The Trouble With Princesses

by Tracy Anne Warren

  Emma apparently had chosen to remain abed, and Sigrid never left her room before noon. Obviously, Ariadne was taking a tray in her bedchamber this morning too.

  Well, she could try avoiding him, but it wouldn’t serve for long.

  He would see to that.

  He instructed his majordomo to send word to Princess Ariadne that she was to attend him in the family drawing room at half past eleven. He would not brook a refusal.

  The servant gave a crisp bow and left to deliver the message.

  That bit of business completed, Rupert went to the buffet, made his selections, then took a seat at the table. He and the other men made little conversation, content to read their newspapers and dwell on their own private thoughts. His were all for Ariadne and what had happened in the library last night.

  It was pure bad luck she’d overheard him talking to Sigrid. If only his sister knew how to mind her own business. If only Ariadne had not come back downstairs to get a book.

  But she had and she’d heard.

  Then again, she’d always known he wanted to protect her and her reputation. What did it matter that he’d never made her a proper proposal of marriage? That first night together when he’d made her fully his own had been as good to him as sealing their vows. Besides, he hadn’t wanted to give her a chance to refuse him.

  And yet she still had.

  I do not want to marry you . . .

  Even now her words had the power to wound him. But he would find a way to change her mind and smooth over the rest. As for the supposed disapproval from members of his court, well, they could just learn to approve of their new queen or suffer his royal displeasure. Ministers and functionaries could always be replaced.

  His cousin finished his meal, then excused himself, explaining that he planned to go for a ride through the royal woodland park, maybe hunt some game.

  Dominic looked up as the younger man left the room, then folded his newspaper and laid it aside. “Rupert, there is something I feel I should tell you.”

  Rupert lifted an eyebrow and set his own paper aside. “Oh? And what is that?”

  “Well, you see, this morning—”

  A quiet knock sounded at the door and the butler stepped inside. “Pardon me. I am sorry to intrude, but I did not think this should wait.”

  “Yes? What is it, Mueller?” Rupert turned inquiringly toward the servant.

  “I went to the princess’s rooms to deliver your message, Your Majesty. I spoke with her maid.”

  “And?”

  The older man straightened his already ramrod-straight spine. “And I was informed that Princess Ariadne departed the palace this morning.”

  “Departed? What do you mean by that? Where did she go? Did her maid say when she would return?”

  “I was told that she does not plan to return. She ordered a coach early this morning and left word that she is returning to England.”

  “What?” Rupert shot to his feet, panic burning like acid in his veins. “Who gave permission for her to take a coach of any kind? And why was I not informed of this earlier?”

  The butler’s skin drained of color. “I did not realize she had gone or that you might wish to know immediately—”

  “Well, I did. What in God’s name were they thinking in the stables to let her leave like that? A woman cannot be permitted to make such a long and arduous journey on her own. Whoever it is who put her in that coach is to be found and escorted from the palace within the hour.”

  “Then I suppose I shall have to pack my bags,” Dominic said from where he sat at the far side of the table.

  Rupert’s head shot around and he pinned him with a look. “What? What did you say?”

  “I was about to tell you something, if you recall, when Mueller interrupted us. What I was going to say is that Ariadne left this morning.”

  “And you knew this how?”

  “Because I am the one who put her in the coach. But she didn’t go alone. I sent a man with her. Goldfinch. He’s one of my former crew and not only able-bodied but highly trustworthy.”

  “Mueller, you may go,” Rupert told the servant in a quiet aside.

  The butler bowed, clearly relieved to be dismissed, and hurried from the room.

  Rupert took a moment to collect himself before once again addressing his brother-in-law. “And why would you do this? Why would you let her leave?”

  “Because she asked me to. Because she said she couldn’t bear to stay here another day and that if I didn’t help her, she would go on her own. You know how she is. I thought it best to at least provide her with some protection.”

  Yes, I know exactly how she is. But how could she do it? How could she leave without so much as a word?

  “I shall go after her,” Rupert said, his voice sounding strained even to his own ears. “She can’t have gotten too far.”

  Dominic had the grace to look regretful. “She knew you’d try to follow her and asked me to tell you not to. She said there’s nothing further to talk about and that whatever you might have to say won’t change her mind. She . . . um . . . also asked me to give you something.”

  “Did she?” he said dully.

  A heaviness settled over Rupert’s chest, a suffocating pressure that made him wonder if that was how it felt to drown, as if he’d been pushed into an icy lake and held under.

  Dominic reached into his waistcoat pocket and withdrew something green and shiny.

  The engagement ring.

  She had returned it, this time for good it would seem.

  The other man walked toward him and laid the jewelry on the table within his reach. “I am sorry. I did try to talk her out of going. She said to tell you good-bye and that she wishes you every happiness.”

  Every happiness?

  He knew he would be many things in the years to come, but he was quite sure that happy would not be one of them. Wordlessly, he closed his hand over the ring, squeezing the stone and metal against his palm until it hurt.

