The Prince Who Loved Me Part 15

"Mrs. Pitcairn!" Lady Malvinea's frozen tones cut through the servant's prattle.

The housekeeper whipped about, her back suddenly stiff. "Aye?"

"You were asked to escort Lord Strathmoor and his guest into the sitting room. Not inform them about mopping and such!"

"Och, weel, they ha' mud upon their boots, an' I thought 'twas a guid idea fer them to-"

"That is enough. I'll take it from here. You may return to the kitchen."

The servant huffed, "Dinna start yer sharp tone wit' me! I dinna wish to even come up fro' the kitchen to begin wit', but Miss Bronwyn said I had to-"

"Mrs. Pitcairn, that is enough." The icy tone made even Strath stand a bit straighter.

The housekeeper stiffened, and after a few grumbled words, she stomped down a side hallway and disappeared.

Lady Malvinea faced Strath and Alexsey with her fixed smile. "Lord Strathmoor, Your Highness! How kind of you to visit." She gestured to the open door behind her. "Won't you join us for a small repast? We were just waiting on tea."

"Of course." They followed Lady Malvinea into a small sitting room. One swift glance told Alexsey that while Lady Malvinea's other two daughters were present, Bronwyn wasn't. He had to stifle a surprisingly strong urge to turn on his heel and go find her.

Lady Murdoch paused by the fire and said in a triumphant voice, "Your Highness. Lord Strathmoor. I believe you've met my daughters, Sorcha and Mairi."

The two girls had hopped to their feet as Alexsey and Strath had entered the room, and now bobbed simultaneous curtsies. Alexsey and Strath answered with bows of their own.

Strath said in his usual tone, "How could anyone forget the lovely Misses Murdochs?"

"I believe there were three of you last night." Alexsey paused expectantly.

Lady Malvinea, who'd been beaming, blinked. "Oh yes, Bronwyn. I wonder why she's not here? She went on an errand."

The youngest daughter, Mairi, chuckled. "I daresay she found a book. She does that, you know, goes on an errand, but then finds a book and never returns."

Sorcha nodded. "Sometimes she is gone for hours."

"I'm sure she hasn't done any such thing this time," Lady Malvinea said. Her fixed smile returned. "Won't you stay for some tea?" She waved a hand at two available chairs strategically placed directly across from her daughters. "We have apple tarts."

Strath took the seat across from Sorcha. "I live for apple tarts."

Mairi giggled, winning an approving look from Strath, but Sorcha barely smiled.

Bronwyn's sisters looked like dolls, dressed in expensive gowns, their hair styled just so. They seemed as opposite to Alexsey's imperfect and pa.s.sionate Bronwyn as possible.

Strath made a casual comment about the good riding paths, and Lady Malvinea spoke of the other delights to be had in the surrounding countryside. His gaze wandering over the small room, Alexsey caught sight of a book left open on a table. Did Bronwyn read in this room, her feet tucked under a shawl, her lips moving silently as she read? He could picture her doing just that, and the image made him smile.

He noticed Miss Mairi rubbing her arms as if chilly, and he glanced at the fire, which was burning merrily, a bucket of coal at the ready. It was a bit cold in the room. Perhaps they had only lit the fire recently. Or perhaps they cannot afford to be so generous with coal and have just stirred this one up for their company?

The thought disturbed him, and he looked more closely about him, noting the faded rugs, and the mended hems of both curtains. Ah, little Roza, you come from modest circ.u.mstances. I can help you with that. Yet even as he had the thought, he realized she'd never allow anyone to "help." From the set of her jaw, he suspected she had more pride than any ten men he knew.

He'd spent many summers among the Romany camps, living simply with his mother's people. He enjoyed that life and found it a welcome change from the constrictive opulence of court, but he also knew the cost of struggling to find food and shelter. The weight it could put upon narrow shoulders, too delicate to bear- He caught Strath's amused gaze. "I beg your pardon?"

"Miss Sorcha just asked you something, but you were busy staring into the distance."

"I'm sorry. I was lost in my thoughts." Ignoring Strath's barely stifled snicker, Alexsey said, "Miss Sorcha, if you don't mind repeating your comment?"

Sorcha frowned but said in a soft voice, "I didn't have the chance at tea to ask if Your Highness enjoyed the ball."

"It was the best ball I've attended in Scotland."

"Oh my!" Lady Malvinea looked absurdly pleased. "That's quite the compliment."

Mairi pursed her lips. "Maybe it is, and maybe it isn't."

