“Very well, then. That would be appreciated, Lady Dunwell.” He nodded. “Lord Dunwell.” With that, he turned and headed toward the library.
Camille breathed a sigh of relief.
“I gather that was Pruzinsky?” Lionel said.
She nodded.
“Handsome chap, I’ll give him that. However, I do have some information—”
Before he could get the words out, Beryl kissed him, and quite thoroughly too. And Lionel kissed her back. The man wasn’t nearly as stuffy as one might think.
Beryl pulled away at last. “How did you know it was me and not Camille? Even people who know us well still get confused. And the light is rather dim here near the tree. Yet you recognized me from across the length of the gallery.”
“My dear, darling wife.” He wrapped his arms tighter around her and stared into her eyes. “I know the way you stand, the way you hold your head, the faint difference in the sound of your voices, which may be apparent only to me. I daresay, if there were a dozen of you all exactly alike, I should still know which one was you, and you alone.” He smiled. “I think I know in my heart, and I always will.”
“Oh, my.” Beryl stared up at her husband and sighed. Camille sighed as well. “I am a lucky woman.”
“And I am a lucky man.” Lionel kissed the tip of her nose. “Shall we join the rest of the, um, cast? I am dying to know how Camille’s farce is progressing.”
“Oh, darling, I think that would be a dreadful idea. Things have not gone exactly as planned.”
He chuckled. “That is not unexpected.”
“Besides, I have missed you entirely too much to share you.” She brushed her lips across his. “I think retiring for the night is a much, much better idea.”
“And who am I to argue with my wife on Christmas Eve?”
Beryl took his hand and started toward the stairs. She called back over her shoulder, “Good evening, Camille.”
“Good evening, Beryl,” Camille called back, and grinned. “And thank you.”
Beryl’s laughter, accompanied by her husband’s, trailed through the halls behind them.
Camille smiled. It was good to see her sister so happy. Who would ever have imagined Lord and Lady Dunwell, whose amorous adventures had once been the lifeblood of London gossips, would have found happiness in each other’s arms? True love. Who would have thought?
Now, she squared her shoulders, to find it for herself.
“Mr. Elliott.” Pruzinsky or rather Dunstan’s eyes widened at the sight of Gray. “My apologies.” He looked around the library. “I was to meet Lady Lydingham in here.”
Gray perched on the edge of the desk, arms folded across his chest. He’d told Beryl earlier in the evening what he had learned and she’d offered to send Pruzinsky to the library when he was ready. “She’s not here, but please come in.”
“I really do need to speak to her, so if you will excuse me—”
“And I really do need to speak to you, Count.” Gray paused for appropriate dramatic effect. “Or should I say, Mr. Dunstan?”
Dunstan’s eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”
“Come in, Dunstan, and close the doors.”
Dunstan hesitated.
“Or we could do this in front of everyone else, although in that case there will be no choice but to notify the authorities and have you arrested. Still, that would create a nasty scandal, which I would much prefer to avoid.” Gray shrugged. “The choice, however, is entirely yours to make.”
“Very well.” At once, the man’s accent vanished. He closed the doors behind him.
Gray indicated the chair in front of him. “Sit down.”
The actor hesitated, then sat down. “How did you know?”
“The Kingdom of Greater Avalonia has not existed for more than half a century now.”
Dunstan grimaced. “I didn’t realize that until after I had chosen it. Then I had hoped it was too obscure to be noticed.” He thought for a moment. “Even so, I could still be the prince.”
“The real Prince Nikolai Pruzinsky is in his eighties.”
Dunstan shrugged. “I could be a descendent.”
“But you’re not.” Gray shook his head. “A legitimate prince, even one traveling incognito, would never travel alone.”
“Never?”
“Never,” Gray said firmly.
“I see,” Dunstan said thoughtfully, as if taking mental notes.
“And all that smiling and nodding . . .” Gray shook his head.
