Some Enchanted Evening: The Lost Princesses #1 Page 22

  Oh, yes. Princess Clarice would pay.

  Twenty-three

  Love is like the ague.

  The more afraid ye are, the more likely ye’ll suffer it.

  —THE OLD MEN OF FREYA CRAGS

  Clarice couldn’t sleep. She wanted to. She knew she was exhausted physically and mentally. She knew she needed to be alert tonight. But unbidden, doubts and an inexplicable exhilaration ran through her mind.

  Not so inexplicable, really. She smiled at the fat cherubs who decorated the ceiling of her bedchamber. She was in love. For the first time in her life, she was madly, deeply, truly in love.

  And with Robert MacKenzie, the earl of Hepburn! Of all the unsuitable men!

  Unsuitable. Oh, yes. That was where the doubts came in. She could almost hear Grandmamma. Of all the unsuitable men! What were you thinking, Clarice Jayne Marie Nicole? A mere earl? You are a princess, and not just any princess, but a princess of Beaumontagne!

  Wincing, Clarice flipped her pillow, found a cool place to rest her cheek, and tried to ignore the echo of Grandmamma’s autocratic, stiffly correct voice.

  Which brought her back to Robert. Her body was sore, but it was a good sore, as if she’d spent a day of absolute freedom riding Blaize through the meadows and over the hills.

  She chuckled. Robert would not appreciate the comparison. But she loved him, and when she thought of him—his deep voice, his blue eyes fringed with sinfully long, dark lashes, his smooth, black hair—a thrill rocked her body unlike any other she’d ever experienced. She couldn’t stop smiling. It was shameful. She was shameful.

  It was shameful, because yesterday Amy had come to her to talk and Clarice had abandoned her to go to Robert. Family came first. Clarice knew that. Grandmamma had pounded that into her head. And Amy…Amy needed her. Oh, Amy wasn’t happy with her right now, but Clarice knew the truth. Amy was a bewildered child looking for direction.

  Clarice chewed her lower lip. Amy had pointed out that Clarice was younger than Amy when Clarice had taken responsibility for her baby sister, but Clarice had had to grow up quickly. She wanted to protect Amy from the shocks of such an abrupt transition into adulthood, and she would. As soon as this ball was over, she would go to Freya Crags and make everything right with Amy.

  She wondered if Robert would let Amy live in MacKenzie Manor. He didn’t know that Clarice had a sister, but he showed a great sense of responsibility for his own family, and for Waldemar too.

  Clarice wiggled under the covers as a vision of Robert floated through her mind. He was everything a woman would want. Handsome, conscientious, and a lover such as she had never imagined. Thank heavens, for if she had she would have searched for such a man the world over.

  But she knew he didn’t suspect the truth about Amy. Perhaps that secret would displease him, especially when he realized Amy had been planted in the village to help sell the royal secret creams.

  Clarice sat up as she considered that. He might not appreciate such a well-thought-out scam even though he planned just such a scam for tonight. Men had an illogical way of thinking that anything was acceptable for honor but not to feed a starving family.

  And Robert hadn’t mentioned that she should stay longer than tonight. In fact, yesterday she’d been the one to state she would make love with him until your charade is over and it’s time for me to leave. Mayhap he believed her.

  Her eyes widened, and she tossed the covers aside. Maybe he didn’t want a princess, especially not a princess who had lain with him, to live with him and contaminate his own younger sister’s morals. She would feel the same way in his position.

  She took her gown from the chair where her maid had placed it, flung it on over her chemise, and fastened all the buttons up the back. She was certainly capable of performing such a small task for herself; she’d done without a maid for most of her life. Donning her slippers, she combed her hair and wondered what to do, then headed downstairs to the one woman who would allay her fears. To Lady Millicent.

  She found Millicent in the center of the ballroom crowded with bustling servants, clad in her oldest gown, directing Norval in a brisk voice. “Put them in front of each mirror and use only the finest beeswax candles.”

  “Aye, Lady Millicent.” The footman staggered away with an armload of polished silver candelabras.

