Beauty and the Earl

by Patricia Grasso

  “One tray is filled with calling cards,” Pebbles explained. “The other holds invitations.”

  Amber grabbed a handful of calling cards. Sergei had left one, as had Baron Slominsky. When someone knocked on the front door, she looked at the majordomo. “I am unavailable.”

  Pebbles inclined his head and opened the door. Standing to the side, Amber listened to the brief conversation.

  “I have a letter for the Earl of Stratford,” a masculine voice announced.

  “His Lordship is unavailable at the moment,” Pebbles said. “I will take it.”

  “Thank you.”

  The majordomo closed the door.

  Amber eyed the sealed missive. “I will deliver it.” When she lifted the letter from his hands, the voluptuous scent of jasmine reached her. Which of the heartbroken three was sending her husband a perfumed letter?

  Amber sniffed the letter again. Definitely jasmine. “Do not mention this letter to the earl.”

  The majordomo inclined his head. “I understand, Your Highness.”

  As she crossed the foyer to the stairs, another knock sounded on the front door. Amber paused while the majordomo opened the door.

  A second courier stood there, a letter in his hand.

  “I will deliver this to the earl,” Pebbles said, lifting the parchment out of the man’s hand. After closing the door, the majordomo handed her the letter. “Roses, Your Highness.”

  “Thank you, Just-Pebbles.”

  “You are welcome, Your Highness.”

  Amber climbed the stairs to the drawing room and sat on the settee. She stared at the two letters and wondered what message each contained. Reading letters meant for another was wrong, and yet—

  Amber bolted off the settee, tore the two letters into pieces, and tossed them into the hearth fire. Relieved to be rid of the temptation, she sat on the settee again and closed her eyes. Which of the ladies she’d met would dare to send a married man perfumed letters?

  Sensing another presence, Amber opened her eyes. The majordomo stood there.

  “Yes, Just-Pebbles?”

  He offered her a third letter. “Gardenia.”

  “I did not read the other letters,” Amber said, lifting the letter from his hand. She stood then and tossed the gardenia-scented letter into the fire.

  “What a pity,” the majordomo murmured. “I would have read them.”

  “Reading another’s mail is wrong.”

  “That would be almost as wrong as destroying a letter meant for another,” the majordomo drawled.

  “I did not destroy my husband’s mail.” Amber gave him her sunshine smile. “I maintained our domestic tranquility.”

  The majordomo’s lips twitched into a smile. “What His Lordship doesn’t know cannot anger him.”

  “Just-Pebbles, you are a treasure.”

  “Thank you for noticing my finer points of character.”

  The remainder of the day and evening passed pleasantly. Amber felt secure within the bosom of her family, a security that had eluded her until she married the earl.

  Isabelle Saint-Germain and Samantha Kazanov visited the next afternoon while their husbands met with Miles. The three women sat in the drawing room and chatted in easy camaraderie.

  “I assume both of you will be attending my aunt’s ball tonight,” Samantha said.

  “John and I would never miss one of your aunt’s galas,” Isabelle said.

  “Miles and I will be attending,” Amber said. “We stayed home last night because he worries that too much activity will tire me.”

  “Let’s ride together in Hyde Park tomorrow,” Isabelle suggested.

  “Then we can shop for baby clothes,” Samantha added, reaching out to pat Amber’s hand.

  “I am carrying a boy,” Amber said. “I will only purchase blue items.”

  “You will need to buy blue ribbons to wear in your hair when you deliver your baby,” Samantha said.

  “Is that an English custom?”

  “That is my custom,” Samantha said. “I wore pink and blue for my first baby and delivered twins.”

  Carrying a silver tray with refreshments, Pebbles walked into the drawing room. He set the tray on a table, served tea and pastries, then paused before leaving. Reaching into his pocket, he produced three sealed missives. He passed her the three perfumed letters. “These arrived within the hour.”

  Amber stared at the letters. “Thank you, Just-Pebbles.”

  The majordomo left the drawing room.

