The Stolen Princess (28 page)

“Do we ever put all that nonsense behind us?” Tibby wondered a little wistfully.

“I cannot speak for every woman, of course,” Callie said with all the confidence she wished she had. “But I can for myself. Now I truly understand what a convenient marriage is and can avoid any pitfalls. And I can deal with Mr. Gabriel Renfrew.”

S
hortly after the gentlemen rejoined the ladies, Callie rose and excused herself. All the gentlemen rose and she felt ridiculously self-conscious, as though she was wearing a sign saying she was off to a secret tryst.

Tibby immediately jumped up, too, and said that if Lady Gosforth didn't mind, she had some lessons to prepare. Lady Gosforth said she quite understood and had lists to make.

It was a signal for the evening to break up. Gabriel's brother Nash and his other friends took their leave and Gabriel sauntered out into the street to farewell them.

Callie hurried upstairs to her bedchamber, grabbed the fabric bundle, and went back down to the library to wait. A few minutes later the door opened and Gabriel entered.

He seated them both on a chaise longue. “Now, what was it you wanted to discuss?”

“If we are to go shopping tomorrow, I will need money.”

“Yes, of course.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of notes.

She stared. “No, I didn't mean you should give me money. I wanted to ask you to get some for me. Papa left money in trust for me, but it'll take some time for the lawyers to release it. In the meantime I'll need money.”

He looked rather taken aback. And intrigued. “How do you mean to do that?” He did not put his money away.

“I want you to sell some jewels for me.” She took out the rolled fabric and showed him the jewels she had unpicked, hoping they would be enough.

He bent over the fabric, fascinated. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Which piece do you mean?”

“This.” He seized the fabric and lifted it so it unrolled. She managed to catch the loose jewels before they fell to the floor.

“It is!” he exclaimed. “It's a petticoat!”

She snatched it out of his hands.

“So you were smuggling after all,” he said. “I'm marrying a beautiful jewel smuggler.”

“I was not smuggling,” she snapped, bundling the petticoat up in embarrassment. “I carried them sewn into my petticoat for fear of thieves.”

“Some people would call Customs and Excise officers and the taxes they enforce a kind of thieving, but we won't quibble.” He observed the remaining lumps and bumps still sewn into the petticoat. “Would these be one of the reasons Count Anton is pursuing you?”

“No! They are all my own jewels. None of them belong to the royal house of Zindaria—and you need not look at me like that, they don't.”

“I was simply thinking how indignation makes your eyes sparkle brighter than any emeralds.”

She decided to ignore that. He was a master of distraction.

“These are all jewels Papa or Rupert gave me: for my betrothal, for my wedding, for birthdays and other occasions. My husband was always very clear and specific about which things belonged to me personally, which were family jewels, and which belonged to the crown. I have brought only those which belong to me, personally. These pearls, for instance, Papa gave me for my sixteenth birthday. I wore them at my wedding.”

“Then you are most certainly not going to sell them.”

She looked at him in frustration. Only this afternoon he had promised not to ride roughshod over her decisions and now, here he was arguing with her. “They are mine to sell.”

“And what if you have a daughter?”

She stared at him in surprise. “I won't.” She'd had one child in nine years of marriage, and now she was entering a paper marriage. How did he imagine she would have another child?

He set his jaw stubbornly. “You might. But even if you don't, when Nicky takes a bride, wouldn't you like him to give her his mother's pearls to wear at her wedding? Or if one day he has a daughter going to her first grown-up party, wouldn't she feel special wearing her granny's pearls?”

She hesitated. She hadn't thought of Nicky wanting any of her jewels. She'd only thought of them as her funds to start a new life. “Why do you care?”

He shrugged and looked away. “It's just that I know that women can be sentimental about things. Like that tiara of yours. It matters to you that it belonged to your mother.”

“Yes, it does.”

“So you wouldn't think of selling that.”

She laughed. “No, I wouldn't, but not for the reason you imagine.”

“Why not?”

“Because the diamonds in my mother's tiara are paste.”

His jaw dropped.

“I told you my mother was from a very distinguished, very poor family—all the jewels were paste in the end. But they are very good quality paste and will fool all but an expert.” She grinned. “As Mama used to say: ‘We are, after all, royalty; if my jewels are to be paste they must be the finest paste in Europe.'”

He chuckled. “I like the sound of your mother.”

“Yes, she was lovely,” she said mistily.

“When did she die?”

“When I was a little girl. An accident with a horse. Papa married her because she was a princess, but I think they fell in love afterward. I always like to think so, anyway.”

He didn't say anything, but she could feel his gaze on her.

“Papa always wanted to replace them with real diamonds, but I did not want him to, for then it would not be Mama's tiara anymore.”

She took a deep breath and returned to the subject at hand. “But I must sell some of these jewels and I need your help to do so, as I don't know my way around London yet.”

“Why do you need money?” he demanded.

She stared at him. “What a stupid question! Because I do. I'm going shopping tomorrow, for a start.”

“You won't need money for that. Have them send their accounts to me at this address. And for any trinkets, here.” He started to peel banknotes off.

“No, stop it,” she told him. “That's not fair. Why should you be out of pocket for my clothes?”

He said through gritted teeth. “Because you are to become my wife and a man provides for his wife.”

“I will be a paper wife only,” she began, then said hastily as a speculative look suddenly lit his eyes, “and if you try to demonstrate that I am flesh and blood, Gabriel, I will smack you! I am being serious here and you promised me this afternoon that you would not ride roughshod over my opinions.”

