Surely he wouldn’t be so insane. And would Monique agree to a lifetime of playing someone else? It seemed unlikely.
And what was the business with Lady Ursula being a relation of the prince? How did that fit in? These were questions he hoped to answer once he had all the parties trapped at his estate in the country.
But first he must deal with Wellington. As Gregory was shown into the man’s study, the prime minister rose to greet him with a handshake. “I heard there was some trouble across the way yesterday,” Wellington said without preamble. “You have it under control?”
“I do. Indeed, that’s why I’m here.”
“I figured as much.” Gesturing to the chair in front of his desk, Wellington took his own seat behind it. “The captain of the guard says the Princess of Chanay was fired upon while you were taking her for a drive?”
“Yes, sir.” Gregory briefly went over the previous day’s fiasco and explained the measures he’d taken. Now came the difficult part. “I have proposed to the princess and her great-uncle that they and their retinue decamp to my country estate while the conference is in recess for the holiday.”
Wellington steepled his fingers. “Is that really necessary?”
“If we want to make sure no more attempts are made on her life, yes.” When the duke frowned, Gregory added, “I’ve invited Pontalba to join us, as well as Prince Leopold, to make it more of a house party. That should also squelch any accusations that I’m trying to keep the Chanay contingent away from the delegates.”
“Ah. Turn it into a social event—very wise. But then, you are nothing if not wise.”
Gregory chalked up the trace of bitterness in Wellington’s tone to resentment that Gregory would be continuing on with the government when he would not. “I do my best,” he said blandly.
“And I know your mother can easily manage such a party. A very clever woman, Lady Fulkham.”
“Indeed she is,” Gregory said, with more emotion.
His mother was the cleverest woman he knew . . . except perhaps for Monique. Still, Mother was going to have his head for giving her so little notice. He’d sent the message off last night. He could only imagine the chaos going on at Canterbury Court right now as servants scurried to ready all the guest chambers.
Fortunately, there were plenty of them—and he’d instructed his mother to spare no expense in hiring more servants to help. Although this would still be a major feat, Mother understood the trials of playing hostess to politicians. Her father had been chancellor of the exchequer before the family had fallen on hard times. Which was how she’d ended up married to Gregory’s arse of a father.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Wellington said.
“Hmm?” Gregory said.
He’d missed the prime minister’s last remark, damn it. He was going to have to do something about his bloody woolgathering of late. It wasn’t like him.
“Danworth,” Wellington said, eyeing him oddly. “Including him won’t be a problem, will it?”
“Not at all.” Great. Another person to add to the growing party. “Though I’m not sure why it’s necessary.”
“Not necessary perhaps, but a good idea under the circumstances. Since I can’t go myself, I need someone there to represent me. And who better than my secretary?”
Wellington liked to keep his hand in things, even when he was on the verge of being booted out of office.
“Of course. We will be glad to include him.”
“Good, good. I shall let him know.”
With that, Gregory took his leave, musing upon how the addition of Danworth might change the dynamics of the group.
Danworth could be trusted to protect the princess in a pinch. And he had a reputation for being an excellent shot, which Gregory doubted was the case for either the duke or the prince.
Besides, ladies loved the witty and engaging Danworth. He could be counted on to keep Mother and Lady Ursula entertained.
And Monique?
Gregory stiffened. He’d rather take on that task himself.
God, what was wrong with him? Yes, she felt like heaven in his arms. Yes, she amused him. But that didn’t mean he should be thinking about her incessantly, worrying about her incessantly . . . wanting her incessantly.
His blood roared in his ears. All right, so he wanted to bed her. Who wouldn’t? But he must not let that cloud his judgment.
Especially not until he determined precisely what the count was up to with this masquerade.
Monique wasn’t sure what she’d expected of Canterbury Court, but it certainly wasn’t this. Though she’d realized Gregory was a man of great political importance, she hadn’t expected him to also be a man of substantial riches.
