“Are you?” He stared at her searchingly. “And feeling ill?”
“I’m fine!” Just because she’d known him since she was in the cradle, he had no right to interfere so outrageously. And she wasn’t overreacting, either! “Have you seen Sorcha?”
“No. I haven’t.”
“I miss her.” Amy’s eyes filled with tears. “For all that I haven’t seen her in ten years, I still miss her.”
“She is your sister.” He extended his handkerchief to her.
Amy took it and blew her nose. Hard. Why had this wave of nostalgia ripped over her? It had to be because of that louse, Jermyn. He’d resurrected all the pain of separation and left her stripped of pride and alone. She couldn’t wait to leave him. She would leave him right now. She stood. “How did you trace me, Rainger?”
“When Lord Northcliff sent a query to the Beaumontagne Embassy about what was happening in the country, I managed to, er, intercept the message and I followed up on my own.” He stood also, and extended his hand. “Go with me to Beaumontagne now. I’ll take you to your grandmother and there you’ll be safe.”
She stared at his palm. Looked at him. And was stricken by a dreadful revelation. “I can’t leave. I swore I’d stay with Jermyn for a year.”
“You’re a princess.”
“And as such, I am bound by my vows.” She started walking back to the party. Then turned back to him. “Isn’t that right, Rainger?”
Reluctantly he nodded, then watched her walk away. In a soft voice, he said, “I’m bound by my vow of revenge, too, Princess, but I think you may have thwarted my plans in a most permanent way.”
She returned to the path that led to the gazebo and walked toward the party. As she met the guests, they either stared at her or their eyes slid away, and everyone turned to watch Jermyn’s reaction when he saw her.
Clearly, the guests who an hour ago had been so pleasant knew that she and Jermyn had quarreled. They’d seen Jermyn return without her. They thought the engagement was over.
She glanced at Harrison Edmondson. His gloating satisfaction sent a chill through her.
Of course. She couldn’t go to Jermyn now. She couldn’t explain, plead, make him see sense. They had carefully planned the scene for this evening, but this—this was better, more convincing, seemingly real because it was real.
And what did a few hours more matter? She would talk to Jermyn tonight after all the drama was over. Even if he didn’t want to talk to her, she would make him listen. She wasn’t going to lose someone else to her own misplaced pride. She knew the cost of that. She had paid that price, at least.
Dropping her head in well-acted mortification, she turned and dragged herself back to the house.
Tonight Harrison Edmondson would get his comeuppance.
Tonight he would kill his nephew while all the world watched.
The gown was pink satin with puffed sleeves and, despite Amy’s bold pronouncement, had a neckline so low she feared she would indeed flop out. Her black hair had been cut with fashionable bangs and dressed by her maid with a tall pink feather. Her white gloves reached over her elbows and fastened with a long row of real pearl buttons that drove Amy insane with their fussy show. She sat straight-backed in her bedchamber.
Biggers hadn’t come to approve her ball gown and that, more than anything, proved Jermyn had washed his hands of her. Biggers had been an interfering fusspot about His Lordship’s fiancée, but he’d left her and her maid alone to prepare for the grand occasion of Jermyn’s birthday ball.
Amy glanced at the clock on the mantel. Ten more minutes until six o’clock. The sun still rode high in the sky, providing plenty of light for their dramatic piece. The audience would soon be in place. The ticking of the pendulum marked the moments of her life, and Amy waited, tense with her anticipation for her cue.
“It’s time, miss,” her maid said.
Squaring her shoulders, Amy stood and moved toward the door. Purposely she and Jermyn had planned that Harrison Edmondson’s room be within easy walking distance of hers and that she should go to him at exactly six o’clock. She had memorized the route, and she made her way through the corridors now frequented only by maids hurrying with ironed gowns in their arms and valets with polished boots. At Harrison’s door she stopped, took a deep breath, and rapped hard with her knuckles. Then she slumped and tried to look small and dejected.
Harrison’s valet answered, clearly annoyed at being interrupted while he prepared his master. “What is it—” His eyes widened as he recognized Amy. “Miss! Your Ladyship! Your Highness!”
