as the gentlemen had a port. They were all laughing when Garrett interrupted to announce a caller.
