The Prince Who Loved Me (The Oxenburg Princes)

by Karen Hawkins

  “Excellent. Once she’s dry, put a blue riband on her neck and bring her here.”

  The footman bowed and the duchess swept into the parlor, Alexsey following behind.

  As soon as the door closed, he said, “Poor Papillon, to be forced into a bath and then made to wear a riband.”

  “She would not have needed a bath at all if you and Strathmoor would stop taking her out to visit every mud puddle in Scotland,” she sniffed, settling onto an overstuffed settee.

  He came to stand beside the fireplace, looking with approval around the small, elegant salon. “It was very thoughtful of Sir Henry to set aside a room for you.” Decorated in gold and green, it was both cozy and imposing. Sir Henry knows my grandmother well. Very well.

  She glanced about her with indifference. “I prefer red, but this will do.” She gestured to the chair across from her. “Sit. We will talk.”

  She spoke in Romany, her eyes locked on him as if she wished to pin him in place. “Where were you yesterday after tea? You were there, speaking with the Murdochs, and then poof! You disappeared like a ghost.”

  Alexsey made himself comfortable in the chair. “After tea, I went riding with Viscount Strathmoor. We returned while dinner was being served, so we ate in the breakfast room.” And drank a good bit of Sir Henry’s best scotch, too.

  All in all, yesterday had been a very satisfying day. In addition to developing a most brilliant plan to gain some freedom from Tata Natasha’s incessant complaints, he’d also found a way to spend time with his Roza. After tea, he and Strathmoor had ridden to Ackinnoull Manor, scouting the least-used roads around the house. They had ridden near the house, close enough to see the rambling manor through the trees, but they hadn’t visited. Not yet.

  Alexsey wanted to give Bronwyn some time to think about their conversation and, hopefully, of him. He’d found himself thinking about her, too. Wondering what she was doing, what she was thinking. He almost laughed at himself. He rarely bothered with such idle speculation, and yet this time he was awash in it. Such is the price of being so bored—I am overly excited by every amusement.

  “You should not have been late for dinner.” Tata shot him an impatient look. “That was rude.”

  “Sir Henry didn’t even notice. I know, for I spoke to him this morning and he asked what I thought of the lamb at dinner.”

  “I noticed.” She shook her head, her black eyes dour. “You should find a good wife and have some children. That will cool this hot blood of yours.”

  “It would chill my soul, that’s for certain.”

  “Pah! You do not know what it would do. But”—she eyed him narrowly—“what did you think of our tea yesterday?”

  “I wasn’t fond of the small sandwiches, but the tarts were excel—”

  “Khvah tet! If you cannot be serious, then be silent.” She waited for a second, her fingers tapping a rapid beat upon the arm of the settee. “You know exactly what I mean; what did you think of the Murdochs?”

  “They seem like a fine family.”

  “They are more than fine. Though not wealthy, they are of exemplary birth. Lady Malvinea is the daughter of an earl, and Mr. Murdoch’s family line can be traced back to William the Conqueror.”

  “You found out all of that at tea?”

  She frowned. “No. Sir Henry explained their lineage to me. And you have not answered my question. What did you think of the Murdochs?”

  “The mother seems frightening. She didn’t stop smiling the entire time she was here. I began to wonder if she was frozen that way.”

  “She is a bit high-strung,” Tata said grudgingly. “But a woman of sense where her daughters are concerned. What about the daughters?”

  “The youngest told a very funny story about a ride she went on. She fell in the mud, and a pig—”

  “Da, da. I heard it. What about the other?”

  “The oldest daughter? She has a lovely laugh.” He would bet his best dueling pistols that she had lovely breasts, too. “She was charming.” And he was charmed.

  “Yes, yes, but—” Tata leaned forward. “What about Miss Sorcha?”

  He returned her look.

  Tata raised her brows.

  He lifted one shoulder. “She’s very pretty, of course.”

  “Pretty? She’s krysivyj.” Tata Natasha glared at him as if daring him to say otherwise.

  “Fine. She’s beautiful. But she also seemed . . . rather predictable.”

