My Fair Princess (12 page)

“I thought that's exactly what I was supposed to do. Why else would we go on this bloody, er, silly outing?”

“We wish to attract the right kind of attention. Standing about arguing like fishwives will garner us exactly the opposite.”

“You started it by insulting my brother.”

“I did no such—never mind,” he said in an exasperated tone as Griffin and Justine approached.

“Ah, my dear sister and her faithful English mastiff,” Griffin said. “Looking like he wants to bite my head off, as usual.”

Gillian sighed. “You're just as bad as he is. I wish the two of you would at least try to get along.”

Her brother pressed a dramatic hand to his heart. “I am the most amiable man in London. A veritable fount of charity and goodwill.”

“You're nothing of the sort, Griffin Steele,” Justine said.

Griffin let out a heavy sigh. “What's the world coming to when a man can't even depend on his wife for support?”

“Please ignore him, Your Grace,” Justine said in a good-humored voice as she dipped into a quick curtsey.

“I'll do my best, Mrs. Steele,” Leverton replied.

“Men are such a trial,” Justine said, before pressing a quick kiss on Gillian's cheek. “How are you, dear girl? You're looking exceptionally pretty today.”

Gillian smiled as she gave her sister-in-law a quick hug. Justine was a calm, lovely woman who seemed capable of bringing order to even the most chaotic or upsetting situations. She'd cared for Gillian after she'd been shot, nursing her with a quiet efficiency that had soothed everyone's nerves.

Justine also had a knack for managing her mercurial husband. Of course, it certainly helped that Griffin was madly in love with his wife, and she with him. Gillian could only hope that she would someday find that sort of happiness.

“Leverton, stop scowling at me like I'm a demon from the pits of hell,” Griffin said. “I thought we'd reached the point where we could spend at least ten minutes together without coming to blows.”

“Normally, I would be delirious with joy to partake of your company,” the duke replied. “But today is not the day for Gillian to be seen with a reformed reprobate and former crime lord.”

“Your Grace, your truly charitable regard brings a tear to my eye. I am completely unmanned,” Griffin said. Justine elbowed him in the ribs. “Ouch,” he protested. “That hurt.”

“And there's more where that came from if you don't behave,” his wife said.

“But Griffin
is
reformed. Isn't that the point?” Gillian asked. “Why should I avoid my own brother?”

“True, but he is hardly what one would call dull and respectable,” Leverton said. He gave a slight grimace as he looked at Griffin, as if apologizing. “And despite your reformation and your truly excellent spouse, there are still a great many in the
ton
who give you a wide berth. While you have well-placed friends in society, you also have enemies, as I'm sure you realize.”

“Only because they still owe me money,” Griffin said.

“They sound like awful people,” Gillian said to her brother. “And I don't care to be friendly with people who don't approve of you.”

“That's the spirit, pet,” Griffin said. “We reprobates must stick together.”

“That's not helpful, my dear,” his wife said. “And the duke has a good point.”

“He does?”

“Guilt by association can still damage one's reputation,” Justine replied.

“After that confounded ball I don't have much reputation left to damage,” Gillian said.

“Which is to the point,” Leverton said. “Your reputation is hanging by a slender thread, Miss Dryden. And spending time in your brother's company won't help, I'm afraid. Notoriety is never a young lady's friend.”

“That I know all too well,” Justine said with a sigh.

“Turned out pretty damn well in your case,” Griffin said. “After all, you married me.”

“Yes, but we were lucky, and we had quite a lot of help.”

“And I want to help Gillian,” Griffin said, suddenly turning serious. “I want her to remain in England, where we can keep an eye on her. Returning to Sicily would be too bloody dangerous.”

Blast.
Gillian didn't need her brother standing in her way, too.

“Then we're agreed that you should not be seen in public with her for now,” the duke said. “I'd like Gillian to keep a low profile over the next few weeks. She can go for strolls or the occasional ride in the park, dinner parties, and musicales in small number, and only in the most select company. If we can do that successfully, the uproar over Andover should soon die down.”

When Griffin and Justine exchanged glances, Leverton expelled a sigh. “What now?”

“Gillian seems to have acquired a nickname,” Justine said. “Perhaps you've heard?”

“No, I've been attending to parliamentary business the last few days,” Leverton said. “Just how bad is it?”