“I thought that was most effective.” A smug note sounded in Dunstan’s voice. “Indeed, I thought it was quite clever. The more I pretended not to understand, the less I was expected to answer.”
“I will admit, the accent was a nice touch. Definitely Eastern European, but vague enough as to be unidentifiable.”
“Thank you,” Dunstan said modestly. “I do accents very well.” He nodded hopefully in the direction of the liquor cabinet. “It’s been a long night. Would you mind?”
“Yes,” Gray snapped. “This is not brandy and cigars in the library with the gentlemen after dinner. Indeed, I am hard-pressed not to thrash you to within an inch of your life.”
Dunstan smiled in a smug manner. “You’re a gentleman, sir. You wouldn’t do that.”
“I’m half American, Dunstan.” He smiled coldly. “You would be surprised at what I would do.”
Dunstan paled, but attempted a brave front, nonetheless. “Still, you have no real proof of anything, do you? It’s really my word against yours, isn’t it?”
“You’re right.” Gray shrugged. “Aside, of course, from the playbill with your name on it, the photograph of you and the photographer’s sworn statement as to your identity.”
“Is that all?” Dunstan scoffed, but there was a distinct look of unease in his eyes. And Gray knew—the same way he knew when he had clinched a difficult business deal—that he had him.
Gray raised a brow. “Do I need more?”
“I suppose not.” He shifted in his chair.
“But I am curious, Dunstan. What, exactly, was your plan here?”
“Does it matter?”
“Perhaps not, but indulge me.” Gray studied the other man closely. “I think you planned to marry Lady Lydingham, gain control of her fortune and be called home to your country. Perhaps a monetary crisis or something along those lines.”
“A monetary crisis?” Dunstan’s eyes widened thoughtfully. “I hadn’t thought of that. That’s very good.”
Gray ignored him. “And you would then vanish forever.” He narrowed his gaze. “Leaving her alone and penniless.”
Dunstan squirmed in his seat. “It sounds so bad when you say it that way.”
“I’d say it’s bad enough to put you behind bars for the rest of your life.”
“But that’s not going to happen, is it?” A sly look crossed the actor’s face. “I know things, Mr. Elliott. All is not as it appears here at Millworth Manor.”
“Oh?” Gray was afraid of that. In spite of the flaws in Dunstan’s plan, a man clever enough to come up with it, plus one who truly did understand English, would certainly have noticed a few discrepancies among the company gathered for Christmas.
“I am not the only one who is not who he says he is.” He narrowed his eyes and studied Gray. “I have no idea who you really are, but I’m fairly certain you are not a cousin. Nor are those two ladies who arrived the other day your mother and sister. I have my doubts about the delectable Delilah as well.”
“I see.” Gray smiled slowly. Dunstan didn’t know everything, but he did know enough to make him dangerous to Camille’s future. “Before we go any further, you should know I am a man of business. I am well used to making deals of one sort or another. And I am prepared to deal with you tonight.”
“You are?” Suspicion sounded in Dunstan’s voice.
“I am indeed.” He picked up a large envelope from the desk. “I am prepared to offer you one hundred pounds to leave this house b
y morning without saying so much as a single word to Lady Lydingham. I have also included a one-way passage to America.”
“I don’t want to go to America.”
“It’s the land of opportunity, Dunstan. Opportunity you will find sadly lacking, should you stay in England. Furthermore”—he pinned the actor with a cold look—“what has happened here at Millworth Manor stays here. If I should hear the faintest whisper about what has occurred in this house during your visit, make no mistake, regardless of how many oceans there may be between us, I will hunt you down. Believe me, Dunstan, I have the resources to do so. And when I am through with you”—his voice hardened—“then I shall turn whatever is left of you over to the authorities.”
Dunstan stared at him. “Surely, you can do better than a hundred pounds.”
