Barbara Metzger (14 page)

“We do not use that word,” Ian told him. “Her Highness is gathering information. She agreed to stay here as a favor to me.”

“Why would a sp—Why would an Austrian princess play dogberry to a girl from the country?”

“As I said, as a favor. I have been friends with Her Highness’s sisters for years, since they started to visit our fair shores.”

“
Und
how better to hide than in the open, I alvays say.
Und
I felt sorry for the little
fraulein,
so alone,
ja
?”

“But wait, I have heard of the Ziftsweig princesses. If I recall, one of them had her name linked with yours in the
on dits
column, Marden.” Princess or not, his belligerence seemed to say, Wiggs would not stand for Marden’s mistress acting as mentor to Miss Renslow.

“The Hafkesprinke principality boasts a bounty of royal sisters. I had the pleasure of escorting Princess Helga on the occasion of her last visit to England, and of hosting a reception for Princess Hannah. I danced once with Princess Henricka before she married her Russian count.”

Wiggs digested that, wondering if Marden had bedded all three of the illustrious light skirts. They were all accepted in the highest circles, of course. He nodded, without dislodging a single strand of hair. “But I never heard of Princess Hedwig.”

Ian leaned closer to the curate. “Wrong side of the royal blanket, don’t you know. Acknowledged, but not legitimate. That is why she was perfect for this delicate mission, which you must instantly pretend was never mentioned.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“Mine are not. Vere is
mein
dinner?” the princess demanded.

Chapter Ten

Tears are for cowards.

—Anonymous

Tears are for sorrow and joy and pain and panic…and cowards.

—Mrs. Anonymous

Troy laughed so hard he almost opened his stitches, then suffered with the pain so badly that Athena had to give him the laudanum an hour early. He fell asleep as soon as the drug started to act, but with a smile upon his pale face.

Athena went to her own bedroom and changed into her nightgown, intending to sleep, or nap, once more on the pallet beside his bed. Perhaps by tomorrow she could let one of the maids sleep there, but not yet. The housekeeper or his lordship’s valet were willing to wake up for the next doses of fever powders and laudanum, but Athena was not ready for that yet, either. She had to see for herself that her brother had his medicine, that he was sleeping soundly, that he was not in a fever.

She had put on her night rail and her thick flannel robe, thinking that she was more covered now than she had been in her gown. She had the waiting maid unpin her hair and weave the wavy length into a long braid that she tossed over her shoulder, then she collected a book to read by the candle left burning at her brother’s bedside. Even if Troy awoke during the night, she would rather read to him from Shakespeare than from his horse racing encyclopedia.

When she returned to Troy’s room, Lord Marden was there, handing Roma a steak bone. He straightened up, his footwear safe for now, and studied Troy for signs of fever or chill. “He seems to be sleeping peacefully,” he said, as she came near the bed.

“Yes, while the pain is held back. But his head wound is already healing, and he seems to have taken no lasting effects from that, thank goodness.”

“But the fever? The surgeon warned that was the worst, once the bleeding stopped. Do you think it will return?”

“I pray not. Then the danger will be past and we can go home. Troy can sleep as well at our uncle’s house as here, where we will not cause such a commotion.”

“I assure you, my household can withstand any inconveniences your brother’s recovery might involve.”

“But it is my presence that is causing the stir, isn’t it?”

Ian looked at her, taking in the schoolgirlish braid, the faded flannel robe, the tiny flowers embroidered on her delicate slippers. Oh, she had caused a stir, all right. More like a whirlpool, in fact, than a current to ruffle the waves of his placid existence. He was drowning, and she was not even aware that he was gasping for his last breaths of air.

Let her keep her innocent ignorance, he decided. There was no need for both of them to suffer, not yet. The future would be misery enough.

Then he took a better look at Miss Renslow’s face, hoping to see the radiant turquoise light in her eyes that meant she still considered him a friend. What he saw instead was swollen eyes, color-stained cheeks, and tear tracks.

“You have not been crying again, have you?” he asked, ready to run from the room, before he remembered that he had already held her—a single woman of marriageable age—against his chest while she wept. They could not hang a man twice, could they?

