by Gayle Buck
“But what is to be done? I have gone to great trouble and time to have this set commissioned. It would be wasteful to discard it,” said Prince Kirov. He shrugged. “I suppose that I shall send it back to St. Petersburg. I have several minor cousins who would no doubt be overjoyed to take the set into their possession. Of course, they do not often frequent the sort of society where such jewels are meant to be displayed. Such a pity that these will not be worn where they can be best appreciated.”
Lady O’Connell appeared to be laboring under grave stress. In truth, she was nearly strangled by the thought of such largesse handed over to some obscure Russian woman. It would be absolutely criminal.
“There is no need of that, Prince Kirov. I assure you that I would be delighted to take the set off of your hands,” she said hastily.
Prince Kirov stared at Lady O’Connell. Then he smiled. He shook his head. “You are generous, my lady. But I shall not be so insensitive of your feelings. I know that possessing and wearing this set would only remind you of a painful episode which is better forgotten. No, I could not trespass on your good nature so far.”
“Trespass!” Lady O’Connell attempted a laugh. “My dear prince, you misunderstand me entirely! Why, I would think no such thing. No, indeed! Why would I think such ill about my own dear son-in-law! I assure you, I would regard you in just such a light!”
“My lady, are you saying that you approve once more of my pressing my suit with Miss O’Connell?” asked Prince Kirov.
Lady O’Connell looked at him fleetingly, then down at the case. “Prince Kirov, I was too hasty in my judgment of your suit. I have since revised my opinion of you. I shall most assuredly welcome you as a suitor for my daughter’s hand.”
Prince Kirov closed the case and rose to his feet. He tucked the case under his arm and with the other hand gallantly lifted Lady O’Connell’s hand. He raised it to his lips. ‘Thank you, my lady. You make me happier than you can conceive,” he said.
“Yes, I am so glad,” said Lady O’Connell, never taking her eyes from the case. “Er, the custom which you referred to, your highness. I suppose that one is made recipient of the gift immediately?”
“Oh, do you mean this?” Prince Kirov tapped the case. Cheerfully, he said, “The jewels represent an occasion for great celebration and therefore are given with much pomp and ceremony to the new mother-in-law at the wedding reception. If my suit prospers with Miss O’Connell, I will present this set with much trumpeting. There will not be a single guest who will not know that you have come into possession of these jewels.”
“How nice,” murmured Lady O’Connell. She was torn between her ardent desire to have the jewel set in her possession at once and the pleasing vision of parading her triumph before all of her friends and acquaintances.
“Lady O’Connell, I must take my leave. Before I go, however, I should like to make clear my intention of persuading Miss O’Connell to dispense with a long engagement. I hope that this will meet with your approval,” said Prince Kirov.
“Your highness, the sooner you wed my daughter, the better I shall feel,” said Lady O’Connell frankly, her eyes straying again to the case.
Prince Kirov smiled lazily. He bowed once more. “Thank you, my lady. I shall leave you now. Pray inform Miss O’Connell that I shall call on her tomorrow.”
“We shall be attending the Smythe soiree and later go on to the theater. Perhaps we shall see you there?” said Lady O’Connell.
Prince Kirov’s brows rose, but he politely replied. “Perhaps, my lady. Good-bye.”
As soon as the prince had left, Lady O’Connell made a bee-line for the bellpull. She tugged on it vigorously.
The door opened. Mrs. O’Connell quietly entered. She wore a smile, but there was a combatant light in her eyes. “Well, my lady? Are you so eager to rake me down in my own house?”
Lady O’Connell rushed at her daughter-in-law and enveloped her in a hug. “My dear Sophronia! Rake you down, indeed. How silly of you, my dear! No, no, I am very happy with you. I have quite made my peace with Prince Kirov. Now where is dearest Megan? So silly of me not to inquire of her last night what she meant to do today, but you are familiar with her habits, are you not? Sophronia, I must speak to her at once.”