In a small voice, Amy begged, “Please, could I speak to Mr. Edmondson? It’s imperative.”
“Of…course. I…yes, that is…if you would wait here.” The valet hurried away.
She watched him, idly thinking he looked nothing like any valet she’d ever seen. Rather, he looked like a fighter who made his living with his fists. Perhaps that explained why Mr. Edmondson’s clothing was so very peculiar.
She could hear a low, hurried discussion inside, and as she waited she concentrated on how much she missed her sisters, on her father’s death and Jermyn’s fury with her. By the time Harrison appeared in the doorway, shrugging into his coat, she had worked up a despondent expression and a sheen of tears.
“Miss…Your Highness.” Harrison’s perpetually hangdog appearance was accentuated by the fashionable garb that fit him so ill, and by the confused pucker between his brows. “Is there some assistance I can show you?”
The valet adjusted Harrison’s coat and observed them out of the corners of his eyes.
“Would it be possible for you to walk with me a little? I have questions…that is, concerns with which I hope you might help me.” Amy twisted her handkerchief in her hands and managed a fair imitation of misery.
“As you wish, Your Highness. At your service.” To his valet, he said, “Merrill, keep an eye on things. On all of the things we talked about.”
Which she thought was an odd command, but she didn’t have time to worry about it now. Instead she started toward the other wing of the house. Toward Jermyn’s bedchamber. In a soft, trembling voice, she said, “I fear you may have heard that Jermyn and I had a disagreement this afternoon.”
“Yes. Such a shame when young love comes to grief.” Mr. Edmondson glanced at her. “You did come to grief, didn’t you?”
“It was just a lovers’ tiff, really. I didn’t know he would get so upset, so angry with me. So I sent him a note and I got a vile answer. Vile!” She waved the letter she had filched from Jermyn’s desk, one in his handwriting…but to his steward on another estate. “So I was bold. Wanton even, but oh, Mr. Edmondson, don’t think badly of me. I love him so!” Pressing her handkerchief to her lips, she made small sobbing noises and watched Harrison from the corners of her eyes.
“There, there.” He flapped one hand in her direction and looked around for assistance.
At once she stopped sobbing. She didn’t want him getting assistance. She needed to talk to him on her own.
Grabbing his hand, she pressed it in hers. “All I want is your nephew’s love. I live to support him in every way possible. When I have the good fortune to be his wife, I will care for his health and never let him risk himself in any careless endeavor. More than anything—I beg of you, don’t think badly of me for being so reckless—more than anything, I want to bear his children and continue the Edmondson line.”
The sagging lines of Harrison’s face grew rigid with his rejection of the idea.
And Amy realized that with the mention of heirs, she had captured his attention in a way Jermyn had never imagined.
“I know what that must mean to you, to know that your beloved nephew’s children will continue this noble line, but Jermynis…” She turned away, her shoulders shaking as if she were crying. “You will think me licentious, but I went to his bedchamber to beg his pardon.”
“Did you?” Harrison no longer sounded sympathetic. He sounded sharp.
“He wouldn
’t listen to me. He…he had been drinking, and he was so angry. Destructive. He threw things. He was walking on the railing on his balcony, threatening to throw himself off. Are you familiar with that room, Mr. Edmondson?”
“Yes. Yes, I am.” Harrison’s voice was eager now.
She turned on him in magnificent despair. “The balcony hangs over the cliffs.”
“If he jumps, he will fall to his death and the ocean will wash him away,” Harrison said.
“His valet couldn’t convince him to come down. He wouldn’t listen to me—indeed, when I spoke to him, he seemed even more suicidal. Please, Mr. Edmondson, you’re his uncle. He’ll listen to you. You can convince him to live for the sake of his future children!”
“My dear princess, I’ll go to him at once.” Harrison’s eyes gleamed. “I’m sure I can dissuade him from this deadly behavior. Just leave him to me.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Edmondson. I knew you’d do everything you could for my dearest, sweetest Jermyn.” She watched with sharp contentment as Harrison hurried away.
Biggers, hidden from view, now stepped out from around the corner and stared at her in openmouthed amazement. “That was magnificent, Your Highness.”
