The Prince Who Loved Me Part 29

"What?" Alexsey looked startled.

"Now, before Sir Henry can act. Find a ship and go home."

"I will not run like a coward."

"You must. This woman is no good for us. She-"

"Enough!" Alexsey stood, his eyes ablaze. "I will hear no more of your bitter words. Bronwyn is to be respected. I demand that."

His anger was so hot that Natasha took a step back. But only for a moment. She pulled out the chain holding the kaltso and shook it. "This will never be yours if you marry that woman."

"Then it will not be mine. But no one can stop me from helping the Romany. Just as no one can stop me from marrying Bronwyn Murdoch." He turned and walked away.

"Don't be foolish! What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to send a letter to Bronwyn. Tonight, at Sir Henry's dinner, I will ask her if I may announce our marriage."

"She won't have you. She is proud, that one. It is her one good trait."

"I will win her over." He hesitated. "But you're right; she is very proud. But if I'm very lucky, and the fates are kind, then she'll realize we have no choice and must marry."

"You are being n.o.ble and wish to save the girl from embarra.s.sment. That is good. But there are other ways. If you will give me time, I will find a way out of this-"

"It is my mistake. I must fix it." He went to the small writing desk beside the window. He pulled out some paper and ink and sat down, writing furiously. He reread what he'd written twice, making small changes, then he sanded the missive, folded it, and tucked it into his pocket.

Then he headed for the door. "Until dinner."

"Where you will destroy your life-I cannot wait to witness that debacle."

He left, the door slamming behind him.

Tata's scowl disappeared, and for a long time she merely stood and stared. Then she gave a sharp nod and hurried to the bellpull by the fire. She tugged it once, then went to the desk and scribbled a hasty note. She'd just sealed it when the footman appeared.

He brightened when he saw the letter. "Another missive fer Lady Malvinea?"

Natasha nodded. "This time, bring her back with you. I have invited her to tea, so tell the butler on your way out to have a tray sent here to my room."

"Yes, Yer Grace. And if I bring her within thirty minutes, will I get another gold coin?"

"Two, if she arrives in less than that time. But if she arrives later, then you will become a goat."

"Och, Yer Grace, I'll ha' her here in under twenty minutes, see if I dinna." He s.n.a.t.c.hed the letter, made a half bow, and bolted from the room.

Shortly afterward, she heard a carriage racing down the drive. Nodding to herself, she settled by the fire and waited.

Lucinda stared at the stars twinkling in the sky above. There were so many. Was Roland looking at them, too? In the loneliness of the moment, a star twinkled and she felt his soul touch hers.

-The Black Duke by Miss Mary Edgeworth Bronwyn read the note for the fourteenth time, even though she was fairly sure she had it memorized.

My dear Roza, We must speak. I will meet you at Sir Henry's tonight, and we will resolve our difficulties without the interference of others.

Sincerely, Alexsey Romanovin Bronwyn refolded the note, feeling the same flicker of disappointment. What did he mean, "resolve our difficulties"? The words were so cold . . . so unfeeling.

But perhaps she was expecting too much from a mere note. Or perhaps that was all he had to offer-an uncaring offer made only to appease society.

For that is what they were doing-appeasing society. Blast it, why oh why had he appeared in the hallway without proper covering? Not that it mattered, she supposed, for she'd have been ruined either way. Still, it wouldn't have made such a sensational story.

She thought of his demeanor when he'd brought her the letter earlier today. Of course Mama had been present, determined not to let things get "further out of hand."

But Alexsey had been all that was polite. He'd been so unlike himself, so stiff and formal, that she'd felt awkward and had barely said two words to him.

There'd only been one moment when he'd seemed more himself. It had been when he'd said his good-byes, and he'd held her hand longer than was necessary, and stared into her eyes as if searching for something.

The whole thing had been odd and she was at a loss to know what anything meant.

As soon as he'd left, Bronwyn had read the letter, aware of Mama's gaze over her shoulder. Naturally, Mama had asked to read the letter. Oddly, it had seemed to incense her. She'd declared that Bronwyn would not attend the dinner, and at the time Bronwyn had agreed.

She wouldn't-couldn't-be tied to a man who would never look at her without wishing for his freedom. She wanted to be a wonderful memory, not a dark one.

Perhaps Mama was right-the best thing Bronwyn could do was write him back and refuse to listen to his offer, release him from this painful situation. She would never marry for anything less than love, and all Alexsey had to offer was duty. She would free him from that duty. It was the least she could do.

