How to Wed a Baron Part 20

Justin remembered the letter. The one where he'd offered up Alina in exchange for ten thousand pounds. The letter he'd signed with his usual flourish. Even if the Inhaber had destroyed the letter, there was still the matter of the man's presence in London. There was no choice now; he had to meet with him. Explain. Grovel yet again, and this time to a real b.a.s.t.a.r.d of a man, not simply a well-born buffoon.

"Something has changed your mind, my lord, I can see it in your eyes. You will meet with the Inhaber tomorrow, won't you? Tell me, tell me the place of this meeting."

"Major, you're still alive for only two reasons. The first is that I would not have Alina if not for your insane and, frankly, self-serving plotting. The second is that Loiza and the others I met in the camp have my sympathy for what Inhaber Novak did to their families. But if you want him dead, you'll have to find a way to do that without me. I'm done, do you understand that?"

"A man like you? The madman of Trebon? A man like you does not find it so easy to be done."

"Don't push me, Major, or I might prove you right. I'll proffer your thanks to the marquess and give your farewells to Alina. Brutus will meet you at the stables in one hour, to escort you back to your uncle's camp. It seems you are to be a disappointment to him once again."

He turned away, but then, as if he'd just thought of something else, he turned back once more. It was a maneuver that had served him well before, had even saved his life. "That morning at the inn," he said, "when you were so adamant I not leave Alina with you while you traveled to Ashurst Hall. It seems a lifetime ago. I truly believed you were concerned for her. For the sake of her affection for you, I'd like to continue to believe that."

The major drew himself up straight. "I would of course have been upset had any real harm come to her. She is the daughter of my commander. Still, she is only a woman. They have their place in life. They were born to be useful to us, and sacrifices must sometimes be made. That is simply the way of the world."

"Ten minutes," Justin bit out between clenched teeth. "Brutus won't be happy if he's kept waiting. No, that's not fair. You're injured. I'll give you the full hour, and then Brutus can carry you out."

"Carry-?"

Justin knocked the major to the floor with a fist flush to the jaw, then swiftly stepped down hard on his injured shoulder until the man's eyes rolled up in his head. Then, to satisfy his curiosity, he rummaged inside the man's sling, to be rewarded when his hand closed around the small pistol hidden there.

He pocketed the weapon that probably would have been shoved into his back before he'd made it safely out of the room.

"You should have paid more attention to your own argument, Major," he calmly told the unconscious man. "You were right-it's not that easy for someone like me to be done."

But ten hours later, he very nearly was.

The Inhaber might not have been as grateful for the information Justin gave him as one would suppose, as he'd already decided that his king was very much looking forward to attending his funeral. But once the farce of the disputed land was cleared up-the man had thought Lord Wilde mad when he'd read his letter-he'd agreed to reconsider the charges of the murder of his guards, accusing instead one Major Luka Prochazka.

This seemed reasonable to the newly civilized Baron Wilde, and he instructed Brutus to please put the Inhaber down, as the man's already red face was beginning to turn somewhat blue. He'd then tossed the Inhaber the keys to the cellars of the ruined church where the meeting had taken place, so that he could release his henchmen, who had surrendered with even more alacrity than Justin could have hoped.

A well-armed and growling Brutus did have that effect on some people, the last-moment addition of a crossbow an almost inspired touch.

With the letter that could have d.a.m.ned him (for the third or fourth time, he'd rather lost count of his recent indiscretions) now destroyed, all that was left was to ride back to Basingstoke, soundly kiss Alina, a.s.sure her he was fine and then gather up the inestimable Wigglesworth and hotfoot it to Carleton House, where he would grovel for, hopefully, the last time.

Except, when he rode up to the front doors of Basingstoke at noon, it was to be told that the master and mistress were not at home. Indeed, they had all, master, mistress, duke, d.u.c.h.ess and the dear Lady Alina, departed for London within minutes of sunrise that very morning, a journey of nearly fifty miles that would require several changes of horses and the const.i.tutions only the young possessed.

As Justin went tearing up the stairs, already ripping at his neckcloth and shouting for Wigglesworth, the butler called after him, "The Duke and d.u.c.h.ess of Ashurst will be meeting them there, my lord. I overheard Lady Nicole say as much to her sister the d.u.c.h.ess. I imagine it will be quite the merry party. You are to join them at Carleton House this evening at eleven, if you wish, although you will be cutting it rather fine, won't you, my lord?"

The butler quickly clapped his hands over the ears of the youngest footman standing in the entrance hall as Justin offered his sentiments concerning what he wished....

"NICOLE, SIT STILL," Charlotte Daughtry begged, not for the first time since the twins had joined Alina and the d.u.c.h.ess in the luxurious town carriage and headed off for Carleton House.

