by May Burnett
“Did you enjoy your first season, Louisa?”
“It was very strange, after living so quietly in our home, but exciting, of course. The presentation at court, with that old-fashioned dress, all those other new clothes, eating in the middle of the night, dancing with so many gentlemen … I did not like the great crushes and people gossiping all day. I had several offers, but my parents are allowing me to make my own choice, as long as the man is eligible.” She sighed. “How can I accept anyone, while my affections are fixed on another? It would only lead to unhappiness.”
Minerva was not surprised that Miss Prentice had already had several offers. The girl was pretty enough, of good family, and had a dowry of forty thousand pounds. When she was not making a fool of herself over Rook, her manners were lively and engaging.
“For some people it is enough to have strong friendship and respect, and love may come later,” she said, “but in view of your youth, there is every chance that love may yet strike – or come again, if it does not work out the first time.”
“That is all very well,” Louisa retorted, “but some people love only once, Lady Minerva.” She sounded unnervingly certain.
Minerva did not respond. She herself had not truly loved anyone before her husband Henry, and fully expected to love only him for the rest of her life. But it was a very different thing if love was not mutual. To cling to an unrequited feeling was foolish beyond permission, and not to be encouraged. Even were Rook not engaged to that Princess, he would never marry Miss Prentice. She was much too obvious with her adoration, and Rook detested being pursued.
Could this unwanted engagement be fate’s punishment on Rook, for spurning the love of innocent girls like Louisa?
Chapter 6
The third day came and passed, and by dinner there was no sign of the Princess. Everyone in the party was speculating what hindrances on the road might have prevented her arrival. Rook’s appetite had fully recovered; it never deserted him for long. Perhaps the Princess had decided she could not stomach a suitor of inferior rank after all, and turned back halfway to Amberley.
That incipient hope was crushed two hours after the conclusion of the meal, when a smartly uniformed rider delivered a sealed message to Lord Amberley. Rook, who was playing billiards with him at the time, watched George peruse it, and scowl before he had finished reading. That expression was unusual on the earl’s normally amiable face. Whatever news the message contained, it could not be good.
“She’s coming tomorrow morning. Here, you’d better have a look for yourself,” George said, handing Rook the missive.
Rook put down his cue with foreboding.
To the esteemed most honourable Earl and Countess Amberley:
I have been directed by H.R.H. the Princess Gisela von und zu Obernberg to announce her arrival punctually at ten on the morning of June 28th. It is expected that her hosts as well as her future spouse and other guests be waiting at the point where she is to alight from her coach, to properly receive her.
Regarding the further protocol for the forthcoming visit, I am directed to inform you that the proper address is Your Royal Highness, and to remind you that no gentleman or lady may sit in the presence of a Princess, without explicit leave, nor enter or leave her presence without permission.
Good God!
Post Scriptum. We trust that the arrangements for H.R.H. Princess Gisela’s accommodations and entertainment will be suitable and appropriate to her rank. She detests fresh-cut flowers and pets, so her apartments must not contain any of the former. Nor does she eat fish, and dislikes its smell, so please ensure that none is served in her vicinity.
Rook stared at the signature: Anna von Rosenfels. Like the whole letter, it was written in very beautiful, regular script, completely different from his own careless scrawl.
He already hated the woman. But maybe that was unfair, if she was acting under direct instructions of her Princess. A woman who hated fish, flowers, and pets? Was his father insane, to betroth him to such a demanding shrew? Would she expect him to banish his dog Jarl, who was even now yearning for his return, from their home? If it ever came to a choice between his faithful hound and this haughty Princess, she might receive a painful surprise.
“I must show the letter to Marianne,” George said, “all the guest rooms have flowers, and we serve a fish course at every meal. As for the pets, I am certainly not going to take away Verena’s little dog, and the others are not allowed inside anyway. This Princess does not sound like a very suitable match for you, I fear.”
“No,” Rook said. “So she wants us all standing ready to receive her at ten?”
“Maybe you could be absent for the whole day, unaware of the letter. If you start bowing to this Princess’s expectations right away, she will make your life hell. Begin as you mean to go on.”
“Running away would not be a sign of strength either,” Rook pointed out, “but I will take your advice under consideration. Are you really going along with all these demands, considering that you never actually invited the woman to your home?”
“The letter from the Foreign Office leaves me little choice. But it will depend on what other demands she makes. We shall see.” George left to seek out his countess, abandoning their game. Rook, who had been winning, put both cues back on the rack.
He prowled through the corridors of Amberley, and let himself out of the house by the useful side door from the conservatory to the gardens, not bothering to change. The summer night was cool, but pleasantly so. Rook rarely felt cold, even in winter.
The Princess had thrown down the gauntlet. If he was to marry her, he’d have to show from the very first moment that he had no intention of submitting to her demands, as even George had immediately understood.
She expected him to stand meekly at attention as she descended from her coach, dressed in his best clothes? His blood boiled at the notion. Rook was not going to play the part she expected in her royal dominance games, not now, not ever. He might be forced to marry her out of family duty, but he was not going to be the Princess’s meek servant and slave. In his home and family he would be the sole and undisputed master, no matter his wife’s age and rank.
