Penelope was pointing out “bachelors of significance,” as she referred to them, to Alice.
And Lucy was essentially left to her own devices.
A glance at the elegant longcase clock in the foyer through which they’d just come had shown they had thirty minutes before the royal family would arrive and the ladies would be presented.
There had been plenty of chatter about the reason behind the invitations to this most exclusive event.
Speculation was rife that Prince Christopher would choose a bride from among the guests. Even now, Aunt Ivy’s friend was whispering behind her fan.
“It seems likely that the prince has invited potential brides, when one considers the guest list,” the beak-nosed lady said.
“Indeed?” Aunt Ivy exclaimed.
“And your own girl is sure to be a candidate.”
Lucy frowned and darted a glance to her cousin.
Penelope was beautiful and of impeccable breeding. And it was entirely possible that she would be beside herself at the idea of being the future queen of Aldonia.
But she’d never mentioned having even one meaningful conversation with this Prince Christopher.
How could she be a potential bride when they didn’t even know each other?
Was Penelope, along with these other potential brides, expected to parade around until the prince decided he liked the look of one of them?
It was akin to picking a mount at Tattersalls, for heaven’s sake!
What about compatibility? What about romance? What about love?
She didn’t understand such an attitude at home, and she didn’t understand it here.
The slender lady was still talking, and Lucy leaned closer to hear, blatantly eavesdropping.
“Do you really think so, Agatha?” Aunt Ivy breathed.
“Why else would you be here?” the older woman sniffed. “And I must say, I would welcome the match. It would be wonderful to have an Aldonian queen. After that ghastly business with Althea Furberg, I feared the prince would look elsewhere.”
Lucy waited for Aunt Ivy to insist that Penelope would marry whomever she fell in love with.
But to her surprise, Aunt Ivy seemed positively gleeful at the prospect.
“I must tell her to make an extra effort, then.”
“Aunt Ivy.” Lucy could hold her tongue no longer.
The two older ladies turned to look at her.
“Penelope might not even like the prince,” she said, her confidence dimming in the face of the sudden sneer on Lady Agatha’s face.
“Um – I just mean –”
“I’m not quite au fait with how you do things in England, Lady Lucia.” Lady Agatha’s look could have frozen water on a summer’s day. “But the ladies of Aldonia, I can assure you, know that like and dislike have very little to do with these things.”
Lucy felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. The lady made her feel about an inch tall. And she wasn’t finished.
“Furthermore,” Lady Agatha continued, her eyes raking Lucy and leaving the impression that she found her decidedly wanting. “Our prince is faultless in every way that matters. Any young lady would be lucky to be chosen.”
“O-of course,” she muttered. “I just –”
“Penelope.”
Lady Agatha cut off Lucy’s attempt to explain, or apologise, or do anything really.
And Aunt Ivy, excepting a grimace of sympathy, ignored the situation entirely, her gaze moving excitedly to Penelope, who had come closer at the formidable Lady Agatha’s bidding, Alice close by her side.
Lucy stepped back as all four ladies stood twittering excitedly, their heads bent toward each other, their fans fluttering wildly.
She felt foolish standing there, not privy to the conversation, and uninterested in any case.
A little hurt, too, that nobody seemed to notice or care that she was most definitely not a part of their chattering little group.
And then of course, she felt like a sulking toddler instead of a lady grown.
Deciding that the best thing for her to do right then was to get some much-needed distance, lest she embarrass her aunt further, Lucy turned and slipped from the ballroom.
The foyer was now almost deserted with only a smattering of guests, who even now were making their way inside.
But there were guards stationed around the vast hallway, and Lucy didn’t much feel like being watched.
She knew that a corridor ran the length of one side of the ballroom, with doors on the other side leading to a grand veranda and steps to some of the formal gardens.
Knowing that Alice would ring a peal over her head if she came out here and found her, Lucy turned on her heel and moved swiftly toward the corridor.
It was sure to be empty of guests, she reasoned, and all she needed was a moment or two alone.
It wasn’t as though she’d be missed, in any case. She and Alice weren’t here to be presented. They were merely spectators.
Promising herself she wouldn’t be late back, Lucy hurried up the corridor, hoping to find an empty room to duck into for a moment.
To her relief and surprise, the corridor was guard free and empty.
Spying what looked to be an alcove further up, she sighed and slipped into the darkened space.
“I won’t stay long,” she whispered aloud to herself.
“Good, because I was hoping for some solitude.”
Lucy screeched and swung her gaze around. Straight into the face of her mystery man.
Chapter Seven
Christopher couldn’t quite believe that not only had his hiding place been infiltrated, but that the encroacher was none other than the thieving Lady Lucia.
He’d never felt the need to take some time out alone before attending a function in the past, but today he’d felt – unsettled.
As a child, Christopher used to hide himself away in this alcove when he needed some breathing space. When his father’s demands felt a little too heavy, or when he felt left out of the games that Alex and Harriet were playing, he would come here and just sit. Even allow himself to cry at times.