Mrs. O’Connell shook her head, having difficulty believing her reception. “Why, I suppose that she is out shopping. Or perhaps she has gone to call on Miss Stallcroft, which she is often in the habit of doing. They have become quite good friends. I really cannot tell you.”
“That is not at all convenient. But it cannot be helped, can it?” Lady O’Connell grabbed up her gloves and began to pull them on. “My dear Sophronia, I must leave you now. I have something of great import to attend to and I know that you will excuse me. Pray give my love to Megan if she stops by to see you. I shall see her tonight, of course. Advise her to wear her most stunning gown. Now I really must run.” She snatched up her reticule, pecked her daughter-in-law on the cheek, and exited smartly.
Mrs. O’Connell stammered a wondering good-bye even as her mother-in-law flew out of the drawing room. She went to the door of the drawing room. In a matter of seconds, Lady O’Connell’s carriage was brought up to the front steps and her ladyship had well and truly left.
“What in the world did that man say to her?” asked Mrs. O’Connell aloud. She was not destined to know the answer and her lively curiosity was left unsatisfied.
Lady O’Connell could scarcely attend to her own obligations that day. She could not get that magnificent set of rubies and diamonds out of her mind. Her thoughts dwelt lovingly upon them as she imagined pinning the brooch to her gown, putting the tiara in her hair, wrapping the shimmering necklace about her throat...
When Megan returned from a long day with friends, she was met with the intelligence that she was to wear her newest gown to the soiree. “But whatever for, Simpkins? It was meant for the grand ball next week, as her ladyship well knows,” said Megan.
When the dresser merely shook her head, Megan turned to Mrs. Tyler. “Gwyneth, what notion has my mother taken into her head? Why does she wish me to wear this particular gown?”
“I haven’t a clue, Megan,” said Mrs. Tyler, frowning slightly. “But I will tell you this. I spoke with her ladyship very briefly not an hour past. I have never seen her in such high alt, nor so anxious that you accompany her to a function.”
Megan stared. She could think of only one explanation for her mother’s odd solicitude. “Depend upon it, then,” she said decisively. “She has discovered some eligible gentleman that I have not already met or whom I have not already turned down. Ever since my father decided that I should remain for the Season, she has become eager to see me betrothed and off of her hands. I think that it is only Prince Kirov who is still denied the house!”
“Yes, it has had me in quite a pucker,” said Mrs. Tyler worriedly. “I have felt very guilty to be thinking of myself so much. Perhaps I should not have accepted Jeremy’s proposal so soon.”
Megan hugged her. “You are not to start thinking like that, Gwyneth. I should be made very unhappy if I thought I was the cause of delaying your happiness. I have told you, wed dear Mr. Bretton at once. My muddled affairs shall not be any less tangled regardless of your presence.”
“I suppose that it is true,” said Mrs. Tyler hesitantly.
“I know that it is! Now pray do not give it another thought. You must finish planning your trousseau. The wedding is only a few weeks away,” said Megan.
A soft flush mounted in Mrs. Tyler’s face and a glad light sprang into her eyes. “Oh, my! So it is. And I am not nearly ready. Megan, I do not know how it is, but I seem to have become the most shatterbrained creature alive. I keep forgetting the oddest things!”
“That is what comes of daydreaming constantly about your handsome betrothed,” said Megan.
Mrs. Tyler flushed bright with embarrassment. “Really, Megan! As though I am some giddy young girl!” She got up from the chair and s
moothed her skirt with a distracted air. “I shall go along to my own room now and let Simpkins help you finish getting dressed for the evening.”
“Will you be going with us to the soiree and the theater?” asked Megan.
Mrs. Tyler shook her head. She started to smile again. “Not this evening, my dear. I have had a note from Jeremy, you see, and—”
“And he will be dining with you here again,” finished Megan. “How perfectly lovely for you, Gwyneth. But how scandalous, too! Perhaps I should stay at home and play chaperone.”
“I’ll not listen to any more of your teasing,” said Mrs. Tyler as she went to the door.
Megan laughed as her companion exited. “Well, Simpkins, that is a truly happy romance. I am very glad of it.”
