Her Highness, My Wife

by Victoria Alexander

  In spite of his now dour mood, Matt smiled. He appreciated the older lady’s use of the proper term, and while he’d never admit it to Tatiana, in his own mind he did tend to refer to the aerostat as nothing more exotic than a balloon. “Quite well, thank you, ma’am.”

  Tatiana poured a cup of tea and handed it to him. Her fingers touched his and electricity sparked between them. His gaze jumped to hers and his breath caught at the emotion simmering in her green eyes.

  “I can just see it from here.” The dowager shaded her eyes and stared out in the general vicinity of the lake. “Do you see it, my dear?”

  Tatiana reluctantly pulled her gaze from Matt’s and followed the dowager’s gaze.

  “I think so.” She squinted and held her hand out to block the bright late-summer sun. “That is it, is it not, my lord? That bright yellow blob?”

  “If you can see it, it should no longer be a blob,” Matt said, scanning the distance. He spotted it, noting the inflation was nearly completed. “Once it’s fully inflated it will be tied down. I plan to go up in it in a bit—tethered to the ground, of course.”

  “Oh, Matthew, may I come?” Tatiana’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “It has been such a long time.”

  “Indeed, far too long.” Were they talking about his balloon or something entirely different? And far more important?

  “I do understand how perhaps today is not a wise choice—the sky is far too gray—but”—Her Grace leaned closer—“you will take me soon, will you not? Preferably before any of my family arrives.”

  “You fear they might forbid you to go up because of the potential danger.” Matt nodded sagely.

  “My dear young man. No one forbids me to do anything I wish to do. Why, the very thought is absurd. No, I am simply afraid that once the numerous members of my family arrive, they will monopolize your time and I shall not get to fly at all.” She smiled. “I should then be most unhappy.”

  Matt chuckled. “I shall make certain, Your Grace, that you get to fly.”

  “I thought you would. Now, enough fun for the moment. It is time for more serious matters.” She turned to Tatiana. “Do you prefer to ask me questions about Sophia or should I simply ramble on until you are bored?”

  “I cannot imagine being bored, Your Grace.”

  “Very well. Let me think. It was a long time ago, 1760-something. The exact date eludes me.” The dowager settled back in her chair in the manner of a master storyteller. “The old duke was still alive. My husband was the Marquess of Helmsley then. Sophia’s mother, then the Queen of Avalonia, was a friend of my mother’s, although I have no idea how they were acquainted. At any rate, if memory serves, the queen gave Sophia the names of three ladies who could lend her their assistance.

  “She and her daughter arrived in England with very little.” Her Grace shook her head at the memory. “It was really quite sad. She had some clothing and trinkets, the type of sentimental odds and ends one might grab as a keepsake. I recall she had a small portrait of her husband. He’d been killed only recently.”

  The dowager gazed off into the distance and the long-ago. “It was apparent she’d loved him a great deal, yet, for the most part, she kept her feelings to herself. We became firm friends during her stay here—of course she had no one else—and she once told me mourning was a luxury she could not indulge. She could not allow her personal sorrow to cripple her. She had a child, his child, to protect, and that was paramount to her.

  “She remained here, oh, let me think.” Her Grace paused to gather the years. “A month or so, I believe. Sophia was extremely restless, and rightly so. She’d had no word from Avalonia and feared she could have been followed by her family’s enemies. She felt compelled to move from one location to another. That’s why she stayed so briefly with Lady Hutchins, barely more than a week.” She glanced at Tatiana. “Pity she is no longer with us. She might be able to tell you more.”

  “I cannot imagine how difficult this must have been for her. Forced to flee with nothing more than a handful of keepsakes. The princess had spent her life surrounded by the finest things, clothing and jewels and whatnot. What a shame she had to leave it all behind.” Tatiana’s comment was offhand, but something in her manner caught Matt’s attention and he studied her carefully.