Lady Malvinea's smile faltered for a moment. "Mairi, don't-"

"It depends on how many b.a.l.l.s His Highness has attended in Scotland." The younger girl raised a brow, suddenly reminding him of Bronwyn. "How many have there been?"

Lady Malvinea sputtered. "Mairi, you can't- That is, there's no reason to-"

"It is fine," Alexsey said with a grin. "I have been to two b.a.l.l.s in Scotland, and one of them was wretched indeed. It was given by Lord Dalhousie. His lordship wouldn't allow the fires to be lit and the castle was freezing. There was nothing to eat other than stale cake so hard you could use it to build furniture, the musicians were drunk, and there were no spirits to be had."

"Why would anyone have such a ball as that?" Sorcha asked.

"I believe his daughter asked him to host one. And while he wished to please her, he wished even more to keep his coins in his coffers."

Strath snorted. "Never met a man cheaper than Dalhousie. He once-"

A noise sounded in the hallway and Alexsey turned toward the door as Bronwyn entered, a cheerful whirl of rumpled skirts and breezy friendliness.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Mama. Mrs. Pitcairn needed some a.s.sistance in the kitchen." She curtsied toward Strath and Alexsey, then took the empty seat beside Mairi. "I apologize for not being here to greet you, but I was attending to a few matters belowstairs."

Alexsey and Strath, who'd stood upon her entering the room, now returned to their seats. To Alexsey, it seemed as if the clouds had parted and the sun shone. The room was brighter now, the faded carpet no longer obvious, blessed by the sunshine. Beside Bronwyn with her dark hair and lightly golden skin, her sisters seemed like pallid hothouse orchids next to a vibrant wild rose.

Bronwyn smiled at Strath. "Viscount Strathmoor, how kind of you and the prince to call. I'm sure my mother and sisters have told you how much we are enjoying your uncle's hospitality. We rarely have such affairs here in the country, and these few weeks of events will be discussed for months."

"Indeed, they have," Lord Strathmoor said. "We've had a most pleasant conversation."

"So we have," the prince said, his gaze locked on Bronwyn. "Most pleasant."

Bronwyn's face heated. She'd decided not to look his way until she had a good grip upon her emotions, but now she found herself gazing directly into his eyes.

The man had the longest lashes. They gave him a sleepy, sensual appearance even when he was only innocently looking at her. Except "innocent" wasn't a likely word to describe him.

Even the way he sat bespoke a casual sensuality. Lord Strathmoor sat with the unconscious dignity one expected of a viscount, while the prince was sprawled, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his legs before him as if he were in a hunting lodge in the Highlands. He looks far more like a dangerous, dashing huntsman than a prince.

She now noted his clothing. His cravat was a mere knotted kerchief, his boots dull from lack of polish, his coat far too loose for common fashion. His hair curled over his collar, while his handsome face was graced with a scruff of a beard. It was difficult to believe this man would be lavishly welcomed into every drawing room on the continent. Yet even though he's dressed in such a way, he still looks twice the man of any I've ever met.

"Prince Menshivkov, pray tell us about Oxenburg," Mama said. "Is it cold there this time of the year?"

Bronwyn smiled. This was her chance. "Oxenburg experiences mild temperatures in the fall, but it's not unusual for them to experience sudden snowfalls come September."

Everyone looked at her.

Encouraged, she added, "Though the temperatures in the mountain ranges can be extreme, those on the plains are pleasant most of the year."

Mama blinked. "I-I had no idea, Bronwyn."

"Yes. Part of Oxenburg has heavy snows in the winter, and the mountain roads are often impa.s.sable except by horse and sled."

Sorcha looked from her to Alexsey and then back again. "Really?"

Bronwyn nodded. "There are two major mountain ranges in Oxenburg, with four major peaks."

She slipped a glance at Alexsey and caught him watching her with an odd smile.

What else? Ah yes. "There are seventeen rivers, and a number of flood plains, as well as"-she frowned, trying to remember-"was it seven major cities?"

"Six," Alexsey offered.

"Six." She gave him a grateful smile. "Oxenburg has no coastline, as it is entirely surrounded by other countries, but lakes are plentiful. There are more than a hundred and"-she squinted and bit her lip-"fourteen lakes, all of them surrounded by lush farmlands and-"

The prince stood, startling everyone. "Lady Malvinea, Strathmoor and I must take your daughters for a walk in your gardens."

Bronwyn blinked at the urgent note in the prince's voice.

Mama nodded. "Of course! Sorcha and Mairi would be glad to-"

"And Miss Murdoch," Alexsey said.

Her gaze flew to his. He inclined his head, a faint smile curving his hard mouth. "Such a recitation. I am impressed."

