Traitor's Masque (31 page)

Ramsey hated all parties, but he especially hated garden parties. He never knew what to do with his hands, other than hold tiny glass cups of some insipid beverage or other while munching endless little sandwiches. In the end, he could only stomach so much punch, and would no doubt be reduced to stuffing his hands in his pockets in a most un-princely manner. If he had pockets, which his embroidered green dress coat did not. Probably because Lizbet knew he would use them.

And that was his attitude on a good day, which today was most emphatically not. His father might be dying. His brother was likely even now hatching a plan to disrupt the proceedings, and he, Ramsey, was probably about to propose to some woman he wasn’t even sure he liked, let alone loved. And in the midst of it all, he was expected to behave with his utmost royal decorum and pretend he wanted to be exactly where he was, doing what he was doing and with whom.

Ramsey’s personal dramatic skills had never been equal to such a challenge.

He was aware that the weather was lovely, and the gardens superb. His guests had only told him so eight or ten times. Each.

Ramsey had been doing his princely best to pay attention to their conversation. He had thought himself succeeding until he caught Kyril’s frown from across the lawn and realized he had been scanning the crowd for his brother, rather than attending to Miss Colbourne’s highly educational conversation on the subject of herself.

She was, he could admit, fully as beautiful as Kyril had suggested: blonde and blue-eyed, with a flawlessly pale complexion and perfect teeth that she displayed rather more frequently than necessary. Her smile terrified him. It was fixed, predatory, and about as warm as a stone floor in the winter. And her eyes, like his, seemed to be wandering, looking for something that wasn’t there.

Rowan’s absence was not necessarily a hopeful sign. If Ramsey knew his brother, Rowan would be waiting for the perfect moment to make his entrance, and would arrange his timing so as to create an optimum degree of chaos. The older prince would be irresistibly charming, impossibly charismatic, and irritatingly condescending. He had put on that particular performance so many times before that Ramsey could predict his movements with depressing precision.

Fortunately, Kyril had assured him that there would be one bastion against Rowan’s all-conquering personal charms: Miss Hester Ulworth, potential future bride. Perhaps the only potential. Staid, unimaginative, biddable to a fault, and undoubtedly advised by her stern parents of the importance of at least attempting to secure a royal proposal. And she was not remotely Rowan’s type.

The older prince tended to prefer women who were both decorative and witless, not quiet girls with years of experience in the particulars of managing the family business in dry goods. Ramsey’s brother would have a difficult time trifling with the affections of Miss Ulworth even should he be desperate enough to try.

Now that Ramsey thought about it, where
was
Miss Ulworth? He had greeted her family when they arrived and exchanged pleasantries with her father over his first cup of whatever it was they were drinking—Ramsey thought it tasted like cucumber juice—but that had been well over an hour ago. One young woman couldn’t be too hard to find in a group of only about five-and-thirty people.

Ramsey scanned the crowd again even as he nodded politely in response to one of Miss Colbourne’s witticisms. There were several small knots of chattering females strung across the lawn and wandering amongst the shrubberies, plus a few family groups clustered around the tea tables. Under the green baize awning were a pair of dowagers sheltering from the sun and a stout young woman fanning herself vigorously with what looked like her sandwich plate. He almost smiled, but caught the edges of his companion’s conversation just in time to assume a more sympathetic expression.

“… And then of course I fainted. What else was I to do? It was simply horrid! I could have died, you know.” Painfully aware that he had no idea what sort of perils Miss Colbourne had just finished describing in lurid detail, Ramsey decided to extricate himself with as much delicacy as possible.

“Miss Colbourne, your continued health is a source of great relief to me, I assure you.” Ramsey kept his face scrupulously straight. Possibly even solicitous. And hoped Kyril wasn’t watching. “Even the memory of such trials must be a great burden and I beg you will avail yourself of some refreshment before you are again overcome.” Perhaps that was laying it on a bit too thick, but he was fairly certain his secret was safe with Miss Colbourne. She flashed her predatory teeth at him again and they parted, probably in mutual dislike.

Tugging surreptitiously at his cravat, Ramsey looked around again for Miss Ulworth as he walked across the lawn to Kyril, who took his leave of his own companion when he saw the look on Ramsey’s face.

“My condolences, brother,” the younger man said under his breath, with a cheeky grin. “I trust you appreciate my taste in unsuitable brides.”