“Mr. Dunstan.” Gray shook his head in a mournful manner. “I’m afraid you misunderstand. This is not a negotiation. This is a one time offer. You may accept it and leave by morning, or . . .” He shrugged. “I will send for the local authorities.”
Dunstan frowned. “But it’s Christmas Eve.”
“Which, I imagine, would put them in a relatively foul mood.” He smiled and held out the envelope. “However, it is your choice.”
“Not much of a choice, really.” Dunstan rose to his feet and took the envelope. He opened it, flipped through the five-pound notes and glanced at the ticket. “First-class?”
Gray shrugged.
“Not at all bad for a few weeks’ work.” He cast Gray an unrepentant grin. “And it has been a grand stay here.”
“I’m so glad you enjoyed yourself,” Gray said in a wry manner. “I assume we will never see you again.”
“I think that would be best.” Dunstan sauntered to the door, then glanced back at Gray. “It was a pleasure, Mr. Elliott. Oh, and Merry Christmas.” He grinned and took his leave.
Gray blew a relieved breath. He had been fairly confident Dunstan would be easy to get rid of. His type was not usually dangerous. Still, one never knew.
Now that he had resolved one matter, it was past time to resolve another.
Camille returned to the parlor to see if Grayson was there. The man certainly wasn’t making this easy for her. He still hadn’t returned, and she had no idea where she might find him. She paused for a few minutes to watch her mother dance with Uncle Basil. They talked as they danced in a manner far more earnest than befit either the music or the evening. It seemed to her once again that there was something decidedly different about her uncle and now, as well, about the way her mother spoke to him. It wasn’t anything Camille could point to specifically, more a feeling than anything else that all was not as it appeared.
“Darling,” Mother said as soon as the music stopped, “it seems our numbers have dwindled substantially. So we are going to retire as well.”
“Good evening, Camille,” Uncle Basil said with an odd, poignant smile, as if there was more he wanted to say.
Only Mrs. Montgomery-Wells and Mr. Henderson remained in the parlor. Mother said a few words to them and they, too, headed for their rooms. Grayson had obviously already retired for the night as well. There was nothing to be done about it then. Tonight she would have to pound on his door. She couldn’t recall ever having been both afraid and determined before but she was now.
“Beryl!”
Camille stopped short near the Christmas tree. Grayson appeared from the shadows at the end of the gallery, obviously thinking Camille was her twin. She should, of course, correct him immediately. Still . . . she adopted her sister’s slightly lower tone. “Yes?”
“It went exactly as I expected,” Grayson said briskly. “He will be gone by morning.”
She nodded. Who?
“With any luck at all, we shall never see him again.” He paused. “I don’t think it’s necessary to tell Camille her prince was an imposter intent upon her money.”
Camille stifled a gasp.
“After all, what good would it do to tell her the truth? It would serve no purpose except to make her feel like a fool.”
“She does hate to have her mistakes pointed out to her,” Camille murmured.
“Believe me, I am aware of that.”
So her prince wasn’t a prince, after all. She should have been furious; but, in truth, it was as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Even better, Grayson had gotten rid of the man for her.
“Then we are agreed?”
“Absolutely.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“I have no idea.” She shook her head. “The library, perhaps?”
“She wasn’t there a few minutes ago, but I’ll check. If not, I’ll see her in the morning, I suppose.”
“She said something about a dreadful headache, so she has probably gone to bed. I wouldn’t bother her tonight. This has all been most stressful on her, you know.”
“I know, and I’m afraid I haven’t helped.” He shook his head. “I know this will come as no surprise to you, but I’ve been an idiot.”
“Oh?” Her heart thudded in her chest.
“We had a stupid argument last night and I failed to tell her, well, all sorts of things I should have.”
“You failed to tell her you love her?” She held her breath.
“Again.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I thought I would have had all this settled by now, but I still have arrangements to make. I suppose this will have to wait until morning.”
She wanted to grin like a madwoman. “It will be a lovely gift then. She is usually most forgiving on Christmas.”
