The Barefoot Princess (22 page)

Chapter 23

“A
fter much thought, I realized the reason why I’m so compelled by Lord Northcliff.” Alfonsine, countess of Cuvier, sat like a fat, satisfied cat in the middle of the drawing room in Summerwind Abbey and in an amused tone said, “It comes to one thing. I want to climb his highest peak.”

The ladies surrounding her—Miss Hilaire Kent, Lady Pheobe Breit, and Her Grace, the duchess of Seymour—trilled with laughter.

Amy smiled enigmatically and kept walking.

The two gentlemen who accompanied her, Lord Howland Langford and his brother Manning Langford, earl of Kenley, turned shocked eyes on the four ladies as they passed.

“I’m brokenhearted over his choice of bride.” Broken hearted? Ha! Lady Alfonsine sounded spiteful. “A girl of whom no one has ever heard who claims she’s a princess! Really!”

“Absurd!” Miss Kent said.

Of course the ladies had seen Amy strolling through the foyer toward the door and had dipped their forked tongues in venom.

“Living with him before the wedding and claiming to be an orphan.” Lady Pheobe lowered her voice, but not so much that Amy missed a word. “His servants say they stay in bedchambers in different wings, but you know how undependably servants report the tittle-tattle.”

“One would think after the scandal with his mother he’d see the error in stooping low to take a mate,” Miss Kent said.

“Exactly,” Lady Alfonsine said. “But this proves bad breeding will out!”

Turning on her heel, Amy stalked back toward the drawing room, eyes narrowed, claws out.

Kenley caught her elbow and used her momentum to turn her like a fulcrum. “Don’t pay attention to them.” He was a fussy man with impeccable taste and a clear preference for his own gender when choosing a mate and the opposite when choosing a friend. “Those women are jealous.”

She tugged at her arm. “I don’t care if they’re jealous, but they’re not going to talk about Jermyn or his mother that way.”

“What are you going to do?” Kenley asked. “Knock their heads together?”

“Do you think I can’t?” She looked sideways at him.

He hastily withdrew his hand.

But he was right. She shouldn’t make a scene here, today. She didn’t want the guests gossiping about her behavior. Rather, she wanted all the attention focused on the dreadful murder of her dear fiancé…which would happen very soon. So she kept walking toward the outdoors where an elegant luncheon was spread in the gazebo in the heart of the gardens. It was Jermyn’s birthday luncheon, to be followed by a tragic and well-witnessed accident this evening and an elegant ball tonight.

The footman opened the wide doors and she stepped out onto the steps at the front of the house. Jermyn and Amy had moved into the manor house just in time, for the storm raged for three days, ripping trees from the earth, lashing rain at the windows, propelling giant waves toward the land to thrash at the cliffs and chew at the rocks. It had been an awesome display of nature, one that had sent the gardeners scurrying to clean up the flower beds, cut down the fallen trees and rake up the shredded leaves. Yet today no one would ever suspect the destruction wrought by the tempest; the estate was pristine, the sun shone from a clear blue sky and the marqess of Northcliff might have ordered this day specifically for his melodrama.

“Kenley, you’re jealous that Northcliff is now unavailable, too.” Lord Howland said mildly.

“Yes, but I don’t parade my grief in front of Lord Northcliff’s fiancée, for pity’s sake!” Kenley sounded shocked, then added slyly, “Although, my dear Princess Disdain, if you would allow me to advise you on how to dress we could knock those witches to their metaphorical knees.”

Amy grinned at the two brothers, so different and yet so kind. Jermyn had introduced them as his best friends and requested they care for her while he was arranging matters elsewhere. “But I don’t care how I dress, and I don’t care if I knock the witches to their knees, metaphorical or otherwise, and I most certainly don’t care if Lady Alfonsine wants to climb my lord. Or you, either, Kenley. Neither of you has the stamina.”

Kenley pressed his handkerchief to his trembling mouth. “Princess Disdain! How shocking!”

But she thought he was chortling.

And Lord Howland roared with laughter. “You’re not shocked, Kenley. You’re piqued that you didn’t think of such a rejoinder!”

“True. Yet I do believe there is nothing more breathtaking than a woman so much in love she can’t be made jealous.”