Rubbing her chest where it had tightened, she turned to hear voices outside her bedchamber door, breathless and giggling. What on earth? She opened the door to find Mrs. Pitcairn, Sorcha, and Mairi, their arms overflowing with petticoats, ribbons, and shoes.

They pushed past a gaping Bronwyn.

"I thought I'd never make it up the stairs," Mairi exclaimed, puffing.

"Where shall we pu' these?" Mrs. Pitcairn asked, peering over a stack of petticoats.

"On the bed," Sorcha directed. "Scott, off!"

The big dog went to join Walter by the fire.

"I don't understand," Bronwyn said. "What are you doing here? I'm not going to dinner this evening. Mama said-"

"Forget what Mama said," Sorcha replied. "You are going to dinner tonight, and that's that."

"I don't know. Alexsey doesn't seem very . . . warm, and everyone will be talking." She pressed her hands to her hot cheeks. "I don't want to face them. Or him."

"You must, and you'll do it dressed properly."

"But Mama said-"

"Mama isn't always right." Sorcha's mouth thinned. "In fact, there are times when she's simply wrong." She dusted the coverlet fastidiously, then placed a long, sheet-wrapped bundle on it. The stack of petticoats joined it.

Sorcha turned to Bronwyn. "We've come to make certain you go to dinner dressed like someone expecting a very proper and romantic proposal."

"Which you should get, if the prince is half the man we think he is," Mairi added.

Bronwyn shook her head. "I'm not going to accept. Mama says-"

"Mama. Isn't. Always. Right." Sorcha repeated the phrase with a staccato punctuation that made Bronwyn's brows rise.

"She means well."

Sorcha flushed. "True, but she doesn't understand that love doesn't always happen on a schedule."

Bronwyn shook her head. "I never said anything about love."

"You didn't have to."

Mairi nodded. "We've known for a while now."

"Quite a while," Mrs. Pitcarin added.

Bronwyn couldn't deny anything with three pairs of expectant gazes pinned on her. She sank onto her dressing room seat. "But how? I only realized it myself in the last few days."

Sorcha smiled. "We know you. And tonight, whether you decide he's worthy of you or not, you're going to go there looking ravishing. Because if you don't, you'll spend the rest of your life wondering 'what if.' And there's nothing more painful than that."

Bronwyn looked curious. "You sound as if you know all about love."

"Not enough." Sorcha busied herself sorting the items on the bed. "I wonder if we can replicate the braiding Mairi did for my hair, for yours?"

"No, we can't, although the idea is lovely. My hair is much too thick." Bronwyn took Sorcha's hand and turned her sister to face her. "This is very kind of all of you. I don't know how to thank you." She smiled at them all.

"I wish we could stay and help you dress," Mairi said, "but Mama will come to see our gowns, so we must be in our rooms and ready. We don't want her to know you're coming until the last possible moment."

"Then it will be too late for her to do anything about it," Sorcha said.

"Which is why I'm here," Mrs. Pitcairn said, smiling cheerily. "Ta' help ye get dressed."

Bronwyn looked at the letter in her hand. They were right. She and Alexsey deserved a final face-to-face meeting.

"Come see what we've brought you." Sorcha went to the bed. There were two pairs of slippers, some stockings, evening gloves, and a spangled shawl dotted with blue silk roses. "We weren't sure what would fit you best, so we brought everything we weren't using."

Mairi picked up the pair of slippers. "You have smaller feet, but you can put paper in the toes. I wasn't certain which would look best with the gown. Wait until you see it!" She unwrapped the sheet bundle.

Gleaming softly in the candlelight was a gown of pale-blue crepe over white sarcenet. Two folds down the front of the gown were lined with pearls, while a double row of pearls and tiny white flowers decorated the sweeping hem.

Bronwyn touched the gown reverently. "Where did you get this?"

Sorcha smiled. "It's mine, but it doesn't fit me. Mama was going to send it back to Edinburgh to have the skirt lengthened and the bodice taken in, but I think it will fit you. And I want you to wear it tonight."

Bronwyn looked at the beautiful gown, tears clouding her eyes. She engulfed Sorcha in a huge hug.

Mairi laughed and wrapped her arms around them both. As they hugged, Mairi said, "When you two are married, you must find me a husband just as nice as yours. But he must be at least an earl, devastatingly attractive, and have enough money to keep me in books forever."

Bronwyn laughed as she untangled herself from her sisters. "You have my word on it."