  “Will you go after her anyway?” Dominic asked after a long minute.

  He could. He could drag her back and force her to do as he wished. He could bind her to him in all the ways the law would allow. But she would hate him for it. Without her willing consent, she would never truly be his. Without her love, his life would be meaningless.

  Love?

  How ironic that only now, when she’d deserted him, when he knew it was too late, did he realize what he’d lost.

  Realize that he hadn’t been honest with his sister last night.

  That he loved Ariadne and would give anything, even his kingdom, to have her back.

  “No,” he said in an emotionless voice. “She told me last night she doesn’t want to marry me. She wanted to go, so I shall let her.” A wry smile curved his mouth. “She never was the sort who could live in a cage, not even a gilded one. I guess I shall have to let her go free.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “Ariadne! You’re here!” Princess Mercedes of Alden, Lady MacKinnon, hurried across Castle MacKinnon’s cozy family drawing room as quickly as her six-months-pregnant figure would allow. Arms stretched wide, she enveloped her friend in a fierce hug. “Oh, it’s so good to see you. We had your letter, of course, but didn’t know exactly when you would arrive.”

  “It’s been a long journey,” Ariadne said in a low voice. “I am so glad to be here in Skye at last.”

  And she was.

  Despite Mr. Goldfinch’s excellent care of her and the consideration he’d shown during the trip north to Scotland, she had still found the past few weeks grueling in a way she never had before.

  From the moment she’d fled Neuewaldstein Castle on that final morning, a hollow emptiness had engulfed her, as if she’d left some vital piece of herself behind.

  And she supposed she had.

  After all, didn’t one need a heart?

  She ached during the day. As for the nights . . . oh, the nights were the very worst of all. She couldn’t bear to even think of
those.

  But she was here with friends again in comforting, familiar surroundings, where there would be no reminders of him. He had never been to Daniel and Mercedes’s home in Scotland, so she wouldn’t have to worry about seeing him everywhere she went, remembering, as she would have done in any of Emma and Nick’s homes.

  Nick had been so kind to her when she’d told him she needed to leave. And Emma had understood, even as she’d begged her to stay.

  But leaving had been the right thing to do—the only option under the circumstances.

  Now that she was here, she would have to find the will to survive, the strength to heal. She just wasn’t quite sure how to begin. She’d thought nothing could be worse than the death of her family, that she would never again know such total desolation. Yet without Rupert she felt utterly lost, adrift in a way that was nearly unbearable.

  Some of her thoughts must have shown on her face.

  Mercedes took her hand and led her to the sofa, where they sank down next to each other. “Tell me everything.”

  A hard lump swelled in her throat and she shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “When you’re ready, then. We have time,” Mercedes said with infinite understanding. “Lots of it with winter approaching. It will be lovely having you here for the baby’s birth.”

  Ariadne’s gaze fell to her friend’s rounded belly, swollen with child.

  She wished suddenly, irrationally, that she had conceived. Then she would have something of Rupert, a living piece of him that would welcome her love. The love she knew he did not return, that he would never want.

  Oh, God, how could their affair—something that was supposed to have been just a bit of lighthearted fun—have led to such bitter heartache? He’d been right from the start. She had been too naive to know what she was risking. She hadn’t understood how high a price she would have to pay.

  And suddenly, the tears she’d held back all these weeks, the tears that had refused to come even in the darkest night, burned hot and wet in her eyes.

  On a muffled sob, she launched herself into Mercedes’s arms and let them fall.

  • • •

  Rupert listened with half an ear to his private secretary as the man read out a list of business items requiring attention. His gaze wandered, watching the snow as it fell in blowing swirls outside his office window. By evening, the palace grounds would be draped in a thick blanket of winter white, just right for sleigh riding.

  He would have loved to take Ariadne. He could imagine her pretty cheeks flushed pink, her green eyes flashing with excitement as the two of them sped across the snowy fields. But she would be warm and safe, bundled up in furs and soft blankets, laughing as he bent to—

  Abruptly, he cut off the daydream.

  What am I doing, thinking about her again? There would be no sleigh rides, just as there was no Ariadne. Four months had passed since that dreadful day when she’d left. Four months during which he’d had time to get used to the idea that she was gone from his life forever.

  If only he could put her out of his thoughts once and for all. If only he could rid himself of his memories, when she came to him at night in dreams and left him reaching for her when he awakened alone in his bed.

  What he ought to do was take a mistress and slake his frustrated passions on her. He’d even gone to the bother of setting up a flirtation with a receptive widow here in the court. But on the evening when matters should have progressed to his bed, he’d looked into the woman’s plain brown eyes and wanted to see leaf green ones instead. And when he’d touched his mouth to her oh-so-willing one, he’d felt nothing.

  No desire at all.

  There was only one woman he wanted, and she had refused him in the most explicit manner possible.

  She had given him back his ring and left.

  Ariadne was in his past. He needed to remember that and move on. His ministers were quietly hinting at him again to select a bride, and he supposed he should. But he had no stomach for putting up with some simpering gaggle of girls, certainly none of the ones who had been paraded before him at his father’s funeral last autumn.

