by Raye Morgan
“I’ll book a flight right away,” she said.
“Have you spoken to your parents?” Emma asked.
“What parents?” Louise said coolly. “I have heard from the adoption registry. They think they may have a lead. That’s very fast, don’t you think? After all these years.”
A little too fast for Emma. She was hoping for a major reconciliation between her cousin and her cousin’s parents before the other information came through.
Louise called back an hour later, giving her time of arrival the next day on Emma’s voice mail. Meanwhile, Emma was torturing herself with indecision. She had a meeting at three with Todd to go over final plans for the coronation meal that would be distributed to the townsfolk from grills set up all over the city. But how could she keep her mind on that when all she could think about was the duchess and her cornberry wine?
She really ought to go ahead and tell Sebastian so that he could begin to try to sort it out himself. If it were true, then he needed to know that there wasn’t some murderer skulking about, ready to strike again—that there was just a dear, sweet old lady who only meant well.
“Enough!” she finally told herself. “It’s got to be done. Just do it.”
Throwing off her apron, she set off to find Sebastian. She searched the pool area, the libraries, the drawing rooms and parlors without success. Agatha thought he might be out at the airport with Pacio and some of the others who had a new microlight airplane they were testing out, but when she found a couple of footmen they had no idea where he was. Unfortunately, Romas overheard her asking one of them.
“Looking for the prince?” he asked, his insinuating smile just barely tolerable. “Maybe I can help you.”
“Uh, no, thanks all the same. I really have to talk to him about something. I’ll try to catch him later,” she added, hoping to turn and get out of Romas’ space.
But he blocked her way. “We should really get to know each other,” he said, his tone suggestive. “Would you like to go for a ride? There are some great forests just north of here where the trees are already turning. Wonderful scenery. I’d love to take you out to see it.”
The prospect horrified her. “Thanks, but I’m actually supposed to be working right now. I just wanted to tell Seb…the prince something. But it will keep.” She gave him a bright smile. “I have to get going.”
He leaned against the wall, effectively caging her in. “Not yet. We’ve barely begun.”
“Please…”
His smile was annoyingly insinuating. “Emma, you look quite appealing when you get that worried look between your brows.”
She could tell he wasn’t about to move to let her pass, so she reached out to give him a push with the flat of her hand. Catching hold of her wrist, he pulled her up hard against his chest.
“I’ve seen you with the prince, you know. There’s no future for you there. But I can show you a good time. Just give me a chance to prove it to you.”
“Let me go.” She was angry now, and showing it.
“One kiss, then I’ll let you go.”
“No!”
“Come on, Emma. You are so hot…”
He didn’t get the rest of his sentence out. Suddenly he was flailing, then choking as Sebastian had him by the neck up against the wall. Emma gasped and rubbed her wrist.
“You’re asking for a well-earned lesson, Cousin,” Sebastian was saying, his voice like gravel. “I’m afraid the time for it has almost come.”
Romas choked until Sebastian released him, then he turned, furious, and strode off without a backward glance.
Sebastian looked at Emma. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “He really didn’t do anything, just—”
“Just acted like an idiot, as usual.”
She nodded. He touched her cheek.
“Hi,” he said, his eyes luminous.
“Hi,” she said back, melting.
“I heard you were looking for me.”
“Oh. Yes.” She remembered what she had to tell him and a lot of the joy went out of the moment. “Oh, that’s right. Can we go somewhere a little more private?”
“Sure.” He led her into a sitting room and closed the door.
She turned to look at him. He’d evidently just come in from a business meeting of some sort as he was wearing a silk suit that fitted him like a glove. He’d unbuttoned his collar and pulled his tie loose and to one side, giving him a casual, devil-may-care look, and she thought she’d never seen a more attractive man.
“Sebastian, did your father have allergies?” she asked, getting right to the point.
“Allergies?” He frowned, thinking for a moment. “Not that I remember. Why?”
“Because…I think you ought to ask the specialist in Zurich to test for whatever it is in cornberries that makes people react.”
“Cornberries?” He was looking skeptical. “I know some people do have reactions to cornberries, but I don’t think you can die from it.”
She shook her head. “I think you ought to research that. Find out for sure.”
He searched her eyes. “Emma, this isn’t just a guess on your part. It’s coming from something specific, isn’t it? What is it?”
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and told him about her midnight visit with his aunt and what she’d told her.
“That can’t be it,” he said, frowning. “Can it?”
“I hope not. I know the duchess wouldn’t have dreamed of giving your father anything that would harm him. But I think you’d better investigate.”
He drummed his fingers on the back of a chair for a moment, thinking. “It does fit the time frame.” He looked at her again. “Oh, my God, Emma. What if it’s true?” His gaze was haunted. “My poor father. My poor aunt.”
