by May Burnett
Sneaking off to a mistress on a regular basis was sordid, for a married man. Rook had not planned on such a lifestyle, common enough among the older generation; his contemporaries tended to be less licentious, though he sometimes wondered if boredom with one partner might not set in even in a love match, after the first few years.
With Princess Gisela, he’d probably be bored from the very first day.
How could his father have done this to him?
***
Marianne found her sister-in-law Charlotte bent over the writing desk in her sitting room, her quill busily moving over the page.
“That Princess! I don’t know how I kept my countenance,” she said. “My house party is ruined, Charlotte.” It felt good to unburden herself of her growing frustration. Charlotte’s good sense and tranquil nature would help her recover her outward equanimity before the rapidly approaching lunchtime. Marianne sat on the upholstered bench and slipped off her shoes, wriggling her toes inside the thin silk stockings.
Charlotte put down her quill and threw her a sympathetic glance. “I did not much take to her myself, but my French is so poor that I only understood about half of your conversation. ‘Altesse Royale’ is ‘Royal Highness,’ is it?”
“Yes, and I’m already sick of the phrase, when she’s barely arrived,” Marianne said. “But I suppose my anger should be directed at Rook’s father, rather than the Princess, who is only being herself. To saddle me with an uninvited and unwanted guest like this, who expects everyone to dance to her tune! Ottway is coming here also – without invitation as well, though I suppose in the case of such old acquaintances it’s more excusable. Sometimes it is very hard to have to be ladylike and not show my feelings, Charlotte. I would love to give Rook’s father a piece of my mind.”
“He would not care,” Charlotte pointed out. “I don’t know him very well, but he does not heed anyone of lesser rank, and certainly not a lady’s opinion. Words will simply slide off his thick hide. If I were you, I would rather think how to thwart him by preventing the match.”
“Don’t you think it’s too late? With the betrothal in the papers, and the Foreign Office promoting it like this?”
“Not until the knot is actually tied and the marriage consummated. I like Rook too well to see him treated like this, without making a push to save him. But I confess I am stumped how to go about it.”
“He cannot cry off, but maybe the Princess could be made to do so,” Marianne said slowly. “I was wondering if that is why Rook pretended not to speak French. He does so beautifully, on other occasions.”
“It means he can never converse with her without a witness,” Charlotte said approvingly. “Usually that Komtesse, I suppose.”
“We could tell the Princess details about Rook that will make her think twice about the match,” Marianne said doubtfully. ” But I fear it will not answer. Hints of infidelities or scandals would not shock her, that’s only expected in her circles. And if they marry after all, then whatever slanders we have told her would make their difficult marriage even less likely to succeed. Besides, what could we tell the Princess that would outweigh Rook’s splendid looks?”
“She did not seem overwhelmed with his appearance,” Charlotte said. “The Komtesse gaped for a second, before recovering her composure, but the Princess did not look too happy. I was watching her face.”
“I wonder why, except of course that he was dressed for riding, and had not meekly waited with us.” Marianne put her shoes on again. “Were you writing to your sister? I saw you received a letter from her earlier. Is she well?”
“Indeed, and she sends you her love. Belinda is looking forward to our visit in August, and so are the children. Richard is enlarging the clinic, and has engaged yet another assistant.”
“Please tell her that George and I will stop with them for a few days the next time we travel to Scotland,” Marianne said, “and that I send my best wishes, especially to my goddaughter. How long are you going to stay in Yorkshire?”
“Until the middle of September, at least that is the current plan. It is two years since I’ve seen Belinda, and I miss her. There have to be things she cannot dictate to her assistant.”
“Yes,” Marianne agreed, “the best employee is not the same as a sister or husband.” Belinda was blind and thus had to dictate her letters. Since her husband Dr Seymour had founded his clinic, he rarely found the time, so that nowadays Miss Carstairs, the governess, served as Belinda’s usual amanuensis.
“Are you taking all three children?” Marianne asked.
