Always a Princess (17 page)

“Lord and Lady Farnham will want to know you’ve arrived home safely,” Mobley said.

“Don’t tell my parents just yet. I need to, um, wash up a bit.” And to think of something, anything to tell them about where he’d been. All night. With the princess.

“But they’ve been worried, my lord.”

“I’m sure they have, Mobley, and I’ll explain everything.” As soon as he figured out what everything was. “Only not now.”

“You certainly will explain and right this minute,” his mother’s voice called from the top of the stairway. She hadn’t dressed yet but wore her dressing gown, and her hair was piled haphazardly on top of her head. She descended the stairs at a near-run and then threw her arms around Philip as though she hadn’t seen him for a month. After a moment, she stepped back and swiped some moisture from the corner of her eyes. “What have you been doing? You look a fright.”

“It’s only a costume, Mother,” he said.

“Perhaps we should discuss this in private,” she said, glancing pointedly at Mobley.

The butler cleared his throat. “You’ll excuse me, my lady.”

“Of course.” Lavinia waited until Mobley left and then grabbed Philip’s hand and dragged him into the sitting room. After closing the door behind her, she turned on him.

“Where have you been, Philip? I’ve been sick with worry.”

“You needn’t have been,” he replied.

“How can you say that? That murderous Orchid Thief was right under our noses.”

“I don’t think he’s murdered anyone, Mother.”

“Right under our noses,” she continued. “They almost caught him, you know.”

He knew that far better than he cared to. “Did they really?”

“Chumley had him trapped in one of the bedrooms, but he escaped. Impossible, if you ask me, how a thief can slip into and out of bedrooms without being seen. It isn’t natural.”

“Now, Mother, it’s done every day, and not for thievery. At least, not in the strictest sense of the word.”

“I wouldn’t know about that,” she said. “And I wish you didn’t, either.”

“Sorry.”

“People know entirely too much these days, and just look at the state of the world as a result. Your father didn’t know anything when I married him, and almost forty years later, he still doesn’t.”

“I’m sure you’re right about that,” Philip said, although he couldn’t quite picture his father
never
having found his way into a bedroom where he didn’t belong.

“Marriage does that for a man,” she said. “But I wasn’t talking about that. What was I talking about?”

“The Orchid Thief,” he supplied.

Her eyes narrowed. “No, I wasn’t. I was talking about where you were last night. Or, where you weren’t. You weren’t here—I know that much.”

“I was out.”

“Obviously.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Where?”

“Here and there.” He had to do better than that, but he hadn’t had any time to prepare for this inquisition.

“And did you take the princess here and there with you?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

“Oh, dear heaven.” She pulled a handkerchief from her bosom and dabbed at her eyes with it.

“I could hardly leave the princess behind, not with the Orchid Thief on the loose.”

“It’s all my fault,” his mother wailed. “I’ve been too indulgent with you.”

He stood and stared at the woman he’d called Mother for his entire thirty-five years on earth. What she said didn’t normally make complete sense, but it normally made
some
sense. How in hell could any of this be her fault? Still, if she wanted to accept blame for the fact that he’d disappeared with a princess during a jewel burglary and hadn’t returned until the next morning, who was he to object?

“I let you run wild all these years, and now my chickens have come home to roost.”

“Chickens?” he repeated.

“Isn’t that the expression?”

“Yes, absolutely. Chickens.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “This has nothing to do with barnyard animals. I want to know where you and the princess were all last night.”

He cleared his throat, attempting to buy a bit more time. His mother wasn’t having any of it, though, as she made clear by tapping her foot against the carpet.

“Ah, well,” he said finally. “That’s confidential.”

“Nonsense. I’m your mother.”

“How right you are,” he said. “But, you see, it’s the princess’s secret.”

“How could she have any secrets? She just arrived in London.”

“She’s an incredibly quick study, our princess.”

His mother’s foot-tapping grew more vigorous, until the hem of her dress shook with it. “Go on.”

“Well, you see, she’d grown very upset at being so nearly accosted by the Orchid Thief that she begged my assistance in seeking the only solace that helps when her nerves are shattered.”