  “His name is just Pebbles,” Isabelle said.

  “Yes, I know.”

  “You look upset,” Samantha remarked.

  Amber looked at her new friends and held up the missives. “Women are sending my husband perfumed letters.”

  “Who are they?” Samantha asked.

  “Ladies Jasmine, Rose, and Gardenia.” Amber stood and tossed the letters into the hearth fire.

  “You do not need to worry that Miles will stray,” Isabelle said.

  “Do you think destroying his mail is wise?” Samantha asked.

  Amber gave them her sunshine smile. “Just-Pebbles says that what His Lordship doesn’t know cannot anger him.”

  Samantha and Isabelle looked at each other and laughed.

  “What if Miles somehow discovers what you’ve done?” lsabelle asked.

  “I will explain that I intended to deliver the letters but dropped them.”

  Samantha giggled. “You dropped them into the fire?”

  “Precisely.”

  * * *

  “You’re wearing that to Inverary’s ball?”

  Standing in front of her cheval mirror for a final inspection, Amber heard the censure in her husband’s voice. She watched him crossing the chamber and admired the imposing figure he cut in his black and white formal attire.

  Amber studied her appearance in the mirror but could detect no obvious flaw. Her high-waisted sapphire blue gown had a rounded neckline, its hem ending at her ankles to expose her silk stockings and sandals. She carried a mother-of-pearl fan and a reticule of red morocco and colored beads.

  “I do not see—”

  “The gown reveals too much skin,” Miles told her.

  Amber smiled at that. “This is one of my wrap-yourself-in-pretty-packaging gowns.”

  “Wrap yourself in what?”

  “When I arrived in London,” Amber explained, “Cousin Rudolf bought me a wardrobe. He said if I wanted to attract a husband, I needed to wrap myself in pretty packaging.”

  Miles laughed and leaned close to plant a kiss on her lips. “I bought the package, my love. You have nothing to sell.”

  “Vanessa Stanton wore a more revealing gown the other night.”

  “Vanessa Stanton cannot compare to you.”

  Amber smiled, pleased with the compliment.

  Miles produced a blue velvet box. “I have a belated wedding gift for you.”

  “I love surprises.”

  “I thought you did.”

  Amber opened the package. On a bed of blue satin lay a pair of dangle earrings created from round, marquis, and pear-shaped diamonds set in platinum.

  “Thank you, my lord.” Amber stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I have nothing for you, though.”

  “You have given me my life.” Miles slid his hand down to her belly. “And the promise of a future.”

  Amber placed the palm of her hand against his masked cheek. “You have given me my heart’s desire, and I love you.”

  * * *

  No one ever refused an invitation from the Duke and Duchess of Inverary. Tonight was no exception. Park Lane was a beehive of activity. Coaches arrived, delivered their passengers, and departed to make space for newcomers.

  Amber marveled at the number of carriages in the same place at the same time. “Our baby will have reached his majority by the time we get inside,” she said, casting her husband a sidelong glance.

  “I doubt we’ll be in line that long.”

  H
er lips twitched. “How are you at delivering babies?”

  Miles laughed. “Don’t you dare do that to me.”

  Thirty minutes later, the Earl and Countess of Stratford walked down the corridor to Inverary’s ballroom. Miles and Amber drew interested glances from those members of society unfortunate enough to have missed their appearances at the opera and the Pembroke ball the other evening.

  “The Earl of Stratford and Princess Amber, the Countess of Stratford,” announced the Inverary majordomo.

  Several people descended upon them at the same time. The Duchess of Inverary, their hostess, reached them first.

  “Dearest Miles, how wonderful to see you again,” the duchess gushed, taking his hands in hers. “I have passed the last four years worrying and praying on your behalf.”

  This elicited smothered laughter from Rudolf and Samantha, the duchess’s niece and nephew-in-law.

  “I thank you for your concern, Your Grace,” Miles said, struggling against a smile.

  The Duchess of Inverary gave Amber her attention. “Our darling princess has managed to bring you back to us.”