Amy turned her head sharply to glare at him. “So much in love—what do you mean?”

Both brothers chuckled as if she’d made a witticism.

Did she act like a woman in love?

Then Kenley sighed hugely. “Nevertheless, my offer stands. With your style and my wisdom, I could make you the most fashionable female in the
ton
.”

How did a woman in love act?

She didn’t want to talk about what was all the rage. She wanted to ask why he said she was in love. She wasn’t in
love
. She had simply agreed to remain with Jermyn for the length of their year. Then they would decide if they should wed in a church ceremony…it meant nothing that they had yet to use the preventative against pregnancy and that the appearance of a child made the pagan ceremony permanent. If asked, she would say she still had no idea how she did feel about him…if he was her soul mate. She didn’t know why she couldn’t shoot him.

And even more important, she had no idea how he felt about her.

Except that he’d done everything to make her a part of his society, including giving her a bedchamber separated by the whole breadth of Summerwind Abbey from his. Of course, the rooms were connected by a secret passage, one which Jermyn trod every night, but no one knew that, apparently not even the servants.

“I’ve got Biggers and some French maid he hired working with all their hearts on my gown,” she said in as casual a tone as she could produce. “I suspect they’re both very good, but Kenley, you have to understand—I won’t wear scratchy lace, I won’t wear a train that I’m constantly tripping on, and I won’t bear a neckline that I can’t dance in for fear I’ll flop out at the top.”

Lord Howland laughed again, great hoots of amusement.

Kenley stopped walking and covered his eyes with his hand. “Flop out?
Flop out?
We do not use such a term in regards to your trim figure, my lady. And surely it wouldn’t hurt you to just once avail yourself of Northcliff’s vast resources.”

“Northcliff has done nothing but spoil me since the day we met.” Which the guests had been informed was last month while she visited Miss Victorine Sprott on the isle of Summerwind—which was as much of the truth as anyone needed to know, Jermyn said.

“Do you at least have something grand to wear for the ball celebrating Northcliff’s birthday?” Kenley asked.

“The gown is very grand,” she promised.

“Tell me about it,” he urged.

“I don’t know. I think it’s pink.” She tried to remember, but lately she’d been fitted for so many gowns. “Or blue.”

“Pink or blue,” Kenley soundlessly mouthed the words.

He seemed so distressed, she decided to give him something to make him happy. “I remember now. It’s pink.”

In a pleading tone, he said, “You’re the style now. You’re the newest thing. You’re handsome, you captured the heart of the elusive Lord Northcliff, and it’s rumored that you are a princess. Northcliff has even given you a marvelous nickname—Princess Disdain. All of the other ladies envy you that. But such fame is fleeting.” Kenley earnestly knit his brow. “How do you expect to
stay
the thing if you don’t
exert
yourself?”

“She’ll stay the thing precisely because she doesn’t give a spin.
I
think she’s charming as she is.” Lord Howland smiled as they approached the gazebo where the afternoon repast had been laid out.

“So she is.” Kenley bowed to her in graceful homage.

“You’re a dear man,” she said. Then Jermyn looked up from his conversation with the elderly Lady Hamilton, and Amy no longer gave a hang about Kenley or Howland or any of the guests gathered in bright, chattering clumps. She saw only Jermyn, his strong figure, his gleaming auburn hair, his soft lips which so deftly brought her delight night after night…

Jermyn gave only the slightest of nods to her, then looked back at Lady Hamilton, giving her all his attention.

And like an idiot, Amy’s heart twittered. He was so
nice
, taking care that a old woman isolated by her encroaching deafness.

Long tables were spread with white tablecloths, loaded with food and drink. Uniformed footmen circulated with champagne. Ladies in bright spring gowns and handsome gentlemen drifted along the paths admiring the flowers that had been so recently transplanted from the conservatory. Only a few shattered stumps stood as mute witness to the virulent attack of the ocean storm, and the beauty of the scene made Amy’s heart catch.

When had she grown to love this place so much?

Again her gaze rested on Jermyn.

When she had learned to love him.
It wasn’t the place, it was the man who belonged with this place. Dear God, Kenley and Howland were right. She was hip-deep in love for Jermyn, the marquess of Northcliff.

Did he…did he love her, too?

