Princess Charming

by Pattillo, Beth

  The King of Santadorra strode forward, his face set in hard lines. “Young man, I will have you horsewhipped for this.”

  The Prince Regent appeared amused, Lady Jersey was taking in the sight with a shrewd lift of one eyebrow, and several other ladies of the court were fanning themselves. At the back of the group stood Crispin, hands lifted in helpless apology.

  Like a lioness prepared to defend her cub, Lucy turned in his arms and placed herself between him and his father. “If you harm one hair on his head, sir, I will . . . I will . . .” She sputtered to a stop, evidently realizing that she had little with which to threaten such an elegant, imposing gentleman as his father. Clearly she had no idea who the furious older man was.

  In contrast to the snowy white of his hair, the king’s cheeks were a dark red. “Young lady, this scoundrel deserves everything that is about to happen to him. Luring you out here, taking advantage of you. Your reputation is destroyed.”

  Nick could only grin as Lucy’s spine stiffened. It was nice, for once, to see someone else on the receiving end of her wrath.

  “I was not lured,” Lucy snapped. “I was escorted. By Lord Wellstone.” She nodded at Crispin, and the entire company swiveled to stare at him. Crispin flushed before he recovered himself and rose to the occasion.

  “That is true, actually.” Crispin moved forward through the crowd until he stood between the Prince Regent and Nick’s father. “I did escort her out here, but only . . .”

  “Silence!” The command came from the Regent, whose amusement had dissipated. He turned to Crispin. “Is this the favor you asked of me? To trap your friend into marriage?”

  “No,” Crispin protested. “Not at all, Your Highness. I brought you out here to meet Lady Lucy.”

  “Lady Lucy?” The Regent turned toward her, and Nick squeezed her arm in a warning he was sure she had no intention of heeding. “And you are she, madame?”

  Nick watched with pride as Lucy refused to cower before the Regent. She offered him a deep curtsy. “Yes, Your Highness. I am.” Nick also breathed a sigh of relief when she failed to launch into a diatribe on the inhuman treatment of the working class. Perhaps this situation could be saved.

  The Regent lifted his quizzing glass to one eye and studied her from the top of her golden curls to the hem of her gown. “My friend Lord Wellstone informs me that you have something very particular you wish to say to me, Lady Lucinda.” Nick blanched. So the Prince Regent knew who she was. “I believe Wellstone said you wished to speak to me on the matter of reform?” His ennui in relation to the subject was evident.

  Before she could open her mouth to speak, Nick interrupted. “Perhaps another time might be more opportune for this conversation,” he said, “when Your Highness’s attention is on matters of state rather than matters of pleasure.”

  The Regent bristled. “Are you suggesting, Nicholas, that I have not the mental capacities to entertain and rule simultaneously?”

  Nick’s father jumped into the breach. “Of course not, Your Highness. My son would never imply such a thing. However, given the circumstances, perhaps it would be best if we all adjourned to the house. We can sort matters out in a more private manner.”

  “Nicholas?” Lucy asked, looking at the Regent in puzzlement. “Your son?” she echoed, turning toward his father. She paled and then stepped away from Nick. He watched, a hard knot forming in his stomach. Those remarkably fine blue eyes narrowed, and Nick knew the time had come to pay the piper.

  Lucy’s cheeks had gone bright red. “You are not Lady Belmont’s undergardener.”

  He winced. The words were a greater indictment than any that could be handed down by a court of law. “No, I am not.” It was too late now for private explanations. “At least, not on my better days.”

  Lucy’s very kissable lips pursed with distaste. “A gentleman’s son. That explains your accent. And your ability to dance.” She paused, and tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, and Nick felt her pain as if it was his own. “And your familiarity with Madame St. Cloud’s house, of course.” Lady Jersey and the other women gasped in shock, but Lucy did not appear to hear them. The flush on her cheeks traveled downward, staining the graceful curve of her neck. “From the moment we met, you have played me for a fool.”

  If anyone else had put that look in her eyes, Nick would have strangled him with his bare hands. Instead, he could only stand helpless as the consequences of his actions came home to roost.