They drove through impressive gardens, which he explained covered twenty acres, before reaching the Palladian-style house. It looked stylish and refined—like the gentleman himself—and obviously spacious enough to hold the entire party with ease.
Indeed, when the count asked how many rooms it contained, Gregory said, “Thirty or so. Depends on whether you include dressing rooms, pantries, things of that nature.”
The way he tossed that off as if it were nothing astonished her. Then again, perhaps it was nothing to the count and Lady Ursula. Though they did look quite impressed as Gregory’s comfortable traveling carriage drew up in front and a large retinue of servants stood on the steps to welcome them.
Perversely, the show of wealth and consequence put Monique even more on edge with him. She might be connected to a royal family, but she was just the poor relation, the one they would never even have approached if not for her startling resemblance to their precious princess. So if this masquerade did end successfully, and if, by some chance, Gregory pursued a relationship with her despite her subterfuge, it could never be a legitimate one.
He might consider making her his mistress, but no more. A man with his ambitions couldn’t marry a French actress, considered by most in English society to be beneath contempt. Best to keep that in mind at every turn, before she let his kisses and caresses turn her head and make her consider the impossible.
But how she wished Grand-maman had prepared her for what to do when the smile he shot her as he personally helped her from the carriage gave her such foolish, raging urges. How was she to handle the heat that built in her belly as he placed her hand firmly in the crook of his arm, and oh so swiftly touched the wrist with his love bite?
It was fading now—she didn’t even need to hide it anymore—but she was still aware of the place of it, like an invisible itch that needed soothing.
“Does this meet with your approval, Your Serene Highness?” he murmured without a hint of sarcasm, probably because her great-uncle was close on their heels.
“You know perfectly well that it’s lovely. Your gardens alone were worth the trip.”
His heated gaze dropped to her lips. “Then I shall be sure to give you a tour of them later.”
Oh, she knew what that meant, and the very thought of being alone with him sent her heart into a ridiculous frenzy.
“Yes,” Lady Ursula interrupted brightly, “I’m sure we would all enjoy a tour of the gardens.”
Monique sighed with resignation . . . and maybe some relief.
Her great-uncle said, “Not I. I am quite tired after our journey. But you young people should go, by all means.”
“Gregory!” A woman whom Monique had at first taken for a housekeeper because of her apron came running down the steps.
When Gregory released Monique’s arm to kiss the woman’s cheek, Monique realized belatedly that it must be Lady Fulkham, which he confirmed by saying, “Here we are, Mother, just as I warned. Do with us as you will.”
The woman with salt-and-pepper hair and blue eyes a shade lighter than Gregory’s drew back to wag a finger at him. “Not as you warned. You said you would be much later.”
He flashed her an affectionate smile. “Is that why you’re still wearing your apron?”
Looking down a
t the offending garment, she blanched, then hurried to remove it. “Lord, what you must think of me, greeting royalty dressed like this.”
“We think you are very gracious to take us all in at such short notice,” Monique said swiftly.
Lady Fulkham smiled at her and curtsied. “You must be the princess, though I wouldn’t have guessed it from that portrait in the Lady’s Monthly Museum. You are far prettier. Welcome to Canterbury Court, Your Serene Highness.”
“Thank you,” Monique said. “We’re pleased to be here.” How many people had seen that stupid portrait? It wasn’t even a good likeness of Aurore, according to Lady Ursula.
Her great-uncle stepped up next to her. “My niece is right—we are quite delighted to be here, Lady Fulkham.”
Gregory introduced him and Lady Ursula, then frowned when the count took his mother’s hand and lifted it to his lips to kiss.
“May I say,” her great-uncle murmured, “that I had no idea his lordship’s mother was so beautiful, or we would have been here at dawn.”
The woman withdrew her hand with a polite laugh. “And I had no idea that gentlemen from Chanay were so prone to flattery.”