“And that is…”

“Yes, well.” He cleared his throat again and searched his brain for someplace—anyplace—that might be acceptable for a young woman to be in the middle of the night in London.

“A church,” he blurted finally.

His mother’s foot stilled. “A church?”

“Yes, a church.” Thank heaven he’d thought of that. “A Greek Orthodox church.”

“ Greek Orthodox,” she repeated, her eyes growing wide. “The princess is Greek Orthodox?”

“Well, no,
she
isn’t, exactly.”

“Not that your father or I would care that she’s something like Greek Orthodox, mind you. But not everyone is so open-minded.”

He didn’t doubt that for a moment. In fact, if his mother’s mind got any more open, she wouldn’t be able to hold anything inside it at all.

“I believe the princess is Church of England,” he said. Although asserting that royalty from Valdastok was Church of England would be a dicey proposition, indeed. “Or at least, I think that’s what she told me. But, you see, one of her ancestors was Greek Orthodox. Someone very famous. Charlemagne, I think.”

His mother tipped her head and looked at him as if he’d gone quite mad. “Charlemagne was Greek Orthodox?”

“Perhaps it wasn’t Charlemagne,” he said, tossing his hand into the air as though he might grasp something there that would get him out of this hideous mess. “Perhaps it was Alexander the Great.”

“Alexander the Great?” she repeated. He’d done such a splendid job of confusing her, she’d started to sound like an echo.

“Alexander conquered that entire part of the world, didn’t he?” Of course, he’d done it centuries before the Greek Orthodox Church ever existed. But why quibble at this point?

“Yes,” she said softly. “I suppose you’re right.”

“The crux of this whole tale is that the princess had a very powerful ancestor who was Greek Orthodox, and now any time she feels distressed, she seeks out this ancestor’s wisdom in the bowels of a Greek Orthodox church. As you can imagine, she was most distraught at her near encounter with the Orchid Thief.”

“Of course. We all were.”

“She prevailed upon me to find her a Greek Orthodox church,” he added. “There aren’t many of them in London, so it took some time. And then, we had to wake the priest to let us in.”

“The priest let two strangers into his church in the middle of the night?” she asked.

“I bribed him.”

“And so, all this time, you and the princess have been in a Greek Orthodox church.”

“Exactly.” He walked to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I’m so glad you understand.”

She looked up at him with the delightfully distracted air he knew so well. All his life she’d nearly caught him at something naughty. But she’d never quite succeeded. It gave him inordinate pleasure to realize that he could still befuddle her into agreeing with him. Andrew had never quite managed the trick, poor soul.

“You and the princess were in a Greek Orthodox church all night?” she echoed.

“It was quite late by the time we discovered the church and got inside. Then, the princess set to praying her little heart out—in Greek, of course.”

“She speaks Greek?” his mother asked in a pitch near what only dogs could hear.

Perhaps he’d overdone that last bit. “A few prayers only.”

“Greek,” she repeated.

“Terrible, droning things, those prayers. On and on she went. Before I knew it, I’d fallen asleep in one of the pews. When I awoke, she’d also fallen asleep.”

“You slept together?” she demanded.

“She was in a different pew. Several pews over, in fact. Nowhere near me at all. Fully dressed.”

“And you stayed that way all night.”

“We awoke some time after dawn, found the first cab we could and came directly home.”

“Well.” She stepped away from him and paced for a few feet toward the window and back. “This just isn’t done. It isn’t accepted. It isn’t…”

Heaven help him, if she said “orthodox,” there’d be no hope for him. He’d burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of his own story.

“…decent,” she concluded.

“But a church, Mother,” he said. “We were in a church. What could go wrong in a church?”

“A Greek Orthodox church,” she said. “How would I know what could go wrong in a Greek Orthodox church? I’ve never been in one.”

“Mother, please don’t exercise yourself over this. We’re both fine, and no one need know about this incident unless you tell them.” Unless the servants spoke to someone else’s servants, which was probably how most of London gossip got spread from house to house. He’d deal with that eventuality when it arose.

“All right, Philip,” she said. “I’ll trust you this time.”

“You’re a dear.”

