The Princess and the Peer (30 page)

Damn her.

And damn me for caring.

Though why he still gave a toss about her, he couldn’t say. Everything she’d told him had been a lie. Really, when he considered the matter properly, he’d had a lucky escape. So why didn’t he feel that way? Why couldn’t he just forget her and move on? As she’d said that night at the prince regent’s party, there could be nothing more between them, particularly considering she was promised in marriage to some foreign prince.

His fists tightened and he spat out a livid curse, the foul words catching on the wind. A nursemaid with a pair of her young charges in tow covered their ears and led them quickly past, throwing reproving glances his way until the three of them disappeared from view. But he was too far from caring if he offended anyone with his sailor’s language. Lately, he didn’t seem to care about much of anything, even if he continued to go through the motions with his estate business and his life.

Does she ever think of me?
he wondered, then mentally kicked himself for the thought.

Of course she doesn’t,
came the harsh inward reply. She probably laughed now to think of her folly and her brief, forbidden dalliance with an English aristocrat.

Yet he couldn’t get her face out of his mind, or the look of shattered misery in her eyes just before she’d run from the room that night. He’d almost gone after her then, but pride had held him back. Pride and anger and the knowledge that she could not be his.

She told him he should treat her as a stranger and forget they had ever met. But how could he when he dreamed of her at night? When he woke with her name a whisper on his lips, his arms empty of all but her memory?

She never had told him why she’d lain with him, why she had decided to risk giving him her innocence. It was the one thing that made no sense out of all of it, the one part that had no logical explanation. Had she simply been overcome by passion that night, by a longing for some last daring adventure?
Or had it been more? Had she perhaps felt some deeper emotion for him after all?

But as she’d said, what did it matter now? She was gone, completely out of his reach. Worse, as a royal princess, her station was now so far above his that even a friendship between them would be impossible.

And it was that, above all else, that drove him to the brink, that left him furious and frustrated and bleak as the cold autumn wind that beat at the trees and tore the sere leaves from their branches.

Suddenly sick of his own introspection, he turned for home. As he did, the first fat, icy drops of rain began to fall from the sky. But he offered no defense against them and walked no faster as he made his way to the town house.

“A
re you certain you don’t care to go shopping with me?” Sigrid asked four days later. “I would be happy to wait while you run upstairs to change your gown.”

Emma looked up from her book, which she was somehow managing to read this time, despite a tendency for her thoughts to wander every now and again. “Thank you, but no,” she said, deliberately adding a smile. “I have no need of another new hat or an extra pair of gloves. As for books”—she held up the one in her hands—“I have a more than adequate supply.”

“Well, if you are sure…” Sigrid paused, a small pout on her pretty lips. “Besides shopping, I was planning to stop by Gunter’s for one of their delectable treats, or so I have heard them described. I thought perhaps you would enjoy the diversion?”

Emma’s lashes swept down, her lips closed against the need to assure her sister that she would indeed find the fare at Gunter’s most pleasing. But since Emma had gone to the tea shop with Nick, she thought it best not to expound on the topic.

At the thought of Nick, her chest gave a painful squeeze; ruthlessly, she did her best to ignore the sensation. And here she’d just been congratulating herself for not thinking about him—she’d lasted three entire minutes this time.

“It sounds wonderful, but I am quite content as I am today. You can tell me all about your excursion on your return.”

Sigrid gave her another disappointed look.

Had Sigrid been planning to shop and dine alone, Emma would most likely have consented to accompany her. But she knew that her sister planned to join a group of aristocratic ladies on her rounds. The idea of being required to laugh and smile and act as though she were having a grand time was simply more than she could stand. Bad enough the afternoon gatherings and dinner parties she was forced to endure without volunteering for more.

The majority of her day was hers to do with as she liked, and although some might say she would be better off not wallowing in her misery by remaining home alone, she could not abide the alternative. Let Sigrid make merry in London. She would stay home with her book.