  Tata Natasha muttered a Gypsy curse. “Oh! I would that you had given the poor girl a chance. Talked to her. Gotten to know her, at least, before you damned her with your words.”

  That was almost humorous, when he thought of how she’d done the same to Bronwyn. “Tata, I’m afraid Miss Sorcha’s not—” He spread his hands wide. “She’s not the one.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve met this woman. I’ve observed her. I’ve spoken to her. I even danced with her. And now I’ve had tea with her. And she’s not for me.”

  Tata’s frown deepened. “She’s beautiful, young, well-born, intelligent—everything a prince would wish for in a bride and more.”

  “Except interesting.”

  “I can’t believe you do not find her appealing.”

  “I find very few women appealing.” He leaned back in his chair. “Father said it was the same for him until he met Mother. Then, he said, it was like a lightning bolt.” Alexsey thought about how they looked at one another, how he often caught them holding hands or kissing as if they were newly married. And after so many years. That is passion. “I don’t believe I’ll ever have that.”

  Her expression softened. “Oh, Lexsey. Who has hurt you so badly that you believe that?”

  Surprised, he laughed. “No one has hurt me.”

  She regarded him closely. “Never? Not even once?”

  “Not even a little. Am I not blessed?”

  “That is not a blessing, but a curse.”

  “Nonsense.” He winked at her. “You worry too much. Have no fear that I’ll be hurt. I’m always in control of my emotions.”

  “And the women you have been with before this? Did you feel nothing for them?”

  “Nothing that didn’t disappear after I had to face them over breakfast twice in a row.”

  Tata Natasha threw up her hands, the sleeves of her gown fluttering. “Pah! I do not know why I even talk to you.”

  “Because I am your favorite grandson, and you love me more than all of my brothers.”

  “Nyet. You are the most frustrating of my grandsons. Find a good woman, marry her, have children—then you will be my favorite.”

  “Perhaps I shall settle for second favorite. What would that take?”

  “Cease your infernal teasing. I am serious.” She folded her hands together, her eyes shimmering with emotion. “Alexsey, it is fate that you are here. You will meet someone here who can make you happy and help you fulfill your destiny as prince, if you’ll just open your eyes and heart. I know this. Do not ask me how, but I do.”

  “Are you a fortune-teller now, oh queen of the Gypsies?”

  She didn’t laugh. “I have the blood of a seer, da. But I have the soul of a grandmother and as the phuri dai of our kumpania, I know things that can and will be.”

  “So you think love might strike me like lightning, as it did Father.”

  “The person struck by lightning doesn’t always know it has happened, not at first. The only question is who the fortunate woman will be. If you won’t have Miss Sorcha, we will keep looking. During breakfast this morning, Sir Henry mentioned a family that’s related to the king. The MacDougals or MacDonalds—Pah, I can’t remember, what with the MacThises and the MacThoses. They have two daughters of marriageable age—young daughters, well brought up, and quite beautiful. Those qualities are important to consider in regard to your official duties.”

  “Tata, I am one of four princes. Nikki will take the throne as the oldest. Grisha will oversee the army. And Wulf has the
good sense to make certain the royal coffers are overflowing with gold.”

  “So?”

  “So there is no need for me to marry.”

  “If you wish to wear the kaltso, you will marry.”

  “Grandfather already had the ring when you met him; he was not married.”

  “Your grandfather was different; he was responsible for his family from the age of seventeen. You had no such weight upon your shoulders.”

  His jaw tightened. “You must admit that it is not a requirement of the position that I wed. It is only you who think it necessary.”

  She shrugged. “I will admit that.”

  “That’s scarcely fair.”

  “You will be better for it. Trust me. It is the one thing your father and I agree on—that you should marry before taking on the kaltso.”

  “Bozhy moj, you and Father never agree on anything.”

  “We agree on this.”

  He slid her a look under his lashes and then pretended to frown thoughtfully. “That is too much, even for me. I can fight you, or I can fight Father, but I cannot fight the both of you.”

  Her gaze narrowed, an arrested expression on her face. “What do you mean?”