She nodded sadly, her eyes stinging. She was sorry to lay this on him, but it was best that he know.
He hesitated, looking at her. “You know, it’s interesting what she told you about my father being so affected by my mother’s death. I never knew that. I’m glad you told me.”
She wanted to take his hand in hers but she held back the impulse. “I’d better get back,” she said. “We’re pretty busy preparing for the ball tomorrow.”
“Ah, yes.” He grimaced. “One more ordeal of that sort to get through.”
“An ordeal?” she echoed, half chuckling. “I’m sure it pains you to have all those beautiful women throwing themselves at you. Poor baby.”
Listening to her cynical tone, he grinned.
“Well, I’ll admit it’s not quite pistols at forty paces, but I can think of better ways to spend my evening.”
She shrugged. “Then you should go ahead and pick one of them as your future wife. The others will have to stop bothering you like this.”
He grimaced. “You know, the great thing about this ball situation is that I don’t have to go into it worrying about whether or not the woman I choose loves me for myself or for my position. It’s obvious. If she’s here, she’s a ‘position’ gal. I don’t have to agonize, I know exactly where she stands.”
Emma nodded. “There is that, I suppose,” she allowed, wondering why they were still on this subject. It wasn’t exactly a favorite of hers. “Where do they get these women, anyway? Duchess Trudy said that they aren’t all royal.”
“They may not be royal themselves, but they all have ties to the ruling fraternity—European royalty or the American governing class or South American ex-dictators. The field I’m supposed to choose from is not as wide open as it might seem.”
“But the women are all beautiful.”
He considered, raising one eyebrow. “Well, at least semi-beautiful,” he corrected. “And definitely wealthy. Believe me, our minister of finance has been over the financial backgrounds of every one of these women. If a woman can bring a little money into the bargain, so much the better.”
“Good luck, then,” she said, turning abruptly. She’d had all she could take of thinking about Sebastia
n marrying one of the rich lovelies.
Well, there you go, Emma thought to herself a few minutes later as she hurried back to the kitchen. Beauty and money. That’s what they want. And I don’t have either one.
Luckily there was a lot of work to do and she wasn’t going to have time to obsess about Sebastian and his many eager women. But at least she’d given him a new lead in the poisoning mystery. It was probably best to lay that to rest, even if it did mean implicating Duchess Trudy.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LOUISE arrived bright and early the next morning. Emma went down to help her with bags and show her to her room.
“I know you’re going to enjoy it here,” she said.
“Oh, yes, I’m sure of it. It’s beautiful. And, anyway, I have plans.”
“Plans?” Emma wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that.
“Yes. And I’ve already contacted Agatha. She’s been a big help.”
Emma stopped in the middle of the corridor and stared at her.
“What? How did you already meet Agatha? You just got here.”
Louise waved a hand in the air. “You know me; I have contacts everywhere. I know someone who went to school with Agatha and I asked her to introduce us. We’ve been corresponding by e-mail for days now.”
“How many days?” Emma asked suspiciously.
“Well, two. But we’re in accord about you.”
“About me?” she cried in dismay. There was nothing worse than knowing friends were discussing you among themselves.
“Yes.” Louise gave her an impish smile. “We’re going to work on giving you a makeover.”
Emma glared at her cousin. “I don’t wear makeup.”
“Emma Valentine, it’s about time you did.”
Louise was a very persuasive person. Emma knew, one way or another, she was going to end up in makeup. And she knew she was going to hate it.
It was even worse later that afternoon when she took a break from counting out silverware in preparation for the dinner before that evening’s ball, and went up to see if Louise needed anything. What she found was what looked like a rummage sale going on in her room. Louise and Agatha had gotten very chummy very quickly. It turned out the threatened makeover was the cause of their bonding.
“We’re going through your clothes,” Louise told a horrified Emma. “This is a What Not to Wear moment. We’re trying to figure out what your style should be. You’ve never really settled on one, you know.”
“Sure I have,” Emma said defensively. “Tomboy Retro, I call it. Fits me to a t.”
Agatha frowned, looking at her speculatively. “You may call it Tomboy Retro,” she said. “I’d call it sexually neutral ambiguity.”
“Or aggressively ambivalent teenager,” Louise offered up.
Emma looked at them both in exasperation. “Do you know how annoying it is to have people tell you how to dress?”
Louise shrugged. “You know what they say—you’ve got to break a few eggs to make an omelet.”
Agatha nodded her agreement. “Great advances in civilization only happen through trial and error. And a lot of strife.”
“We’ve got a great idea,” Louise said happily. “Let’s do the makeover tonight.”