Everyone knew he was there, of course. But the guards kept their distance, and even his father seemed to have reached an unspoken understanding that when he was in here, nobody would disturb him.
Yet, here stood Lady Lucia. Disturbing him.
And in more ways than one.
In the darkened space, he couldn’t see much of her delicate features, couldn’t get lost in the mesmerising aqua depths of her eyes.
But he could smell the floral scent that seemed to float around her. And if he moved only inches, he would be able to feel her body pressed against his own.
For some reason, that thought had him nervous as a schoolboy.
“I-I’m so sorry,” she gasped now, her gloved hand pressed against her breast. “I didn’t think anyone would be in here.”
She stopped then, and even in the dark, he could tell she was frowning at him.
“Why are you in here?” she asked.
She still didn’t know who he was then. If she did, she’d be bowing and scraping.
Surprisingly, that pleased him. A lot.
“Why are you in here?” he countered, quite enjoying himself.
He’d be late, he knew. The king was a stickler for punctuality. Especially because he wouldn’t stay long. He’d make an appearance and then go and rest.
Christopher usually took after his father in that regard. He was never late.
And because he was never late, he should go now.
Yet, he stayed.
She sighed and Christopher wished he had a candle so he could see her face.
“I just need some time before the royal family arrive and Prince Christopher begins eyeing up the horseflesh on offer.”
Her words froze him to the spot, and he found himself in the unheard of position of not knowing what to say.
“Prince Christopher begins what?” he asked, even though he knew he proba
bly wouldn’t enjoy what came out of that mouth next.
“Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “I know you’re all simply mad about your prince. And I’m sure he’s a very good ruler. But –”
Christopher tensed, preparing for the blow to his ego that was surely coming.
“The idea of these ladies being dragged here to be scrutinised, looked over, and then picked as though they were nothing more than animals at a horse fair. It’s awful. He doesn’t even know them.”
“I’m sure he knows enough about their backgrounds, and their families to –”
He was interrupted in his defence of himself by an unladylike snort.
“Their backgrounds and families? What about them? What about their thoughts, and hopes, and dreams?”
“I’m not sure you understand what’s important to a Crown Prince when selecting a potential bride, my lady,” he bit out, sounding terser than he meant to.
But really! She was being very insulting.
“A prince must choose not only a bride but a potential queen. And there are specific requirements for a queen.”
“Hmm. Like I said. Horseflesh.”
Christopher couldn’t say why her words affected him so. But they made him feel ashamed of what he knew was the right course of action. Embarrassed for using his head, for refusing to be fooled by another woman, or led by nonsensical things like his heart.
“And my cousin Penelope is to be considered for the great honour of marrying a man who couldn’t care less about her, if rumours are to be believed,” she continued, really in her stride now. “As though that’s something to be happy about.”
Christopher clenched his teeth.
How the hell had word of potential candidates gotten out? He supposed he shouldn’t underestimate the listening ears and apparently big mouths of the palace servants. Rumours were part and parcel of being a royal. So why was he so bothered by it this time?
And why was he so bothered by the reminder that she was the Lady Penelope’s cousin?
“Of course, they’re all in there beside themselves at the idea of being chosen,” she continued in a tone that made it very clear she didn’t approve.
“Wouldn’t you like to be a queen?” he asked, trying not to make his cynicism too obvious.
But he knew enough of the female of the species to know that there wasn’t a single one of them who wouldn’t grab that crown, given half the chance.
“I suppose I wouldn’t mind it,” she said after a moment’s pause, and he refused to feel disappointed that she was just like everyone else.
But then, she went and surprised him after all.
“If the man I fell in love with happened to be a prince or a king, I could do it. Though truth be told, I’d rather not. It seems a very – sedate sort of life.”
He could do nothing but stare at her.
Earlier he’d thought her an oddity. Now, he was sure of it. She was addled. Completely and utterly.
“Most young ladies think the life of a queen would be wonderful, not sedate,” he managed.
“Hmm. But I am not most young ladies,” she said.
Well, she wasn’t wrong there!
“I’m sure it’s some terrible character flaw, but I’d rather a man love me for me and not because I fit the mould of a queen.”
Christopher was stunned into speechlessness. Not only because her words echoed a deep wish of his – one that he desperately tried not to pay any mind to, one he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years – the wish to be wanted for the man and not the prince, but because he believed her.
Much as he’d been sure that there wasn’t a woman alive who’d turn down the chance to be royalty, he honestly believed this odd, beautiful young lady would do just that unless she fell in love.
He could argue, of course. Tell her that love was a luxury that a future king could ill afford. A fairy tale. And far less common in marriages than her romantic mind could fathom.
Yet he found himself loathe to do so, or to point out her naïveté. He didn’t want to mock her tender heart.
The silence stretched on, and he heard another sigh.
“Oh dear, this is highly improper isn’t it?”
Yes, it was. Strange that he hadn’t really noticed until she’d pointed it out.