  “I was not aware of your identity at first, either,” he said. “I thought you a servant, and you gave me no reason to think otherwise. You deceived me as much as I did you.” The words were half explanation, half accusation and did nothing to soothe Lucy’s temper.

  “And tonight?” Lucy demanded, her voice tight. “Was this to be the culmination of your plans? This public humiliation?”

  “No!” Nick stepped toward her, but she backed away. “It was meant to be a very private unveiling of the truth. You are the one who beguiled Crispin into drawing the Regent out here. I meant to meet you alone.”

  “It was my opportunity,” Lucy said softly, her eyes as bright as her flushed cheeks. “My chance to help.”

  She turned toward the Regent, and Nick’s stomach sank. Not now, Lucy. Not after they’d been caught in such a flagrant indiscretion. But his soon-to-be bride was never one to let a golden opportunity pass.

  “Your Highness, if you knew what your people suffered, you would act. I know you would. If only you could see beyond this world,” she said, waving to indicate the courtyard and the elegant men and women gathered there, “and realize the struggles and burdens of your subjects. I know you would not leave them to the mercies of Lord Sidmouth and the Home Office.”

  Filled with a sense of impending doom, Nick watched the portly Regent. For a long moment, the only sound was the splash of water in the fountain. Finally, after what seemed a lifetime, the prince responded.

  “Lady Lucinda,” he drawled, and the entire company stood motionless, hanging on his every word as if suspended in time, “I would advise you that reform is a waste of your apparently considerable energies. England is a prosperous nation where a man may determine his own lot in life. If he works hard, he should not know want. And if he is idle, well, then, he receives what he deserves, don’t you think?”

  Nick’s stomach knotted. How many times had he uttered much the same words? But now, hearing them from the Prince of Wales’s mouth, he was struck by their arrogance and lack of human feeling.

  “Oh no, Your Highness!” Lucy protested. “Surely you cannot ignore facts! The price of bread is beyond the reach of most laborers, and enclosure has taken away their gardens and grazing for their cows. Why, in Nottinghamshire . . .”

  “Nottinghamshire?” the Regent echoed, looking alarmed. “Madame, in the past we may have been forced to tolerate Luddites in the midlands, but we refuse to entertain them at Carlton House!”

  Nick knew the situation was careening out of control. “She is no Luddite, Your Highness. Merely a soft-hearted creature who does not understand the complicated nature of politics.”

  Lucy swung around and glared at him. “Not understand? Of course, I understand. I understand very well that royalty would rather enjoy the privileges of ruling than take up the responsibilities entrusted to them. I know that this,” she waved her arm at her surroundings, “was built with bread taken from the mouths of children.”

  Their audience gave another collective gasp, and Nick resigned himself to the fact that he would shortly be courting Lucy in a dungeon somewhere. He waited for the Prince of Wales to explode, but instead, the Regent chuckled.

  “Well, well, Nicholas. You have certainly picked a fiery filly to draw your phaeton. Not your usual sort of queen, is she?”

  “Queen?” Lucy echoed, confused.

  “No, Your Highness.” He glanced toward his father. “Fortunately, the king is very healthy, and Lucy should have a great deal of time to accustom herself to her future role.”
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  “King?” Lucy had the wild-eyed look of a fox cornered by the hounds.

  “We are pleased that your bride will be English, as your mother was.” The Regent moved forward, stays creaking in protest, as he offered Nick his hand. “The Santadorrans were our staunchest allies against Boney, and now we will be joined by the blood of marriage and not just the blood spilled in Spain and France. And in Santadorra, of course.”

  “Bride? Who is going to be a bride?” Lucy glanced from one man to the other, and Nick felt another prickle along his spine. He walked toward her and took one of her hands in his.

  “You are, my dear. You are going to marry me. As soon possible.”

  “I’ll do no such thing.” Lucy lifted her chin, which was always a bad sign. “Why would I want to many you?”

  Crispin chortled, and Nick shot him a silencing look. “Because, my dear Lucy, you have been hopelessly compromised. We must make it right.”

  “Make it right?” She laughed. “By doing something so wrong?”