“Very well,” her sister said, pulling at the wrist of one of her hand-dyed salmon pink gloves. The color was an exact match for her cool-weather pelisse and an excellent foil for the dramatic gold-and-ivory striped walking dress she wore beneath. Her shoes were a buttery tan leather, her jewelry confined this morning to a simple gold cross and a pair of drop pearl earrings. As always, she looked as if she could have posed for a fashion plate.

“I shall bring back a selection of cakes for you, so you shan’t miss out entirely,” Sigrid stated. Leaning down, she retrieved her chip-straw bonnet with its salmon pink silk ribbons and white ostrich feather, then tied it on her head at a dashing angle.

“That is very good of you,” Emma said.

“Yes, it is,” Sigrid agreed. “Now, don’t stay inside the whole day with that book. If you aren’t careful, you shall turn into a bluestocking.”

Emma shook her head. “I do not believe there is much chance of that. Have a lovely time poring over silks and satins and feathers.”

Sigrid sent her a wide smile, then turned to go on her way.

Two minutes later, the house had grown quiet once again. With the silence, Emma’s spirits fell.

Sighing, she returned to her book.

But the story had lost its power to hold her interest and soon she found herself staring out the window, trying hard not to think of Nick.

What is he doing?
she wondered. Was he still in London or had he gone to his country estate as so many of the English nobility did this time of year? Or had he been invited to attend a party at a country house perhaps, and was even now surrounded by interesting, eligible young women, all of whom were vying for his attention? At this very moment, he might be strolling in the gardens with one of them, some beautiful girl who hung on his arm and laughed at every amusing thing he said—laughed together as she and Nick had once done.

Does he ever think of me, or am I no more now than a faded memory? Does he still hate me for deceiving him? Or does he no longer care?

Despite knowing there would be no repeat offerings of flowers from him, she had not been able to keep from being disappointed when no further bouquets arrived from
N
. He hadn’t sent another note either; she would have relished one even if the words had been harsh or condemning. Apparently he had chosen to honor her parting remark and had decided not to contact her again in any way.

It is for the best,
she told herself.
But if it is, why does it hurt so much?

Her chest gave another painful squeeze and she pressed a hand over her heart, faintly breathless. Chiding herself for the reaction, she forced herself to return to her reading.

The effort proved no more successful than before, however, and soon she found herself considering Sigrid’s advice about going for a walk around the grounds. Before she could act on her decision, she heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway together with a murmur of voices.

A sharp rap came at the door.

“Come,” she called.

Baroness Zimmer entered the room, a faintly harried expression on her face. “Pardon the intrusion, Your Highness, but you have guests. I was given no notice of their impending arrival or I would have made ready to receive them properly.”

Guests? Who would possibly come here unannounced?

Emma laid her book aside and stood. “Who is it, Zimmer?”

But before the baroness could answer, the doors swung wide and in strode two young women Emma had not thought to see again for a very long time.

“
Ariadne! Mercedes!
” she called, rushing across to give each of them a long, warm hug. “Where did you come from? How did you get here? I’m… I’m speechless.”

“Of course you are not, since you seem to be speaking just fine,” Ariadne said on a teasing laugh. “As for the where and how, the answers are Scotland and by coach. Are you surprised?”

“Very!” Emma exclaimed.

“And glad, I hope,” Mercedes said.

“Very, very,” Emma responded, her lower lip wobbling a little as she realized exactly how glad she was that her two best friends were with her again. Until that moment, she hadn’t known just how much she’d missed them.

“Have tea sent in, Baroness, and see that rooms are prepared for the princesses,” she told her lady-in-waiting. “In my wing. The yellow and rose suites, I think.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” With a respectful bow, the older woman withdrew.

The three of them waited until she had gone before continuing their conversation.

“You must be tired from your journey,” Emma said, gesturing with a hand toward the long sofa opposite before resuming her own seat. “I ought to have asked first if you would rather rest and refresh yourselves before the tea arrives. I know just how long a trip it is from Scotland and how weary I felt afterward.”