“I do know that I shouldn’t be standing here discussing these things with a stranger. With a man.”
He couldn’t think of a thing to say, so he said nothing.
“But then you’re not a complete stranger,” she continued breezily. “You did help me out of a rather sticky spot earlier. I was on my way to have tea with Queen Anya, you see and – well –”
She hesitated before she squared her shoulders, and he could see in the semi darkness her chin hitching up defiantly.
“Well, to tell the truth, I stole those flowers that I flung at you from the garden.”
Christopher felt his lips twitch.
“You did?” he injected when she stopped for a breath. Though he knew the answer perfectly well, since he’d watched her do it.
“I did,” she clarified. “I know how awful that is, truly I do! And I most certainly will not do it again. Only – they were so beautiful, and I really wanted a keepsake from my trip. Well, this is all so exciting isn’t it? Being a guest at a palace. Especially one as beautiful as this.”
“You like it then? The palace?” he asked, wondering why her answer seemed important.
“Like it? I love it,” she said passionately. “The palace. Aldonia. Everything!”
She seemed the type that would be passionate about a lot of things, and with that thought came a sudden slam of desire that Christopher struggled to get under control. So, he ruthlessly pushed it aside.
“Love it enough to want to marry the prince for it?” he surprised himself by asking. Her, too, he’d warrant.
But she laughed, an airy breathless sound that had his desire beginning to stir once more.
“You shan’t trick me into saying anything like that,” she said brightly. “I am determined that I will only marry a man who I love quite desperately. Prince or pauper, I care not.”
A clock somewhere chimed the hour, and Christopher realised with a start that he wasn’t just going to be late. He was going to be very late.
Damn it.
He found that he didn’t want this little interlude to end.
“Oh dear, I suppose I should go. My sister will have my head.”
He saw the flash of straight, white teeth and knew she was likely smiling at her sister’s preoccupation with punctuality.
She’d laugh uproariously at Christopher’s then. He found himself embarrassed by it, almost hoping she’d never find out.
“Well, thank you again for your assistance earlier, Mr—?”
He knew he needed to give her a name.
She’d know soon enough who he was in any case.
Why did that displease him so? Why should he be embarrassed that he was the Crown Prince, for God’s sake?
It was because she was so disapproving of him, he knew. He didn’t want her knowing that she was exactly right about him and his method for picking a wife.
Jacob’s words from earlier suddenly came to mind.
Love happens to us unexpectedly, Your Majesty.
Christopher shook his head subtly, dispelling such fanciful thoughts.
One, or two rather, bizarre encounters with a pretty young lady wasn’t going to have him veering from his path.
Even if he did want to ignore his list and his criteria, he wouldn’t be able to. As the Crown Prince, he didn’t have that luxury.
And he couldn’t very well marry someone who stole flowers and disparaged the prince, in any case!
The sound of approaching footsteps echoed along the corridor, and Christopher heard her mutter under her breath.
“I really must go,” she said swiftly. “I don’t know about Aldonia, but in England, being caught like this would have dire consequences.”
<
br /> “Thank you again for your help,” she tossed over her shoulder even as she moved into the well-lit corridor.
“Oh no, that’s Princess Harriet’s husband,” she hissed. “Well, there’s nothing else for it. I shall have to make a run for it. Just –”
She spun back around to face him and with the candlelight from the corridor lighting her hair to a burnished, fiery red, and painting shadows onto her face, she was the embodiment of sin and temptation.
She was right, Christopher suddenly thought a little desperately, she needed to get out of there before he allowed himself to follow his instincts. To listen to that nonsensical heart of his, or worse, another much baser part of him.
“Please, don’t tell him I was in here with you. If word got out before the prince went shopping for a wife—” she rolled her eyes, and once more he felt terribly insulted “—I’d never hear the end of it. From any of them.”
The footsteps were growing closer.
She wasn’t to know that Jacob would know to look for him here and would therefore know that she had been here with him.
But he could, of course, trust Jacob to be discreet.
“Goodbye then,” she whispered, and before he’d even blinked, she was gone.
He was still standing in the same spot, the same expression on his face, when Jacob appeared.
“I was sent to find out what you were doing. Or –” he turned to look speculatively in the direction Lady Lucia had disappeared. “Who you’ve been doing it with.”
Christopher cleared his throat and straightened his already perfectly crease-free evening jacket.
“Come on,” he said brusquely, brushing past Jacob and marching in the opposite direction to Lady Lucia.
“Are you going to tell me about –”
“No.”
Christopher could practically feel Jacob’s grin at his back.
“Let’s get on with it then,” Jacob said as they arrived at the door of the anteroom that would lead to the ballroom and the presentation.
“Get on with what?” Christopher frowned, distracted by the memory of Lady Lucia’s hair in the candlelight and her scent in the darkness.
“Choosing you a bride, of course,” Jacob said, looking at him as though he’d run mad.
Redeeming A Royal (The Royals of Aldonia Book 3) Page 5