Rhys Bowen_Royal Spyness 02

by A Royal Pain

  “I feel pretty wretched now,” I said. “I know he’s completely unsuitable, but I can’t help the way I feel about him.”

  “Nobody can choose when and where to fall in love. It just happens. You see somebody and . . .” She stopped, looking across the room. Edward Fotheringay was surrounded by Fiona and her American cousins, who were giggling at his every word, and he was staring straight at Belinda.

  “It’s a little hot in here, don’t you think?” she said casually, putting one hand up to the back of her neck in a remarkably suggestive gesture. “I think I might also stroll on the terrace.” And she moved gracefully toward the French doors. After a minute or so Edward followed her. So that was how it was done. She made it seem so easy. If I tried it, I’d probably trip over the door frame or fall off the terrace.

  Chapter 27

  I stood alone, observing the Prince of Wales now making a beeline for Mrs. Simpson, who was patting the arm of her chair as if he were a pet dog. The older men clustered around the brandy decanter and murmured something about playing billiards. The older women sat together on the sofa and gossiped among themselves.

  “You’re awfully pensive tonight.” A voice at my elbow made me jump. Gussie smiled at me. “Penny for your thoughts?”

  “I’m rather impoverished at the moment,” I said. “I’ll share them for half a crown.”

  He laughed. “So you drive a hard bargain.”

  “Sheer desperation, I assure you. It’s hard to live in London with absolutely no funds.”

  “Yes, I suppose it must be.”

  It had just struck me that I had an ideal opportunity to pump him for information. “It must be lovely to be you and to be able to give all those jolly parties and live in that beautiful flat,” I said.

  I thought he gave just a momentary frown. “I don’t know if I like the flat quite so much anymore. Not since old Tubby fell off my balcony. I still can’t get over it. I keep wondering if there was anything I could have done to save him—apart from stronger railings, of course.”

  “I feel the same way,” I said. “It was like watching a film, wasn’t it? Not quite real.”

  “My feelings exactly. Almost in slow motion.”

  I nodded.

  “I say,” he said after a pause, “do you fancy a turn about the garden? It’s a lovely night. Full moon and all that.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “That would be lovely.”

  He took my arm and steered me out onto the terrace. I was conscious of Darcy and Hanni standing close together, only a few feet beyond the French doors. She was looking up at him adoringly. Inside, somebody had started playing the piano—“Clair de Lune.” There was no sign of either Belinda or Edward.

  “It’s a lovely night, isn’t it?” Gussie said. “Quite balmy, still.”

  “It’s a beautiful night.” I slipped my hand into Gussie’s and directed him down the steps from the terrace. My heart was beating very fast. We were stepping into unknown territory here. I wasn’t sure where flirting ended and seduction began. I turned to Gussie and gave him an encouraging little smile. “I was waiting for someone to take me for a stroll in the moonlight,” I said. “It’s very romantic, isn’t it?”

  “Well, I suppose it is. I didn’t think you’d be interested, you know.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, because, I mean to say, you’re Binky’s sister. But you’re a grand girl, Georgie. Not at all bad looking either. In fact I can’t think why some fellow hasn’t snapped you up before now. You’d make a splendid wife. Good breeding. Reliable.”

  “You make me sound like a spaniel,” I said. “Safe, reliable. How about warm and sexy?”

  He laughed nervously. “Dash it all, Georgie, you are Binky’s sister.”

  “I’m also a woman.” I nearly laughed as I said it. What a stupid line.

  “Yes, you are.” He fell for it. He was looking at me in a strange, speculative way.

  We were now alone on the dark, moonlit lawn. I could hear the fountain splashing and the distant tones of the music. I turned to face him.

  “Well, aren’t you going to kiss me?”

  “I say. Rather.”

  He brought his lips toward mine. They were surprisingly cold and moist. A little like kissing a cod. When I had kissed Darcy, I wasn’t conscious of lips or tongues or anything. Just that wonderful sensation of tingling, surging desire, melting into him. Now I was horribly conscious of everything Gussie was doing or trying to do: his large, flabby tongue, for one thing. And his hands, which were reaching down inside the back of my dress to unhook my brassiere. But I kept my eyes closed and pretended that I was in rapture, making little moans of pleasure from time to time.