“I actually think it's rather good,” Griffin said. “And apt.”

“Are you referring to the Pugilistic Princess?” Gillian asked.

The other three gaped at her.

“You already know?” Griffin asked.

“I found out yesterday,” she said. “I believe it was coined shortly after we left the ball.”

“You poor thing,” Justine said. “Why didn't you tell one of us?”

“It doesn't bother me. Trust me, I've heard worse.” Like Griffin, she quite liked the name. In fact, she'd burst into laughter when she heard about it.

“Miss Dryden, how did you acquire this knowledge?” Leverton asked.

She waved a vague hand. “You know. Just around.”

“I assume it was from the servants,” Griffin said. “Always the most reliable source of information.”

Yes, she'd heard it from the servants—Roger, her grandmother's coachman, to be precise. Gillian often slipped out at night to visit the stables. She loved spending time with the horses, grooming them or simply keeping company with them. They calmed her when she was feeling too restless to sleep. Roger, who'd served the Marbury family for years, was an old and trusted friend.

Leverton, naturally, would not approve of such low friendships.

Right on point, the duke narrowed his gaze. “I thought I told you to stop pumping the servants for information.”

She narrowed her gaze right back. “You're just annoyed because you're the last to know.”

Surprisingly, his lips twitched. “Sadly true. I've been much engaged these last few days and haven't visited my clubs. An oversight I will be sure to correct.”

Gillian imagined it wasn't very often that anyone stole a march on Leverton.

“Well, the damage is done,” Justine said, “so now we must simply determine how best to deal with it.”

“The voice of reason, as always, Mrs. Steele.” Leverton gave her a rueful smile.

“I don't think it's all that bad,” Gillian said. “The Pugilistic Princess has rather a nice ring to it. And it will probably keep the rakes and the bounders at a safe distance.”

“As long as it doesn't frighten off the respectable suitors, too,” Leverton said. “Still, the name could be worse. At least it's not lewd.”

“Speaking of worse,” Griffin said. “Look who's coming to speak with us, brazen as day.”

Gillian turned to see Gerald Stratton coming toward them with a grim, determined look on his face.

“Bloody hell,” Griffin growled. “The man has balls.”

“Griffin, behave yourself,” his wife hissed.

Gillian was in full agreement with her brother, and part of her was inclined to live up to her nickname right now. But though Stratton had started the whole mess at the ball by introducing her to Andover, he'd seemed first uncomfortable and then horrified when things got ugly. She even thought he might have babbled out an apology on Andover's behalf, although she wasn't quite sure. There'd been such a commotion after the earl had gone crashing to the floor that it had been difficult to hear anything.

“Let me deal with him, Steele,” Leverton said in a hard voice. “You'll draw too much unwanted attention.”

Gillian glanced around.
Too late.

The afternoon promenade was now well under way. Phaetons, landaus, and curricles were moving through the park in a fairly steady stream, and many fashionably dressed people were out for a stroll. And many of them were clearly taking note of their presence and no doubt gossiping like magpies.

Griffin moved around to Gillian's side, as if to guard her. When she took his arm and squeezed it, he lifted an enquiring brow.

“Don't cause a fuss,” she murmured. “The duke can handle it.”

Much to her surprise, her brother smiled. “Of that I have no doubt.”

“That's far enough,” Leverton said, stepping forward to meet Stratton. “Miss Dryden has no wish to speak to you.”

Stratton winced. “Look, old boy, I've not come to make trouble. I'm just back from calling at Upper Brook Street, and I wanted to extend my apology to Miss Dryden.” He hesitated. “And also warn her.”

“Warn her about what?” Griffin asked in a low, lethal voice. Stratton blanched as white as a corpse.

“It's all right, Mr. Stratton,” Gillian said. “You tried to apologize at the ball, did you not?”

He grimaced. “I did, Miss Dryden. I'm exceedingly sorry about that unfortunate scene. I had no idea Andover would be such a lout to you and the other ladies.”

“Letitia sent you over to make trouble, did she not?” Leverton asked in a cold voice.

“No, that was her dear friend, Andover. I was simply my darling wife's unwitting pawn,” Stratton said bitterly.

Leverton stared at him for a few seconds before nodding. “I think I understand.”