“As it happens, I am not from Chanay originally. I’m from France, where we have a deep appreciation for fine ladies.”
He winked at her, and Monique nearly fell over. Her great-uncle could wink? She’d assumed that that particular muscle was permanently atrophied.
Apparently Lady Fulkham regarded his wink with skepticism as well, for she raised an eyebrow ever so slightly, reminding Monique of Gregory when he was being sarcastic. But the lady merely said noncommittally, “I hope that you will enjoy your stay.”
Lady Ursula stepped forward. “I know we will. And I must share my companions’ thanks for your kind hospitality. I’m sure we are causing you some difficulty, descending on you with little warning.”
“Not at all. I love guests, I assure you.” With a twinkle in her eyes, the lady added, “Besides, how else was I to coax my terribly busy son home for a visit? He can bring the entire royal family with him, as long as it means I get to see him.”
“Good God, Mother,” he bit out, his cheeks flushing.
A delighted laugh spilled out of Monique. She’d never seen Gregory nonplused, and she couldn’t resist teasing him. “Why, Lord Fulkham, do not tell me you are a bad son. I would never have guessed.”
“Oh, he’s a wonderful son,” Lady Fulkham said quickly. “But you know mothers. Our children can never come home often enough.”
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know,” Monique said. “I don’t have children.”
“Yet,” the count said. When everyone stared at him, he added, “You don’t have children yet.”
That remark surprised her . . . until she remembered that he was speaking of her as the princess, not as herself.
Perhaps that was why Gregory’s frown deepened into a surly scowl. “Yes, well, now that we’ve dispensed with the introductions, I suggest we go inside. I confess myself eager for a glass of wine and a chance to warm my hands by the fire. It’s damned cold today.”
“Gregory!” his mother said with a furtive glance at Monique. “Such language in front of the princess!”
“Don’t worry, Lady Fulkham,” Monique said dryly. “I’ve heard far worse from my great-uncle when he thought I wasn’t listening.”
The woman regarded the count thoughtfully. “You don’t say.” Then she glanced past them down the drive. “Where are the others? I did hear from Prince Leopold, accepting your invitation and saying he would be able to come tomorrow, but aren’t there supposed to be more guests?”
“They’ll be here in time for dinner,” Gregory said. “The duke travels with a larger retinue than the princess, I’m afraid, and Danworth is stopping to visit a friend before continuing on here.”
His mother’s face brightened. “Mr. Danworth is coming? You neglected to mention that.”
Gregory had told Monique and the count that the prime minister’s private secretary was coming, but she hadn’t understood why. It clearly had something to do with politics.
“How fun!” his mother went on. “Danworth is much better at remembering the popular bon mots than you are.”
“Forgive me, Mother, but I have a few more important things to keep track of than the latest witticisms,” he said irritably.
Lady Fulkham patted her son’s hand as if he were a little boy. “Of course you do. And all of us in England are very grateful for your sacrifice.”
Monique practically bit off her lip, trying to keep from smiling. She could never have imagined the self-assured, arrogant Gregory being alternately chided and soothed by his mother. It made him seem more . . . human, somehow.
He shot Lady Fulkham an exasperated look, which softened into a contrite smile. “Sorry about that, Mother. I don’t mean to be so cranky.”
Lady Fulkham beamed at him. After that she was all business, showing them inside, offering them refreshments, and directing servants. A very efficient woman, Gregory’s mother. One would think she’d been expecting them for weeks; she had everything under control.
At least now Monique knew where Gregory got his powers of restraint. She could have used some of those right now to keep from gawking at his lovely home. It was even grander than the London town house.
The central staircase was of Italian marble, for pity’s sake! The wallpaper was patterned silk, the curtains were brocade, and she would have sworn that the painting in the foyer was a genuine Van Dyck. Not that she would have known what it was if the count hadn’t remarked upon it—but judging from Lady Ursula’s reaction, the artist was important enough to impress the royal family.
