Amara (Carlton House Cartel Book 2)

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘Bringing Lady Graystock here will be seen as a provocation in that case, since word is bound to get back to Mrs Fitzherbert.’

  ‘Indeed. The prince is making some sort of obscure point that is lost on the rest of us, but by leaving the chair at the foot of the table empty, a situation that will be reported to Mrs Fitzherbert, she will understand that the door has not been closed.’

  ‘And Lady Graystock knows it. No wonder she is looking so sour-faced. Perhaps now she will feel fresh appreciation for the plight of her fallen women.’

  Chance chuckled as he picked up his soup spoon. ‘She cannot help the way she looks.’

  ‘She would be better advised to smile and beguile if she wishes to hold the prince’s interest.’ Sabine took a sip of her wine, admiring the ornate gold leaf decorating the rim of the glass. ‘Have you noticed that he’s barely addressed a word to her? I wonder if she realises that she is a pawn in the prince’s manoeuvres with Mrs Fitzherbert?’

  ‘It is a game, my love, like everything you see before you today. Opulent and stylish, I’ll grant you, but a game for all that. I am frequently required to remind myself of the fact, otherwise I would be sorely tempted to put my own interests ahead of George’s.’

  ‘Heaven forbid.’ Sabine spoke lightly but couldn’t bring herself to look at Chance for fear of the regret he would likely see in her expression.

  ‘It will not always be this way, darling,’ he said softly, pushing his thigh against hers beneath the table. ‘You have my word.’

  Sabine nodded, too emotionally overwrought to speak. Chance understood her too well. Despite her best efforts to disguise her possessive feelings, he seemed to realise that she would never try to come between him and his duty to the prince. She knew better than to attempt it because the prince would always win. She would take as much of Chance as she could get, and count herself fortunate.

  ‘Do you have any idea why Miss Kazan wishes to speak with me?’ she asked in a deliberate change of subject. ‘You alluded to the possibility last night, and I can sense that she’s conflicted about something. But I am less sure about why she thinks I might be able to help her.’

  ‘I am as much in the dark as you are. I cannot help thinking that George has been unreasonable in asking her to prolong her sojourn in England.’

  ‘She doesn’t seem too worried about it at present,’ Sabine replied, smiling as she watched Louis and Miss Kazan, seated across the table from them, laughing together at something one of them had just said.

  ‘That will not end well,’ Chance replied, so quietly that Sabine barely caught the words. ‘We dedicated slaves to the prince sometimes pay a heavy price for our loyalty,’ he added in a more normal voice.

  Sabine glanced at him askance and Chance’s thigh again touched hers.

  ‘There is a Greek delegation on its way to London, I learned earlier, intent upon claiming that the Elgin marbles be returned to their rightful home.’

  ‘Ah.’ Sabine paused with her salad fork halfway to her mouth. ‘And you imagine, I suppose, that the prince all but kidnapping one of their countrywomen will add fuel to the Greeks’ more justifiable complaints.’

  ‘Exactly. But at least with George ensconced here in Brighton, he can’t interfere with politics and do any damage to the negotiations.’

  ‘His desire to improve détente has only muddied the waters thus far. Can you not reason with him?’

  ‘Now you are being mischievous.’ Chance waved his own fork at her. ‘One simply does not reason with the heir to the throne, or presume to tell him he’s cracked in the attic. One must make mild suggestions couched in such a way as to make him believe they were his own ideas all along.’

  Sabine rolled her eyes in exasperation. ‘And you wonder why I prefer to remain quietly in Brighton?’

  Chance’s expression sobered. ‘No, my love, your desire to stay here has never once seemed unreasonable to me.’

  Sabine’s attention was claimed by the gentleman on her opposite side and the rest of the exceedingly long meal passed with no further reference to the Greek situation.

  It was gone midnight by the time the company assembled in the music room to hear Miss Kazan sing. Sabine, unaccustomed to late nights and whose afternoon rest had been disturbed by Chance’s physical demands, was struggling to stay awake. She hoped Miss Kazan was having better luck in that regard.