  Nick winced and tried not to mind being publicly ridiculed. He could feel every eye in the courtyard upon him. “Is the thought of a royal marriage so distasteful?”

  Lucy paled and pulled her hand from his. “That is not amusing, Nick. I’ve had enough of your tricks and stratagems. You are no more a prince than I am a princess.”

  “But you are, Lucy. Or you will be, very shortly.”

  Nick felt someone at his elbow and looked around to see his father standing beside him, a look of concern on his face. “It is true, young lady. He is my son, and the prince.”

  Lucy looked from one man to the other, as if testing the resemblance. “And you, sir, you claim to be a monarch? Next you will try to convince me that Lord Wellstone is Napoleon’s heir.”

  This was not how Nick had envisioned asking Lucy to be his wife. In his more fanciful moments, it had involved the satin night-rail she’d donned at Madame St. Cloud’s, and even the wrist irons.

  “Crispin?” Nick paused, distracted by the image of Lucy clad in nothing but satin. “Actually, he does have some cousins on his mother’s side from Corsica, and—”

  “Stop!” The command came from the Prince of Wales. “I have heard enough of this nonsense.” He glared at Lucy. “Young woman, you have been made a very rare and valuable offer. Santadorra is a small principality, it is true, but its location is strategic and its wealth adequate. You could do worse than to wed Prince Nicholas.”

  Lucy looked at his father. “And that makes you?”

  “King Leopold, madame. At your service.” His father gave a courtly bow, and Lucy wilted.

  “Oh no.” Her eyes darted around the crowd. “And you all knew? You knew he was the prince?” Someone giggled, but no one replied.

  In the past two weeks, Nick had often wished to see the infuriating Lucy Charming humbled, but now that it had come to pass, he regretted it deeply. She turned back to him, her head bowed. “I will never forgive you. Never.” Her words were low, pitched to reach only his ears, but despite that, they fell like thunder. “You have destroyed everything I have worked for. I can only hope you have great satisfaction of it.” She spun on her heel, and before he could stop her, she fled the maze.

  “Go after her,” Crispin whispered, but Nick was welded to the spot. Lucy was right, and he was immobilized by the sudden, clear picture of himself as seen through her eyes. Surrounded by wealth and privilege, even when he had considered himself impoverished, he had cavalierly assumed that nothing could compare to what he could offer Lucy. But misguided as it was, she felt deeply about reform. Perhaps he was a bit jealous, for since his mother’s death, had anyone ever cared as deeply about him as his would-be bride did about her cause?

  With Lucy gone, the onlookers disbanded, trailing along in the Prince Regent’s wake as he departed the maze. Nick’s father threw up his hands in disgust and went after the Regent, presumably to calm the troubled waters. Crispin crossed to Nick’s side and nudged his shoulder. “Go after her, man.”

  “Why?” His feet felt like two great blocks of lead. “She’s right, you know. I have ruined any hope she had of working for what she believes in. She wants no part of my world.”

  “But if she doesn’t agree to marry you, the duchess will throw her out on the street. Or marry her off to someone like Mr. Whippet. She told me earlier that her stepmother had given him permission to pay his addresses. Becoming the Crown Princess of Santadorra is the more attractive option, even if it means marrying you.”

  Nick snorted. “Your tact is legendary, Wellstone.”

  “As is your arrogance, St. Germain. You wanted to rescue Lucy. Well, now the really difficult part lies ahead—you have to save her from herself.”

  Nick’s shoulders sagged. “If she rejected me publicly, I hardly think she’s likely to change her mind in private.”

  “You must make her change it, Nicky. Use your persuasive powers.”

  Nick snorted. “My persuasive powers, as you call them, seem to be singularly ineffective with Lady Lucinda.”

  “Well, you’ll never know unless you try. And for once in your life, Nick, you’ve chosen a woman worth persuading.”

  The truth in Crispin’s words was difficult to swallow. Once accepted, though, they seemed to take on a life of their own. He felt his feet begin to move as he started after Lucy. He had spent his whole life avoiding the mistakes of the past. On his own, he would never have chosen to pursue someone as ill-suited for him as she was. But when she was near, he felt alive, as he’d not felt since before those dark days when he had fled the Ivory Palace with his mother and sister.

