How To School Your Scoundrel (26 page)

“And the house where Luisa will stay, until we have the situation at the castle under control. Its owners are beyond suspicion?”

Olympia levered himself away from the berth and stretched his arms upward with a barely suppressed yawn. Between his height and the low ceiling, he didn’t get very far. “Oh, no one is above suspicion, my dear fellow. You should know that.”

“And yet you’ve trusted me, of all people, with your most priceless jewel.”

“Did I make a mistake, Lord Somerton?”

He folded his arms across his chest. The silk dressing robe slipped against the skin of his hands. “Her Highness may be with child,” he said.

Another elegant elevation of the ducal eyebrows. “Indeed? Excellent work. Short work, but excellent.”

“Save your congratulations. It’s quite early yet, but we have reason to hope. Her safety, therefore, is paramount in this endeavor. I need your assurance that she will be placed in no danger whatsoever.”

“You, of all people, know I can’t give you that assurance.”

“What safeguards are available? Damn it all, man. She’s your niece!”

Olympia’s hand came to rest on the berth beside him. His expression gentled into compassion. “My dear fellow. Nothing in this world is certain. Don’t you know that? We must simply do our best, we must strive for the ideal, in hopes that we will do some little good in this world and find our ultimate justice in the Hereafter.”

Somerton parted his lips to reply, but his throat was too stiff.

Olympia stepped forward and laid his hand on the earl’s shoulder. “Go back to your berth and make love to your wife, if you can manage it on this damned rattling contraption. Fall asleep in her arms. Be thankful for the gift God has given you.”

The weight of Olympia’s grip bore into his shoulder. Somerton lifted his hand and picked the ducal fingers delicately from his dressing gown.

“Thank you for the advice, my dear uncle,” he said, and started for the door.

“Bloody idiot,” said Olympia.

•   •   •

T
he train rolled into Huhnhof Baden just before sunrise. A gentle hand shook Luisa awake at twelve minutes to six. “Markham, it’s time,” said her husband.

He was dressed and shaved, his cheeks still damp. He helped her out of her pajamas and into her shirt and trousers, wrapping the linen bandage around her breasts without a word, without a single untoward brush of his fingers.

A sharp knock hit the compartment door. “Huhnhof Baden!” called the steward.

The valise was already packed. Somerton lifted it in one hand and opened the door with the other. “After you, my dear.”

Luisa blinked her eyes as they stepped onto the familiar platform, on which she had alighted so many times before, to waiting bouquets from the mayor’s daughters and an enthusiastic oompah from the local Huhnhof philharmonic. This morning, however, the platform was deserted, except for the conductor and a pair of passengers alighting at the other end of the train. A thin line of orange on the exposed eastern horizon suggested the coming sunrise. “This way,” Olympia said brusquely, and they hurried after him down the platform and through the station to the stone steps outside, where a modest carriage waited by the curb, pulled by a single brown horse with sloping ears.

Her triumphant return to Holstein-Schweinwald-Huhnhof.

The ride was short, four or five miles at most. The sun hadn’t fully risen by the time they pulled off the road and into a well-kept farmyard. The white daub walls of the house and stables were luminescent in the watery early morning light. A woman appeared in the doorway, removing her apron, patting her hair.

“Your Highness?” she breathed, as Luisa sprang from the carriage in her immaculate tweed jacket and trousers.

“Tut-tut. None of this, if you please.” Olympia hurried forward and took the woman’s hand before she could sink into an imminent curtsy. He spoke in perfect German.

“My most grateful thanks for your hospitality, Frau Schubert,” said Luisa.

The woman shook her head and gestured to the door. Her eyes were shining. “Come inside, come inside.”

“I’m afraid we cannot stay,” said Olympia, when the bread and coffee had been passed around. “We must reach Holstein by nightfall, and we cannot risk the train.”

“So soon?” Luisa looked up from her steaming cup. She glanced at her husband’s hard face. He was watching Frau Schubert the way a magistrate studies a criminal brought before the dock.

