Suzanne Robinson (28 page)

Prim stood in front of the full-length mirror in her dressing room at Aunt Freshwell’s town house and scowled at the reflection of herself dressed in undergarments and crinoline. How could a few hours make such a difference in her fate? It was really too disorienting to be thrust back into the life she had left so abruptly after the nightmare of Robert Montrose, and it was all Luke’s fault.

Last night he had summoned his friend Ross Scarlett. Together they had dealt with Montrose’s body and the Metropolitan police, and she had been ordered to submit to the attentions of a kindly doctor and to rest. How could she rest with strange men coming and going in secrecy? She wandered the house until Luke had finally thrust a snifter of brandy
in her hands and ordered her to sit in the drawing room where he could keep an eye on her.

From her vantage point she had grown ill watching Montrose’s body carried out and taken away in a carriage. She had watched while the house was explored, straightened, and cleaned. More gentlemen arrived, these with an air of calm authority. Luke and his friend closeted themselves in the Italian Room for hours. She finally fell asleep listening to their low grumbling voices.

Not long before daybreak, Luke awakened her looking as severe and menacing as she’d ever seen him. He bundled her into his town coach. On the journey through town Prim tried to get him to tell her what was wrong, but he only replied, “Oy! Give us some peace, woman.” The trip ended at Aunt Freshwell’s. Luke plucked her from the carriage and deposited her on the doorstep, where the Freshwell butler was already waiting.

He left her with a whispered explanation that was no explanation. “This is for the best, Primmy.”

Then he left her.

Prim wiped a tear from her cheek. Luke had abandoned her, and she was afraid it was because he regretted coming so close to making a commitment to her. The horror or Montrose’s attack had brought him back to reason and banished all memory of their love. Luke had remembered what he really wanted—a grand lady of rank and distinction. He deserved such a lady, someone who would make him proud and give him children of noble heritage and breeding.

No. No, he didn’t. He deserved her. She was the one who had saved his life. Twice!

Turning from her miserable reflection, Prim tried to smile at the maid who came into the room bearing the skirt to the gown she was to wear tonight. Aunt Freshwell had insisted she attend this dinner party. All Prim wanted to do was stay in her room and cry, but her aunt had harped and hectored until Prim gave way.

Another maid followed the first, bearing the bodice that matched the skirt. She helped Prim put it on. Then the two maids positioned the voluminous skirt. It took at least two maids to lift the yards of material over the crinoline and her head. Once the skirt was fastened, Prim felt hemmed in and weighed down by all her garments, even though the bodice was cut off the shoulder and low in the bosom.

With the maids’ help she was able to lift the skirt so that she could sit without crushing the pale blue antique moiré. While one girl fastened a spray of tiny white and blue roses in her hair, Prim’s spirits plummeted further. She was back home after a mysterious disappearance, and everyone was acting as if she’d never left. Aunt Freshwell and Newton had greeted her at breakfast this morning without mentioning the weeks she’d been absent and possibly dead.

The reason for their behavior, Prim suspected, was the hidden hand of Luke, and that of his influential friend. Both men had been anxious that she not be exposed to public speculation and notoriety. Prim had been skeptical of their ability to control the affair so that no word reached beyond their inner circle. Now,
even her hedgehog of an aunt behaved with circumspection. Prim had expected Aunt Freshwell to rain castigation down upon her for risking the family reputation and honor. No such tempest occurred. This miracle caused Prim to realize just how powerful Ross Scarlett was. And she suspected that her views of Luke Hawthorne’s influence would also need revising.

Nothing, however, could make up for the fact that she had been abandoned by the man who had transformed her life from one of unremitting sameness to something resembling the flight of a star. He had cast her back among people who spent their lives in pursuit of what Prim thought of as capitals. And this evening’s dinner party was a prime case. Aunt Freshwell had recited the guest list to her earlier, and it was full of capitals.

“Oh, Victoria.” (Aunt Freshwell preferred Prim’s second name, which was the queen’s.) “Oh, Victoria, this dinner will be so important for my Newton. He’s sure to get an appointment to Her Majesty’s household. We’re having the Queen’s Equerry” (one capital), “and a Cabinet Minister” (another capital). “We snagged a Bishop, and a Personal Friend of His Royal Highness, Prince Albert.”