  Nick gained speed with each step until he was racing through the maze. As luck would have it, she’d chosen the one corridor that wasn’t lit by torches, and so he stumbled along in the dark as quickly as he could.

  LUCY FLED INTO the night, avoiding the lights and laughter of Carlton House as tears tumbled down her cheeks. Her face burned with shame. Had any woman in the history of England ever looked so unspeakably foolish?

  Her fan had been lost in the maze, and somehow she was wearing only one slipper. She thought of her beautiful feather-trimmed cloak lying unclaimed in an anteroom of the conservatory. The only finery that remained was the rope of brilliants in her hair.

  Lucy avoided the conservatory and found a dimly lit pathway that led around the side of Carlton House’s looming edifice. In the darkness of an alcove, she collapsed against the stone, gasping for breath and allowing the tears to flow.

  Fool! she scolded herself between sobs. Trusting, gullible fool! Nick had played her like a fish on a hook, and, oh, how he must have laughed at her notions of reform. No wonder, then, that he had gone pale in Lady Belmont’s coal cellar when she’d poured her heart out to him, or that he’d then turned cold as ice. How he must have laughed at her, he and his friend, Lord Wellstone.

  And what had tonight’s charade been about? To humiliate her? To seduce her? And what an idiot Lord Wellstone had been to lead all of those people into the maze. Lucy’s face burned with shame as she remembered the look of bored condescension on the Prince Regent’s jowly face.

  She had known not to depend on Nick, and yet she had done it in spite of herself. With a bitter laugh, she pushed away from the alcove and continued down the path, following it up the slope until she emerged at the front of Carlton House. Before her, a vast array of carriages crowded the drive. Taking a deep breath, she plunged into their midst, moving as quickly as she could. She wanted only to be home, safe in her own little room and far removed from this disastrous evening. Several coachmen called out to her as she darted between landaus and barouches, but Lucy waved away their offers of assistance, swallowing back tears as she continued to run. Limping unevenly, she finally paused and removed her remaining slipper, which was filled with bits of gravel from the pathway.

  “Stop that woman!” The shout came from behind her, and she turned to see Nick standing in the driveway, flanked by several men mounted on horsebac
k, their tall fur hats and dark cloaks lending them a menacing air. Panicked, Lucy dashed away again, her legs and arms churning as quickly as the skirts of her beautiful gown would allow. She yanked the train up and flung it over her arm. The hem was filthy with mud.

  Nick shouted again. “A reward for the man who stops her!” Just ahead, a coachman leaped down from his box and planted himself in Lucy’s path.

  “Now, miss, you don’t want to run through Lunnon alone.” He reached for her arm, but Lucy feinted and slipped around him. “What? Why I’ll be . . .”

  Lucy dared not stop. Nick’s commands and the pounding of horses’ hooves rang in her ears. Her first instinct was to flee toward the east where she could lose herself in the warren of streets near the river, but good sense prevailed. Instead, she cut across St. James Square, heading north toward Mayfair. It was not far to Nottingham House, and the mounted men had been slowed by the need to wend their way through the maze of carriages. If she were clever, she could evade Nick and his horsemen long enough to reach South Audley Street.

  Glancing around, Lucy spied the broad steps of an imposing town home. With a frantic look over her shoulder, she dashed around the edge of the steps and down the short flight of stairs that led to a servants’ entrance. She huddled against the cold stone of the building as overhead the horses’ hooves pounded by. The men called something to one another in a language she assumed was Santadorran, and then quiet settled over the street once more.

  Lucy leaned against the stone wall and drew a deep breath. She’d been an idiot to trust Nick, a fool to believe him to be a gardener. All the signs had been there, but she’d willingly overlooked them because she enjoyed his company. Enjoyed his kiss. Enjoyed the way he made her heart race and the veil of loneliness lift from around her. Now she would pay the price for such foolish fancies. Hadn’t she known, since the day six years ago when her stepmother had dragged her into the study to see her father’s lifeless body, that she would always be alone? That there was no one on whom she could wholly depend?