Alina had been taken to the duke's residence because her baggage had come to London with Charlotte and Rafe, leaving the twins to complete their toilettes in Tanner's Mayfair residence, so they had still to see Alina's gown for the evening. Charlotte thought that delicious, proving that though she might have been a practical sort, she could very much enjoy surprising the two young brides who had once been her charges.

"But it's so annoying. With all these coaches clogging the streets, it will take us forever to arrive. Justin can't get there ahead of us, or it won't matter when we get there, for he'll have already ruined everything."

Alina's stomach performed a small flip as she sat on the facing seat, and it wasn't because she was riding backward, especially not at the snail's pace they were traveling. "She's right, Charlotte. That could be disastrous. He'd strut into the Prince Regent's presence, perfect as Wigglesworth can make him, imperiously demanding to see me and be a.s.sured I'm fine."

"Just before he tears a strip off your hide for having come to London without him," Lydia pointed out reasonably. "Tanner and Rafe have wagered fifty pounds on how long it will take him to turn from terrified fiance to infuriated lover."

Nicole laughed. "Well, now that we're all such a jolly party, I must say I'm pleased that Lucas was clever enough to confine our party to just two coaches. What do you think they're discussing back there behind us? How to subdue Justin if he becomes violent?"

"Justin doesn't become violent," Alina told her rather proudly. "He becomes efficient. And if he were to think that any harm might come to me, I believe he could become prodigiously efficient."

"Oh, Lord, she's right," Lydia breathed, shaking her head. "Sometimes I wonder not only why my mind manufactures ideas such as this, but why I ever think to voice them in front of my sister."

"But it is a brilliant idea," Charlotte said soothingly. "It's just as your aunt Emmaline has always said-sometimes men simply have to be saved from themselves."

Alina giggled and sank back into the cushions. She had yet to meet the twins' aunt, but she already liked her. Emmaline, she'd been told, was also married to a duke: the Duke of Warrington. She giggled again, knowing her nerves were badly rattled, unable to stop herself. But her aunt Mimi had always impressed upon her something she called the privileges of rank. Tonight Alina was absolutely knee-deep in dukes, and adding in the marquess made everything all the better. Bless Justin, he might think he was alone in his life, but he had very good, loyal and well-placed friends.

Perhaps enough of them to keep him from some dank cell, if Lydia's idea failed, if she, Alina, could not do her part as she was so determined to do.

The coach moved ahead yet again, and Nicole leaned forward to peer out the window. "We're finally here. I can actually see a small mob of people waiting to mount the steps to the front doors. I'd always thought London was very thin of company at this time of year."

"He's still the Prince Regent, still the heir to the throne," Charlotte reminded them. "If His Royal Highness wishes to commemorate the anniversary of the Great Fire with tonight's reception, then who are we to question his judgment?"

Nicole laughed. "Especially when it so neatly dovetails with our own plan. How fortunate Rafe received that invitation. Ah, at last." She reached for the handle, ready to open the door herself before Charlotte restrained her. "Impatience. The greatest of my sins."

"Really? I don't remember being offered a vote in that," Lydia said, and her sister looked at her in amused surprise, so that she shrugged delicately and added, "Tanner tells me I should speak my mind more often, rather than to keep my thoughts inside as I have always done. He said it would be very...freeing. I think he's right."

"And I think I'm extremely grateful the two of you are married now, and no longer Rafe's and my responsibility. Shall we go? Alina? Are you all right, dear?"

She nodded, not quite sure she could trust her voice, and within minutes they were all slowly making their way up the outer steps and then up the curving marble staircase that led to the first floor of the Prince Regent's London residence.

She could feel eyes on her, both from the men and the ladies. She could hear the whispers. She took herself back to the Portsmouth docks and the first time she had set foot on English soil, the homeland of her mother.

And then, in her mind's eye, she replaced this mult.i.tude of well-dressed gentlemen and their perfumed and bejeweled ladies with the sailors, dockworkers, even the prost.i.tutes on those docks. After all, people were people, weren't they?

Besides, it made the whole thing easier. Especially if she continued to believe that Justin would soon be here. She did not doubt that he would have been successful in his dealings with the Inhaber. It was as Wigglesworth had a.s.sured her-the baron always prevailed. Perhaps not at first, but in the end the result was always the same. Success.

To divert her mind, she held on to the curved railing and took in her surroundings. There certainly was a mult.i.tude of gold gilt everywhere, along with crystal and stucco and a flotilla of candles that could easily have lit up a village. And yet the entire structure seemed somehow fragile to her, as if it might be only the stucco and gilt that held it all together and they were all fortunate to not have the vaulted roof tumble down on them at any moment.

She raised her eyes to the enormous chandelier at the very top of the staircase. Was that a crystal dove at the center of it? With its eyes picked out in rubies? How ludicrous!