“I imagine you do,” Stratton said, looking somber. “I'm sorry, Charles. I'd like to explain it, if you'd let me.”

The duke's glance flicked to Gillian, then back to Stratton. “Later.”

Gillian rolled her eyes. As if they could say anything that would shock her. “What is it you wished to warn me about, sir?”

“You've acquired a nickname, Miss Dryden,” he said. “And it's not a very nice one, I'm afraid.”

Her companions seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief.

“The Pugilistic Princess?” Griffin said. “We already know.”

“Yes,” Stratton said. “But there's another one.”

A loud burst of laughter interrupted them, drawing their attention to four men and two ladies strolling nearby. Lady Letitia, along with her companions, stared at Gillian with undisguised glee.

“Blast,” Stratton groaned.

“Now I am definitely going to have to murder someone,” Griffin said.

Lady Letitia said something else to her friends, provoking another raucous peal of laughter. It was rather daring of them, given that both the Duke of Leverton and Griffin Steele were staring daggers at their little group.

The duke turned and clamped a hand on Stratton's shoulder. “Let's you and I have that talk right now.”

Chapter Twelve

Charles stirred when the contessa inched aside the curtain and peered out the window at the desolate landscape of fields and marshes. She was clearly anxious to still be on the road as night approached. Her daughter, however, showed no such discomfort, nor did his sister. The fact that Gillian and Elizabeth were much alike in their practical and cheerful approach to life was a blessing, considering the four of them had been cooped up in a traveling coach for the last five days.

With Gillian's reputation a hair's breadth away from ruination, they'd decided on a quick retreat from town. Temporarily removing her from the eye of the storm was now the only path to restoring her good name—if they even could. Charles was beginning to have some serious doubts on that score, although he kept them to himself.

Even he hadn't thought one little uppercut to the jaw of an earl would cause so much trouble.

“It's getting quite dark,” the contessa said. “Perhaps it would have been best to spend the night in Spilsby, after all.”

“Good God, Mamma,” Gillian said. “That little inn was incredibly dirty and damp, and I shudder to even think of the sheets.” She took her mother's hand. “I promise everything will be fine, darling. His Grace won't let anything happen to us.”

Gillian was devoted to her mother and endlessly attentive to her comfort on the dreary trip. That the mother seemed unable to care for her own daughter, however, was sadly evident. Although no one could find a sweeter, more gentle-tempered woman, the contessa suffered from a melancholy that rendered her all but useless in dealing with life's travails and managing her own child.

“Indeed not,” said Elizabeth. “And I'm sure we'll arrive at Fenfield Manor well before nightfall, won't we, Charles?”

He lifted the curtain on his side of the coach with one finger. Bands of purple and pink shimmered on the horizon, bleeding up into darker bands of blue. Although full nightfall would come within the hour, plenty of light remained for the coachman to see. This far north, the days were long enough for them to push ahead and finally reach the end of this seemingly interminable journey.

“There is no cause for concern,” he said. “I know this part of Lincolnshire seems remote, but we are perfectly safe.”

“It's just that we've encountered hardly anyone in almost two hours,” the contessa said. “Anything could happen to us, and no one would even know it.”

“I would never allow anything to happen to you or your daughter, madam.”

“What about me?” Elizabeth demanded.

“You? I'd turn you over to the highwaymen in order to give us time to make our escape.”

“Wretch,” Elizabeth said with a grin. Gillian snickered.

The contessa didn't so much as crack a smile. Charles couldn't blame her, given that bandits had murdered her husband. He'd best remember that before he made any more careless jokes.

“My groom and coachman are well armed and well trained, my lady,” Charles said. “And we will reach my estate within the hour.”

“Thank God.” Stretching her arms, Gillian arched her back, pulling herself into a slim, beautiful curve that showcased the gentle swell of her breasts under the trim fit of her spencer. “Not that your coach isn't exceedingly comfortable, sir, but my muscles are so bloody stiff that I feel like an old lady.”

“My love, you must not swear,” her mother admonished with a gentle smile. Charles suspected that Gillian's language had been precisely intended to distract her mamma. He, however, was distracted by some extremely inconvenient images of what Gillian's body might look like without all that clothing.