  An air of anticipation rippled through the assembly as the prince took his seat at the front of the room, Lady Graystock still clinging to his side. Mrs Costas sat at the pianoforte and ran her fingers across the keys. Miss Kazan looked calm and composed as she stood alone in front of her distinguished audience.

  Miss Kazan opened her mouth and the famous aria sang by Leonora in Beethoven’s acclaimed opera Fidelio filled the room with passion as her voice soared, sweet and pitch-perfect. Fidelio, Sabine knew, was a story of personal sacrifice, heroism and eventual triumph with an underlying struggle for liberty and justice that mirrored political movements in Europe and probably Miss Kazan’s personal struggles too. Sabine closed her eyes and lost herself in the lilting music, conscious of Chance’s hand closing over hers and gently squeezing when tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

  When the aria came to an end there was a brief silence and then thunderous applause, led by the prince who sprang to his feet and shouted his approval. Miss Kazan was modest in her acceptance of the praise heaped upon her and, at the prince’s request, continued to sing for another hour.

  ‘Well, am I not the best judge of music in the land?’

  Sabine, temporarily alone when the music came to an end and Chance’s attention was required elsewhere, looked up in surprise. ‘Your royal highness. Indeed you are. Miss Kazan’s talent is fresh and inspiring.’

  ‘My advisors were firmly against my persuading her to remain in England, but really it would be a travesty to hide such talent away in Athens.’

  ‘Perhaps Miss Kazan’s family has need of her?’

  A cloud passed across the prince’s eyes but was quickly eradicated when he chuckled. ‘My, but you are bold.’ He slipped an arm around her waist and guided her to a quieter spot in the room. ‘Rest assured, my noticing Miss Kazan is the surest way to heal the silly argument between Elgin and the Greeks. The politicians will pontificate, but sometimes actions speak louder than words.’

  ‘I am sure your highness is in the right of it.’

  ‘Of course I am, and precious little thanks I get from Liverpool and Castlereagh for sorting out their diplomatic messes for them. They tell me not to meddle. Can you believe it?’

  ‘Politicians, in my humble opinion, seldom see the bigger picture.’

  ‘Ah ha!’ The prince threw back his head and laughed, drawing the attention of half the occupants of the room to them. ‘I can see why Chance enjoys your company. Lucky man, that’s all I can say.’

  He patted her hand and moved away, leaving Sabine to wonder what that had been all about. She caught Chance’s gaze across the room. Although he was deep in conversation with several gentlemen, she knew he had not missed the exchange.

  ‘The prince is a complex man.’

  Sabine turned at the sound of the voice in her ear. ‘Lady Graystock,’ she said evenly. ‘I am perfectly sure that he is, but what is that to me?’

  ‘I have seen the way he looks at you. At the way he singles you out and talks about you when you are not at court.’

  Sabine was genuinely perplexed. ‘Is there something you wish to say to me? If so, be assured that I greatly prefer plain speaking.’

  ‘In that case, I shall oblige you. I am aware of your game, but be content with having brought Chance to his knees. The prince is off limits.’

  ‘Ah, now I have the dubious pleasure of understanding you.’ Sabine disliked bullies in general and this woman in particular and wasn’t about to be insulted. ‘You tried to entice Chance and failed.’

  ‘How dare you!’ she hissed.

  ‘You raised the subject, L
ady Graystock, not I. I have no interest in the prince. Why would I, when I have Chance to bear me company?’ she asked provocatively, earning herself a scowl for her trouble. ‘You have gained the prince’s attention and be assured that you are more than welcome to him. I do wonder however about your double standards.’

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’

  ‘I should have thought that would be obvious, but if you insist upon my spelling it out for you then I will happily do so.’ Sabine took a deep breath, wondering if she would be making difficulties for Chance by speaking her mind to the prince’s current favourite; aware that she would do it anyway. ‘You choose to hold yourself above women who through no fault of their own have been obliged to sell themselves in order to feed their families, I am told, and yet you openly conduct an affair with the prince and expect everyone to think well of your moral conduct. I wonder how you miss the irony of your situation, that is all.’