“But don’t let anything like this happen again. We can’t go on overlooking this sort of behavior, your father and I.”

“I understand.” Although, if she told this story to his father, she’d no doubt jumble it up so badly he wouldn’t understand a word. “You have my promise.”

“We not only have your interests to consider but the princess’s as well. We might be forced to make you do the right thing by her, and I don’t think the right thing is anything like something you’d think of as right.” She stopped at the end of that, clearly having confused herself. “To do. Whatever that might be.”

“I understand.”

She straightened. “Good then. Now, go and dress yourself properly.”

“I will.” He turned and headed toward the door.

“And Philip,” she called.

He stopped and turned back.

She raised her hand and pointed a finger at him. “No more churches!”

Eve entered her boudoir, dragging the none-too-clean skirts of her costume and holding the remains of her powdered wig in one hand. Hubert rose from the chair he’d been sitting in and went to her.

“Eve, child. Where have you been?”

“Out.”

“All night?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” she said.

“And Lord Wesley?” Hubert asked.

“Out. All night. With me.”

“Oh, dear.” Hubert clucked his tongue a few times as he led Eve to the chair he’d just vacated. “The two of you?”

“Together,” she said as she tossed aside her wig and sat. “All night.”

“Oh, dear.”

Well, Hubert might say “oh, dear.” She was completely ruined now. Not that anyone else would care, but she did. After all these years she’d spent protecting her virtue, after all the times she’d fended off Arthur Cathcart’s advances, after all that, she’d lost her head and given herself to Philip Rosemont. How could she?

“Did he…” Hubert began and then cleared his throat. “That is, did the two of you…Did he force himself on you?”

“No,” she said.

Hubert placed his hand over his chest. “Thank heaven.”

“He didn’t have to force me. I was quite willing.”

“Oh, dear. Oh, dear, oh dear.”

“If you don’t mind, I’m very tired right now, and all I want is a bath,” Eve said.

“He’ll marry you,” Hubert said. “I’ll make sure he does.”

She placed her hand over his. “You’re a darling. But I don’t think you can make an earl’s son do anything.”

“By God, I’ll try. I don’t work for him, and neither do you.” Hubert squeezed her fingers in his. “I must say I’m surprised at Lord Wesley. He always seemed honorable to me. I can’t believe he wouldn’t do the right thing by you.”

“Don’t upset yourself, Hubert. He offered.”

Hubert’s frown turned to delight and he clasped Eve’s hand in both of his. “But that’s wonderful. You two belong together. I could see that from the first.”

“I turned him down, of course.”

“Child, why?”

“I can’t marry him, and he can’t marry me,” she said. “We can’t marry each other. That’s simple enough.”

“It wouldn’t be simple, it’s true,” Hubert said.

“Impossible.” She rose from the chair and paced for a bit. “He’s going to be an earl. He needs a countess.”

“You’d make an excellent countess.”

She stopped long enough to cast Hubert a skeptical look and then began pacing again. “His family would never accept me.”

“They already have accepted you.”

“They’ve accepted the Princess Eugenia d’Armand, not me.”

She stopped, looked down at her hands and sighed. “How will they feel when they discover that I’ve deceived them? I can’t pretend to be a princess for the rest of my life.”

“You’ll think of something, you and Wesley, as clever as you are.”

If only that were so. If only Philip could say some incantation and turn a whore’s daughter into a countess. Eve had never felt ashamed of who she was and what her mother had had to do to survive. But neither did she expect to marry into a noble family. Not even Philip Rosemont with all his cleverness could work that kind of magic.

“No, Hubert,” she said. “Wesley and I will never marry. It won’t happen.”

“Why ever not?” Hubert demanded.

“Because if he were ever to discover who I truly am, he’d have to reject me. He’d have no choice.”

Constable Chumley visited the Rosemonts’ house the very afternoon after the robbery at Lord and Lady Harrington’s masked ball, and he brought Dr. Kleckhorn with him. Eve watched from her sitting room window as the two men climbed out of a cab and mounted the steps to the front door. She dropped the lace curtain back over the window and sat on a chair at the secretary—her hands clutched together in her lap and her mind racing. What in bloody hell was she going to do now?