“Yes.” Olympia finished his coffee and stood. “Somerton?”

The earl rose to his feet. “A moment with my wife, before we depart.”

“Of course. I’ll wait in the carriage. Frau Schubert? I have a few trifling matters to lay before you, if you don’t mind.” He held out his hand.

When the door shut behind the two of them, Somerton turned to Luisa. His face had lost none of its hardness, and his black eyes held hers intently.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I have a confession. That morning, two days ago, in Fiesole, before Olympia arrived. I hadn’t walked up the mountain and back, as usual. I walked to Florence.”

She’d been expecting something else. Some formal good-bye, some admonition to keep herself safe, the ordinary pieties. “Florence? Why?”

He slipped one hand into his pocket. “It occurred to me that I hadn’t offered you any sort of bauble to mark the occasion of our marriage, as a husband ought to do for his wife, whatever the circumstances of the wedding. I found a jeweler to mend the oversight.” He held out a flat rectangular box.

She gazed at the box, and then back to his face. Her throat went dry. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Because you have a way, Markham, of sapping the courage from a man, just when he needs it most. Take it, if you will. I must be off, and would rather not carry a fortune in jewels around with me, given the company I shall shortly be keeping.”

Luisa took the box and lifted the lid. Inside lay a necklace, just long enough to fit around her collarbone. It was made of rubies, each one surrounded by a circle of tiny diamonds. The one in the center was larger than the others, a clear wine red pool, priceless.

He cleared his throat. “I was reminded of the verse in Proverbs.
For her price is far above rubies
,
or whatever it is. The proper sentiment for the occasion, I suppose.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“No doubt you have piles of jewels already, locked away in the royal treasury.”

She looked at his face, which was deeply shadowed by the light from the window, and masked by its usual expression of granite indifference. “None that actually belong to me.”

“Hide it somewhere secure, then. I daresay the sheepfold is probably the safest place. You should hear from us within a week, if all goes well.”

If all goes well.

“Somerton . . .” She swallowed. “Leopold.” His Christian name tasted foreign on her tongue, and daringly intimate.

His face stretched in surprise.

“Please be careful. These men are treacherous, horrible people. I can’t . . .”

“I assure you, my dear, I’m not inclined to approach with frivolity the perpetrators of my wife’s attempted assassination.”

“Naturally not. I don’t believe you approach anything with frivolity. But I shall worry just the same, so for God’s sake, have a care for yourself.”

He made a slight bow.

“And thank you for the necklace. I shall treasure it.” She closed the box and took a hesitant step toward him. His hands were knotted behind his back.

“Another thing, before I leave.” He glowered down at her. “You’re to take the strictest care of yourself, do you understand? Don’t show yourself to visitors. Don’t stray outside the farmyard. Eat wholesome foods, get plenty of rest, and above all . . .”

“You might just kiss me good-bye, you know,” she said. “You might just take me in your arms and say,
Farewell, my darling wife, my helpmeet, my treasure. I shall remain true to you in thought and deed. I shall think of you every moment, I shall dream of you in bed, I shall kiss your photograph every night
.”

“As it happens, I don’t have a photograph of you.”

She turned away and clutched the box to her chest. “You’re a beastly . . .
beast
.”

His hands slid over her shoulders. He said, quietly, into her hair, “I have my own men posted nearby. If anything goes wrong, the slightest suspicion, go to the grange hall in the next hamlet and tell them my name. Failing that, make your way to Huhnhof Baden and send a wire to Mr. Nathaniel Wright in London Wall.”

“To Nathaniel Wright?”

“I have left instructions with him. He can be trusted.” Something soft pressed against the crown of her head. He whispered, “Farewell, darling wife.”

She spun around in amazement, but Lord Somerton was already striding out the door, cramming his hat on his head. He did not look back.