  ‘How dare you!’ Lady Graystock said once again.

  ‘The truth hurts, doesn’t it?’ Sabine smiled and moved away. ‘Excuse me please, Lady Graystock.’

  ‘What have you done to upset Lady Graystock?’ Chance asked, gliding up to her side. ‘She has a face like thunder.’

  ‘You would be better advised to ask what she had done to upset me.’ Sabine shuddered. ‘The stupid woman seems to think that I have designs on the prince.’ Chance’s chuckle restored Sabine’s good humour. ‘As though I could have such poor taste.’

  ‘George did make a point of taking you to one side. What did he want?’

  ‘To tell me how clever he is and how he intends to solve the Greek diplomatic situation with or without the prime minister’s approval.’

  ‘Oh lud!’

  ‘Did Lady Graystock attempt to seduce you at one point?’

  ‘Sabine, I—’

  ‘I only ask since it would explain why she has taken me in dislike, when to the best of my knowledge, I have done nothing to offend her. Anyway,’ she added, when Chance hesitated to respond. ‘I will not press you for a response. Your prevarication is all the answer I need. As to the prince, I will tell you what we spoke of later. But now, can we go home? It will be getting light soon.’ Sabine stifled a yawn. ‘How do you cope with so many drawn out social engagements?’

  ‘By becoming nocturnal.’

  ‘That is what worries me.’

  ‘Anyway, yes my love, I think we can leave now.’

  ‘Let me tell Miss Kazan how much I enjoyed her performance and then we shall. I haven’t been able to get anywhere near her before now.’

  ‘George appears to be intent upon giving Lady Graystock further cause for jealousy,’ Chance remarked, nodding to the opposite side of the room, where he was once again in close, intimate conversation with Mrs Costas. ‘That is the second time I have seen him corner that particular lady, and your friend Lady Graystock does not look pleased.’

  ‘She is no friend of mine.’ Sabine paused. ‘It is easy to imagine what the prince has in mind. Mrs Costas is lovely and gracious and a widow. He will consider her fair game.’

  Chance chuckled. ‘Perhaps that is not the best way to improve relations between our two countries, but I dare say Mrs Costas is accustomed to receiving attention and knows how to ward it off if it is unwelcome.’

  They found Miss Kazan with Louis still faithfully in attendance and joined her at the same time as her aunt, who had succeeded in evading the prince. Mrs Costas seemed composed and not unduly concerned by overtures from the heir to the British throne.

  ‘You were quite superb,’ Sabine said, meaning it. ‘Your talent makes me feel positively inadequate.’

  ‘Oh no! I am sure that isn’t the case. You must have many talents that I do not possess.’

  ‘I’m not sure about that, but I look forward to seeing you both at my house tomorrow afternoon, where we will be at leisure to talk uninterrupted.’

  ‘Thank you so very much, Mrs Kendal.’

  ‘You will see the ladies safely home?’ Chance asked, glancing at Louis.

  ‘Depend upon it.’

  ‘Then we shall take our leave.’ Chance grasped Sabine’s elbow. ‘Until tomorrow, ladies.’

  ‘Good evening, Lord Jonas,’ they replied in unison, dipping curtsies.

  Chapter Five

  Claus was soaked to the skin, despite the protection of the thick greatcoat he had purchased from a second-hand clothes shop. He cursed when he considered the depths he had fallen to that required him to obtain his clothing from such lowly establishments. He, who had always prided himself upon his pristine tailoring and impeccable appearance. He, who had been so close to achieving his ambitions and rising to the pinnacle of his profession.

  He was cold, wet and ready to strangle his disobedient charge. He should have been at the prince’s pavilion tonight to witness Amara’s triumph, despite his disapproval of her being there. She would have been nothing without him. He was the one who had fought for her right to perform in public, and precious little thanks he’d got for it. Water dripped from the brim of his hat and trickled down the back of his neck, further souring his mood. The Greek sailor crouching with him opposite Amara’s lodgings was even worse off, not having a coat or even an adequate hat to protect him from the worst of the elements, but Claus was too miserable to care about anyone’s welfare other than his own.