After no more than a moment, there came a soft knock on the door. She went to it and opened it a crack to find Wesley on the other side. He gave her a smile that no doubt was meant to comfort her, but under the circumstances it fell far short of the mark.

“Now, don’t alarm yourself,” he said. “But it appears we have a spot of trouble.”

“A spot of trouble?” she repeated. “The constable and that Dr. Kleckhorn are downstairs, and you call that a spot of trouble?”

He cleared his throat. “Perhaps they’re only canvassing the neighborhood and decided to drop in for a cup of tea.”

“I’ve never thought you stupid before, Lord Wesley…Philip,” she said. “Please don’t surprise me now.”

He didn’t stop smiling, even though a bit of the sparkle went out of those warm brown eyes. The thought suddenly struck her that his handsome face might be the last thing she saw on her way to the gallows. Philip Rosemont, Viscount Wesley marching beside her to their fate—tall and unflinching, that implacably serene expression on his face that he always wore. Confident, certain even, as they faced their deaths that they’d go to a better place.

Oh, what in hell was she thinking? One didn’t get hanged for theft these days, and Wesley, with his impressive pedigree, wouldn’t swing, anyway. If only she could know beyond a doubt that the same would be true for her.

“Whatever they’re here for, we’d best not keep them waiting,” he said.

“Right.” She smoothed her skirts, even though they needed no smoothing, and lifted her chin.

“Good girl.” He extended his arm. “Now, just act like the princess you are, and I’ll do the talking for both of us, agreed?”

She took his arm. “Agreed.”

Voices came to them from below as they walked along the corridor and descended the stairs. The constable and the doctor, if she could tell rightly, and Lord and Lady Farnham. Who knew what the elder Rosemonts had said to Chumley and Kleckhorn? They might have told the two that she and Wesley had stayed out all night and only returned a few hours ago.

When they reached the outside of the sitting room, she hesitated. Wesley squeezed her elbow and then pressed a kiss against her temple. “Buck up. Don’t let them see fear.”

“Right again.” She took a deep breath as he opened the door. The world tilted and lurched as they entered. When it settled back into place again, she found herself facing Chumley and Kleckhorn. Lord and Lady Farnham sat on chairs across the room, looking more bewildered than anything else. Lord Farnham rose and indicated a settee. “Have a seat, Your Highness, Philip. These chaps have a few questions to ask you.”

“Ridiculous,” Lady Farnham said as she reached into her bodice and produced a fine lace handkerchief, which she then pressed to her nose. “Perfectly preposterous, Reginald. I don’t know why you’d allow it.”

“Calm yourself, my dear. This will all be settled in a moment.” Lord Farnham turned to his son, and his expression turned stern. “Won’t it, Philip?”

“Of course, Father.” Wesley seated Eve and then took his own place next to her. He smiled up at the constable. “What brings you here today, Chumley, old bean?”

“And keep a civil tongue in your head,” Lord Farnham said.

“Certainly,” Wesley said. “How may I be of service to you, Constable?”

Chumley walked to Wesley and began to twirl the end of his mustache. “Where were you last night, Lord Wesley?”

“At the Harringtons’ ball. I thought I saw you there. You were a desert sheikh, as I recall.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Chumley snapped. “I mean after that.”

“I’m glad you cleared that up,” Wesley said. “For a moment there I was afraid some scamp had decided to disguise himself as you disguised as a sheikh. We might all have found ourselves confessing our crimes to a counterfeit constable.”

“Philip,” his father warned.

“Well, it is rather confusing, Father.”

“Afterwards,” Chumley said. “Where were you afterwards?”

“Well, let’s see.” Wesley paused as if trying to remember where he’d been. As if anyone could forget the night they’d spent at that inn. “After that, I was still at the ball for some time, and then I came home.”

“When?” Chumley said, the irritation in his voice now almost palpable.

“Later,” Wesley said. “Much later.”

Chumley turned to Wesley’s mother. “Lady Farnham, when did your son come home?”

“I presume you mean Philip,” Lady Farnham said. “Andrew’s been dead for a year.”