“Wasn’t it?”
“I thought you were leaving.”
“Oh, no. I’m not leaving.” She bent a eloquent gaze on him. “Not now, not at the end of the year, not ever. Better gather an audience, Biggers. The last act of the play is about to begin.”
“Come, come,” Biggers called as he waved the guests into the seats placed in the garden. “We should take our places and conceal ourselves so that we may surprise His Lordship in the proper manner.”
The chairs were set behind shrubs and behind trees, and most of the guests seated themselves without grumbling.
But Lord Smith-Kline complained, “B’God, Biggers, it seems we could have waited in the ballroom to offer our good wishes for Lord Northcliff’s thirtieth birthday.”
“But he would be expecting it there.” Amy batted her eyes and tried to look like the biggest featherbrain ever to walk the earth. “So this venue makes sense.”
“To whom?”
“It makes this party a real surprise,” she said. “And I do love a real surprise, don’t you?”
“Oh, I suppose.” With her fall from grace this afternoon, Lord Smith-Kline no longer felt the need to exert himself in being polite. “Hey, you there! Footman! Bring me a light for my cigar.”
Kenley sidled over beside Amy and seated himself. “This setting is rather eccentric, Your Highness.”
“Trust me, Kenley. You’ll enjoy every moment of this.” She allowed a fillip of mischief to color her smile.
“Really?” Kenley looked up at the balcony clearly lit by the westering sun. “What do you have arranged?”
“Wait and see.” She stood and put her finger to her lips. “Only please. Let’s be quiet.”
The first blast of shouting from inside the master’s chamber caught everyone by surprise.
She sank into her seat, satisfied that their plan was proceeding as they had hoped.
“Damn you, Harrison, how dare you interfere with me?” It was Jermyn’s voice, slurred, furious and revoltingly arrogant. “I’m the marquess of Northcliff, the head of the family, the youngest surviving member of a noble line. I’ll marry who I please.”
Mr. Edmondson was quieter and also hidden from sight. “I would merely like to point out that the female with whom you’ve involved yourself came to my bedchamber tonight.”
Kenley turned to Amy in horror.
Everyone turned to Amy in horror.
“You didn’t?” Kenley whispered.
“Please.” She made an incredulous moue at him, then at the fashionable group. “No woman has ever stooped so low.”
The ton nodded in a single accord. They must truly despise Harrison to agree so unanimously.
“Tonight?” Jermyn sounded sharp and quite sober.
“Yes, tonight,” Mr. Edmondson said.
Amy tensed as she waited for Jermyn to proclaim he’d sent her away.
Instead he laughed unsteadily. “Tonight you saw her. I should have known you’d say that.”
“Question the servants,” Harrison said. “I assure you it’s true. But after her disgraceful lack of respect for you and your authority this afternoon, she should be nothing to you.”
“But I love her.” Jermyn’s voice took on a brokenhearted tone. “Have you ever loved a woman, Uncle? It’s the most beautiful thing in the world. I would forgive her anything just for the pleasure of her company. You didn’t really let her into your room, did you?” Jermyn staggered into view on the balcony: shambling, disheveled, with his hair standing on end. He wore his black cape which he tossed about with many a grand flourish. A scarlet scarf hung loose around his neck, and he waved a pistol.
Below him everyone gasped and a few hid more securely behind their trees.
“Because if you did,” Jermyn took careful aim inside, “I’ll have to shoot you right now.”
“Go ahead.” Harrison remained hidden in the shadows of the room, but Amy knew why he sounded so blithe about the prospect of being killed.
All the barrels of all the firearms in Summerwind Abbey had been stuffed, and although Jermyn had had them cleaned, Harrison didn’t know that, and hoped Jermyn would fire and end his own life.
Instead Jermyn extended the pistol butt-first toward his uncle. “No, I can’t shoot you. You shoot me.”
Harrison sighed in such patent disgust Amy thought he had lost what little respect he had for his intoxicated nephew. “I’m not going to shoot you. Not with that pistol. Pay attention to what I’m saying. Your fiancée came to my bedchamber, but I rejected her. This demonstrates how unfit you are to care for yourself.”