He forced his gaze from her trim figure up to her face. Unfortunately, it was just as enticing as her body. His attraction to her was becoming quite the problem, since the rumors circulating amongst the
ton
affected him almost as much as Gillian.

“Sorry, Mamma.” Gillian shifted to look at Charles. “I suppose you want to scold me, too. Go ahead. I promise I won't say a peep in my defense.” She adopted a martyred expression.

“Since your mother has already corrected you, I'll let it pass. Just this once.”

“You are kindness itself, sir,” she said, clasping her hands over her chest and sounding comically dramatic.

Elizabeth laughed. “You are truly the most ridiculous child.”

“Someone has to keep us entertained,” Gillian said. “Lord knows the duke has been falling down on the job. He just drones on about the peerage and the proper way to dance a figure or hold a fork. I find it exceedingly unfair, since I'm a captive audience.”

“We're
all
a captive audience,” Elizabeth said. “I've been tempted to throw myself out of the carriage at least twice a day, especially when he pontificates about appropriate topics of discussion for gently bred ladies.” She leaned over to Gillian, as if to confide in her. “He used to do the same to me when I was a young girl. He was always correcting my bad behavior.”

“Because there was quite a lot to correct,” Charles said.

“Well, if that's what older brothers do, I'm very glad I never had one,” said Gillian. “Except for Griffin, of course. He's a notable exception.”

Amusement gleamed in her eyes. Once again, Charles was struck by her sanguine, even good-humored attitude. Most girls would have taken to their beds in hysterics in the face of all the nasty rumors. But Gillian didn't seem to care. “Your brother is worse than you are,” he said.

“That's why I like him so much.”

Elizabeth laughed again, but the contessa looked worried. “Gillian, you shouldn't be teasing. We're very grateful for everything the duke has done for you.”

“Of course we are, Mamma. Leverton has been exceedingly kind.”

“I've been more than happy to help,” he said.

Gillian studied him, her expression turning thoughtful. “I very much doubt that. But, truly, you've been so nice to me and to Mamma. I can't even begin to think how I'll repay you.”

Charles could think of several ways, none of them nice. Naughty, in fact, would describe them perfectly. “You could start by paying better attention to me when I'm explaining something. Such as how to behave like a proper young lady at a ball instead of like a hoyden.”

“Anything except for that,” she said, mischief once more gleaming in her eyes.

Charles had to repress the impulse to laugh. He had, in fact, given up trying to instruct her, at least on the trip. Gillian had enough trouble sitting still for hours at a time, let alone trying to focus on lessons. Though she did read quite often, at least when the roads were good enough to allow it, her reading primarily consisted of the novels of Mrs. Radcliffe.

Despite her good humor, the trip taxed her. Gillian seethed with restless, physical energy that cried out for relief. Fortunately, Elizabeth had hit on the notion of teaching her how to play cards. It had never occurred to Charles that she wouldn't know how to play. Every day, it became clearer just how socially isolated Gillian had been in her former life. Her family had loved and protected her, but had done little to prepare her for anything approaching a normal life among the aristocracy. He suspected it was her grandfather, Lord Marbury, who'd been mostly at fault.

Regardless, it was now up to Charles to correct the situation.

“You've had a lengthy break from your lessons, Miss Dryden,” he said. “But tomorrow we begin again in earnest.”

She rolled her eyes. “Five days in a carriage is hardly what I call a break. Besides I'm not sure there's any point in lessons, given what people are saying about me.”

“We agreed that we wouldn't think or talk about that,” her mother said.

“I know, Mamma. But there's been nothing else to do these past several days
but
think. I don't see how I can come back from the Savage Sicilian much less—”

“Don't even say it,” Charles said in a stern voice.

“Everyone else is,” Gillian said defiantly. “And pretending otherwise isn't going to make things better. It seems entirely mad to me to believe we can actually fix this.”

When Charles narrowed his gaze in silent warning, Gillian simply crossed her arms over her chest and stared back at him, not the least bit intimidated, as usual.

“Tell me something,” he said. “Do you actually wish to
fix this
, as you refer to it, or would you rather give up? Because I have a sense that you're quite happy to escape town.” He shook his head. “It surprises me that you're so willing to back down without a fight. Your brother certainly wants to give it a go.”