Each capital—whose name was never so important as his or her station and influence—was spoken in a hushed tone and accompanied with a pursing of lips and a look that announced the great rank and consequence of the guest. It seemed that Prim’s disappearance hadn’t prevented the Freshwells from pursuing their life’s ambition. Both the lady and her son lusted after a position at court with all the fervid and grasping
selfishness of the wives of an Ottoman sultan. It was to this company that Luke had condemned her without so much as a farewell. She hated him.

With her toilette complete, Prim slouched her way downstairs to the drawing room, miserable and resentful. Several of the guests had already arrived. Aunt Freshwell glared at her tardy arrival, but Prim kept well away from her, joining a couple at the fireplace. The gentleman turned, and Prim came face to face with Ross Scarlett. Her lower jaw came loose as he bowed to her.

“Ah, Miss Dane. So pleased to see that you’re well. May I present Françoise Marie de Fontages, Comtesse de Rohan.”

Prim curtseyed to the elegant, silver-haired woman. Lifting her gaze, she stared into the twinkling eyes of Mrs. Apple.

“But—”

“The comtesse has only recently arrived from her chateau in Austria.”

“But—”

Aunt Freshwell’s harpylike voice drowned Prim’s protest. “Victoria. Victoria, come here and meet my other guests.”

She spent the evening in a daze. Not even Newton’s obsequious attentions to the Queen’s Equerry and the Personal Friend irritated her. She kept glancing at the “comtesse,” who seemed to have changed her hair color, stature, weight, and accent yet again. Luke wouldn’t tell her about Mrs. Apple, but Prim was certain she didn’t belong at Aunt Freshwell’s dinner party, or to the French aristocracy.

After dinner Prim tried to corner the comtesse, but the lady eluded her. Handing a thick envelope to Ross Scarlett, she murmured apologies in an accent so charming that all the men in the room stopped talking. Taking her leave of Aunt Freshwell, she gave Prim a twinkling smile and vanished. Prim slumped down in a chair, preoccupied with this little mystery, until Newton bullied her into participating in the formal leave-taking.

Ross Scarlett was the last to go. Prim found him in the foyer talking to Aunt Freshwell. When she joined them, he nodded to her and smiled.

“Here is Miss Dane. Excellent. Shall we go into the library?”

Offering his arm to her aunt, Mr. Scarlett led the way, leaving Prim and Newton to trail behind. Mystified, Prim took one of the stuffed leather chairs and eyed the guest with trepidation.

“Oh, Mr. Scarlett,” her aunt gushed as soon as the door was shut. “I can’t tell you what an honor it was to receive your request to be included in our little affair tonight. No! No, don’t tell me. I can guess your reason. You have a little communication to make from an exalted personage.”

Prim gawked at her aunt. The woman was chirping. There was no other word for it. She peeped like a fuzzy, week-old buzzard chick.

Distaste flickered in Scarlett’s eyes and was gone. He shook his head. “You are mistaken, my lady. Such a communication would come from another source.”

“Now, Mr. Scarlett, it’s well known that Her Maj—”

“I am here on quite a different errand,” said Mr. Scarlett with a quelling frown at Lady Freshwell.

Newton piped in. “But what could that be?”

Scarlett produced the thick envelope Mrs. Apple had given him. “I am here to make a proposal on behalf of Sir Lucas Hawthorne.”

“A proposal?” Aunt Freshwell said.

Prim’s heart did a Spanish dance in her chest, and she thanked Providence that she was sitting down. A proposal. Now she understood. Luke had wanted to preserve her reputation and honor and had gone to great trouble to do it. This was his gift to her and his way of asking for her hand. But he could have told her.

Aunt was staring at her with that startled horse look that exposed the whites of her eyes. Newton merely looked stupid and confused.

“This chap who kept Victoria in hiding wants to marry her?” Newton’s brow unfurrowed. “Only decent thing, really.”