Which begged the question—why was Gregory bothering with politics in London if he had expensive paintings lying about his home? Why not simply enjoy the life of a landed gentleman? It made no sense.
By the time she was led into her bedchamber, she wasn’t surprised to find it full of the finest Sheridan furniture, with silver fittings, embroidered bed hangings, and an ancient tapestry on one wall, which had probably been woven by some famous person as well. That was clearly why Lady Fulkham had called this the Tapestry Room.
Flora was already unpacking her trunks. “Oh, Your Highness, isn’t it wonderful? I know you are used to lovely houses like these, but this is the grandest one I’ve ever seen! And her ladyship seems so very kind that I’m sure . . .” Flora prattled on in her usual way.
Lady Ursula had cautioned Monique that she was supposed to use a harsh word or two to put Flora in her place, as was the way of princesses, but she could never bear to do it. Too many times, she had been the recipient of lowering comments made by fine ladies at the theater who were jealous of the interest their husbands showed her. It had taken years for her to grow a skin thick enough to deflect such remarks.
While Flora might need to grow that sort of skin eventually, Monique wouldn’t be the one to toughen her up or destroy her view of the world as a place of wonders. Let the girl enjoy her brush with “greatness.”
Flora cast her a sly look. “So are you going walking in the garden with his lordship?” She held up a walking dress of cerulean-blue watered silk. “Because this would be perfect. Brings out the green in your eyes. His lordship will be falling all over himself at the sight of you in this.”
Monique tensed. Had Flora noticed the charged atmosphere between her and Gregory whenever they were in the same room? If the girl had, then everyone might notice. Oh God, she must take more care to hide her feelings.
“Why would I want that?” she asked, a little too sharply.
Flora blinked. “Because he can make you queen of Belgium. That’s what you’re hoping for, isn’t it?”
Stop being a fool, Monique. The girl isn’t talking about your mad infatuation with Gregory. “Oh. Of course.”
But only because of what not becoming queen of Belgium would lose her.
She must stop thinking of Gregory as a man she desired, or she
might find herself and Grand-maman dumped unceremoniously back in Dieppe, and this whole insane scheme would be for naught.
Eleven
The duke arrived before Gregory got the chance to show Monique and Lady Ursula around the gardens, which annoyed him even more than Mother’s treating him like an ungrateful son.
His mother knew why being at Canterbury Court was difficult for him. Yet she couldn’t accept it. Sometimes it frustrated him.
And now something else was frustrating him—the way Pontalba and Monique were flirting. He wanted her to himself, damn it. But only so he could delve more into why she was masquerading.
Not because he wanted to taste her mouth again or hear her laugh or see the wonder rise in her eyes when she viewed his gardens. No, indeed. Nothing so base as jealousy fueled his irritation.
God, he was such a liar.
It irritated him that Pontalba had offered Monique his arm for the stroll, leaving Lady Ursula to Gregory. He had to wonder if it was by design.
Had Monique planned it that way? If so, was she just currying the duke’s favor in hopes he would throw his vote toward her as queen? Or was there more to it? Was she hoping to hedge her bets in case she ended up a poor actress back in Dieppe? A woman could make much of being the mistress of a man like Pontalba.
The very idea made Gregory’s gut twist. That would happen over his dead body. If she was seeking a protector, he would be first in line.
So he had to grit his teeth when she batted her lush lashes at Pontalba. “Do you have gardens as beautiful as these at your estate, Your Grace?”
“With apologies to his lordship, I believe mine at Valcour are even more lovely.” The duke placed his hand over hers intimately. “You would much enjoy viewing them, I’m sure.”
Gregory had to fight the urge to knock the man’s hand from her arm. Instead, he said, in his most bored tone, “It’s a pity the princess will never get the chance. Given that she’ll probably become queen of Belgium, she’ll be much too busy ruling the infant country to visit one of France’s many provincial dukes.”
The Secret of Flirting Page 13