“Yes, my lady. I meant Philip.”

“Oh, Andrew,” Lady Farnham wailed into her handkerchief. “Andrew would never have put us through this.”

“Lord Farnham,” Chumley said slowly. “Might I ask you the same question?”

Lord Farnham cleared his throat. “Yes, well…” He looked from Chumley to Kleckhorn. The doctor stood off to one side watching the proceedings, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression inscrutable.

“Yes,” Lord Farnham said again. “Philip must have come home quite late, because Lady Farnham and I had already retired.”

Dear Lord, was every male in the family a conniving scoundrel? Technically Lord Farnham hadn’t lied—they had come home after he’d gone to bed. They’d come home the next day, as Lord Farnham well knew.

“Hmm,” Chumley said. He walked to where Eve sat and looked down at her. “And did you come home much later, too, Your Highness?”

“But, of course,” she said. “As late as Lord Wesley. How could I not?”

Chumley reached into his pocket and produced a length of flimsy material. The fichu from her Marie Antoinette gown.

“I believe you were wearing this last night, Your Highness. Over…” Chumley glanced down toward her bosom. “Over your…your costume.”

“My fichu,” she declared with as much enthusiasm as she could manage. “Where are you finding it?”

“On the ground underneath Lady Harrington’s bedroom window,” Chumley said. “How do you suppose it got there?”

“Such a delicate thing.” She took the fichu from his hand and tossed it into the air where it billowed like a cloud. “The wind could carry it from here to anywhere it wants to go.”

Chumley snatched the cloth from the air and stuffed it back into his pocket. “The wind.”

“The wind,” she repeated.

“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Kleckhorn said. “I’d like to examine your head, Lord Wesley.”

“What will that prove?” Chumley demanded.

“The bumps on his cranium may tell us more than he’s willing to admit to you, Constable.”

Wesley gave Eve’s hand a squeeze and rose from the settee. “Your servant, Doctor. Where would you like me?”

Kleckhorn picked up a straight-backed chair and set it in the middle of the room. “Here, my lord. If you don’t mind.”

“Is this really necessary?” Lady Farnham said.

“Don’t worry, Mother. My cranium and I have nothing to hide.” He sat and smiled pleasantly at Kleckhorn. “Measure away, Doctor.”

Kleckhorn reached into an instrument bag he’d set on a table and produced a measuring tape, which he stretched around Wesley’s head. He read the outcome and turned to make a note of it on a pad of paper beside his bag.

“I hope you find me quite normal, Doctor,” Wesley said.

“So it would seem, my lord,” Kleckhorn replied. “So far.”

He fished around in his bag until he found a huge set of calipers. The things looked like the jaws of some giant brass insect, and Kleckhorn gazed on them with frank adoration. For all his glee, one might assume that he used them to puncture criminals’ skulls. “Now, if you would hold quite still, sir.”

Kleckhorn used the calipers to measure the distance from the tip of Wesley’s chin to the top of his forehead. Then he did the same for the base of his skull to the top of his head. Finally, he turned them sideways and measured the distance between his ears. Wesley sat through it all as though German doctors measured his head every day.

Finally, Kleckhorn set the calipers aside and wrote all those measurements down on his pad. Then he flexed his fingers and walked up behind Wesley and put his hands on Wesley’s head. He felt the back first and then the front. He closed his eyes in what looked unwholesomely like bliss as he worked, sliding his fingers over Wesley’s temples and then into his hair.

Lord and Lady Farnham looked on. Lady Farnham’s face registered first surprise and then disgust as she watched the doctor’s manipulation of her son’s head. Even Lord Farnham appeared shocked. Chumley at least had the decency to look embarrassed.

“And what is all this telling us?” Chumley demanded finally.

Kleckhorn opened his eyes and gave his oily smile. “In good time, Constable. In good time.”

He turned toward Eve. “And now the princess. If you please, Your Highness.”

After that display, Eve could hardly do anything but laugh at the suggestion. She certainly had no intention of letting him do
that
to her head.

“I beg your pardon, Doctor,” Lady Farnham declared. “You’ll do no such thing.”