  Amber inclined her head.

  “Samantha has shared your happy news,” the duchess said. “How exciting. If you ever need advice,” she frowned, “ask Samantha and Rudolf, who, as you know, have several children and are experts on childrearing.”

  “Thank you for the suggestion,” Amber said.

  “Enjoy yourselves, my darlings.” With that, the Duchess of Inverary breezed away to greet more guests.

  “Miles and you created a stir the other night,” Rudolf said to Amber.

  “The Times devoted most of its gossip column to your return to society and your marriage again today,” Samantha added.

  “That was precisely what I did not want.” Miles shook his head. “If only those fools had not applauded my appearance.”

  “Mentioning Amber will bring you-know-who to the surface,” Rudolf said. “That is, if he is in London.”

  Amber knew they were referring to Fedor. She reminded herself once again to read the Times each morning on the chance that the reporter would mention her uncle. Being dangled as bait made her nervous.

  “Cousin Amber?”

  Prince Viktor and a lovely blond woman stood there. “Amber, I would make known to you my wife, Adele.”

  “How pleased I am to make your acquaintance,” Amber greeted the other woman.

  “Thank you, Your Highness. Viktor speaks highly of you.” Her gaze skittered away, scanning the ballroom and found what she was looking for. “I’ll speak with you later. I see a dear friend I must greet.”

  The woman’s behavior verged on rudeness. Amber watched the blonde making her way through the crowd and attach herself to the Earl of Langley.

  “I should never have married her.”

  Amber caught her cousin’s hand. “You must love her.”

  Viktor shrugged. “I thought I did.”

  “You should have listened to me,” Rudolf said, giving his brother a sympathetic look. “Now you are stuck with that tart.”

  “I wish Adele was married to her grave,” Viktor said, his voice loud enough to draw curious glances from guests near them.

  Miles spoke up, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “My lady, will you give me the gift of your first waltz?”

  “I would love to dance with you.”

  Swirling around the ballroom in her husband’s arms, Amber spied her three rivals as well as the Russian baron. She did not see Sergei Pushkin, however.

  “Vanessa Stanton is dancing with Baron Slominsky,” Amber said, watching her husband’s expression.

  “I suppose Pushkin is here, too?”

  I hope not, she thought. “I do not see him. Vanessa looks especially well this evening.”

  “You need not feel jealous of Vanessa or any other lady,” Miles said, pulling her closer.

  “Then do not be jealous of Sergei.”

  “I have what he wants,” Miles said, “and I will never let you go.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  Her husband did love her. How could he promise to keep her forever and not love her? Or was his loyalty based on the child she carried?

  Rudolf claimed her for the next waltz. Stepping onto the dance floor, Amber kept a guarded eye on her husband, who was immediately surrounded by a number of old friends, mostly females. She would not feel secure while his three old flames prowled the ballroom.

  “Your gown reveals more skin than it should,” Rudolf remarked, drawing her attention.

  “You purchased it for me.”

  “Did I?” Rudolf smiled. “I must have suffered a lapse in judgment.”

  “You said I needed to wrap myself like a pretty package in order to catch a husband,” she reminded him.

  “You caught the husband,” Rudolf teased her. “There is no need to wrap yourself so immodestly.”

  “I would not wish to waste your gift.” Amber cast a worried glance in her husband’s direction.

  “His mask makes him mysterious,” Rudolf explained, his gaze following hers. “The legend of his being injured trying to save his wife enhances his mystique. Trust me, cousin. Your husband has eyes only for you.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “I have never seen a man more smitten than Montgomery.”

  “I need a favor,” Amber said. “I want you to smell Vanessa Stanton, Georgiana Devon, and Sarah Pole.”

  Rudolf gave her a blank look. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I want you to dance with Vanessa, Georgiana, and Sarah,” Amber said, “and then tell me what perfume each wears.”

  Rudolf grinned. “I will do that if you tell me the reason.”

  “I want to discover the identities of the three women who sent him perfumed letters.”