  This seemed to egg him on. His breathing became louder. He tried to reach under my arm and grab my breasts. Then he half dragged me to a nearby stone bench. We sank down together. One hand slid down the low neck of my dress and fondled my right breast as if he were testing a ripe orange. Then a hand started sliding up my skirt until it made its way between my legs.

  By now I was a little alarmed, and confused. Just how far did I want this to go? Wouldn’t now be a good time to stop? Gussie was panting like a steam engine and wrestling with my knickers. It suddenly came to me that I didn’t want to lose my virginity to Gussie Gormsley. If I had resisted Darcy when I had wanted him with all my being, then it was surely rather hypocritical to give in so easily to someone I didn’t want.

  Gussie was now inching down my panties.

  Other thoughts tumbled into my consciousness: it was rumored that one bled the first time. In fact bloody sheets were carried out of the bedchamber as proof that the deed had been done. What on earth would people think if I staggered back into the drawing room bloody and disheveled? My cousin the prince and Mrs. Simpson were sitting there. Word might even get back to Her Majesty.

  Gussie was now fumbling to undo his belt. He reached into his trousers and produced something I couldn’t quite see, but he took my hand and placed it upon the thing. I recoiled in horror. The thing was twitching with a life of its own. It reminded me of a newt we’d once kept as children.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, trying to draw away, “but I should go back inside. They’ll wonder where I’ve got to.”

  Gussie was still panting. “You can’t leave me like this, Georgie,” he said, pushing up my skirt with frantic gestures. “You can’t egg a chap on and then want to stop. I’ve got to have a bit of the old rumpy-pumpy, you know. Now do be a good girl and give it to me.”

  He pushed me back quite roughly until I was lying on the cold stone of the bench. I hadn’t realized until then how strong he was or how far we were from the house. He started kissing me again, lying on me with his full weight. I couldn’t help thinking of one of Belinda’s favorite maxims: If rape is inevitable, lie back and enjoy it.

  Suddenly that didn’t seem so amusing anymore. I didn’t want to be another Belinda. I didn’t want to turn into my mother. I shook my mouth free of him. “I said no, Gussie.” I tried to force him off me. He was having trouble lifting my skirt high enough. Thank heavens there was rather a lot of material in the skirt, and a couple of layers of underskirt too. I tried to bring up my knee, but he was very persistent.

  “I said let go of me.” I pushed, wriggled and turned at the same time and we both rolled off the bench onto the damp grass. I tried to get up. Gussie tried to pull me back down.

  “What’s going on here?” a man’s voice demanded. “Some damned animal in the bushes. Go and get my gun!”

  Gussie scrambled to his feet and took off without waiting for me. I stood up, and was brushing myself down when I realized that the voice belonged to Darcy.

  “He took off like a greyhound out of the gate, wouldn’t you say?” Darcy said in an amused voice.

  “What are you doing here?” I demanded.

  “Just stretching my legs. Nice night for a walk. More to the point, what were you doing?”

  “None of your business.”

>   “Don’t tell me you were enjoying it.”

  “Again, it’s none of your business what I do.”

  “It’s just that a month or so ago you gave me a long lecture about not wanting to turn out like your mother and saving yourself for the right man and the right time. Please don’t tell me that you find Gussie Gormsley more irresistibly attractive than me. If you do, I really shall go and get my gun and shoot myself.”

  “I wasn’t intending to let Gussie . . .”

  “I see. That was not how it appeared to the outside observer.”

  He started to walk beside me back to the house.

  “Anyway, I can take perfectly good care of myself,” I said. “You always seem to be showing up and acting as if you have come to rescue me. But you really don’t need to.”

  “My pleasure, your ladyship.”

  “Please don’t let me keep you another second from the enchanting Princess Hanni. Who knows, maybe you’ll end up in a fairy-tale castle and have to learn the goose step.”