In fact, Griffin Steele had all but threatened to shoot anyone who dared to say a cruel word about his sister—starting with Letitia Stratton.

Gillian's dark eyes flashed fire. “Are you calling me a coward?”

“Dear me,” Elizabeth said. “I don't think we should discuss this now. It's the end of a long, tiring day, and our nerves are quite frayed. Don't you agree, contessa?”

Gillian shot a guilty glance at her mother. “I don't mean to upset you, Mamma, but it seems silly to tiptoe around what happened. You know that better than anyone.”

Much to Charles's surprise, the contessa regarded her daughter with a calm expression. “I do. In your case, however, you have done nothing wrong. I earned my shame. You, my love, did not.”

Gillian twisted to face her. “You earned nothing but the right to be happy, Mamma. I'll murder anyone who says otherwise.”

“It's very kind of you to say so, my dear. But there are those in the
ton
who disagree, and who also believe that my behavior still reflects on you.”

“But it was all so long ago,” Gillian replied. “Why does it even matter anymore what you did?”

“Because that's the way people are, unfortunately. And to the gossips, you are both a living reminder and an irresistible temptation.” She took her daughter's hand. “I understand there is a certain phrase currently making the rounds in London regarding us. I suspect you know what it is.”

Gillian's mouth pulled into an unhappy twist. “Like mother, like daughter,” she finally answered with obvious reluctance.

“Yes, along with ‘the apple doesn't fall far from the tree
.
' Both are exceedingly unimaginative, but in our case they have a certain ring.” The contessa's smile was so sad that Charles wanted to pummel every simpering prat who'd dared to spread ugly gossip about Gillian and her mother.

“Ugh,” Elizabeth said with a grimace. “I occasionally forget how dreary the
ton
can be.”

The contessa shrugged. “It's to be expected. But it's also why it made sense for me to leave town with my daughter. My presence would only have fueled more gossip and attention, whether Gillian was with me or not.”

“Leaving
your
mother behind to hold down the fort, as she put it,” Charles said. Lady Marbury had been unshakeable. “To stay and push back against the gossip.”

“My mother refused to run away again,” the contessa said. “She said that this time, she was going to stand her ground and fight—for me and for Gillian.”

“What a mess,” Elizabeth said, rubbing her forehead.

“But you did wish to leave town, didn't you, Mamma?” Gillian asked, sounding anxious. “I hate to think you were forced out on my account, especially after you had just returned home.”

“Of course, darling. As if I wouldn't rather be with my child than anywhere without her.”

“Then I'm glad we left,” Gillian said. “I have no wish to spend my time with people who can be so dreadful to my mother. In fact, I hope we stay away a good, long time. I quite hate English society, if you must know the truth.”

“You hated Sicilian society too, as I recall,” her mother said.

Gillian breathed out an aggrieved sigh. “Can you truly blame me?”

“No, dear. The way they treated you was distressing. That is why I'd like to avoid a repeat of it, if at all possible. We'll stay away as long as His Grace deems necessary, then we will return together to London.”

When her daughter started to look mutinous, Contessa di Paterini took an unexpectedly firm line. “In the meantime, you will continue your lessons and do exactly as the duke says.”

“But, Mamma, as I said,” Gillian argued, “I don't really see the point. My reputation is—”

Her mother put up a hand to interrupt. “Your reputation is not ruined. Gillian, I simply refuse to see you labeled as notorious, when you are no such thing. In every way that matters, you are entirely innocent.” She looked at Charles, her gaze clear and steady. “This is merely a strategic retreat, is it not, my dear sir?”

He was surprised by her display of maternal fortitude, but it could only help. “That is an excellent way of putting it. Nevertheless, it's best not to underestimate the challenge.”

To have Gillian already placed in the same category as her mother was more of a setback than he'd envisioned—especially after what Stratton had told him. That was information, however, that he intended to keep to himself.

“What aren't you telling us, Charles?” Elizabeth asked in a suspicious voice.

His sister had always been too damned perceptive for her own good. “Nothing you need concern yourself about.”

Gillian's gaze narrowed, as if she were trying to see into his head. “Your Grace—”

The carriage jolted to a halt, rocking violently on its frame. Gillian grabbed onto her mother, while Charles reached out to support Elizabeth before she slid to the floor.