•   •   •

A
t Frau Schubert’s urging, she retired to her room and bathed in an old tin hip bath, with hot water brought up in canisters by the woman herself. She felt vaguely unwell, but that was only natural, after such an exhausting twenty-four hours.

It was not until she was dressing herself afterward that she noticed the smear of blood on her underthings, and not until nightfall that she had given up hope at last.

One week later

A
pair of muscular male arms came down and trapped her within the pillows. His lips covered hers, tender and demanding, tasting of brandy. His naked chest brushed against the tingling tips of her breasts, and his hips descended on hers, inexorable, inevitable, until her desire-swollen flesh gave way and a surge of pleasure filled her middle and radiated outward to her fingertips. She cried out with joy, but his mouth muffled her voice. His kiss grew deeper and deeper, smothering her senses, until she couldn’t breathe, she was suffocating under his lips and body, his relentless burly strength.

“Come for me,” he said.

Or was it
Come to me
?

With all her strength, she heaved herself against the enormous weight that covered her. Her body flew forward, her fingers grasped wildly into . . .

Nothing. Empty air.

She looked down at her arms, clutching the white pillow. On the table beside her bed ticked her gold pocket watch; she reached out her arm and held the glass up against the faint light from the open window.

Twenty-four minutes past five o’clock in the morning.

She lay back down among the pillows—Frau Schubert had denuded every bed in the house for her sake—and stared at the shadows above. Every atom of her body ached with disappointment. The dream had been so real this time. She had
felt
him, his hot skin and his demanding brandy mouth. She had been back inside the little house near Fiesole, making love to Somerton under the warm Italian night, in the soft comfort of their bed. The solid weight of her husband’s body had replaced everything in the world.

And now he was gone, and the world had returned. It was now eight days since he and Olympia had left in the modest black carriage, and she hadn’t heard a word from either of them since. They had disappeared without a trace into the ripening German summer.

She turned her head to the window.

Eight days. Somerton had said she would hear from them within a week, if all went well.

If all went well.

Her body still tingled from the dream, but the sickening sense of dread was already chasing it away. One of them should have sent word by now, whether the news was good or bad. Which meant the news had to be very bad indeed.

Or not. She stared fiercely at the crack in the curtains, at the imminent dawn of the eighth day, trying to find a reason why her husband wouldn’t find a way to reassure her. Carelessness, or constant industry, or the inability to find a trusted messenger.

Luisa threw the covers from her body and swung her feet to the floor.

Impossible. If the Earl of Somerton had promised to send word, he would find a way to do so. If he could do so. Which meant that he couldn’t, that something had happened.

And it was up to her to find out what it was.

She reached for her trousers and shirt, for the linen binding for her chest. She splashed water on her face and buttoned her waistcoat and her jacket.

Outside, the sun was beginning to lighten the sky above the foothills to the east. Luisa settled her hat on her head and closed the door softly behind her.

“Your Highness!”

Luisa jumped and turned. Frau Schubert was walking across the farmyard from the barn, dangling two pails of milk from her sturdy hands. Her white apron glowed like a ghost through the predawn air.

“Good morning, Frau Schubert.”

“What are you doing up so early? His Highness left strict instructions for your rest.” She hurried up to Luisa and set down the milk pails. “You must go back to bed. I’ll fetch you a bit of breakfast.”

“Please don’t trouble yourself. I couldn’t sleep; I’m off to take a walk, that’s all.”

“But His Highness said . . .”

“His Highness has been away for over a week, Frau Schubert, with no word at all.” She hesitated, but surely the woman could be trusted. She’d guarded Luisa faithfully, seeing to her every need as if she were honored to do the service. “My husband told me to seek out men in Hohengruben if I had any reason for concern.”

“But that’s three kilometers away, Your Highness!” Frau Schubert was scandalized.

Luisa smiled. “I assure you, I’m up to the challenge.”

“You mustn’t. What if you’re seen? My sister’s son arrives today, on his way back home to Holstein. He’ll see to it.” Frau Schubert put her hands together and leaned forward in her distress. “His Highness wouldn’t want you to put yourself in danger, madam.”