  “Perhaps you are right. I wish it were otherwise, but . . . Fine. I will start taking this endeavor of yours more seriously. As much as it pains me, I will start thinking about taking a wife. But just thinking about it. No more.”

  She couldn’t have looked more pleased. “You mean that?”

  He sighed. “I do.”

  “Very good. Very, very good!” She rubbed her hands together. “We must find a good candidate. It’s a pity you won’t give Miss Sorcha the time of day. Of all the women at the ball, she seemed to— It does not matter.” Tata waved her hand generously. “If she is not for you, then we shall find another.”

  He rubbed his chin. “Actually . . . there was a woman I found intriguing. . . .”

  She leaned forward, all eagerness. “Oh?”

  “The oldest Murdoch daughter.”

  She sat back in her chair. “What?”

  “She has a way about her. . . . I do not know what it is, but there was something. I like that she is no innocent miss, too. An older woman would please me.”

  “You are serious?”

  “Of course. She is the only woman I’ve found interesting.”

  Tata made a noise that sounded like a cat choking on a piece of string. “Nyet! She is too old! She’ll never have children.”

  “She’s only twenty-four.”

  “Soon to be twenty-five, and would be even older by the time you courted and married her. Add another year to conceive a child, she could be twenty-seven or twenty-eight, much too old.” Tata shook her head. “There must be someone else.”

  He pretended to think, his grandmother’s eyes upon him. Finally he said, “Nyet.”

  She scowled. “Of all the women at the ball, you like only this one, a woman too old to have children, dowdy and plain and plump and—”

  “Miss Murdoch is neither plain nor plump.” To his surprise, a faint flare of irritation invaded his good humor. “She’s attractive and lively. And for once, I have met a respectable woman I wish to know better.” That was true, at least.

  “She isn’t—”

  “Do you or do you not wish me to take my responsibilities more seriously?”

  “I do,” Tata said in a sour voice.

  “Then stand back and let me. I will spend some time with Miss Murdoch, get to know her, see if this lightning strikes or not. And if, at the end of a few weeks, she still intrigues me, perhaps I’ll ask for her hand in m—”

  “Don’t be so hasty! Courting is not something one rushes into.”

  Alexsey hid a grin. Ten minutes ago, Tata Natasha would have said the opposite. He shrugged. “I am intrigued by Miss Murdoch, and I’m rarely even that. Perhaps that is enough.”

  “She is too old, she wears spectacles, and her hair is never as it should be. Yesterday she came to tea with a cobweb in her hair.”

  Sir Henry’s maids should dust the statuary more often. “She may not possess the sort of beauty the poets write of, but it is there. It is quieter, softer.” It shines in her eyes and bubbles with laughter from her lips. Alexsey caught himself and nearly laughed. I’m being almost poetic.

  He continued, “And fortunately for my new directive to spend time with Miss Murdoch, I’m to accompany Lord Strathmoor to visit some of the local families. I’m sure we’ll stop to visit Ackinnoull, where I’ll sit over a cup of tepid tea and admire the length of Miss Murdoch’s astonishing eyelashes.” If fate smiles, I may even win another kiss from the plump lips of the most intriguing Scottish lass I’ve met yet.

  Strath’s voice drifted from the foyer.

  “Ah, there he is now.” Alexsey bent and kissed his Tata’s forehead. “I will find you when I return. Meanwhile, enjoy your visit with Sir Henry.”

  “Forget Sir Henry.” She caught Alexsey’s hand and held it between her own, her eyes narrowed. “Do you really like this Miss Murdoch?”

  “I am truly interested in her.” That much was true.

  Finally, with a short nod, she released him. “Go. Have your fun. But do not think you can hide from love. The right woman will find you—and when she does, you will never be the same.”

  Alexsey laughed. “I’m not sure if I should hide or arm myself, but I promise you this, Tata: when I am done, you will happily hand me the kaltso.” And with that, he left to meet Strath.

  At the dinner party, no fewer than fourteen important introductions had been made, three couples had flirted outrageously over the beef, and during dessert, one eager young gentleman had made so bold as to ask a certain young lady’s parents for an audience to “beg a favor.” Lucinda’s aunt declared the affair a most happy one.