“Of course. Little George is not yet weaned, and Violet especially wants to see the place where I grew up.” Marianne was reminded that Charlotte, most unusually, nursed her own little son.
“If some accident happened on that long journey,” Marianne said tentatively, “which Heaven prevent, would it not be better if one of the boys were here in Amberley, safe and sound?”
Charlotte stared at her. “Are you suggesting that you want Roger safe, because he is George’s heir? Marianne, you are only twenty-seven! I don’t believe that such an idea should even be entertained. Not for another ten or fifteen years, at least.”
Marianne shrugged. “I am willing to try one more time, but if it should be another girl, then your Roger is going to inherit Amberley sooner or later. He is a perfectly nice, clever boy, and gets on well with Verena. I would not consider it a tragedy. But irrespective of all that, I don’t like the idea of all five of you in the same coach.”
“We travel like that all the time,” Charlotte said. “What with the Cornwall and the Sussex estate and the London house, and visits here, and to other friends like Alphonse and Celia in France. We have promised to meet them in Paris in November. It is true that all this movement is beginning to interfere with the children’s education. But you are one to talk - what of your own jaunt around the Mediterranean last year, when we all worried about George and you?”
“Why don’t you leave Roger here in our nursery, when you travel to Yorkshire? Verena will be lonely when all the other children go away, and only her baby sister remains behind.”
“I will discuss the idea with James,” Charlotte said, reluctantly, “but only if you promise, Marianne, not to treat Roger any differently, and on no account to mention the possibility of his inheriting in his hearing.”
“No, of course I wouldn’t do that,” Marianne assured her. “As I said, I’m going to try once more, so it’s too early to jump to any conclusions. I am just trying to think ahead, covering all contingencies.”
Charlotte shook her head. “Better worry about Rook’s Princess. Maybe closer observation of her will suggest some stratagem that may yet save Rook from what I fear will be an unhappy union. Since my French is not up to conversation with the Princess herself, I’ll try to sound out the Komtesse when I have a chance. It is much too early to give up, at any rate.”
“Do tell me if you think of something,” Marianne said. “I am fond of Rook, despite his faults, and I would simply love to queer the duke’s pitch.”
Chapter 8
Anna entered the Princess’s rooms shortly before one, to escort Gisela to the luncheon with her betrothed and their fellow guests. The Princess had changed into one of her most elegant daytime gowns, sombre in hue, and was wearing her pearls.
“What do you think of this household?” Gisela asked her.
“Our hosts seem hospitable and gracious,” Anna replied. She suspected that Gisela wanted her opinion on the Marquess, but could not bring herself to discuss him directly. Taking pity on the Princess, she added, “I have seldom seen a more handsome young man than your betrothed, Your Royal Highness. He is indeed everything that was promised, apart from that unfortunate lack of foreign languages.” And his lack of courtesy or manners, but it was her job to gloss that over, if at all possible. Given Lord Molyneux’s propensity to be provocative, his inability to speak French might be for the best.
“He is too big,” Gisela said, “a real ba
rbarian.” So she was not all that loath to discuss him after all. Well, she had nobody else to confide in. Someone from the Obernberg family should really have come along, but they were all busy with their own concerns.
“Well, yes, he does put one in mind of a Viking or a medieval knight. Those will have been his remote ancestors. We can quiz him on his family history when we see him again. You must admit that Lord Molyneux has an excellent seat on a horse.”
“He should not have been on that horse to begin with, Komtesse. To be in riding dress and reeking of horse at our very first meeting! He did it just to annoy me.”
“It would be a mistake to show him that he succeeded,” Anna warned. “He may not be easy to manage, but at least he is healthy and good-looking. - I think it is time to leave, I understand luncheon here begins punctually at one.”
“They can hardly start without us.” But the Princess set off, to Anna’s relief. A footman in a powdered wig was waiting outside the door, to guide them. That was considerate, and necessary, as they might easily have been lost in the series of corridors and landings they traversed.