"I'm not afraid anymore," she whispered to Lydia as they pa.s.sed beneath the chandelier. "Anyone who must try with such dedication to impress his guests cannot be anything other than terrified that he will not measure up to whatever is expected of him. Poor man."

Lydia leaned close to whisper. "That poor man is one day to be George the Fourth, King of England. And you pity him?"

"Yes. He is probably much like my aunt Mimi. So very concerned with all that is outside of her, so that no one will notice that there is very little inside of her."

"No wonder Justin loves you. And you will balance his cynicism for his fellow man with your compa.s.sionate heart."

"No, it is all of you who are so compa.s.sionate, so extraordinarily kind. The Prince Regent could very easily take you all in disfavor for what you're doing tonight."

"We've already discussed this, haven't we? We'd be very poor friends if we did not support Justin now. We're prepared for the prince's punishment, and even more certain there will be one. We'll survive it, knowing we've done the right thing." She squeezed Alina's gloved hand. "Now, are you ready? We're next to be announced. Thank goodness they limit the introduction to only the most senior t.i.tles, or we'd have another five minutes ahead of us to get through."

Alina took a deep breath, then nodded. She only flinched the first time one of the pair of liveried footman-were they twins? did it matter?-rapped the bottom of his staff sharply against the marble floor and announced in a near bellow, "Your Royal Highnesses! The Duke and d.u.c.h.ess of Ashurst!"

The second footman followed with, "Your Royal Highnesses! The Duke and d.u.c.h.ess of Malvern."

"Your Royal Highnesses! The Marquess and Marchioness of Basingstoke!"

And then, as her new friends stood with the ladies to the left, their husbands to the right, as though an honor guard of lesser mortals sent ahead of her, "Your Royal Highnesses! Lady Magdalena Evinka Nadeja Valentin!"

Alina took five steps forward into the vast ballroom and raised her gloved hands to the hood of the cloak fashioned from a thin ivory whisper of silk and antique Austrian lace that had made her such a curious and intriguing sight to the others on the stairs.

The Duke of Ashurst himself stepped forward as she lowered the hood and untied the silken strings at her throat, lifting it all away from her shoulders to reveal what had been so well hidden.

Several gasps were heard, and a ripple of low whispers began spreading out across the ballroom. "Who is she?" Alina heard. And "My G.o.d-magnificent!"

Ah, if only Justin could be here beside her. He would be so proud. She also thought he would appreciate such a moment. He was so delightfully vain.

Alina's gown had been her greatest achievement in her purchases, other than the velvet, ermine-tipped cloak that she had once sworn she loved with all her heart.

She knew the material of her gown to be extraordinary, appearing as liquid gold, its simple bodice devoid of ruffle or sleeves. The bodice stopped at the high waist, accented by an intricate, braided knot of material, and the nominally full front piece of the skirt was seemingly made up of hundreds of pleats that ran vertically down to within a whisper of the floor. There were forty-two pleats, actually; Danica had told her that several times, having been the one who had to make them perfect with the pressing iron in an obscenely brief amount of time.

Emeralds and diamonds were everywhere. In Alina's dark hair, which was piled at least six inches high, with ringlets caressing her neck. In her ears, on her wrists, over top her long gloves...and in the heavy necklace that possessed the famed Valentin emerald at its center. How Aunt Mimi had coveted that necklace that was never truly hers.

In the midst of all the quiet, Alina heard what she thought might be something that sounded very much like coo from somewhere behind her. She had no idea what it might mean, but she decided she would choose to be flattered.

Her chin high, she surveyed the dockworkers and sailors and prost.i.tutes in her mind's eye and then took the arm the Duke of Malvern offered her and proceeded directly down the center of the enormous chamber, toward the pair of thrones sitting on a cleverly tiered dais. The royal princess Charlotte occupied the smaller throne, her father the monstrously large and overly carved creation beside it.

An Ashurst footman followed them, the velvet-and-ermine cloak cradled in his outstretched arms.

Her heart pounding, her expression one of the confidence she tried with all her might to believe she possessed, Alina dropped into a deep curtsy that spread the deceptive fullness of her gown into a graceful golden puddle. "Your Royal Highness," she said, holding out her right hand as she kept her chin high, refusing to lower her gaze as she knew she should. "My affianced husband, Lord Wilde, sends his most abject apologies for his tardiness. He a.s.sures me he will be arriving shortly to apologize personally. And to thank you, as I do now, for being the wisest of men, who has in his infinite wisdom and charity bound our two hearts together. We are both of us now and forever your most grateful and loyal subjects."

The world stopped, held its collective breath.

Alina remained deep in her curtsy, at last lowering her head, baring the nape of her neck, as if in supplication. Her outstretched hand remained steady.

Just as she thought she had surely failed, she heard the creak of bone stays. She believed she could sense the Prince Regent rising from his red-velvet-and-gold-gilt throne. A fleshy hand took hold of hers, and she was drawn to her feet.