  Yet Lucinda could not be so excited. The couples who had flirted were all married to others, the introductions had been orchestrated by grimly determined mamas wishing their sons and daughters to marry for wealth rather than happiness, and the young lady who’d been forced to endure the unwanted advances of the drunken gentleman who’d asked her parents for an audience had burst into tears when her father had joyously agreed to hear the young man’s request. All in all, Lucinda thought the evening a sad waste of time.

  —The Black Duke by Miss Mary Edgeworth

  In her sitting room on the top floor of Ackinnoull Manor, Bronwyn dropped another book onto a pile at her feet. Slips of paper stuck out from the book covers in the stack, all marking crucial passages. Somewhere within the pages of her favorite novels was the answer she sought. Ever since she’d overheard the prince at Tulloch the day before, she’d been consumed with one question: how does one make an arrogant prince fall in love?

  She stretched her feet toward the fire, causing the sleeping Walter to stir on the rug before the snapping flame. Of course, it wouldn’t be true love. But a strong infatuation would do, the sort that hinted at exciting things to come and left one breathless with potential. Just enough so that when she finally revealed that she’d known of his caddish intentions all along, he felt a powerful sense of loss. It was the only fair punishment.

  She picked up The Lady of Beaumont and began to page through it. Within these books were some well-kept secrets of womanhood that she needed. That was the beauty of novels: in the middle of the fantasy were golden kernels of truth. Like when Miss Edgeworth described the pernicious social appetite of society mamas, or when Lady V wrote about the frustrations of a young woman who’d lost her mother. Bronwyn knew those moments well. To her, they’d been very real and, sweetened by the sweeping romance of the rest of the pages, all the more poignant.

  She picked up the list she’d been making. So far she had three items that held some promise. In Castle Graystone by the divinely talented Lady V (who was supposedly a true member of the peerage, although Bronwyn suspected that rumor to be a ploy to sell more books), she’d found a passage that described how the hero’s reason had b
een swept away by the faintest hint of the heroine’s perfume. At one point, he’d even found himself stealing her kerchief to carry her scent with him.

  She tapped a finger on the page. Where did one find a scent that no other woman might have? That could prove tricky, but she’d think of something.

  The next hidden gem was from one of her favorite tomes by the ever-popular Miss Henrietta Opal, My Lady Lost. Bronwyn had discovered three pages devoted to how the hero admired the heroine’s dulcet tones as she sang while playing the pianoforte. Bronwyn didn’t play the pianoforte, nor did she often sing in public, but her voice was quite acceptable. At least, it was no better or worse than anyone else’s. She pursed her lips. It might be worth a try.

  The last hint in seduction came from one of her favorite books of all time, Dark Castle, written by the prolific Mary Edgeworth. In this book, the heroine—a lady of great resources who spent the better part of two chapters precariously balanced on the windswept ledge of a rain-lashed castle as she orchestrated an escape from her evil cousin’s clutches—had captivated the hero with her deep knowledge of his family home and estate, both of which were real locations that carried historical significance, which made the book all the more enjoyable. Bronwyn would have to find the book on Oxenburg that Mama had read.

  Feeling more hopeful, she yawned and stretched her arms before her, peering out the window to where the sun spilled onto the rooftop. Her rooms consisted of a sitting room, a dressing room, and a small, cozy bedchamber. Back when Ackinnoull Manor had housed a wealthy miller and his large, growing family, these rooms had made up the nursery suite.

  Lady Malvinea hadn’t been happy when Bronwyn had asked to move to this floor, but to everyone’s surprise, Papa had agreed. Bronwyn thought he knew the real reasons she’d wished for the upper floor to herself—so that she’d have some peace and quiet so she could read and, most importantly, sneak her dogs in and out of the house without Lady Malvinea knowing.

  She bent down and patted Scott’s head, which lay in her lap. “I expected Alexsey to visit yesterday, but he never came. The duchess must be keeping him busy. But that is good; it’ll give me time to prepare.”