Ariadne and Mercedes exchanged looks. “We are quite well. The final portion of the journey was a brief one this morning, since it was too long to push through last night.”

“The inn where we stayed was quite comfortable,” Mercedes offered. “Much more so than one might have expected. And before that we enjoyed the hospitality of various lords and ladies at their country estates. We had to be quite firm about our need to leave each day and not tarry, since we were coming to see you.”

Emma studied each of them this time. “Happy as I am to see you both—and believe me, I truly am—why are you here? Isn’t term still going on at school?”

“It is,” Ariadne said. “But we spoke with Countess Hortensia and she agreed that we could conclude our autumn lessons early so that we might spend time with you. We asked Prince Rupert not to say anything about our plans in case we were delayed. I am pleased to see he kept his word.”

“You wrote to Rupert?”

“Indeed,” Ariadne stated.

“He arranged our travel and saw to our comfort each step of the way.” Mercedes smiled. “It was most considerate of him.”

“It was no more than anyone else would have done,” Ariadne countered. “But his preparations were adequate, I agree.”

Emma made no comment, aware that nothing Rupert did ever seemed to please her friend.

Getting abruptly to her feet, Ariadne crossed the room and closed the door. Just as quickly, she was back and in her place on the sofa. She leaned forward, lines of concern on her forehead. “After we had your letter, Mercedes and I agreed that it was imperative for us to come.”

Mercedes nodded. “We could tell something was greatly amiss.”

“So tell us everything and don’t leave out a single detail,” Ariadne urged. “We can’t have you being blue-deviled, you know. After all, you’re closer to us than a sister.”

Emma stared at the two girls, then entirely without warning, she burst into tears.

Mercedes raised a hand to her throat, looking stricken, while Ariadne silently extended a handkerchief.

Emma took the silk square and buried her face in the material, letting all the pent-up misery and sorrow of the past weeks wash over her.

A few moments later, Mercedes got up and hurried around to sit at her side. Soothingly, she curved an arm around Emma’s back and rubbed her shoulder. “There now, everything will be all right.”

But Emma knew nothing would ever be right again. Leaning against the other girl’s shoulder, she cried harder.

Ariadne saw to it that the tea arrived without any interruption from the servants or Baroness Zimmer. With the door closed tightly behind her once again, Ariadne set the tray down on the small table between the two sofas.

She poured three cups with a neat, confident hand before purposefully sliding one toward Emma. “Drink that,” she told her. “When you’re ready, we’ll be here to listen.”

Emma tried valiantly to stop, but it took another couple of minutes before her sobs finally quieted enough that she thought she could speak. She blotted her wet, tearstained eyes, then gave her nose a good blow in spite of the indelicacy of the act. After all, she was among friends who had already seen her at her very worst over the years.

“Tea,” Ariadne reminded in a gentle voice, then gave the cup another tiny push forward. “It’ll do you more good if it’s hot.”

Drawing a shaky breath, Emma leaned forward and raised the cup to her lips. The warm brew slid soothingly down her throat, easing away a little of the strained roughness created by her tears.

Mercedes and Ariadne patiently looked on.

“Aren’t you having any?” Emma croaked.

After exchanging a look, her friends picked up their cups and drank.

“Biscuit?” Mercedes suggested.

Emma shook her head, then lowered her gaze to her lap.

“I presume your unhappiness has something to do with the time you spent in London without your brother’s consent,” Ariadne said.

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t really stay with Miss Poole, did you?”

Emma’s eyes widened, dually amazed and exasperated by her friends’ perception. “Not the entire time, no.”

“Well, then,” Ariadne said, her satisfaction apparent. “What is his name and how did the two of you meet?”

Emma’s lips parted, then closed again. “How did you know?”

Ariadne and Mercedes shared another knowing glance. “We had a great deal of time to speculate whilst in the coach,” Mercedes said almost apologetically. “It was the only thing that made any sense.”