  Luckily he had the excuse of being in mourning to put them off. He would use it for a while longer.

  In the meantime, he would work harder to extinguish the last of his emotions for Ariadne.

  I shall banish her from my mind. And even more so, from my heart, once and for all.

  “Do you not agree, Your Majesty?”

  Rupert glanced at his private secretary, having heard not so much as a word the man had been saying. “What?”

  “The arrangements for the coronation. Will you be wanting to personally review the guest list before the invitations are issued or shall we follow the traditional protocol?”

  Rupert scowled.

  The coronation again. It was months away yet, scheduled to take place in the coming summer, when dignitaries from all over Europe and beyond would be able to comfortably make the journey. He knew there was a great deal of planning to be done, but right now he could summon no interest in the matter.

  “I have not yet decided,” he stated.

  “Yes, but the grand chamberlain said he—”

  “I do not care what the grand chamberlain may have had to say on the subject,” he snapped. “I will make a decision when I am ready and not a moment before. Is that understood?”

  His secretary grew instantly silent, then nodded. “Of course, Your Majesty. Your pardon if I was too insistent. I clearly must have spoken out of turn.”

  But he had not, and Rupert knew that if anyone should apologize, it was he. His temper was unusually volatile of late, and his household had begun being especially cautious around him for fear he would lash out at them with the wrong side of his tongue or worse.

  He’d dismissed one of his father’s old retainers three weeks ago for bringing him shaving water that was too hot. He’d made amends later, giving the old man a generous pension, but the damage had been done.

  He stifled a sigh and worked to moderate his tone. “Is there anything else this morning?”

  “No. Only the correspondence. I have reviewed and organized it for your attention, everything except a letter from your sister, the archduchess, that is. I have it here.”

  The younger man passed him the stack of mail, along with a single unopened missive written on elegant cream-colored vellum.

  So Emma had written him again.

  She, Dominic, and the children were back in England, busy passing the winter at their country estate, Lynd Park. Last he’d heard, Ariadne was not with them but in Scotland with Princess Mercedes and her family, where she had been since the autumn.

  But what did he care? He wasn’t going to think about her anymore.

  “Thank you,” he told the other man. “That will be all for now.”

  His secretary bowed, gathered a few belongings, then left the room, closing the door behind him.

  Rupert watched the snow for a long minute, then reached for the letter.

  She spoke mostly of the Christmas celebration just past and how she wished he might have joined them, but understood that he could not get away easily. She relayed news of his nephews’ latest antics, a boat race Dominic was organizing for late spring, and her good health concerning her pregnancy.

  It was on this last score that he came to full attention.

  I had a note only the other day from Mercedes, who was just recently delivered of a strapping baby boy. She had an easy time in childbed. One can only hope the same will hold true for Ariadne when that day comes for her.

  When that day comes for her? What in the blazes was that supposed to mean?

  Ariadne wasn’t pregnant and she certainly wasn’t about to give birth in the near future. So what could Emma possibly mean?

  Unless she was trying to tell him something.

  Unless . . .

  He felt the color drain out of his face.

  Unless she is pregnant, and with my child!

 
Chapter Thirty-one

  Ariadne snuggled deeper into her chair and stretched her slippered toes toward the toasty fire that blazed in the drawing room’s wide stone hearth.

  Outside, the late February air was cold and damp, the winds that blew in off the Atlantic whistling around the castle walls in steady gusts that would have shaken a lesser building to its rafters. But they were all safe and warm and comfortable inside, the castle’s formerly drafty interior pleasantly snug now due to Daniel MacKinnon’s extensive, and most excellent, improvements to what had not long ago been a crumbling ruin.

  Still, no matter how cozy she might be at the moment, tucked away with a book, a blanket across her lap, and a mug of hot cider, Ariadne knew she could not hide here with her friends forever. When spring arrived and the land turned green once more, she would have to make some decisions.

  Maybe she would take a house in Italy or Greece for a few months. She’d been told the sunshine in such climes could chase away even the worst kinds of doldrums. If only the idea brought her some measure of excitement. But try as she might, nothing seemed to cheer her of late; not even Mercedes and Daniel’s adorable children could rouse more than a wan smile.

  Back at the end of September, her twenty-fifth birthday had arrived at long last, and with it possession of her full inheritance.

  She was an independent woman now; she could do whatever she liked, go anywhere her fancy might take her.

  Yet what had brought her such anticipatory joy only a few months earlier no longer had the power to excite her. Once she had dreamed of traveling the world and making her mark as a notorious adventuress, but the thrill over such plans had gone.

  The whole notion bored her now.

  As for finding a new lover, the idea left her ice-cold. She couldn’t imagine inviting another man into her bed, not after Rupert. Anyone else would be a poor second, and she’d never been the sort of woman who was willing to settle for imitations. She’d given him her innocence and in turn he’d stolen her heart. She had nothing left to give anymore.