  “Indeed, she had no more than a single bag with her and no jewels that I was aware of.” The dowager thought for a moment. “A ring, I think. Perhaps a necklace as well. I don’t recall more than that, although she was not penniless.” She cast them an apologetic smile. “I fear I can tell you little else. Soon after leaving Effington Hall, she met the Earl of Worthington and married him. He was considerably older than she, but I think she had had love and was now looking for a safe and secure home for her and her daughter. The earl died, oh, ten or fifteen years later and left her quite well off.

  “Sophia and I saw each other a time or two after her marriage, but she rarely left Worthington Castle. I always thought she considered it her haven and was therefore reluctant to stray far from its gates. We corresponded sporadically until her death, twenty years ago now.” The dowager shook her head. “I must say, it’s depressing to note now many people in this story are no longer with us. Such is the curse of a long life, I suppose. And in truth”—she smiled—“I am willing to bear it.”

  Her gaze met Tatiana’s and her voice was firm. “When you write this history of yours, speak well of her courage. I have never met another woman, and only a handful of men, with her strength of character and depth of determination. I have often wondered if that is why she spent the long years after her marriage and the earl’s death in relative solitude. If she had exhausted her reserves of strength and valor and now had to concentrate on the simplicities of an ordinary life.” The lady chuckled. “A rather fanciful notion, I suppose.”

  “Not at all,” Matt said thoughtfully. “I can see your point. It makes a great deal of sense.”

  “You are a charmer, Matthew.” The dowager had the look of a grandmother about to ruffle the hair of a small child, and Matt braced himself. Thankfully, she did no such thing. Her gaze slid to Tatiana. “Last night you mentioned seeing her rooms. I believe she had a suite in the guest wing, but in this my memory fails. It could well be the rooms you and Lord Matthew share, as those are the best-appointed rooms in that wing. However, they have been refurbished once or twice since Sophia’s stay.

  “She did spend a great deal of time out-of-doors, though, always on foot, and never went out of sight of the hall. She was far too cautious for that.”

  “Of course, she would be.” Tatiana nodded.

  “By the look on your face, I fear I did not give you what you wished for. I hope you are not disappointed?”

  “Not at all, ma’am.” Tatiana shrugged as if it were of no consequence, but Matt noted a touch of concern in her eyes. “I am merely trying to tell her story. Nothing more.”

  Her Grace turned back toward Matt. “Well, perhaps your grandmother can add to the story.”

  Matt winced to himself. “Perhaps.”

  “Your grandmother?” Tatiana said slowly. “I fear you have me at a disadvantage, my lord. What does your grandmother have to do with this?”

  The dowager turned to her in surprise. “My dear, in your note you said you were retracing the travels of the princess and wished to speak to the three women who helped her. Lady Hutchins, whose demise you had already learned of, Lady Cranston and myself. Lady Cranston is my dear friend Beatrice. Matthew’s grandmother.”

  “Your grandmother?” Tatiana’s voice was level.

  “My father’s mother.” Matt smiled in an apologetic manner.

  “I cannot believe you did not tell her this.” Her Grace drew her brows together in a chastising manner. “Although I suppose I can well understand your reluctance.”

  “You can?” Matt said and hoped her reasons would be good ones.

  Tatiana’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You can?”

  “It’s obvious.” The dowager sett
led back in her chair and studied him for a long moment. “In spite of your naval exploits and your daring in the skies, when it comes to matters of family, you, my dear boy, are a coward.”

  “I most certainly am not.” Indignation sounded in his voice. The dowager was right, of course; even if he was not about to admit it to anyone other than himself.

  “That is obvious.” Tatiana’s expression was cool, but anger etched every line of her body.

  “Matthew, you are afraid to return home. You are afraid to face your family and admit your actions as a youth were reprehensible. You are further afraid you will not be forgiven.” The older lady’s voice was firm. “And that is what you fear most.”

  “I said I would consider going home,” Matt said under his breath.