“I’m afraid it can’t be helped. Every moment is of the essence.”

“Oh, do let my Gunther go instead! He can be trusted, madam. He’s one of them leading the opposition in Holstein. Why, I do expect you know him. He is the late mayor’s son.”

“The mayor? The mayor of Holsteinton?”

“The same. Gunther Hassendorf is his name, madam, and I trust him with my life. He stops here to hear my news, when I have it. Things that might be useful to the cause.” She lifted her chin. “A good boy, our Gunther. A true royalist.”

An image flashed through Luisa’s mind: her sister Stefanie, dancing with the mayor’s son at the harvest ball one year, flirting with him openly. Luisa had spoken to her about it afterward.
I don’t care
, the eighteen-year-old Stefanie had said, eyes flashing.
I love him, and he loves me, and he’s going to marry me next spring.
A tall, sturdy fellow, young Gunther. Entirely unsuitable, of course, and while he had indeed married the next spring, it was to a daughter of a wealthy burgher, and at the urging of his practical-minded father. Herr Hassendorf had wisely seen no benefit and a very real danger in allowing his son to elope with the beloved youngest daughter of Prince Rudolf.

“Gunther! Your nephew is Gunther Hassendorf?
Stefanie’s
Gunther?”

Frau Schubert’s eyebrows drew inward. “I beg your pardon, madam?”

“Never mind. I believe he can be trusted.” She bent down and picked up one of the pails of milk. “Let me carry this for you, Frau Schubert, and help you with breakfast. No, I insist.” She brushed away the widow’s protests with a manful sweep of her tweed-covered arm.

“But it isn’t at all proper!” twittered Frau Schubert. “A princess carrying the milk!”

“I assure you, I’ve carried far worse these past many months.” She opened the door for Frau Schubert and followed her in. “And let it be a hearty breakfast, my good woman. I’m off to Holstein with your nephew Gunther, as soon as he arrives.”

•   •   •

T
his is most distressing.” Gunther shook his blond head and spoke in a low voice, though the last occupants had emptied the third-class compartment when the train reached Schweinwald Central, leaving them alone at last. “You say they left a week ago?”

“Eight days. They went by road, so as not to attract attention, and should have arrived in Holstein last Wednesday.” She looked at her hands. She hadn’t taken off her wedding band, though it was a most unusual object for a man to wear. The gold shone subtly in the dim lights of the railway carriage.

“Do you know who they were meeting with?”

“No. My uncle had gathered together a band of committed loyalists.”

He shook his head again. Since his youth, he’d grown into a man of substantial proportions: His head nearly brushed the luggage rack above, and his clothes strained to cover the width of his chest and shoulders. He reminded her of Somerton, at least in his build. “What stupid luck that I was called away from town. I would have known, at least, where to begin the search, and with whom. But never mind. There are a few obvious choices. You still command the hearts of many men in Holstein.”

“And I thank you for yours, Herr Hassendorf. I have seen enough betrayal these past months. My father’s valet Hans turned out to be among the conspirators, and my own governess Dingleby, too, who raised me and my sisters herself after my mother died.” She paused delicately.

“Your sisters,” said Gunther. “How are they?”

“I have heard very little, but I understand them to be well. I hope they may soon be safe to return to this country, and you can see for yourself.”

“The Princess Stefanie. You have had no word of her recently? In the past few days?”

Luisa hesitated. “Not in the past several days. Not since I came to Germany. But I believe she has faced her own difficulties in England.”

“I shall take great pleasure in exacting revenge with my own bare hands,” he said fiercely, punching one hand into the opposite fist.

“I know you cared for her, once.”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. “I had hopes . . . But of course, a mayor’s son could never dream of marrying a princess. My father made that abundantly clear. Ideas above my station, he said.” His voice turned bitter.