  The lad couldn’t bow; he was too weighted down, yet Clarice watched him and thought he should have at least tried.

  “I want the flowers placed in heavy vases that can’t be tipped over,” Millicent instructed the head gardener. “Tonight I won’t have water splattered on the waxed floor.”

  He tugged at his forelock. “Aye, mistress, ’twas just what I planned anyway.”

  Clarice didn’t like his attitude. The gardener was an elderly man, probably an old retainer, and he treated Millicent like a child.

  Millicent ignored his insolence. Waving the butler forward, she said, “Lord Hepburn has asked that champagne circulate at all times, and that Colonel Ogley’s glass, especially, be kept full. Are your servers ready for the challenge?”

  “Of course, m’lady.” The butler sniffed. “As if I would ever allow the Hero of the Peninsula to drink his glass dry!”

  “For if you did,” Millicent said crisply, “I would be vexed, and you’d be traveling on the first coach back to London.”

  The butler sputtered with the same indignation he might have if his small dog had nipped at his heels. The chatter in the ballroom faltered. The servants exchanged wary glances with each other.

  Clarice, too, stood amazed. She had never seen Millicent assert her authority. Perhaps it had never before happened. But apparently, when everything depended on the outcome of an evening, Millicent would make her wishes known and in no uncertain manner.

  Drawing herself up, she stared icily, her gaze touching each and every one of the servants. “I am depending on all of you, and I will take it most unhappily if anything, anything at all, happens to mar this ball. Do you understand?”

  “Aye, m’lady.” The chorus of voices was soft and uncertain, and most of the servants bowed or curtsied.

  Millicent turned her gimlet gaze on the butler, standing stiff and affronted.

  In a soft voice she said, “Do you wish to board the coach before the ball?”

  Lowering his chin in defeat, he gave a short, jerky bow. “I will personally oversee everything, m’lady, and it will be perfect.”

  “Very good.” Millicent smiled with chilly satisfaction.

  And Clarice felt foolish wishing for a moment of Millicent’s time now.

  But Millicent caught sight of Clarice, and her smile blossomed. “Princess Clarice, how good to see you.” She swept a hand around at the ballroom. “What do you think?”

  The walls were a glorious gold, and the pillars that ran along each side of the long, wide room were expertly painted to resemble black marble. The tall vases were truly black marble, and the gardener’s assistants were arranging sprays of pinkish-red stock and white oxeye daisies. Millicent had placed gilt-framed mirrors on the wall between every pillar, and Norval was setting the candelabras in front of each mirror, so that when the candles were lit, the ballroom would glow with a thousand flickering lights.

  “It’s beautiful,” Clarice told her, “and will be more beautiful tonight.”

  Millicent nodded in satisfaction. “I’m very pleased with the effects. Very pleased.” Her gaze snapped back to Clarice, and she indicated a small table covered with papers. “Your arrival couldn’t have been timed more perfectly. I’m ready to sit down, although, I confess, I must remain here to supervise the chaos. Shall I ring for tea?”

  Seeing her chance to help, Clarice relaxed. “You rest and let me do it.” Snapping her fingers, she brought the servants back to attention. “Your mistress needs tea and refreshments. Bring two cups, please, she has invited me to partake.” She watched with satisfaction as the butler, in his turn, snapped his fingers at one of the maids and one of the footmen, and they to
ok off at a run. Sinking down in the chair placed for her convenience, Clarice asked, “Do you have a moment for me and my silly curiosity?”

  “For you? Of a certainty, I do.” Millicent waved the hovering servants away. “What it is you wish to know?”

  Now that Clarice faced Robert’s sister, she didn’t know what to say. Does your brother love me? No. Oh, no. So she prevaricated. “I’ve never been the real hostess for a party. Do you look forward to it with anticipation?”

  Millicent looked taken aback. “Anticipation? Most definitely not. It’s a strain from the first guest to the last dance.”

  “But you take pleasure in other balls, the balls you don’t host, no doubt.”