  “And I must beg your indulgence, Your Grace.” Tatiana rose to her feet. Matt stood at once. “I feel it is necessary to return to my room and write down what you have told me.” She cast the dowager a genuine smile. “A faulty memory is not always the result of age.”

  “Do be off, then, my dear. We will speak more later.”

  “My lord.” Tatiana turned to him. “Would you be so kind as to accompany me for a moment? I should like to speak with you.”

  “I thought you might,” he said.

  “Good day, Your Grace.” Tatiana nodded pleasantly, cast him a lethal glance and started toward the doors leading into the house.

  “I wouldn’t dawdle if I were you, Matthew,” Her Grace said with a smile.

  “In truth, ma’am, dawdling seems like a prudent idea.”

  The dowager chuckled. “She is extremely angry with you and I would not provoke her further. I have given her a logical reason why you might not have mentioned your relationship with Lady Cranston, but it’s not entirely the correct one, is it?”

  “Not entirely, no.” Matthew grimaced and tried not to feel like a schoolboy caught in a prank.

  “I thought not. I further think there are secrets between the two of you which you would do well to reveal.”

  “A few minor items, perhaps.”

  She raised a brow.

  “Very well, hers are more than likely quite significant. However, mine,” he said pointedly, “are minor.”

  “She did not seem to think your grandmother especially minor.”

  “She is not used to someone else having secrets.”

  “There is a fascinating story here, is there not, Matthew?”

  “I don’t know if fascinating is the right word.”

  “She loves you very much, I think. I can see it in the way she looks at you.” The older woman studied him carefully. “Probably as much as you love her.”

  “Yes, well, sometimes, Your Grace, love may not be enough.”

  Tatiana pushed through the French doors leading into the main corridor off the terrace and headed toward the stairs.

  Had she ever been so furious? Why, even Phillipe’s infidelities had not angered her this much. No doubt because she cared so much more for Matthew. And perhaps because she expected deceit from her first husband but never from her second.

  A tiny rational voice in the back of her mind noted Matthew had not really done anything so terribly consequential. In truth, he had said nothing that wasn’t true, he simply had not told her everything. But the anger that gripped her ignored that fact. He had essentially lied to her the exact same way he claimed she lied to the dowager! How dare he?

  She started up the stairs and heard his hurried footsteps approaching.

  “Tatiana.” He was right behind her.

  She ignored him.

  “Tatiana, wait.”

  She reached the top of the stairs, swiveled toward the guest wing and marched down the corridor.

  “Will you let me explain?”

  “No,” she snapped without looking at him. “You are a liar, Matthew.”

  “And you, of all people, would recognize a liar when you saw one.”

  She clenched her teeth. “And not a very good liar, at that.”

  “Hah! I fooled you, didn’t I?” His voice rose indignantly. “Besides, I have done nothing more than you have. In fact, I have done far less. My lie was a simple omission. You have concocted this entire Lord and Lady Matthew farce for God only knows what nefarious reason—”

  “It’s not nefarious!”

  “How would I know that?”

  “You should”—she faltered over the words—“trust me.”

  “Trust you?” He sputtered with indignation. “I should trust you?”

  She reached the door to her room and grabbed the handle.

  “Why in the name of all that’s holy should I ever trust you?”

  She spun toward him. “Because, you annoying creature, I love you. I have always loved you.”

  “You left me!” He glared down at her. “I married you and you discarded me and—”

  “Oh, do sing another tune, Matthew. I am quite tired of hearing that one!” She shot the words without thinking. “I came back not because you married me, but because I married you. I promised to love you forever, and I meant it. Because I am, in truth, your wife and I will always be your wife.” She yanked open the door. “Because I want nothing more than to be your wife.” She stepped into the room and whirled back to face him. “Although at the moment I have no idea why!”