  ‘It’ll be light soon,’ the man, Grigori, pointed out. ‘There ain’t nothing more we can do here now.’

  Claus could hear his own teeth chattering and knew that reaction wasn’t entirely attributable to the cold. He was furious with Amara for defying him and petrified of her father’s reaction if he didn’t have her back under his control by the time word reached the old man of her deviation from the agreed schedule.

  Amara represented Claus’s opportunity to really make a name for himself as a respected agent in the shark-infested waters of the music profession. He had fought long and hard to get Kazan to agree to her Italian debut at La Scala. It had been a triumph, and all due to Claus, who had managed to get the right people to come to Athens and hear Amara sing at a small private soiree. It was the only place where she had been permitted to show off her talent, and only then to impress her father’s rivals while Kazan himself basked in reflected glory.

  An invitation to perform at Covent Garden had followed the La Scala triumph, but Kazan had to be persuaded. Claus had promised to guide Amara every step of the way and ensure her safety as the ladies indulged in harmless sightseeing. Now everything had gone spectacularly wrong. He thumped his thigh with his clenched fist, wondering how he could have lost control quite so comprehensively. Amara was a meek little thing, used to being told what to do and never questioning those who wielded authority over her.

  Damn it, he knew why, and he knew who was to blame, but if Eva Costas thought she could get the better of him she had another think coming. Amara was Claus’s meal ticket. He had discovered her, guided her and fought for her, and her success was all down to his efforts. Were it not for him she would still be singing for nothing more than her own amusement in her father’s rambling house overlooking the Aegean. It must have felt like a gilded cage, where her every waking moment was dominated by the duennas—the elderly relatives who supervised her days, prepared her for marriage, and reported every small misdemeanour back to her father.

  Claus had been surprised when Kazan had agreed to the Covent Garden engagement, given that he had been so opposed to the La Scala appearance. But he also suspected why he had capitulated. Praise had been heaped upon Amara and it reflected well upon Kazan himself, doing much to bolster his family’s standing. Be that as it may, allowing her to travel with only his sister as her chaperone was proving to have been a gross miscalculation. The woman actively encouraged Amara to think for herself and make her own decisions. Claus boiled with rage. Women had no business thinking. That wasn’t what they had been put on this earth for. Thinking was men’s work.

  When the invitation to spend the summer in Brigh
ton had come from the prince, Claus panicked. Kazan despised the British royalty, but of course Amara knew that and would respectfully decline.

  Except that she had not.

  Claus had reminded her of her responsibility to her father and assumed she would come to her senses, but she seemed determined to press ahead, pointing out that it would be difficult to decline a direct invitation from the future king of England. Claus didn’t agree. He knew that Eva Costas didn’t always see eye to eye with her brother, but she did respect his authority and Claus assumed she would help him to make Amara see reason. Success had gone to the girl’s head and she needed to be brought down a peg or two. Amara would not go against her aunt’s advice. Eva would be aware that if she attempted it they would both feel the sharp side of Kazan’s tongue, or worse.

  He hadn’t intended to attempt seduction when he caught Eva alone and voiced his fears, even though he’d been thrilled when he knew the attractive widow would accompany her niece on the journey to England. But she had looked at him with something approaching contempt, telling him abruptly that Amara was almost of age and perfectly capable of making her own decisions. Claus saw red. He was being defied, not just by a slip of a girl enjoying her first taste of freedom but by her supposed protector, who ought to be putting her charge’s interests ahead of her own.

  Claus could think of only one way to reinforce his control as the man entrusted with Amara’s care. An experienced lover, Eva would see the error of her ways and side with him once she had been the recipient of his advances.

  But she had rejected him.

  More humiliating still, Amara had walked in on them. With a contemptuous look, she had jumped in to protect her aunt, clouted Claus with a vase and dismissed him from her service. He felt ready to explode every time he relived the injustice. She would be nothing without him; little more than yet another wealthy married Athenian, totally dependent upon her husband—which of course was as it should be.