“Yes, miss. One naturally wishes Mrs. Tyler all the best,” said the dresser. “Now, miss, if you please! We do not wish to keep her ladyship waiting.”
“Oh, very well! I suppose that I must comply with her ladyship’s wishes. I wonder whom she hopes to snare for me?” said Megan, sitting down at the dressing table.
“I could not say, miss,” said the dresser, taking up a hairbrush.
Megan was ready to accompany Lady O’Connell a quarter hour before they were to leave. Her mother was in an affable mood, which continued until halfway through the soiree. Lady O’Connell scanned the company every few minutes, obviously in hope of catching sight of a certain personage. When they left the soiree and went to the theater with their party, Lady O’Connell spent most of the performance looking out of her box at her fellow theatergoers rather than turning her attention to the stage.
Megan knew that whomever it was that Lady O’Connell had been hoping to see all evening had never materialized when her ladyship complained on the drive home that she had had a perfectly horrid time. “I am sorry for it, Mother. Perhaps you will feel more the thing tomorrow,” she said soothingly.
“There is only one thing that will make me feel better,” declared Lady O’Connell, stepping out of the carriage with the help of one of her footmen. “And that is to see you properly betrothed!”
Megan sighed and followed her mother up the steps into the town house. She, too, had had a rather insipid evening. Indeed, the entire week had dragged past. Wherever she went, she was constantly hoping to catch a glimpse of Prince Kirov’s tall handsome figure, perhaps even to be allowed to exchange a few words with him. But only a few scant times had the opportunity risen and such polite stilted phrases had passed between them that Megan was left hollow afterward.
Upon wishing her mother good night, Megan went upstairs to her bedroom. She allowed Simpkins to undress her and ready her for bed. However, when she was laid down and the candle was blown out, she did not go to sleep. Her unhappy state preoccupied her thoughts to the exclusion of all else. For the thousandth time, Megan wondered if there was any way to restore a relationship with Prince Kirov. But the melancholy truth was that, short of throwing herself into his arms, in complete defiance of her parents, she could do nothing.
And perhaps Prince Kirov no longer wished to further his suit for her hand, besides, she thought despondently. It would not be surprising if that was so, for what proud gentleman would swallow such blatant rejection as had been handed out by the O’Connells? Certainly not one so proud as Prince Kirov. Unless his heart was truly engaged, whispered her practical mind. Megan found no solace in that thought.
* * *
Chapter 22
Megan’s depression did not lessen over the next few days. She still attended routs and balls, but the previous pleasure that she had taken in them had disappeared. More than once, a friend or acquaintance inquired solicitously whether she was feeling unwell. Megan denied it, claiming that she was merely feeling the effects of the unseasonal heat. This was accepted without question, for it was an exceptionally warm spring.
It was difficult for Megan to attend the wedding of her friend to Mr. Bretton, but not for the world would she have wanted dear Gwyneth to guess how miserable she felt at watching such a happy ending and know that she would not experience one of her own. So she smiled and laughed and in general gave all the appearance of being absolutely delighted by the entire affair.
The pain in her heart was certainly not soothed when announcements appeared in the Gazette of the betrothals of Miss Stallcroft to Lord Haven; of Miss Phoebe Stallcroft to Captain Colin O’Connell; and of Miss Bancroft to Lord Henry Dorsey. It seemed as though all about her everyone was deliriously happy and was embarking on matrimony. Megan began to toy with the notion of taking the veil or of exiling herself to some tiny cottage hidden away in the hinterlands. Or perhaps she would just go home to Ireland.
Megan finally realized that these depressing thoughts were coming into her head with more frequency than they should, and were being dwelled upon. She had always loathed self-pity and it was a shock to discover that she could actually be subject to it. She gave a hiccup of laughter. “What a stupidly morose female I have become!” And she went off to put on her riding habit, for generally a good hard ride would clear the cobwebs from her mind.