  He actually smiled at this. “It’s hard to resist when a woman literally throws herself at one,” he said.

  “I’m sure it is. She’s just out of the convent. She is determined to find out what she’s been missing.”

  “I’ll say.” He smiled again.

  “And no doubt you’ll be delighted to show her.”

  “I’m only human, after all. We chaps find it hard to say no to a warm body.”

  “I believe she’s still waiting for you.” I started to walk ahead of him.

  He caught up with me and grabbed my arm. For a moment I thought he was going to embrace me, but then he said, “You can’t go inside like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, for one thing you have grass stains on your back, and for another, you have bits of underwear sticking out from your dress. Ah yes, I see. Your brassiere has mysteriously become unlatched. Allow me to—”

  “Absolutely not,” I said. “I’ll manage.”

  “You can’t go back in there with bits sticking out. Stand still.” I shivered involuntarily at the touch of his warm hands on my back. “There. Reasonably respectable again.” His hand lingered on my bare shoulder.

  “Thank you.” I started to move away from him.

  “Georgie,” he said quietly, his hand still on my shoulder. “When I disappeared from London—I had to go away in a hurry.”

  “Evading the law?” I asked.

  “I had to go home to Ireland. I got word that my father was selling the estate to Americans. I rushed home to try and make him change his mind. I was too late. The deed was done.”

  “I’m awfully sorry.”

  “I suppose it was inevitable. He was strapped for cash. They made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. And the only good thing is that they want to resurrect the racing stable. They’re keeping my father on as trainer / adviser / general dog’s body. He’s going to live in the gatehouse.” I saw him wince as if in pain. “Lucky he couldn’t sell the title along with it, or I’d be plain Mr. O’Mara for the rest of my life.”

  “I really am sorry, Darcy,” I said.

  “Well, there’s nothing I can do, but now I really am homeless. I’m certainly not going to stay at the gatehouse and watch some millionaire from Texas living in my family home.”

  “Darcy, where did you go?” Hanni’s voice floated toward us.

  “Your lady love is waiting,” I said as Hanni appeared from the darkness.

  “Georgie—that woman you saw me with at the Savoy—”

  “You really don’t have to explain your women friends to me, Darcy.” For some reason I felt that I might cry. I only wanted to escape to the safety of my own room.

  “She wasn’t a woman friend. She was my sister, Bridget. She felt the same way I did about losing the house. We were commiserating together.”

  Before I could say anything, Hanni spotted Darcy and came running toward us. “Darcy, where did you go? I lost you,” she complained.

  “Just doing a good deed,” Darcy said. “I was a boy scout, you know. My lady.” He gave a slight bow and then turned back to Hanni, and allowed himself to be led away by the hand, leaving me alone in the moonlight.

  I tried to slip back into the drawing room without anybody noticing. I had no idea if Gussie had returned before me, and in what state he had been. I expected all eyes to be on me, but the scene in the room was exactly as I had left it: the prince sitting obediently on the arm of Mrs. Simpson’s chair, looking down at her as if she were the only woman in the room; the other women still chattering, heads together. I heard one of them say, “That can’t possibly be true. Where did you hear that?”

  “Anyone feel like a game of billiards?” Lord Cromer-Strode asked. “Colonel? What about Edward? Where has the damned boy got to now?”

  Fiona was staring at the French doors, stony-faced. “He’s taking a walk. It is rather hot in here,” she said.

  “How about whist?” Lady Cromer-Strode sensed tension in the atmosphere. “Anybody for whist, bridge if you’d rather, or what about pontoon?”

  While tables were being set up, I took the opportunity to creep up to my room. Once there I stood staring out of the open window into the night, trying to come to terms with what had just happened. How could I have been so stupid to have encouraged Gussie? And why did Darcy take the trouble to explain his actions to me, only to run off after Hanni again? Nothing about men made sense. Why had we wasted time at school on deportment and French and piano when what they should have done was to give us lessons on understanding male behavior. Perhaps it was beyond comprehension.