She cleared her throat. “I hope that revenge won’t be necessary. I hope to avoid bloodshed as much as possible. I only want to rescue my people, to restore a just and rightful rule to our beloved country.” Tears pricked at her eyes. “To find my husband, who I know will do so much good for Holstein-Schweinwald-Huhnhof, if only he has the chance.”

Gunther patted her hand. “We’ll find him, never fear. Trust me, Your Highness.”

By the time they rattled into Holstein Terminus, the hour was growing late and Luisa’s belly rumbled with hunger. Gunther bought her a sausage roll from one of the vendors and led her discreetly out the side entrance of the station. “We’ll go to my own house for tonight,” he said. “You’ll be safe there, while I go out and make inquiries.”

“I presume your wife and servants are discreet?”

His expression became blank. “My wife died last year of typhoid, two days after our son.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry.”

“It was God’s will.”

Luisa let the conversation die. What could she possibly say, after that?

Gunther Hassendorf occupied his father’s old house, in the shadow of Holstein Castle itself. The streets nearby were strangely deserted, the few citizens walking swiftly, hunched into their jackets, hats pulled low. Luisa risked a glance up the hill at the familiar gray walls of her home, overlooking the town in benign solitude. The tips of the towers were touched with pink in the dying sun. A single golden light shone in the window that had once been her father’s chamber. She couldn’t breathe. She ducked her head again and followed Gunther around another corner, while the warm evening air returned to her lungs.

Gunther’s house stood a little apart from the others, an imposing white square building, trimmed in blue. He rapped smartly on the door with his walking stick, an action strange in itself, since Holstein had always been the sort of town in which citizens might confidently leave their houses unlocked and their virgins unguarded. The door was opened by a young woman in a black dress and a starched white bib apron. “Good evening, Herr Hassendorf,” she said, and took his hat and walking stick.

He turned and motioned Luisa inside. “Frieda, this is Herr Markham, an English gentleman of my acquaintance. You will please make him comfortable in the blue bedroom. He will be staying the night.”

The maid curtsied. “Yes, Herr Hassendorf.”

The house was furnished sumptuously in bright jewel colors and gilded trim work. As Luisa followed the maid up a sweeping main staircase, she caught glimpses of fine Louis Quatorze furniture, of magnificent paintings in ornate frames. They turned down the corridor on the third floor, where the blue bedroom turned out to be an enormous chamber swathed in sapphire velvet and blue chinoiserie wallpaper. She touched the crested peak of a gilded headboard and thought that it could not have been less German.

“Would you like a refreshment, Herr Markham?” asked the maid.

Luisa turned. “A simple tray of supper, perhaps, if it does not inconvenience the staff at this hour.”

The maid started and stared at her. “Yes, sir,” she whispered, bobbing a curtsy, and backed out of the room.

Luisa swore softly and tossed her hat across the floor.

Gunther arrived a quarter hour later with his own hat under his arm and his walking stick in his hand. He nodded at the tray of meats and cheese on the elegant tripod table near the window. “I see you have been made comfortable. Is there anything else you need?”

“I need my husband,” she said. “Let me go with you, please. I want to be doing something right now, not just sit here in your lovely bedroom and pace paths into your rug.”

Gunther cast an alarmed glance at the rug, a thick Persian masterpiece of cream and sapphire blue. “It’s far too dangerous. And you would be recognized, of course, even in your male costume.”

Luisa made a frustrated noise and turned to the window, which gazed up at the walls of Holstein Castle itself, now shrouded in a deep violet twilight. “Hurry back, then. And with good news, if you please.”

He made a little bow. “I will do my best, Your Highness. One small matter, however.” He reached into his pocket.

“What’s that?”

“Your room. It locks from the outside, and I fear—for your protection, of course—it ought to be secured while I’m gone. Do you object?”

She stared at the small brass key in his hand, an ornate affair of curlicues and polish, eminently suited to its station. A frisson of uneasiness passed across her heart. “Are you quite sure it’s necessary?”