“I’m not unfit. I can do whatever I want.”
“I was told you were trying to walk the parapet. In your condition, that’s ridiculous and impossible.” Harrison’s contempt whipped at Jermyn.
“Ridiculous and impossible, huh? Well, I walked it earlier this afternoon right before I drank that third bottle of brandy.”
“Only three bottles? You can’t hold your liquor. Here, drink this and show me what you can do.” Harrison walked into view. He pressed a bottle of brandy into Jermyn’s hand.
Amy watched with satisfaction as the guests carefully shifted to better watch the drama. None of the company could tear their fascinated gazes from the scene above, and no one made a sound.
With a foolishly resolute expression on his face, Jermyn vaulted onto the railing. Tilting back his head, he took a long pull from the bottle, then walked lightly from one end of the parapet to the other.
Two of the women gasped. Their escorts hushed them. The audience was enthralled.
With a formal, courtly bow at his uncle, Jermyn said, “I have wonderful balance. No matter how deep in my cups I get, I never fall.”
“It only takes once.” Mr. Edmondson gave an peculiar cackle.
Jermyn waved one leg in the air and looked down at his uncle. “I don’t know what you mean, but see, Uncle? I am perfectly capable of walking, and while way up here with the breeze blowing off the sea, I’ve made a decision. I’m going to wed Princess Amy and raise a dozen children to be my heirs. And Uncle, I’m sorry to say this, but Mr. Irving Livingstone and Oscar Ingram, earl of Stoke, showed me the lost codicil in my father’s will which requires me on my thirtieth birthday to take over the administration of my own fortune—”
Amy sat forward. She knew nothing of this.
“—and henceforth, I have no need of your services.”
“Nephew,” Harrison interrupted as he picked up a chair, “you’re not going to eliminate me.”
“Did you hide the codicil from me so I never heard about it?” Jermyn’s tone had changed, become sober and intense.
“I did.”
“What makes you think you can change my father’s will and get away with it?”
“This.” Raising the chair, Harrison smashed it across Jermyn’s knees.
Jermyn flew into the air as if he had jumped—which Amy knew he had. With a loud, long, dramatic shriek and a great fluttering of his black cape, he disappeared over the edge of the cliff.
Amy watched Harrison lean over the railing, evil glee on his face.
A moment of stunned silence hovered over the immobile audience. Then as one, they shouted. They screamed. They rose to their feet.
Harrison saw them. He jolted backward. His sagging features convulsed as he heard the horrified outcry. He ran inside the master’s bedchamber then, chased by Biggers and a large footman, he ran back out onto the balcony.
Amy smiled at his terror.
“Your Highness, have you lost your mind to smile at such a time?” Kenley was shaking. He couldn’t hide his revulsion. “Your fiancé is gone.”
“It’s not what you think,” she assured him.
Then a female shriek from the edge of the cliff caught her attention. “Oh, dear God,” Miss Kent cried, “I can see his body.”
“Whose body?” Amy asked.
“You don’t know what you’re doing, do you?” Kenley spoke in a pleading tone. “You don’t realize what’s happened?”
“There’s no body.” Jermyn had said he’d leap onto a shelf of rock and climb into the sea cave to hide. “You’ll see.”
But the laments grew louder.
Lord Howland looked over the edge of the cliff, clapped his hand over his mouth, and ran away.
Lady Alfonsine looked over the edge of the cliff, turned away, and burst into what looked like genuine tears.
Amy refused to be alarmed. “There might be something down there, but certainly not a body,” she assured Kenley again. Ludicrous, really, the way people saw what they expected to see. She walked to the edge of the cliff. She looked down.
On a ledge thirty feet below, she saw a dark shape. It did look like a body, but that was impossible. Except…except black material, like the cloth of Jermyn’s cape, covered the figure and fluttered in the wind. And a lock of auburn hair sticking out from the hood caught the late sunlight…
“Jermyn?” she called down. It was a ruse. He should have told her first. “Jermyn, this isn’t funny.”
The Barefoot Princess Page 24