  A woman’s laugh floated across the lawns, setting my imagination running riot again. How long did the queen expect me to stay here? I wondered. Could I now conclude that Hanni was well settled and flee back to London? At this moment I longed to be sitting in my grandfather’s little kitchen while he made me a cup of tea so strong that the spoon almost stood up in it.

  “Forget the lot of ’em, my love,” he’d say. “They ain’t worth tuppence.”

  “My lady, I am so sorry,” said a voice behind me. I leaped a mile. It was Mildred of course. I had completely forgotten about her again. What was it about her that made her so un-memorable? Maybe that I was wishing she didn’t exist?

  Now she came scuttling into the room, looking flustered and embarrassed. “I had no idea that you would wish to retire so early, my lady,” she twittered. “I thought the young folk were still downstairs. I gathered there was a gramophone and dancing, so naturally I assumed—”

  “It’s quite all right, Mildred,” I said. “I can’t expect you to stand to attention waiting for me at all hours.”

  “Oh, but you can, my lady, and you should. What use is a lady’s maid if she is not available and ready for service at all times? I was having a nice chat with Lady Cromer-Strode’s personal maid. We knew so many people in common, you see, and then a footman came into the servants’ hall and said that he’d seen you going upstairs. My heart nearly stopped, my lady.” She put her hand to her chest in impressive fashion. “I ran upstairs as fast as my legs could carry me. Please say you’ll forgive me.”

  “I do forgive you, Mildred. Now if you like, you can go back to the servants’ hall and your nice little chat.”

  “Are you not feeling well, my lady? May I have some hot milk sent up? Some hot Bovril? Some iced lemonade?”

  “I am perfectly well, thank you. Just tired, and I wish to be alone.”

  “Then let me help you out of your garments and you’ll be ready for bed.”

  “No—thank you.” I blurted out the words more fiercely than I intended, remembering the unhooked brassiere and those grass stains. Mildred wouldn’t comment. Maids didn’t, but she’d notice and she’d gossip. “I’d rather be alone tonight, thank you, Mildred. Please leave me.”

  It was the closest to my great-grandmother, Empress of all she surveyed, that I had ever come. It produced an immediate effect. Mildred actually curtsied and ba
cked out of the room. Most satisfying, in fact the one satisfying thing in a long and annoying day. I undressed, feeling hot with shame as I wrestled off the remains of my brassiere and noted my crumpled dress. What would Mildred think?

  I lay in bed, feeling very alone and empty. Darcy was now with another woman. He had come to my aid, but only because he pitied me. I lay for a long time, watching the moonlight stream in through the long windows. It shone full onto a painting on the far wall. It was a painting of the Alps and reminded me of my happy schooldays in Switzerland. What’s more, I recognized the mountains. “Jungfrau, Mönch, Eiger,” I murmured to myself and felt comforted having a familiar sight looking down on me. Then something nagged at my brain. I heard Hanni’s voice saying something about her beloved Bavarian mountains. “The Zugspitze and the Jungfrau,” she had said. But the Jungfrau was in Switzerland.

  Chapter 28

  Dippings, Norfolk

  Sunday, June 19, 1932

  I woke with early morning sun streaming in through my window and a dawn chorus of birds that was almost deafening. A cool, fresh breeze was blowing in through my open windows. I no longer felt sleepy so I got up. It would be hours before breakfast was served and even an hour or so before I could expect Mildred with the tea tray. I decided to go for a walk. I tiptoed down the main staircase and let myself out through the front door without encountering anybody. The lawns were heavy with dew. The rosebushes were strung with spiderwebs on which the dewdrops glistened like diamonds. A low strand of mist hung over the ornamental pond. As I started walking I began to feel better. I had been cooped up in London for too long. I was a country girl at heart. My ancestors had tramped those Scottish Highlands. I strode out, arms swinging, and started to hum a tune. Soon this whole Hanni business would be just a bad dream. She’d be back in Germany, breaking a succession of hearts. I would be back at Rannoch House. I might even go home to Scotland until I was summoned to Balmoral.I’d ride my horse every day, avoid Fig and visit Nanny.