It was during one of these rides, solitary except for the groom who always followed her, that Megan made up her mind to forget might-have-beens. She had told her father that she was confident of achieving a respectable match that Season. Very well! She would do so. There were several gentlemen who were still expressing interest in her. She would choose from among them the most eligible and acceptable one and settle comfortably into a new position.
It was not to be thought that her decision lifted the pall of gray that seemed to have been cast over her, but Megan refused to allow that consideration to alter her determination. She had known that Prince Kirov was unattainable. She had always known that. The prince’s gold signet ring was still in her possession. Megan supposed that one day she would show it to her daughters as the keepsake from a long-ago romance. How perfectly insipid it would all be!
When Megan entered the town house, she was met with the intelligence that a visitor awaited her pleasure. Megan frowned as she gave her whip to the footman and peeled off her gloves. “Who is it, pray?”
“That I could not say, miss, me not being on duty when the gentleman arrived,” said the footman apologetically. He gave a cough. “I apprehend that the gentleman is something of a friend of the family, miss. Her ladyship is with him now in the sitting room.”
At that moment, Lady O’Connell emerged from the sitting room. “I thought that I heard your voice, my dear,” she said. “Come in! There is someone here that I feel sure you will be delighted to see.”
“But I am in all my dirt. Mother,” began Megan, gesturing down at her riding habit.
“It does not signify in the least. Do come along, Megan!”
Mystified, Megan walked past her mother into the sitting room. She stopped, her eyes becoming at once fixed upon the large gentleman standing at the window. The door was closed quietly behind her, leaving her alone with the visitor.
The gentleman turned. His expression was somber.
“Prince Kirov!” Megan advanced a few faltering steps to grasp the gilded back of a chair. Her thoughts were thrown into a whirl. What did it mean that her mother had so smilingly granted her this interview with Prince Kirov? Her heart thumped with a wild, impossible hope.
“Megan.” Prince Kirov walked over to her and raised her hand to his lips, bowing gracefully. He straightened and looked down at her with a faint smile. His ice-blue eyes were curiously softened. “You are always beautiful.”
Megan colored fierily. She did not understand how it was that the same compliment if uttered by any other man could never bring her to the blush. She laid her palms against her hot cheeks. “Oh! You should not say such things. You know that you should not.”
“I tell you what is in my heart, Megan,” said Prince Kirov quietly.
Megan could scarcely bear it. She had not seen him for a fortnight and now, when she had all but given up h
ope of ever seeing him again except in social settings where they must meet as strangers, he appeared. And with wonderful, painful words that pierced her very being. “Why have you come? Why has my mother allowed me to see you?”
“Her ladyship did not tell you?” asked Prince Kirov, not greatly astonished.
Megan shook her head. “She has said nothing to me.” For the first time she noticed that he was dressed for travel. His greatcoat was buttoned back and underneath it he was attired in a serviceable coat, buckskins, and boots. Driving gloves were stuffed in his pocket. She raised her eyes to his face, her expression stricken. “Are you leaving London?”
“Yes, I am leaving for Dover as soon as I have taken my leave of you,” said Prince Kirov.
Megan felt suddenly stifled with despair. He had come to say good-bye, then. That was why her mother had allowed her to see him alone. “I—I hope that you have a pleasant journey, your highness.” She could scarcely look up at him, afraid that he would see the tears that threatened her. She was crying out silent denial inside. Surely he was not leaving forever. Surely he was not! “Shall you be gone from London long?”
“For a short time only. I am going to Calais to oversee for myself the safe transport of a Kabardian trotter,” said Prince Kirov gravely.
“A Kabardian trotter?” Megan looked up at him quickly, searchingly. She shook her head, confused. “I do not understand.”
“I have lately been in Paris. I have purchased the mare from a cousin who is presently sojourning there. He never travels without some of his own horses. He was persuaded to part with the mare and has sent her to Calais so that I can take possession,” said Prince Kirov. He cleared his throat. “I have been in close correspondence with your father. I am giving the Kabardian trotter to Lord O’Connell as a bride-price.”
Megan’s eyes widened. “As a what?” she asked faintly.