As was proper, the Princess was seated at her host’s right side. Lord Molyneux had been placed at her other side, and to Anna’s alarm she herself was seated several places away, between Lord Amberley’s younger brother James, and Lord Gossing. The latter was the father of the blonde Lady Ariadne, who she surmised had been invited as a possible match for Lord Pell, since she was even now fluttering her lashes at the young Marquess. Lord Gossing was in his late fifties, balding, and only interested in fishing and racing. Though Anna politely feigned interest in his passions, their short conversation soon died a natural death.
“How long have you been with the Princess, Komtesse?” James Ellsworthy asked her with a friendly smile.
“Only a few weeks. I was picked because I spent part of my youth in London, so I know the language. My father is a diplomat; I have lived in France and Denmark as well during my childhood.”
“Count Rosenfels? I believe I have met him when he was in London,” Ellsworthy said. “Very tall, balding, an impressive linguist?”
“Yes, that’s him. He is in St. Petersburg now.”
“When did you first hear this match between the Princess and Molyneux mooted?”
“I understand that the negotiations took several weeks, before the Princess was asked to travel to England, but I was not involved or aware of the details at the time,” Anna wondered why it should matter. “The original suggestion came from your Foreign Office.”
“Ah.” Ellsworthy took a sip of wine. “And what is your own opinion?”
“If I have one, it is not my place to speak it aloud,” she said with a slight smile. “These decisions were made at a higher level; all that remains is to make the best of it.”
“Tell me more about the Princess’s tastes and interests,” the young man said, “I confess am wondering how these two, who at first glance could not be more different, can fit together.”
Anna followed his gaze up the table, where Lord Molyneux was carving his meat in stolid silence, while Lord Amberley and the Princess were conversing in French. It was too far to hear what they discussed, but Gisela showed becoming animation, and from her expression, was in a good humour.
“The Princess is interested in literature and music, especially Italian opera. She is also an expert needlewoman and embroiders beautifully.”
“Rook – as we call him – likes horses and dogs, hunting and racing.”
“Presumably each of them will be busy in their own sphere. There is no law that states that a husband and wife have to share all interests.”
“Not all, maybe, but at least one or two? A common language would also be useful.”
“Why does the Marquess not speak French, may I ask? I would have supposed that any European aristocrat of his rank would have at least rudimentary knowledge of it.”
“You’ll have to ask him yourself,” Ellsworthy said easily. “If the Princess knew she was going to marry an Englishman, why did she never learn English?”
“Lord Molyneux can ask her himself, after they are married,” Anna said, “if he has learned German or French by then. Certainly I would not presume to put such a question to Her Royal Highness.”
“Fair enough,” Ellsworthy said equably. “Why does she dislike pets? Was she bitten by one as a small child?”
“No, but some of them – mostly cats – make her sneeze.”
“I am sorry to hear it. Most households here in England have pets of some kind. Some of their owners are more attached to them than to their spouses and children.”
“Well, some spouses and children are more likeable than others.” Anna tried the chicken risotto. “Is the cook French, by any chance? This does not taste like the English food I remember from my previous stay.”
“Italian, as a matter of fact,” Ellsworthy said, “my brother and Marianne discovered Luigi in some restaurant in Florence last year, and hired him then and there at triple his previous wages. He knows dishes from France and Germany as well as the Italian ones, and has recently begun to serve his own variations on classic British fare.”
“I look forward to trying more of his inventions.” Anna let the next bite slowly melt on her tongue.
“He was not at all pleased when he was asked to stop serving fish,” Ellsworthy said. “A very temperamental fellow, Luigi. Does fish also make the Princess sneeze?”
“No, she simply finds the smell repulsive.”
“Hmm.” Ellsworthy ate for a minute in silence.
“I suppose Lord Molyneux loves fish?” Anna asked.
“Not as far as I’m aware. Most Englishmen prefer beef.”
“Well, these are matters the future spouses will have to work out between themselves.” Anna drank some wine, only a small sip, since she needed all her wits about her in this alien environment. It was an excellent French vintage.