  Millicent stacked her papers. “No, I don’t enjoy them either. I’m afraid all social occasions are a strain to me.” She held up one hand. “I know. You think I should enjoy myself as you do. But you’re beautiful.”

  Now, this Clarice knew how to put right. “Not really. I’m too short, mostly in the limbs.” She extended her leg to show Millicent. “My skin is tanned from the sun, and there’s not a thing I can do about it, because I must travel from town to town. My ears stick out like open carriage doors, which is why you’ll always see my hair pulled tight over them and pinned at the back. But no one notices my deficiencies, for I don’t give them a chance.”

  The servants brought in the tea. Millicent poured two cups, put cream and sugar in both, and passed one to Clarice. After one nervous sip she put her cup down. “Your Highness, what do you mean?”

  “Whenever I walk into a party, I remind myself that I’m a princess, and I pretend I’m the hostess, so it’s up to me to make everyone comfortable. I introduce people to each other and find something about each person on which I can compliment them—that’s not always easy.” Clarice winked at Millicent. “I take a moment to talk to the dowagers. They’re invariably the funniest people in the room, and I get more enjoyment than I provide. By the time I’ve done all that, everyone’s happy and they think I’m beautiful.”

  In a timid voice Millicent protested, “But I’m not a princess.”

  “You’re the hostess,” Clarice returned promptly.

  “Yes. Yes.” Millicent ran her hand down the faded material of her skirt and looked thoughtful.

  Taking a fortifying breath, Clarice said, “But I didn’t seek you out to bore you with the details of my beauty.” She chuckled so Millicent would know she was joking.

  “Oh!” Millicent focused on Clarice. “Yes, what can I do for you?”

  “I was wondering if your brother has ever had a—” She gulped her tea, then gasped as she burned her tongue. “That is, I was wondering if His Lordship…if there’s been talk of—”

  “A betrothal?” Millicent guessed.

  “Yes! Of a certainty! A betrothal.” A little more cautiously, Clarice sipped the tea to moisten her dry mouth. In a rush she said, “I thought perhaps I should look over the debutantes and see who would suit him,” and cringed because Millicent would surely call her on such an absurd lie.

  She was in love with Robert, and apparently love and stupidity went hand in hand.

  But Millicent didn’t blink. “I don’t think so, but thank you for asking. Robert has never been serious about any young lady, but he’s very determined. He’ll choose his own bride, and if I know my brother, he’ll choose her based on her kindness and liveliness, and not for such silly reasons as her dowry or whether we know her family.”

  “Good. That’s good. I mean”—heavens, Clarice felt foolish—“he seems so…alone.”

  “Aye. I’ve worried about him, especially since his return from the war, but in the last few days he seems better. Not so grim, and alive in a way I had feared I’d never see again.” Millicent extended a plate. “Biscuit?”

  “No, I thank you.” Last night’s tiredness had caught up with Clarice, and suddenly she couldn’t keep her eyes open. “I must go take a nap before the ball.”

  “Of course you should.” Millicent’s mouth curled into a smile as she watched Clarice wander away, dazed and exhausted. Would Robert choose his own bride? Millicent thought so. She also thought she had considerably contributed to the outcome.

  The ballroom looked well arranged. It was time for the footmen to change into their formal livery, for the maids to go help the guests dress for the ball, and for Cook to get down to the serious business of making dinner. But first—standing, Millicent clapped her hands. “Go get your tea—and remember, tonight the MacKenzies are depending on you, all of you. Now make haste!”

  The servants dropped whatever they were doing and did as she instructed.

  Millicent smiled after them. Between the servants and Princess Clarice, she thought tonight would go very smoothly. She would be much more relaxed than she had ever been at a ball, even if she didn’t dare to pretend to be a princess.

  Robert spoke behind her. “Millicent, can you help me?”

  She jumped. Swiftly she turned, her hand on her chest.

  He was dressed in the casual garb of a country gentleman: brown tweed and black boots. His gaze was steady and his eyes serious.