A shrill call rang out in French, and Mrs. Pitcairn sniffed. "Tha' be yer mum's Frenchie maid. She'll be wantin' t' help ye get ready."

Sorcha grimaced. "We must go. Come downstairs at exactly eight. That's when we're leaving, and Mama will change her mind about allowing you to attend once she sees that you are ready. We'll make certain she does." She whisked out the door, Mairi on her heels.

Bronwyn realized her sisters were right. She had to face her fate tonight, not hide from it. And what better way to do it than in a new gown? Her spirits buoyed, she began to go through the stacks of clothes.

An hour later Bronwyn stood before the mirror, the soft glow of a lantern shimmering over the gown and making the pearls glow. Mrs. Pitcairn had pinned her hair up in a simple yet elegant style. She looked better than she'd ever looked before. It's a pity I'm dressing to refuse an offer-one that, if it had been made under different circ.u.mstances, would make me the happiest woman on earth.

She gulped back a rush of emotion, hurriedly wiping her eyes. As she pushed her spectacles back into place, she glanced at the clock. Five till eight-time to go downstairs. She picked up her cloak and tied it about her neck.

Click!

Bronwyn whirled to the door. That sounded like . . . the lock?

She hurried over and tried to turn the handle. Nothing. It was locked from the outside. "What is this? Who's out there?"

Mama's voice floated in. "Your sisters told me of their plan. This is for your own good, Bronwyn. I promise."

"No! You can't do this!"

"I must." Mama's voice was thick with tears. "Just wait there. I truly have your best interests at heart-you'll see. I can't say more, but just wait."

"Mama, please don't-" Her voice broke and she had to gulp to steady herself. If she didn't go, then Mama would be free to deliver the coldest of answers to anything Alexsey might have to say. Her heart thudded sickly. "Mama, let's talk about this. Come inside and-"

"Good night, Bronwyn. I'll unlock the door when we return."

Her footsteps receded, and soon Bronwyn heard the distant sound of the carriage as it left. Her heart pounding in her throat, she sank to the floor, her mind working furiously.

She'd stolen his heart with just one kiss, a kiss as chaste as an angel's wing, light and filled with innocent promise.

-The Black Duke by Miss Mary Edgeworth From a window in the upper hall, Alexsey watched the carriages stream into Tulloch's courtyard. All day, his body had hummed and he'd felt light on his feet, like a snow leopard on the hunt, simmering with excitement and a sense of purpose. Today, he would claim Bronwyn for his own. It's about d.a.m.n time.

He didn't regret the pa.s.sionate night he'd spent with Roza-come a hundred scandals, he'd never regret that. That night had made him all the more determined to have her in his life. But he did regret the necessity of this proposal. The whole thing-the scandal, the gossip, the fact that other people were now involved in his and Bronwyn's relationship-that was the untenable part and it had greatly complicated things.

Bronwyn would never accept a marriage offer made for society's sake. She was far too stubborn and too independent for that, and he relished that about her. But now, because of their situation, she would think that was all he had to offer. Because of his carelessness, things had become complicated. She will refuse me. I know it.

He tugged at his neckcloth, his palms damp. He would not accept her refusal. He'd need a plan, though. Yes, a plan. He'd have to win over her pragmatic side first. Their circ.u.mstances dictated that they marry, and he was more than willing, so that was that. But her romantic side would present a bigger challenge. He'd have to prove that more than necessity had brought him to her, and that there was a very good reason to wed. The best one of all. Because he loved her.

If only I'd admitted it to her earlier. But his heart had been stubborn in yielding its secrets. d.a.m.n it, I should have wooed her properly from the start, but I was a fool and had planned on just a flirtation. He cringed to think of that now. But all of that could be overcome, he was certain of it. Because he could not accept the alternative. Not this time.

Fortunately, he was not a novice. He patted his coat pocket, where a bundle rested. There was more than one way to woo a woman who loved a good book. It must work. Our happiness depends on it.

Below in the courtyard, Sir Henry's coach pulled up. Alexsey leaned forward as the coach dislodged its guests, but the portico blocked his sight. Cursing, he left the window and headed downstairs to the ballroom. Finally!

Once inside the ballroom, he bowed to those nearest the doorway and made his way into the crowd, aware of the whispers and looks that followed him. The rumors were thick, but he couldn't have cared less.

Strath left a small group of men and joined Alexsey. "Ah, the happy groomsman!"

Alexsey looked around, frowning. "I don't see her. Do you?"