But this time she did not fly into his embrace, and he was relieved. His arms, however, fell to his sides, feeling useless, empty, bereft.

“Oh, no, I never cry.”

“Now that is a plumper if I ever heard one,” Ian said, “and Jupiter knows, I should recognize a lie when I hear one.”

She smiled, and he realized she had been laughing so hard that tears had fallen, the silly chit. Of course, he and Carswell had had a good chuckle over Princess Hedwig themselves, but they had managed to restrain themselves to a few hearty laughs and knee slaps, like the rational, reasonable beings they were.

“What possessed you to make up such an outrageous tale?” she asked now, wiping at the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief.

He did it for her sake, of course, but Ian did not want to say that. He was still hoping they could squeak through this mess unscathed, or at least leaving her with choices. What he said was, “I could not let that starched-up, strait-laced slug succeed. He is so sure he knows what is right, as if the Almighty himself whispers in the clunch’s ears. He wants everyone else to be wrong, to be found wanting on the grand scales of life, so that he might weigh more, philosophically.”

“In other words, he is a jackass?”

“Exactly.”

“And you had to get the best of him, like boys taunting each other in a schoolyard.”

“No, like rational, reasonable beings.” Ian loosened his neckcloth. “He mangles the truth, anyway, so why not feed him a rasher of lies to chew on? Besides, what I told Wiggs was not entirely a fairy tale. I do know some of the Hafkesprinke heiresses.”

Athena wanted to ask how well he knew them, but she could not, of course, being a lady.

He was going on: “Thank goodness none of them is in London now, but I’d wager Princess Helga would vouch for me.”

Which answered Athena’s question. At least one Austrian princess knew him very well, indeed. Wiggy might distort the truth, but he was liable to have his facts right concerning Lord Marden’s mistresses. She sighed.

He mistook the sound for a yawn. “Why do you not go to sleep in your own bed? This has been an exhausting few days, and your brother will not benefit if you become ill. I shall sit up with him, if you think he needs someone, and promise to call you if there is any change.”

“No, I am fine, really. I wish to be close to Troy. The laudanum makes him wake up disoriented, so he needs a familiar face.”

Hers was a charming face, Ian thought, despite the reddened nose. He thought about waking up to that sweet, smiling mouth, the delicate eyebrows, the tiny blond curls that were always escaping their ribbons or hairpins to brush against her cheeks. A man could wake up to worse, a lot worse.

Ian liked to sleep alone. He had never spent the entire night with any of his lovers, although he had awoken from a nap more than once to find a strange woman sleeping with her mouth open next to him, or snoring, or stealing the blankets. He could sympathize with Troy.

He should not be thinking of waking up next to Miss Renslow under any circumstances, certainly not in the same breath as thinking of his former bedmates. And why was he, anyway? Lud, the robe she was wearing was about as appealing as yesterday’s porridge. For an instant, he let his mind wander to what he knew was hidden by the thick flannel folds. That was why he was having unacceptable ideas about Miss Renslow: his memory was too good, and his imagination was too active, to say nothing of his warmer urges.

Luckily, his senses of honor and self-preservation were also on the boil. He knew he could not spend another night in this room alone with her and satisfy both. He should not stay here, anyway, no matter what lies he concocted, so Ian did not offer to keep Athena company during her vigil. He’d have to take himself to a hotel, in fact. Carswell’s rooms at the Albany were too cramped, and the little house in Kensington was occupied by his last mistress and her new protector, until they could find a hideaway of their own. Now it was the earl’s turn to sigh.

“You must be tired, my lord.”

“No, making up Banbury tales is not hard work.”

She smiled and said, “Do you think we will go to hell for all the deceptions?”

“You are far too innocent to go to hell. If the powers that be prove unforgiving, however, I will be there long before you, to welcome you.”

“You are not all that much older, you know.”

He knew. Eleven years. The same difference in age as between his parents. He sighed again and said, “Ah, but I am that much more wicked.”