Lady Freshwell had recovered and was bristling in her usual hedgehog manner. “This—this person of low birth has the temerity to offer for my niece? Unacceptable, sir. Most unacceptable.”

“You are mistaken.”

Prim’s heart, which had just settled down, started banging against her breastbone again, causing a jab of pain.

“Oh?” Aunt Freshwell asked.

“Sir Lucas wishes to settle a sum on Miss Dane so that she becomes independent and may chose her own fate.”

Newton brightened. “I say!”

Ignoring Newton and Lady Freshwell, Scarlett went to Prim and placed the envelope in her hands.

“These are the legal papers, the draft for the money and instructions on how to manage it, along with a letter of reference to my own solicitor. He will be honored to help you with your affairs, Miss Dane. This money is yours entirely, with no conditions attached to it.”

Prim blinked at him. Scarlett smiled and nodded at her in encouragement. With shaking fingers she opened the envelope and glanced at the figures. Zeros swam before her.

“Heavens,” Prim said faintly.

Newton sidled over and looked at the papers. “Good God! Fifty thousand pounds.”

Aunt Freshwell gasped and clutched the back of a chair. Newton rushed to her side and fluttered a handkerchief in her face. Scarlett thrust his hands in his pockets and grinned at Prim.

“It’s a nice sum, Miss Dane. But you must take care not to become prey to fortune hunters.” He paused, but Prim was still staring at the papers.

Turning to Lady Freshwell, Scarlett said, “I must take my leave, Lady Dorothy.”

“A moment,” Prim said.

Scarlett turned back to her. “Yes, Miss Dane?”

“It seems you and Sir Lucas have my affairs all nicely settled between you.”

Frowning, Scarlett said, “It was meant for the best, Miss Dane.”

“No doubt,” Prim said.

She rose, gripped the papers and the bank draft, and ripped them in half. Aunt Freshwell shrieked.

“I say!” exclaimed Newton.

Prim thrust the torn sheets into Ross Scarlett’s hands and addressed him in a trembling voice. “If Luke Hawthorne thinks I’m going to accept this—this charity, he has gone mad indeed.”

“Victoria!”

Prim glared at Lady Freshwell. “Be quiet, Aunt.” She faced Scarlett. “Tell me, sir. Did he think it necessary to do this in order to get rid of me?”

Scarlett spread his hands and shook his head.

“Or perhaps he simply pitied me.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then he’s buying my compliance,” Prim snapped. “He doesn’t wish to marry me himself, but in his gracious goodness, he’s willing to purchase a husband for me.”

“My dear Miss Dane, this isn’t what we intended at all.”

Prim was near tears. She had to get out of this room and away from these horrible people.

“Mr. Scarlett, you can tell Sir Lucas Hawthorne to go to hell. I’m done with hypocritical propriety and stifling boredom and tediousness.” She marched to the door, then whirled around. “No! Don’t tell him anything. I want to do it myself. Where is he?”

Scarlett was grinning again. “An excellent idea, Miss Dane. Luke has gone back to Beaufort.”

“Thank you, Mr. Scarlett. I shall take the first train in the morning.”

Prim slammed the door on Aunt Freshwell’s strident protests.

Late the next afternoon Prim sat in a hired carriage as it rattled under the portcullis at Beaufort. The sky had darkened and charcoal-colored clouds were streaming across the sky toward the castle. Prim hardly noticed the way the wind whipped through the trees and blew petals off late-blooming flowers. Servants scurried past in haste to finish their work outdoors. Gardeners were piling tools in wheelbarrows and the horse pulling a provision merchant’s wagon fought his harness and tried to pull away from the man holding him.

As the carriage pulled up to the great hall, Prim was leaning out the window. She saw Louisa Hawthorne flounce out the door and wave at a groom holding the pony and cart she used for her personal transportation. The carriage came to a standstill beside the pony cart, and Louisa rushed around it.

“My dear Miss Dane, what a surprise!”

Distraught, weary from sleeplessness, Prim leaned out of the carriage and tried to be calm. “Forgive my coming unannounced, Mrs. Hawthorne. There is a personal matter of great urgency—”