Her face flushed at the warmth in his voice, her entire body softening. And I only read the first chapter. How will he react when I read more? Will he- A noise sounded in the foyer and Mama, who was looking none too pleased, brightened. "Ah! There's tea now. The walk can wait."

A scrambling sound came in the hallway, followed by a m.u.f.fled thump.

Bronwyn frowned at the door. "What on earth is that?"

The door burst open and Scott galloped in, a red kerchief in his mouth. Hot on his trail was Mrs. Pitcairn, her mobcap askew, a broom in one hand as she swung unsuccessfully at the dog's rump. "Bring tha' back, ye b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.lhound!" she snapped, her face as red as the kerchief.

Lady Malvinea rose, grasping one arm of her chair. "Bronwyn, get your animals under control!"

Bronwyn was already on her feet, stepping into Scott's path.

Walter appeared in the doorway, his tail wagging as he watched the fray. With a loud bark, he ran in to join the fun.

"Scott, stop!" She grabbed at him as he raced by, but, spurred forward by the housekeeper's chase, he was out of reach before she could grab his collar.

"Bring back them tarts, ye h.e.l.lhound!" Mrs. Pitcairn screeched, swinging the broom.

Scott leapt over a small table with ease and Mrs. Pitcairn, perhaps thinking she could swat his rump while he was in the air, accidentally brought her broom down on a large vase of fall flowers, which flipped spectacularly in the air, scattering water and flowers all over poor Sorcha.

Wet stems clung to her head and face as she gasped in shock. Water dampened her gown and plastered one of her curls to her forehead.

Mairi and Lord Strathmoor both let out a whoop of laughter while, red-faced and furious, Lady Malvinea dug a kerchief from her pocket and rushed to Sorcha's aid.

Bronwyn ran after Scott, who was trying to scramble under a chair to evade the whapping broom. But the chair was too small for such a large dog, and he only succeeded in moving it forward, his rump still in plain view and an easy target for Mrs. Pitcairn.

Bronwyn caught the broom just before it landed and tugged it away from the angry housekeeper. "Mrs. Pitcairn, please!"

Mrs. Pitcairn shoved her askew mobcap back onto her head. "Tha' dog stole our tarts!"

"He shouldn't have done that, but chasing him about the house isn't going to help." Bronwyn moved in front of Scott, who was now trying to wiggle free of the chair.

The cook's hands curled into fists. "Miss, I jus' want to gi' him one good smack fer stealin' my tarts! One smack, an' no more."

"No smacks, and no-" Bronwyn caught sight of Walter where he was licking spilled water from the floor. "Walter, out!"

The dog wagged his tail and gave the floor one last lick.

She scowled at him.

Seeing the steel in her eye, he lowered his head and trotted out the door.

Scott, finally free, scrambled to join him, and soon Bronwyn saw the two dogs racing past one of the windows. "You left the door open!"

"I was tryin' to herd them oot the door when they stole me tarts." Mrs. Pitcairn plopped a fist on her hip and leaned against her broom. "And now we dinna ha' naught fer his lordship and the prince fer tea."

Bronwyn glanced at their guests. Alexsey now sat in his chair, rubbing his chin as if to wipe his grin from his face, looking for all the world as if he were at a show of some sort. Lord Strathmoor was offering his handkerchief to a sputtering Sorcha, his eyes alight with laughter.

Bronwyn's heart ached as she caught Sorcha's mortified look as she wiped water from her face, one flower sticking out from her hair like a broken antler.

Mama pinned Bronwyn with a furious look. "Those animals are your responsibility!"

"I'm sorry they ate the tarts."

"They're h.e.l.lhounds," Mrs. Pitcairn cried, stomping out the door. "h.e.l.lhounds, I tell ye!"

Lord Strathmoor cleared his throat. "I, ah, think the prince and I should be going. We'll return for that walk some other time."

Alexsey stood, towering over everyone in the room. He bowed, his gaze locked upon hers. "I've enjoyed my visit very, very much."

I'll wager you did, Bronwyn thought with irritation. She'd worked so hard to make an impression, and for a wild moment, she'd thought she'd succeeded. He'd had eyes for no one but her. But now the moment was lost.

"Thank you, Your Highness," Mama said. "I'm so sorry for the mess and-and everything. I a.s.sure you we are usually far more boring than this!"

Strathmoor laughed. "If anyone understands the demands of a dog, it is the prince. His dog is a monster."

"Papillon is the worst dog in all of Oxenburg," the prince agreed without malice. "Everyone says so."

"Especially your grandmother."