Perhaps if Princess Gisela saw that he was not a weak, easily manipulated man, she would think better of the match. He had nothing to lose by defying her. On the contrary, being himself in every way and not yielding to her demands might be his best and only chance of giving her a disgust of him. It probably would not work – she would not have accepted him in the first place, had she any better alternatives before her – but it was worth trying. Gentlemanly behaviour had narrow limits, but in the interest of saving both of them from an unhappy match, Rook would sacrifice his scruples, and do whatever he had to do.
If in consequence young Colin did not obtain his grandfather’s earldom, he would compensate the boy with one of their other estates, when he was in a position to do so. It would be a small price to pay.
What had driven Princess Gisela to send such a letter to her host and hostess on the eve of her arrival? Did she not understand the impression it must create? Or did she simply not care? Either possibility hardly boded well for a marriage to the woman. And surely the companion, this Komtesse Anna with the beautiful handwriting, could have refused to pen it? Had she no influence on the Princess? Maybe she was equally devoted to protocol and formality.
Rook walked for an hour, fast, and did not return to his room before his anger had given way to cold determination.
The Princess would find that she had bitten off more than she could chew.
***
As their carriage approached Amberley, exactly on time, neither of the two ladies talked, and both sat very upright. Anna wondered if the Princess felt apprehensive about the visit, despite the stony face. Gisela had not yet forgiven her for remonstrating, last night, about the wisdom of the letter she had dictated. Anna, remembering her father’s diplomatic training, had tried to convince Gisela that this might not be the best approa
ch, and had been soundly scolded for presuming to know better than older and wiser heads.
“The Earl and Countess have only just learned that you will be joining their house party,” Anna had said. “Such parties, I believe, are prized in part for their atmosphere of informality. We must not assume that our hosts will be happy to conform to all rules of protocol that would be normal at your Father’s court.”
“Are you implying they might not appreciate the honour of my visit?” Gisela had asked. “Impossible.”
Anna privately thought it very possible indeed, but decided not to say anything more and let matters take their natural course. Her main brief was to make sure that the match actually took place. She had to pick her battles carefully, if she wanted to retain any influence on the Princess.
When Amberley came into sight at last, twenty minutes after passing the imposing gate, Anna was impressed. The classical building was undeniably beautiful, situated on top of a slight elevation, and larger than Anna had expected. It looked as though it had seen royalty before, and would make a fitting background for the courtship of a Princess and a future duke.
They came to a stop. Their outriders attached the steps, and opened the door of the coach.
Emerging in the wake of the Princess, Anna surveyed the small crowd of people waiting for them. Their host and hostess were surprisingly young, an attractive couple. But which of the men could be Lord Molyneux?
As formal welcomes and introductions were made, it became clear that the groom was not a member of their welcoming committee. Anna was alarmed. How could she ensure the success of the match, if the young man was not even willing to receive his royal bride?
“Ah, there is your betrothed now, Your Royal Highness,” Lady Amberley said to the Princess, and pointed over their shoulders.
Anna turned, and so did the Princess, more slowly.
He was magnificent. Heroic. Anna gaped at the huge young man on the enormous horse, dressed for riding. His garb and appearance were wildly inappropriate for the occasion, yet it was a sight she would never forget. Lord Molyneux sat on the stallion like a centaur, with effortless grace. He reminded her irresistibly of the bigger than life bronze rider statues in front of the Obernberg Residence.
Slowly he cantered closer, and finally swung down in a lithe, fluid movement. Lord Molyneux bowed – not deeply enough, Anna noted critically. Close up, he was not quite a giant after all; Anna reached to his shoulder, the princess to his chest, but he was impossibly handsome. Beautiful was not saying too much, but in an incontestably male, virile fashion, not unlike his horse, rearing in the grasp of two grooms, now that its rider was not there to master it. The expression on his face was cold and forbidding.
“Princess,” the young man said. His voice was very deep. A shiver went through Anna, even as she deplored that he used the wrong form of address. An even more shallow bow to herself. “Komtesse.”
Gisela was regarding her betrothed with dismay. It was to be hoped that these strangers would not be able to interpret her expression as well as Anna could. Was the Princess so insensible to the Marquess’s overpowering charisma? But at her age, she probably realised that a man like this was going to mean endless complications and embarrassing affairs.
At least their children should be handsome.
With an effort, Anna pulled herself together and attended to her duties as the Princess’s chief of staff and translator, in the absence of any older and more experienced lady. The fact that Gisela did not speak English was taken in stride by the Amberleys; they simply switched to French.
There was another, even younger Marquess, who was their hostess’s brother, and two other earls, Lord Tembley and Lord Gossing, with their countesses and daughters, Lady Ariadne Saxon and Lady Chloe Tembley. These young ladies regarded Gisela and Anna with barely camouflaged hostility. Both were young, blond and pretty, but Lady Chloe was small and dainty, while Lady Ariadne would run to fat before too long. Lord Amberley’s sister, Lady Minerva, had married a mere commoner, by name of Beecham. There was another couple of thirty or so, Lord Amberley’s younger brother James and his wife. Anna never forgot a name or title, and it did not take her long to fix them all in her capacious memory. There were fewer people than she had expected.