“Princess Disdain, do you know everyone here?” Kenley asked.

She tore her gaze from Jermyn and stared absently at Kenley. “Huh?”

“Do you know all the guests?” he repeated.

She looked them over. “I’ve been introduced to most of them.”

And she didn’t care a farthing for any of them. All she cared about was Jermyn. Did he love her? She thought perhaps he did. He loved her body, of that she was positive. Yet in addition, he acted quite fond. He believed her no matter how absurd the tale she told, and she freely admitted her tales were extraordinary, although true.

But did that mean he loved her? She didn’t know. The problem was—she didn’t know how to recognize love. She knew sisterly love, or fatherly love, but not this kind. Not the kind that battered her soul as surely as the storm had battered the cliffs.

“Do you remember their names?” Lord Howland asked.

“What?” Why was Howland interrupting her thoughts?

“Do you remember the guests’ names?” he repeated slowly and patiently.

“Of course. Remembering names is an art learned by every princess.” And perfected by years on the road when knowing a name could mean the difference between a swat with the broom or a meal kindly given.

Kenley’s eyes sparked with interest. “So you’re really a princess?”

“As surely as I’m a peddler.” She smirked at Kenley’s crestfallen expression. If he only knew the truth!

She had no time to further examine her emotions for Jermyn. The time for the play had begun. But later tonight when the drama had been completed and the villain vanquished, she would talk to Jermyn. She would tell him straight-out that she loved him. Then she’d ask if he loved her, and hold him while she waited for the answer, and—

“Northcliff wanted us to introduce you to any unknowns,” Kenley said peevishly. “How may we perform our sworn duty if you won’t pay attention?”

She shook off the feeling of anticipation and concentrated on the task at hand. “I don’t know those two gentlemen standing off to the side. There, by the table with the bowl of iced punch.”

Lord Howland squinted through the sunshine at the two well-dressed older men with the serious faces. “I can’t see that far. Dreadful vision, you know. Kenley?”

“I never thought I’d see those two outside of London! Mr. Irving Livingstone and Oscar Ingram, earl of Stoke,” Kenley said.

“Really? I wonder what brings them out?” Turning to Amy, Lord Howland explained, “They were close friends of Jermyn’s father. I think during his reign here they used to visit, but it seems they’ve hardly left White’s since. I’m surprised Northcliff thought to invite them.”

“I don’t think he did.” In fact, Amy knew very well Jermyn had not, for she’d studied the guest list to familiarize herself with the names and those two hadn’t been on it.

Kenley’s voice developed a cooing note. “And look at that gentleman. He looks mean and tough—and handsome!—not at all the sort to frequent a
ton
party.”

“Where?” Amy asked.

“There by the stump of that big tree.”

She spotted him right away.

He was watching her.

Of course a great many people were. She was Jermyn’s fiancée, and as such, important.

But the way this fellow watched her was different. He
was
handsome, he
did
look mean and tough, and he studied her as if she were his to approve. And when he had made his decision, he nodded at her as if sending her a message.

But she didn’t understand what it was, or why he thought he had the right to send it.

“Well!” Kenley said in tones of despair. “You seem to have made another conquest. Do you know him?”

“Not at all,” she answered. But she had trouble taking her gaze from him. Something about him did seem familiar…

“Here comes Lord Northcliff,” Kenley said.

Promptly Amy forgot the stranger. She forgot Kenley, Howland, the wretched lot of the guests. Jermyn was striding toward her, his auburn hair shining with sunlight, his brown eyes smiling, his clothing impeccable, and he was hers. All hers.

“Have you noticed that whenever his Princess Disdain is around, Northcliff has eyes for no one else?” Lord Howland inquired.

“You don’t have to rub it in,” Kenley said sadly. Then as Jermyn came within earshot, he waved his gloved hand. “Ah, Lord Northcliff, how well you look this afternoon!”

“Thank you. I feel well indeed.” Taking Amy’s hand, he held it in both of his. “As long as my princess is nigh.”

Amy blushed. Jermyn had a way of looking at her and making her feel…warm, wanton, alive. As if all they needed was a moment alone and he would give her passion such as she’d never experienced.

Moreover, it was true. The two of them had only to be together alone for the merest moment and they were in each other’s arms, discovering new ways of desire.