* * *

Wiggs returned the next morning at breakfast time. Lord Marden was not at home. Neither was Lady Throckmorton-Jones. Athena did not care that she would be meeting Wiggs by herself, unchaperoned and unprotected. She had been alone in his company any number of times during the past year and a half since he had come to tutor her brother. Her other brother certainly never worried that she might be endangering her good name. Athena doubted Spartacus remembered that she ought to have a spotless reputation. He never remembered that she ought to have a Season, a chance to meet other gentlemen.

Not even Athena’s fault-finding sister-in-law had seen anything wrong with Athena and the reverend spending time like this, alone except for the servants who were bringing a fresh pot of chocolate and a plate of toast to the morning room, which was all Athena had requested for breakfast. Of course, Veronica had not forbidden Athena from private converse with the tutor. If they did make a match of it, Veronica would be rid of her pesky relation without any exertion on her part. Nor would she lose her precedence to the wife of a mere congregationless cleric, which mattered to Lady Rensdale.

If the conventions did not concern Athena, Wiggy’s contentiousness did. The man was in another temper; she could tell as soon as he stomped into the drawing room. Perhaps it was the same temper as the previous evening, she decided: sour and sullen. Well, Athena was not in a sunny mood herself.

She had not slept well, and could blame neither Troy nor the thin mattress beside his bed. Her thoughts had kept her awake, and worries about the future. If she were labeled fast, who would marry her? If she were considered a fallen woman, who would hire her? If she went into service, who would look after Troy? Reason and logic told her that Wiggs was her best choice, which meant she was going to have to placate him—for the rest of her life. That thought gave her nightmares, and she had not even shut her eyes.

No, she was not in a comfortable frame of mind. In fact, after standing to greet her unwanted caller, Athena started to pace, rather than settling back onto her chair at the breakfast table.

Mr. Wiggs frowned at her, then frowned at the scant repast on the sideboard. He harumphed a few times to get her attention, then said, “If you are not going to sit, Miss Renslow, I cannot. Some of us remember our manners.”

“I beg your pardon, sir. I am anxious to return to my brother.” She did take a seat, however, and poured the scowling man a cup of chocolate. She would not encroach on the earl’s generosity by asking his servants to fetch heartier fare, not when she herself was a guest in his home, but she did push the plate of toast toward Wiggy. Her own appetite had gone missing, anyway.

Wiggs reached for the jam and remembered his position, too, albeit somewhat late. “Oh, your brother. How fares the young man this morning?”

“Not as well as yesterday, although he does not appear feverish, merely lethargic. That might be due to the—”

“I am sure the physicians know best. Your situation, however, is of more immediate concern. I was hoping the boy would be well enough to move today, but you will have to leave without him.”

“Leave?”

“You cannot stay here. I fear I have to insist.”

“But why? You met Lady Throckmorton-Jones, or Her Highness, although I should not repeat her title.”

“There is no title. No one seems to know of her existence.”

“Of course not. You heard Lord Marden. She is here incognita, on a secret mission for her brother.”

“Humph. I asked at the Austrian consulate. There is no Princess Hedwig.”

“You asked? When we were told not to reveal her presence? Who knows what effect your prying will have on diplomatic relations between our two countries? Why, if an alliance cannot be formed, who knows what might be the outcome of the entire military campaign against France? England could lose the war without the support of the Ziftsweig armies, all because you have taken to being my watchdog. Without my permission, I must add.”

“Tut, tut. I have your brother’s permission.”

“I shall not argue with you about my brother’s authority over me. For now, it is enough that you have betrayed Lord Marden’s trust after he has been so kind to Troy and me. You swore you would keep Lady Throckmorton-Jones’s confidence.”

“And you swore your uncle was ailing.” Wiggs dabbed at his mouth with the corner of a napkin. He moved a spot of jam to his chin, and Athena did not bring it to his attention. “And you shall not think so highly of his lordship when you hear what I have discovered.”

“Lord Marden has proven himself a true gentleman. I am sure nothing could make me respect him less, certainly not scurrilous gossip.”

Wiggs drew himself up, looking as dignified as a man could with jam on his face. “I do not indulge in idle chitchat. I saw this with my own eyes. Well, I heard it with my own ears, at any rate.”