“I'm not,” he said. “I'm listening.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I am merely discussing options with you,” he explained.

“Well, listen to this: I owe you enough as it is, without owing you the very clothes on my back. I have my pride, just as you do.”

“I see,” he said quietly.

“And as well as clothes for myself and Tibby and Nicky, I will need money to cover the expense of the wedding reception.”

He folded his arms again. “That does not concern you.”

“It does,” she argued, frustrated. “If this was a normal wedding, my family would pay for the wedding and the reception. It's traditional: the bride's family pays.”

“Yes, but you are a widow without close family. Besides, my aunt will have a fit if anyone—you or I—tried to reimburse her. It is her pleasure, her gift to us.” The stubborn line to his jaw was back again.

“There is no
us
.”

“Isn't there?” he said. “It looks very much like there is to me. It is the whole point of this marriage.”

She frowned, wondering if he really did mean that. And why he kept referring to it as a marriage, when really, it was just a wedding. “But—”

“No, you are quite right, at the moment we are two separate entities,” he said angrily. “
This
is us.” And he kissed her. Thoroughly. And very possessively.

She emerged from the embrace flustered but determined not to show it. She could handle it—him.

“Stop it—you will not distract me from my purpose. If you won't help me sell my jewels, I'll find someone who will.”

He glared at her for a long moment. “You're an infuriatingly stubborn woman,” he said at last. “Very well, hand the blasted things over. It will take some time to effect the sale, so in the meantime have all your accounts sent to me at this address—and yes, I'll keep a separate account for you if you insist—and take this for pin money.”

She tucked the banknotes he passed her into her reticule and gave him the jewels. The pearls, too. They would fetch a very good price, she knew. A woman making a paper marriage for political reasons with a man she had known less than two weeks could not afford to be sentimental.

He saw the pearls among them and his face darkened. He carefully separated them from the tangle of jewelry she'd given him and dumped them back in her lap.

“I might agree to sell some of your precious trinkets, but not these,” he growled. “There is a limit.”

“Didn't you listen to a thing I said?” she began.

“I listened to everything,” he said shortly. “And I'll sell these other blasted bits and bobs, since you insist—though it goes very much against the grain. But the pearls your father gave you for your sixteenth birthday are not for sale. They are for your daughter, or your granddaughter. You will not sacrifice everything, dammit!”

He stalked out of the room, leaving her with a lap full of pearls and a lump in her throat.

I
n the morning they woke to soft, steady drizzle. The weather would not affect the shoppers, but the plans to take Nicky and Jim for a riding lesson in the park had to be postponed. However, as a visit to the Tower of London to see the wild beasts, followed by an excursion to Astley's Amphitheatre was to take its place, the boys were not too cast down.

Lady Gosforth had sent for Giselle, her own mantua maker, to come and measure up Callie and Tibby, and to choose designs for the wedding dress and other dresses.

Giselle, an elegant, acidic-looking Frenchwoman, had flung up her hands in horror. “
Mais
milady,
ce n'est pas possible
—such short notice!”

Lady Gosforth raised an eyebrow. “Not even for a royal wedding, Giselle—the ‘secret' royal wedding of Princess Caroline of Zindaria?” She made a careless gesture. “In that case we will have to call on Madame—”

Giselle visibly melted. “A
royal
wedding?
Non, non.
I speak without thinking,” Giselle said hastily, her sharp black eyes assessing Callie swiftly. “I have just recall that I 'ave a cancellation. I 'ave assistants to take care of other matters.” She snapped her fingers and the assistant leapt forward with the tape measure. “I will devote myself to the princess.”

Callie and Tibby were caught up in a whirlwind of designs and choices. Callie had to be firm, refusing to order the number of dresses Giselle and Lady Gosforth assured her was necessary.

Giselle soon regretted her sudden cancellation, as the princess seemed regrettably uninterested in the latest kick of fashion.

“They are too heavily ornamented,” Callie insisted. “Look, this design looks more like a wedding cake than a dress.”

But after some discussion, they finally were able to agree on the design for her wedding dress. It was to be was made of café au lait satin, very simply cut with a little lace at the sleeves and neck. Giselle became passionate about a border of frilled and plaited white and coffee satin around the hem, neck, and entirely covering the short sleeves, but Callie put her foot down. She agreed to a plaited border, but no frills.

“I don't want to look dowdy and unfashionable,” she told them, “but my dresses will be of my own choosing. And not frilly. I am not a frilly person.”

Giselle gave a sniff that indicated she entirely agreed. It was not a compliment. Royalty, the sniff gave them to understand, was not what it used to be.

They visited silk warehouses with Giselle, where they selected dozens of lengths of fabric to be made up. She and Tibby tried them out, holding up swathe after swathe of colored material—silk and satin for Callie, Tibby stubbornly maintaining she needed bombazine, cotton, and wool.

They preened like young girls over all the colors, and Callie bullied Tibby into a blue silk dress for her wedding, saying, “It brings out the color of your eyes, Tibby,” and then unguardedly, “Oh, Ethan will love that on you!”

Poor Tibby blushed furiously and put the blue silk aside. Callie ordered it secretly.

She felt dreadful about her slip. Tibby had a
tendre
for the big Irishman, she knew, but they both knew there was no possibility of a match between two such different people with such different backgrounds. It had been careless and cruel of her to suggest there could be anything between them.