“Is there any chance of the Princess changing her mind?” Ellsworthy asked abruptly. “I realize it is not for you to say, but the whole situation is decidedly odd.”
“The Princess is always obedient to her father’s commands. She is too dutiful to change her mind once the contracts have been signed, whatever her private sentiments may be.” Gisela would no more bolt from the marriage, whatever she felt about it, than she herself would abandon her betrothal to Rudolf, despite her private misgivings and resentment about his opera singer. Duty had to come first, or all civilization would break down. That precept had been drummed into her since early childhood, and she was not a Princess. For Gisela the same lesson would have been far more intense.
“I see,” Ellsworthy murmured. “But will they be happy?”
“Duty is more important than happiness, Mr. Ellsworthy.”
“Some of us can combine the two.” He sent a private smile to his beautiful blond wife, sitting across the table.
“Few people achieve that, and they are very lucky. If you are one of them, I felicitate you.” Did her voice sound brittle? She must still be tired from the long journey. “Tell me more about Lord Molyneux – Rook, as you called him. Isn’t a rook a bird? Not the kind of bird I would associate with him; one would rather think of an eagle or falcon.”
“He chose it as a nickname when he was sent to Eton, and was only nine years old. I have never asked him why. A rook is also a chess piece, of course.”
“Does he play chess?”
“Sometimes,” Ellsworthy said cautiously. “Also billiards and croquet. But Rook likes physically strenuous activities best. Chess would only interest him on late winter nights, with nothing better to do.”
“I used to play chess with my father at times, when I was younger,” Anna said. “The Princess does not care for it, though she sometimes condescends to play card games.”
Ellsworthy raised his brows. “She gambles?”
“No, Her Royal Highness abhors all profligacy. She never allows the stakes to go beyond pennies.”
“Ah.” Ellsworthy dug into the confit de canard, and Anna took advantage of the pause to watch the Marquess again. He was completely ignoring his bride to all appearances, and said little beyond a sentence or two to the lady at this other side – Lady Tembley, a middle-aged Countess. She was the mother of the small blonde Lady Chloe, whose expression, further down the table, was disgruntled. Had she been interested in Lord Molyneux herself? She had probably not heard of the betrothal until it had appeared in the papers, just a few days ago. Yet surely that was long enough to master her disappointment. Anna could not imagine pining for any man that long.
But maybe, if she’d had hopes of catching this Rook for herself, it would be different. He had undeniably had a far stronger impact when she first saw him, than Rudolf. Her fiancé was also tall and handsome, and moreover had the advantage of his ornate, colourful uniform and epaulettes. Lord Molyneux, in simple riding dress, made Rudolf look like an overdressed poseur. She quickly suppressed the disloyal thought. What was the matter with her? If not for this inopportune journey to England, she would be celebrating her wedding within days. All had been ordered and it had been a great nuisance to postpone the event – now rescheduled for late September, to be on the safe side. Yet if the Princess’s groom was this recalcitrant, would Anna be able to return home even by the later date? What might Rudolf get up to during her absence?
It was pointless to worry about it now. She could only do her best, and hope that further acquaintance between the Princess and Marquess would show the pair how to go on together tolerably well, since there was no help for it.
They were not the first, nor would be the last people in the world, to be yoked by their families into a match neither truly desired.
Chapter 9
Rook ate stolidly, keeping his face impassive, as he listened to George drawing the Princess out for his benefit. Her French was flawless, even better than George’s, who had a slight English accent. For the first three courses they had discussed the Princess’s various relatives in what sounded at least half the minor European courts. Gisela kept up correspondences with several other members of reigning houses. From there they went on to discuss literature, music and opera. From some arias she quoted verbatim, Rook deduced that the Princess also had Italian. Her general education was at least equal to that of the other ladies present at the house party, but then she had had almost twice as much time to acquire it, compared to Lady Chloe or the absent Miss Prentice. That Rook did not have the latter’s brown eyes reproachfully fixed on him, was the one thing that made this silent luncheon more bearable.