  She slammed the door in his face. The room reverberated with the satisfying sound. She stared at the still-quivering door and clenched her fists. How could she be so foolish as to love him? He might never be able to forgive her for the past. He would probably have difficulties with the very idea of a princess for a wife. He was stubborn and arrogant and he did not even lie well.

  But dear Lord, she did love him. And more, she needed him. She had never been as alive as she had been with him. He was as necessary to help her survive life as Avalonian brandy was to help her survive travel. And just like the brandy, no doubt, an acquired taste.

  And God help her, she had acquired it.

  Well, at least she had told him. Not that he understood. But in the matter of their marriage, at least, she had confessed. More or less. Enough to ease her own conscience anyway.

  She heaved a sigh, brushed her hair away from her eyes and turned away from the door.

  And froze with shock and more than a little fear.

  Chapter 13

  “Damn it all, Tatiana!” Matt slammed open the door from the dressing room and strode into her bedchamber. “I was not finished. And you still have a great deal of explaining to do.”

  She stood before the door to the hall and stared at him, her eyes wide with—what? Fear? Blasted woman, he didn’t mean to scare her.

  “Tatiana.” He stepped toward her and stopped short at the scene before him.

  The room had been ripped apart as if a tempest had swept through and upended it. Drawers were torn from chests and hurled aside. Clothes had been flung wildly across the floor and over furniture.

  He blew a long, low whistle. “Bloody hell.”

  No corner of the room was untouched. The mattress had been pulled from the bed and tossed, the bedclothes scattered. The carpet was shoved into a rumpled heap. Even paintings had been torn from the wall and thrown onto the floor.

  “I don’t remember you as being this untidy.”

  “I did not do this.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Why would I do this? Obviously someone was…” She sucked in a hard breath, then dashed across the room to a writing desk. Its drawers rested precariously on one another, writing papers strewn about like fallen leaves. Tatiana dropped to her knees and pawed through the paper on the floor. “Do not stand there staring at me as though I were a lunatic. Help me.”

  “I rather enjoy staring at you as if you were a lunatic.” He picked his way through the debris, trying not to step on various articles of clothing and whatever. He stepped to her side and squatted down beside her. “What are we looking for?”

  “The letter. The one from Sophia to her mother.”

&n
bsp; “I don’t see anything that looks like a letter.”

  She rocked back on her heels. “Neither do I. Damnation. I know it was here. I was looking at it just this morning. It has been stolen.”

  “Why would it be stolen?”

  She paused, and he wondered if he was finally going to get the truth. “Because it is the only clue I have.”

  “To what?” he said sharply.

  “I cannot tell you here.”

  “You mean you won’t tell me here.” He was hard-pressed to restrain his anger. His justifiable anger. “I have had quite enough of your—”

  “No, you annoying man, it is not that I will not tell you. At this point not telling you would be extremely foolish. However, as I do not know who did all this”—she waved at the surrounding disorder—“I do not know who to trust—”

  “You can trust me,” he said grimly.

  “Hah. As you are so very trustworthy,” she scoffed. “I did not mean you. I meant the vast number of people who live and work in this house. Someone could be listening at the keyhole at this very moment.”

  His gaze flicked to the door and he half expected to see a shadow move in the gap between the door and the floor.

  “A valid point.” Matt stood. “Very well.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Let us be off, then.” He started toward the door.

  She hurried to keep up with him. “Where are we going?”

  “Trust me,” he snapped.

  “Always,” she shot back.

  He half pulled, half dragged her behind him, retracing their steps back the way they had come. Along the corridor, down the stairs, through the hall, out onto the terrace and past the table where the dowager still sat.

  Matt nodded politely but didn’t break his stride.

  Tatiana gasped a fast greeting. “Your Grace.”

  “Do have fun, children.” The dowager waved gaily as if they were off for a picnic lunch.

  He slowed a bit descending the terrace’s stone steps to accommodate Tatiana, but he wanted nothing to impede their progress. He was at last going to learn what she was hiding, and he was not about to risk that she might think better of it.