Ramsey’s expression promised volumes of retribution to be exacted at an unspecified time and place. “Lord Seagrave, I assure you, your services to the crown will not go unrewarded.”

Kyril just clapped him bracingly on the shoulder. “Buck up, my liege. Just think how much worse it would have been if she were smart enough to notice you were ignoring her.”

Ramsey had to give him that. But there were more pressing matters at the moment than exploring the myriad deficiencies of Anya Colbourne’s character.

“Kyril, I’ve been looking for Miss Ulworth. I should probably at least make an effort to get to know her, but I can’t even seem to find her. I’m starting to suspect she’s avoiding me.”

Kyril looked around, scanning the lawn, the shrubberies, and the tea tables to no avail. “Devil take it,” he muttered. “I know she was here not that long ago. Do you see her parents?”

They simultaneously spotted the elder Ulworths, engaged in what appeared to be animated conversation with Lord and Lady Fellton, though Ramsey was hard-pressed to determine whether it was animation or animosity. From what he knew of the two families, it was likely fortunate that weapons were not permitted at a garden party, or more might have been flying than just words.

After requesting that Kyril conduct a more thorough search, Ramsey approached the foursome as cautiously as possible. Lord Fellton spotted him first and broke off in the middle of a sentence.

“Your Highness!” How the man managed to go from apoplectic to jovial in the space of a heartbeat Ramsey had no idea. “May I say, what a fabulous afternoon for this little gathering. And how thrilled our Larissa was to be invited!”

His wife put her hand on his arm as though to shush him, but Lord Fellton was not the sort of man to be shushed. He droned on for a few moments while Mr. Ulworth scowled darkly and Mrs. Ulworth looked on in prim disapproval. She looked so very like her daughter that Ramsey found himself beset by a horrifying vision of Hester, gazing at him with that exact expression, for the rest of his life. It might have unnerved him, had it not been far too late to succumb to such squeamishness, or give rein to the vagaries of his imagination. Which was not usually so wildly overactive. Perhaps he could blame the cucumbers.

“Lord and Lady Fellton, Mr. and Mrs. Ulworth, may I say again how pleased I am that you could join me today.” Polite nods all around. “Mr. Ulworth, may I request a moment of your time?”

The stocky, bearded Mr. Ulworth looked grudgingly gratified and consented, leaving his wife to the tender mercies of Lady Fellton with nothing more bracing than a vague pat on the arm.

Ramsey decided to approach the conversation as straightforwardly as possible. “Mr. Ulworth, I’m sure you are aware of the implications of your daughter’s invitation today.”

The older man nodded cautiously as they moved off together down one of the neatly shorn garden paths. “Of course, Your Highness. My daughter’s been taught what her duties and obligations are and I’m sure you will find her—”

Ramsey interrupted, trying hard not to shudder. Duties and obligations indeed. What a lovely way to begin a marriage.

“Mr. Ulworth, at the moment I find myself more concerned with your own opinions on the matter. Have you any questions for me? Any potential objections to the idea of your daughter entering into a marriage of state?”

Poor Hester’s father looked utterly perplexed. His lips actually moved as he tried to wrap his mind around Ramsey’s words. “Why the devil… er, pardon me, Your Highness…”

“No, please, Mr. Ulworth,” Ramsey offered politely. “I beg you will feel free to speak plainly.”

“I don’t see what there could be to object about.” Mr. Ulworth was at least refreshingly candid, though apparently lacking in compassion. “You’re the heir to the crown. My Hester would make you a compliant wife and I’m sure you’d see to it she’s kept comfortable.” There was an awkwardly long pause.

“Ah, yes,” Ramsey managed finally. “I’m sure I would. And you, Mr. Ulworth?” He glanced at his companion, as if to assure himself the fellow was real. “How might you feel about the possibility of linking your family name so closely with the crown?”

Mr. Ulworth appeared unsurprised by the question. Unsympathetic he might be, but a man did not make a fortune keeping a shop without a bit of native shrewdness. “I think I take your meaning, Your Highness, and I can assure you my wife and I have always been loyal to His Majesty. We’d be honored to link our humble house with the House of Tremontaine and that’s a fact.” Mr. Ulworth seemed uncomfortable for a moment, but forged ahead. “And may I add, Your Highness, our best wishes for His Majesty’s health and recovery.”

Ramsey accepted, startled for a moment by the reminder. His father. Who could be near death at that very moment. Shaking off the weight of melancholy, he asked one final question. “Thank you, Mr. Ulworth, for your time. I’ve been hoping to have the opportunity to speak with your daughter this afternoon, but unfortunately I seem to have, ah… lost her. Perhaps you could assist me?”