“But, my lady…”

“I won’t have you molesting our guest in that manner,” Lady Farnham said. “It isn’t healthy. It isn’t decent.”

Kleckhorn turned to the earl. “My lord?”

“I must agree with my wife on this point, sir. Your behavior is…” Lord Farnham cast about for just the right word. “It’s unseemly.”

“Well, it appears we won’t be finding out anything else today,” Chumley said. “I have some men outside, your lordship, and I must ask your permission to search this house.”

“Oh, dear heaven,” Lady Farnham exclaimed.

“Is that strictly necessary?” Lord Farnham asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Chumley said.

Lord Farnham straightened his spine and gave Chumley a withering stare. “Very well. Bring on your men, and I’ll show them whatever they want to see.”

The jewels had to be in here even if Chumley and his men hadn’t found them. Wesley seemed confident to the point of smugness that he’d hidden the spoils of his thievery so well that no one would find them. But Eve would succeed where the constable had failed and use the jewels for her own ends.

All the rubies and emeralds and diamonds the Orchid Thief had stolen—Wesley must keep them somewhere near his person, and where could he do that better than his suite of rooms? Unfortunately, Eve had already spent too much time searching his sitting room with all its hiding places, and now she faced a much more daunting task. The man’s bedroom. She’d best make quick work of that before someone found her.

She crossed the threshold quietly—almost on tiptoe. She needn’t take such precautions, of course, having checked from the very first that the rooms stood empty. Still, she’d stepped over a boundary by entering the room where he slept, and the back of her neck tingled, as though some recess of her mind sensed danger. She wasn’t normally given to such flights of fancy, but then, neither did she normally make it a habit of visiting men’s bedrooms. And considering the fact that she’d shared a bed with this man—the only man she’d allowed to touch her in that way—she might forgive herself a little trepidation.

Despite the considerable size of the room, the bed still managed to dominate it. She could hardly take her eyes away from the massive four-poster. Where her own bed was feminine and covered with lace and pillows, Philip’s bed just seemed male. A place to rest broad shoulders and stretch out long legs. A place for a man to sleep rather than repose. A place to take his pleasure with a woman on his own terms.

Oh hell, she really had gone too far with that last. Wesley wouldn’t bring women here into the bosom of his blue-blooded family. He’d more likely tomcat around London, skulking into women’s bedrooms and stealing their innocence as easily as he stole their jewels. He’d stolen her innocence well enough, and now she’d repay him by taking the proceeds of his other thievery. She’d walked to the chest of drawers to begin there. She’d have to start with the lower drawers as that particular piece of furniture towered over her. If need be, she’d find a stool to get into the top drawers, but they appeared too small to hold anything substantial, anyway. The first drawer she opened revealed shirts, maybe dozens of them, each blindingly white and of the finest linen. As thoroughly as the shirts had been laundered and as heavily as they’d been starched, they still gave off a memory of his scent. A foolish woman who imagined herself in love with the man might hold one close to savor his cologne, but Eve had better things to do. She carefully moved one pile at a time to look for treasures underneath, but found nothing.

More drawers held cravats and collars, nightshirts and caps, drawers and vests—all in the very best fabrics and suited to the latest fashions. Such a wealth of underthings. No one human being could use them all before they went out of fashion again. At least the male servants would find themselves well dressed in castoffs.

So much for the chest of drawers. Eve put her hands on her hips and looked around the room. The wardrobe was every bit as large as the rest of the furniture in the room. No doubt it held suit upon suit upon suit of fashionable clothes and shoes and boots of every description. She’d search it in a moment, but for now she had to wonder if he might not have a more secret place for keeping things he wasn’t supposed to have. After all, he searched bedrooms for his own thefts, and he wasn’t likely to leave stolen jewels lying around where his valet might happen on them while brushing out his suits.

A large trunk sat at the foot of his bed. The wood appeared exotic, and for the first time, Eve noticed the carvings along the bottom. Ornate geometrical designs cut into the wood ran the length of the trunk and then disappeared around the corners. They looked like no art produced in England and most likely marked the trunk as a piece Wesley would have brought back from his travels. Might he keep his ill-gotten riches in there?