He bent over her fingertips, not actually kissing them, but still quite graciously, as if acknowledging her extraordinary and faintly exotic presence.

And the world breathed again.

"The shimmer of your gown is as nothing when matched with the worth of the true gold I see in your eyes, madam. The emeralds, however, are astounding. You've brought a present for me? From your king?" the Prince Regent asked in a curiously high-pitched voice.

Alina carefully recited the words Lucas had also penned for her, working on the two short speeches, refining them again and again during their hurried journey.

"For Her Royal Highness Princess Charlotte, sir, a gift from Lord Wilde and myself, if it pleases you. There is not another like it anywhere, as is proper, for only the daughter of the most beloved Florizel can do it justice. May she wear it in good health for the next fifty years."

Rafe nodded to the footman, and he stepped forward so that the duke could lift the cloak and flourish it, the ermine tails showing to their best advantage.

From her throne, the princess inclined her head and smiled.

"My compliments, madam. You may inform your affianced husband that he has gained himself a most delightful and formidable advocate," the Prince Regent said quietly.

There was the sound of some commotion at the doorway to the ballroom, and Alina hid a smile.

"I believe it may be possible that you might tell him yourself, Your Highness."

She didn't turn to watch, even as another round of gasps danced about the ballroom, even as she heard and recognized the confident footfalls of her beloved approaching.

Only when she felt his presence beside her did she dare to look at him. Oh, he was such a handsome fellow in his finery. Even if his neckcloth was slightly askew, and his hair somewhat the worse for the hat that must have sat on it for several long hours. She bit back a smile. The man actually smelled a bit of horse. Poor Justin. How his consequence must be suffering, that he was not his usual pristine and perfect self.

And how important she must be to him.

"Justin," she said quietly.

"Alina," he drawled almost languidly, without so much as nodding his head in her direction. "Imagine seeing you here. Was Basingstoke that much of a bore in my absence?"

Oh, dear. If he grew any more polite, she felt sure the pressure building up inside of him would soon have the top of his head exploding into pieces. He must be very worried about her.

"Your Royal Highness," Justin said then, as he moved closer to the dais and bowed deeply to the Prince Regent, his voice so low, so intimate, that even Alina had difficulty hearing him. "My betrothed means well, but she is not a part of this. I am here to tell you that I was wrong and present myself for punishment. What transpired between us the last time I was in this building was unforgivable, the worst of it being that I misjudged you, and that I likewise misjudged my deep love and devotion for this country. I offer no excuses. No apology, no matter how abject or sincere, can adequately correct the insult I have dealt you. I can only say that I will do anything you ask, Your Highness. I am yours to command."

"How delightful, if difficult to believe. Yet rather easy to prove," the Prince Regent said just as quietly. "Would you give her up if I were to ask it of you-for love of Crown and country?"

At last Justin turned his head to look at Alina. His eyes widened slightly, which served to warm her heart quite a lot. He took her hand in his, which brought tears to her eyes.

Please, Lord, let him behave. Please make him be diplomatic. Please don't let him say anything witty and d.a.m.ning....

Justin turned back to the Prince Regent. "No," he said flatly.

The future king at last showed that he wasn't as shallow and perhaps even stupid as many of his subjects would believe. He nodded, smiled-he was really rather handsome when he smiled, Alina thought charitably-and said, "Take her home, Wilde, now. Leave this very minute. Your lady, and your impertinent friends. We look forward to the pleasure of your company again in the spring. But not until then, not any of you. Do we understand each other?"

They were prepared for this. They knew this could be their very public punishment so that the Prince Regent might have his small victory. Say yes, Justin, Alina prayed silently. They're your friends, our friends. Take what they've offered. You're not alone. You'll never again be alone....

"Yes, Your Highness," Justin said.

EPILOGUE.

ALINA RAN ALONG THE PATH that wound through trees just budding with bright, spring-green leaves, her muslin skirts hiked almost above her knees as she laughed, occasionally daring a glance back to search out her pursuer.

Just as she burst from the shade of the trees, into the gra.s.sy clearing that bordered one of the streams flowing through the country estate, she found herself caught up and swung high off the ground.

"Justin! How do you always do this?" she exclaimed, resting her hands on his broad shoulders. "We always begin together, yet even when I manage to elude you, I can never arrive here first. You must know a secret path."

He lowered her slowly, their bodies touching in that now-familiar and yet still so thrilling way, until their lips met in a brief kiss before he set her back on her feet. "Perhaps I am a mullo, and flew here in the form of a bat," he said teasingly as they walked hand in hand to the edge of the stream.

"No," she protested, her good humor fled. "Loiza has told me stories of these supposed vampires. To the Romany a mullo is a terrible dead person who returns only to do malicious things. You do good things. You gave Loiza some of your land."