“Why are you being so nice?” Suspicion sounded in his voice.
“It’s Christmas Eve.”
“Yes, of course.” He paused. “Well, then, Merry Christmas, Beryl.”
She smiled. “Merry Christmas, Grayson.”
He nodded and headed toward the library.
She started toward her room as if she were walking on air. He loved her. He wasn’t going anywhere. And he had indeed rescued her, even if she hadn’t known she needed rescuing.
She would wait until the morning and then she’d give him the best gift a woman could give a man.
She’d tell him he was right.
December 25th
Twenty-four
Camille bolted upright in bed and stared at the clock on the night table beside her bed. Good Lord, it was afternoon! She hadn’t slept this late all week. Of course she hadn’t slept this soundly either. But she’d been exhausted, and knowing she no longer had to be concerned about Nikolai, or whoever he was—well, this was the best she had slept since coming to the manor.
Still, it was Christmas Day and she didn’t want to waste a minute of it with the man she had waited eleven years for. She had already missed Christmas services. She scrambled out of bed and hurriedly dressed. She had told her maid not to worry about her this morning, as it was Christmas. Within a few minutes, she was dressed and headed downstairs.
“Fortesque.” She spotted the actor as soon as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “Where is everyone?”
“Count Pruzinsky left early this morning.”
She shrugged. “Oh, well, that’s that, then.”
He stared at her as if she had lost her mind. “And Mr. Elliott left shortly thereafter.”
“What?” Her knees buckled and she grabbed the newel post to keep from falling. “Are you sure?”
Fortesque hurried to her side to assist her. “Are you all right?”
“No.” It was as if the air had been pushed out of her lungs and her heart ripped to shreds.
He helped her to a chair. “He said something about his aunt.”
She barely heard him. She was wrong, and once again Grayson had left her.
“Should I find someone to help?”
“No, I’m fine.” She wasn’t at all fine but she would be. “Please find my maid and have her pack my bags at once. I’ll be leaving as well.”
He stared at her. “He came back. Mr. Elli
ott, that is, not the prince. I don’t mind telling you, Lady Lydingham, there was something about that man that did not sit well with me. The prince, that is, not Mr. Elliott.”
She stared at him. “He came back?”
“I quite like Mr. Elliott. I should tell you he has offered my wife and me a position.”
Laughter, equal parts hysteria and relief, bubbled up inside her. “Did he now?”
“It was most generous.”
“I’m certain it was.” She grinned. “Whatever Mr. Elliott has offered you, I will offer you more. We will discuss it later. But he is back?”
The actor nodded. “He’s somewhere in the house. Your mother, uncle and Lord and Lady Dunwell are in the dining room. They asked that you be directed there when you came down. Mrs. Fortesque has prepared a late breakfast or rather early luncheon.” He paused. “Your mother sent the others on a walk.”
“I really should find Mr. Elliott.”
“Your mother was quite insistent,” he said firmly.
“Very well, then.”
Grayson could wait, but not for long. She started toward the dining room and pulled up short the moment she entered the room. Her mother, uncle and Beryl sat at the table; Lionel stood near his wife, his hand rested on her shoulder. Everyone looked entirely too grim for Christmas Day.
“Whatever is the matter?”
“We have something to tell you,” Mother said, and looked at Uncle Basil. “It’s about your father.”
Uncle Basil rose to his feet. “Camille.”
She stared at him for a moment. “Of course I should have known.”
“Known what?” Mother said.
“I wondered if we would ever see you again.” She met her father’s gaze directly. “It’s good to have you home.”
“Is it?” The question lingered in his eyes.
“We have missed you.” The moment she said the words, she realized they were true.
Beryl’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”
“Oh, I’ve known since I was twelve or thirteen, I think. I heard Mother and Uncle Basil arguing about it. And I’ve heard that argument continue through the years.”
Mother studied her. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
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