Hester’s father appeared momentarily nonplussed, but grunted assent and turned back the way they had come. “I’ve no doubt she’s talking with one of the other young ladies, or perhaps gone for a bit of a walk through the garden.”

He began to look about as they walked, obviously expecting to see her at any moment. When they arrived back at the lawn, however, with no sign of the missing Hester, he grew more agitated. “Well, I can’t think where she might have got to… perhaps the, er…” The now rather red-faced Mr. Ulworth evidently intended to imply that she had gone in search of the necessary.

“In fact, sir,” Ramsey informed him, “I have been looking for her for some time without success. I doubt she would have remained inside so long.” He continued to gaze hopefully at his quarry’s parent.

“I… well, perhaps I should ask Mrs. Ulworth.” Patently relieved by this thought and clearly beginning to be concerned by his daughter’s apparent absence, Mr. Ulworth scurried off in his wife’s direction.

Ramsey watched him go, frowning, until he became aware of a stir behind him—the familiar sound of murmuring voices, rising in a wave of admiration, anger and probably awe. He didn’t even need to turn around to know what he would see, but he turned around anyway. Someday he would be smart enough or bold enough to just walk away, but this, alas, was not that day. He had guests. So he turned, nearly running into his brother in the process.

Rowan wore black and an ominous expression and he bore in one hand a folded piece of paper. A note. It was small, square, and smelled of perfume.

Oh, not this, Ramsey thought wearily. Not again.

The entire assembly held its breath as Ramsey reluctantly accepted his brother’s offering, trying not to glare at the offending messenger.

“The young lady begged me to deliver this to you, brother.” Rowan’s voice was politely low, but of course, not low enough. He wanted every ear on this conversation, every eye on Ramsey’s reaction. Which meant Ramsey would be a fool to fall for it.

“Thank you, Rowan.” Ramsey began to tuck the note inside his jacket with every appearance of unconcern. “I’ll be sure to attend to it later, after I have seen to our guests.”

Rowan put out a forestalling hand as Ramsey began to walk away. “No, brother.”

Ramsey’s arm clenched under his brother’s grip. It took every bit of self-control he possessed not to rip himself away. Ramsey had such a tentative hold on his temper that he did not dare look at Rowan’s face to see the sorrowful expression of sympathy he was certain it was wearing.

“Please, Ramsey, you should know. Before you go any further.”

Ramsey looked up then. Up the several inches necessary to meet the shining blue eyes of his taller sibling. Eyes that wore only a veneer of sorrow over a deep well of mocking triumph. Triumph over what the note contained? Or triumph over having forced Ramsey’s hand? Ramsey would look nothing but churlish now if he refused Rowan’s request to read the note here and now. It was an old game they played, and Ramsey had never mastered it.

Mentally cursing himself, Ramsey pulled the note from his jacket, painfully aware of the weight of so many pairs of eyes. Behind him, abruptly raised voices seemed incongruously loud in the midst of such ominous silence.

Mr. and Mrs. Ulworth. Still unable to locate Hester. And then he knew. He looked again at Rowan and saw confirmation. Unable to stop himself, Ramsey unfolded the note.

The hand was unexpectedly florid, a bit untidy, and obviously hurried.

To His Exalted Highness, Prince Ramsey Tremontaine, Regrets.

Forgive me. I have done that which will shame me in the eyes of yourself, my parents, and indeed the world, but I could not do otherwise. My affections have long been given, though we dared not request my father’s approval, and could not once he became aware of the opportunity to bestow me more eligibly. We have long despaired, having no means to establish ourselves without our parents’ consent. It was only this morning that we suddenly found hope for our future together, and have had no choice but to grasp it. I know not how such an exalted person came to know of our plight, I only thank providence for the blessed and timely intervention of His Highness, Prince Rowan, who offered us the means to escape from the bleak fate that has so long confronted us. Forgive me, Your Highness, if I have offended you, or caused you embarrassment. I never sought your attention, though in duty to my father I have presented myself to your notice and for that deception I am deeply sorry. While I honor you as my Lord and my Prince, and consider myself your loyal subject, I cannot pretend that a marriage between us would not be repugnant to me. I beg you would convey the contents of this message to my honored parents and accept my eternal gratitude for the services of the House of Tremontaine in securing my happiness. I remain,