  “Ask your husband,” Rudolf said. “He has nothing to hide.”

  “I do have something to hide,” Amber admitted, blushing. “I destroyed the letters before he saw them.”

  “I will dance with them,” Rudolf said, “but do not steal your husband’s mail again.”

  “Thank you, cousin. I promise to behave myself.”

  When the music ended, Rudolf returned Amber to her husband and the ladies drifted away. Like sharks, they would return at the first opportunity.

  “Cousin Amber?”

  Miles and Amber turned toward the voice. Prince Stepan stood with a petite dark-haired woman dressed conservatively in a midnight blue gown with a modestly high neckline. The opera singer.

  “Miles and Amber, I present Miss Fancy Flambeau,” Stepan made the introduction. “Fancy, this is Princess Amber, the Countess of Stratford, and her husband the Earl of Stratford.”

  “We enjoyed your performance,” Miles said.

  “God blessed you with a beautiful voice,” Amber added. “Thank you for sharing your gift with us.”

  “I appreciate your praise,” Fancy said, her smile wobbly, her nervousness apparent.

  “You will excuse us,” Amber said to the men, and led the singer a few feet away.

  “I have no designs on your cousin,” Fancy spoke first. “I know a relationship between a prince and an opera singer would be impossible.”

  “Is there something wrong with my cousin?”

  The opera singer looked confused. “No, I merely thought—”

  “I would appreciate your singing at my home,” Amber said. “That is, if your schedule allows.”

  “I am sorry, but I do not usually perform at private parties.”

  “I am not hostessing a party,” Amber said, giving her a sunshine smile. “I want you to sing for my ailing rosebush. My husband’s London staff have neglected the poor plant for four years. I am certain the rosebush will bloom next summer if only you would share the gift of your voice.”

  Miss Fancy Flambeau laughed. “I would love to save your rosebush. Your Highness, you are not what I expected in a princess.”

  “What did you ex
pect??

  “An aristocratic snob.”

  Amber smiled. “You are not what I expected in an opera singer.”

  “What did you expect?”

  “A fat lady.”

  Stepan appeared pleased by their easy camaraderie. At a signal from the Duchess of Inverary, the prince escorted the opera singer to the top of the ballroom.

  Miss Fancy Flambeau sang a haunting song about a young woman who had given her heart to a handsome nobleman but lost his love to another woman. The poor woman wilted away from unrequited love until, finally, she passed from this life.

  Listening to her story, Amber realized the opera singer had known great pain, as she had known in her own life. Had she found a kindred spirit in the young woman? Amber decided to encourage the romance between her cousin and the opera singer.

  When she finished her concert, Stepan started to escort Fancy back to Amber and Miles, but Rudolf intercepted them. All three left the ballroom together.

  “Miles.” The voice belonged to a woman.

  Amber saw Vanessa Stanton and Baron Slominsky advancing on them. She cast an anxious look at her husband, who raised his brows at her and then pasted an insincere smile on his face.

  “Good to see you again,” Miles greeted them.

  “Miss Flambeau sang sweeter than any nightingale,” Baron Slominsky said.

  “God blessed her with a voice that could melt the devil’s cold heart,” Amber agreed.

  “I thought the song too sentimental,” Vanessa said. “What do you think, Miles?”

  “When it comes to love,” he answered, “I suppose one can never be too sentimental.”

  “You are as diplomatic as ever,” Vanessa said. “Romantic, too.”

  Baron Slominsky spoke up, “Your Highness, would you honor me with this dance?”

  Amber hesitated. The last thing she wanted was to leave her husband with the other woman. To refuse the baron bordered on rudeness, though.

  “I would like very much to dance with you,” she lied, and accepted his hand.

  No sooner had she and the baron begun their waltz when Miles and Vanessa stepped onto the dance floor. Amber hoped she could keep her eye on Miles without offending the baron.

  “What a relief to be able to speak to someone in my own language,” Baron Slominsky said, switching to Russian. “I miss the motherland, my countrymen, and vodka.”