“Some of our guests are not present,” Lord Amberley explained, “Mr. and Mrs. Prentice and their daughter Louisa are out on a picnic. And a few guests may yet arrive in the coming days.”
The bridegroom was not saying anything, but his eyes were fixed on the Princess in brooding contemplation. When Gisela deigned to address a remark to him in French, Anna was shocked to see him shake his head in incomprehension. “Sorry,” he said, “I could never make any sense of those foreign lingos, Princess.”
Anna hastened to translate. “Lord Molyneux greatly regrets that he is unable to speak any foreign languages, Your Royal Highness.”
Was that a glimmer of irritation in his hazel eyes? “The Princess was asking, my lord, if you were so very fond of horses?”
“Love them,” he said, in his deep voice. “And dogs, and other animals. They are so much better company than most humans.”
“The Marquess says that indeed he is very fond of all animals.”
“Rook,” Lady Amberley interjected, with an inscrutable look at the Marquess, “have you any news when your father is planning to visit? You did say that he was going to come?”
“In his letter he spoke of two or three weeks, Marianne, but beyond that you know as much as I. I have not had any other communication from him.”
“You will meet your future in-laws, your Royal Highness, when the Duke arrives,” Lady Amberley explained to the Princess, in French. “It was he who arranged your match.” They continued to chat in French.
“What does ‘Rook’ mean – is it one of your family’s minor titles?” Anna asked Lord Molyneux.
“No, it is a name my particular friends and family use. Thus of no importance to you, or the Princess.”
He was being deliberately rude. Anna gave him her coldest look. “I was under the impression that the Princess’s betrothed was a gentleman, Sir.”
“We don’t always get what we expect, Komtesse.”
Chapter 7
As Lady Amberley led the Princess and her entourage away, towards the apartments that had been prepared and carefully denuded of flowers, Rook relieved the grooms of Charger’s reins and walked the animal back to the stables. Feeling his familiar hand on the lead, the stallion immediately turned more quiescent.
“That was quite a scene,” James Ellsworthy said, falling in step with Rook. “Do I not remember you speaking French quite fluently, just recently at a dinner with the French Ambassador?”
“If I spoke French then, I have forgotten it completely in the meantime,” Rook said, deadpan. “What did you think of the companion, that Komtesse?” That was one woman who clearly had not been captivated by him. She was the main obstacle to his plan to give the Princess a disgust of him, if she was going to expurgate all his rude remarks.
“She’s much younger than I would have expected, for such a responsible position. And if I were the Princess, I would not choose a woman so much younger and prettier as my only companion, even if her English is perfect – I noticed barely a trace of German accent.”
“It’s very likely that the Princess did not get to choose her,” Rook said thoughtfully. “Those German Princedoms are riddled with intrigue, and very autocratic.”
“I am not going to ask what your impression of your betrothed is,” James said tactfully, “or what you plan to do, but let me know if you should need any help. Have you written back to your father yet?”
“Of course.” Rook had wanted to rail and reproach, but given his father’s nature, that would have been worse than useless; he could not afford any sign of weakness. Instead he had demanded to be involved in the negotiations for the Princess’s dowry. With any luck the match might yet be prevented, if the Prince of Obernberg was unwilling to accede
to his demands. Rook was in a mood to be unreasonable. That was one argument his father would understand. Appeals to the duke’s better nature, or to his affection for his children, would have fallen on deaf ears.
James left him alone when they reached the stables. Rook led Charger to his stall and fed him an apple.
He considered his first impressions. The Princess was not precisely ugly. There was a trace of overbite, and her figure was rounder and smaller than Rook preferred, but for a woman in her mid-thirties, she was no worse than average. As a young girl, in her first bloom, she might even have been pretty. He knew he could bed and breed children on her, if necessary, he simply did not feel the slightest desire to do so.
Why had Gisela not bothered to learn English, if it had been agreed since the Conference in Vienna – eight years ago – that she was destined for an English groom? Could she be dissimulating her proficiency, just like he did? But no, she had not even blinked when he made deliberately provocative statements. Unless she was a superior actress, the Princess really could not understand him. The Komtesse alone had shown the expected reaction, angry and annoyed with him; her dark blue eyes and expressive mouth reflected her feelings faithfully enough.
That meant that the Komtesse or somebody fluent in French would have to be present at every encounter, to translate; nobody could later claim that he had compromised the Princess, if the match could yet be averted.
Charger nudged his shoulder with his nose.
“Sorry, old fellow.” Rook patted the horse affectionately. “I have a lot to think about. No more apples right now.”
Even if he had to wed a woman he did not like or find attractive, he would still have his beloved horses, his dog, his brothers and friends, and nobody would find it surprising if he kept a mistress discreetly, as long as he did not flaunt her in his wife’s face. The marriage would not be the end of his world, but he had hoped for something better – as Amberley and James had, the lucky fellows, or Alphonse and Celia, who was still the ideal to which he compared other girls.