  “But of course. I’ll do whatever you require.” And marvel at the fact he had asked her at all. Glancing around at the empty ballroom, she said, “Let’s go into my sitting room.” She led him into the small east-facing chamber.

  He indicated she should sit on the sofa, and when she had, he seated himself beside her. A silence fell, and not a comfortable silence. It seemed, for all that they were brother and sister, as if they didn’t know what to say to each other.

  What would a princess do? A princess would offer her assistance. For no one else would Millicent have been so bold, but now she asked, “Robert, please, what is it? I wish to help you.”

  He stood and looked down at her, his blue eyes sharply observant, as if he had never seen her before.

  She had been too audacious. “That is, if you wish me to.”

  “Yes. You do, don’t you?” He reached for her hand, then, as if he didn’t quite dare touch her, he pulled back.

  In a rush of boldness she caught his fingers and held them in hers. “I always want to help you.”

  He looked at their joined hands helplessly, as if he didn’t know what he was supposed to do now. Clearing his throat, he said, “You do help me. All the time. You take care of the house and you cared for MacKenzie Manor after Father died.” Robert laughed bitterly. “More important, you raised Prudence after I left, and I’m not fool enough to think Father did anything to assist you.”

  Millicent had learned never to complain—no one cared about an old maid’s ordeals. “It wasn’t so difficult.”

  Robert paid no attention to her falsehood. “What an awful man Father was.”

  The two of them sat facing forward, not looking at each other, both remembering the man who had so constantly made their lives miserable. Their father had been a martinet, an ex-officer who came into the title after a series of mishaps left him the heir. He was ill prepared for the responsibilities of wealth and privilege, yet he’d been well aware of his duty to the MacKenzie family. He’d married their mother, a gentlewoman of no fortune, and done his duty so often, she’d suffered through six pregnancies. She’d died in birthing Prudence, and Millicent had wept bitterly, for Mother had been the only person standing between the children and their father. Of course, Father had found Millicent’s tears a weakness and her shyness an annoyance.

  “How did you survive the years alone with him?” Robert asked.

  His frankness made her uncomfortable. “I shouldn’t complain. After all, he was my father, and I’m supposed to honor him.”

  “You’re his daughter, which meant he should have had a care for you. For all of us. Instead, he used us as his whipping posts.”

  She was shocked that Robert at last said what they’d always thought. At the same time, it freed her to show the compassion she’d always felt but curbed out of respect for Robert’s pride. “He never whipped
Prue or me. He took the rod only to you. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him.”

  “He whipped you too. Unmercifully and without ceasing. He beat you with words, and I was sorry that I couldn’t stop him too.”

  “I know. I do know.”

  When Robert had left, sold to the army like a conscript rather than the nobleman’s son he was, only Millicent’s memory of her mother gave her the courage to stand between Prudence and their father. For the most part, she’d been successful, deflecting Father’s malice away from Prudence and onto herself.

  Prudence didn’t know. Dear girl. Every miserable moment had been worth it, for Prudence was as innocent and vivacious as Millicent had never been. Prudence would be a debutante. She would dance, she would flirt, she would marry and have children. She would be everything that Millicent had ever dreamed of being, and that made Millicent’s sacrifice worthwhile.

  “I’m sorry I abandoned you to Father,” Robert said. “I worried about you.”

  “I worried about you too, all the time you were gone, but truth to tell, I hoped things on the Peninsula would be better for you.” She sounded stupid, and she hastened to explain herself. “I beg you believe me—I don’t think war is easy. But I hoped when you got away from Father and among other jolly young men, you might occasionally have fun of a manly sort.”

  For the first time, Robert looked at ease. Leaning back, he studied her. “Fun of a manly sort, heh? What might that be?”

  He was teasing her, she realized. He was teasing her! It was almost like old times when their father had gone visiting and they were alone and happy. “You know.” She waved her other hand. “Drinking, cards…women.”

  Robert barked a laugh. “There was some of that, Millicent. I promise, there was some of that.”

  She studied his face anxiously. “But most of it was difficult.”