Emma winced. “Why tonight?”
“Why not? It’s the perfect time. You said Chef Henri was handling the buffet dinner for the ball. You’ll have nothing to do once the dinner has been served and the dancing begins. There are three women not invited to the ball—you, me, and Agatha. Let’s have a party of our own.”
“And I’m supposed to be the entertainment?”
“Who better?”
Agatha grinned. “We’re going to dress you up like a Barbie doll.”
“Oh,” Emma cried, appalled. “How wonderful.”
“You wait. It’ll be fun.”
Emma tried to look fierce, but they were acting so silly, she was actually having a hard time not laughing. “You two are full of it, you know.”
“Come on. This is so much fun.”
“Okay. You just go on having fun.” She stuck her nose in the air in mock superiority. “I’ve got more important things to do.”
Important things like beating egg whites to stiff peaks and working on the perfect veal reduction. But they were exactly the things that she loved doing, so she was actually in her element, even if she was missing all the brutal opinions on her dressing habits going on up in her room.
Sebastian came into the kitchen to talk to Chef Henri just before the guests were to begin arriving. She had to admit, he looked even better in his white royal uniform with its gold braid and epaulettes than he had in the Italian suit. He was, in fact, to die for, and she had a hard time catching her breath again after he gave her a wink.
He did like her. She couldn’t deny that. And that knowledge warmed her for a while. But once the beautiful women in their fabulous ball gowns began arriving, her mood darkened. She was jealous. No point trying to hide it.
The local newspaper had a spread giving odds on various women and how they seemed to be doing in the competition for Sebastian’s hand in marriage.
“As if they know anything at all,” Aunt Trudy had said. “They make this claptrap up out of thin air.”
“They make most of what they write about up out of thin air,” Agatha agreed. She was down in the kitchen on one of her regularly timed expeditions for snacks. “Haven’t you ever noticed that they are wrong more than they’re right?”
Emma just shook her head. How could these people stand it, being written about this way, day in and day out? She was so glad she was never going to have to deal with that again once she left Meridia.
“Pay it no mind,” Aunt Trudy said.
But how could she not? The kitchen staff was giggling over it all afternoon, until Emma thought she would go mad. She’d even taken a look at the article herself, and, she had to admit, the women the newspapers had featured were accomplished, exciting women. Damn them all!
She was making a last-minute inspection of the table settings when she overheard a pair of them waiting to go down the reception line.
“And as to who is going to end up as Queen of Meridia, well, I’ve been told I’m definitely a front-runner,” a flaming-haired temptress in a skintight gown that showed off her voluptuous figure was saying.
“How so?” responded her friend.
“Supposedly the prince likes me best. Haven’t you noticed how he looks at me?”
The friend bristled. “Oh, sure. And you can see that he’s thinking, How did she manage to squeeze that big old body into that little bitty dress?”
“Oh, very funny, Renee. He told me I could have the first dance with him tonight.”
“We’ll see who gets the last dance,” Renee retorted. “That will tell the tale.”
They wandered off and Emma sighed. If Sebastian picked one of those women…But what did it matter? It was none of her concern.
The next hour or so went quickly. The kitchen was busy tonight. And then, she could hear the musicians tuning up in the ballroom, and she excused herself. She couldn’t bear to stay in the kitchen, hearing the music and knowing Sebastian was dancing with one woman after another, holding each in his arms in a way he would never hold her.
Still, she returned to her room with a sort of dread not knowing what Agatha and Louise had been cooking up while she was gone. At least being with them would give her something else to think about.
Opening the door, she was surprised to find everything neat and orderly again. Her two friends sat on her bed just finishing up their dinners, which they had taken on trays.
“You’re here already?” Louise cried. “Oh, great. We’ll get right to it.”
“Do we have to?” she said, groaning.
“Yes, we have to. You don’t get offers like this every day, Emma. You’re lucky.”
“Come on,” Agatha chimed in. “This is going to be fun.”
And it was.
Despite everythi
ng, she had to admit it. She washed her hair and Agatha got busy giving her a trim and blow-drying it, while Louise began work on her makeup, explaining all about foundations and highlighting and all sorts of things Emma had never paid any attention to before.
“As a card-carrying member of twenty-first century womanhood, you’re supposed to know these things,” Louise chided.
She listened intently. She would learn about this the same way she learned about everything. But that didn’t mean she’d ever use the knowledge.
The makeup took almost two hours. Not that Louise was working on it the whole time. They spent most of their time talking and joking and taking snack breaks now and then. Agatha gave her a manicure and she marveled at how pretty her hands looked with the shiny pink polish.
As for the makeup—she wasn’t allowed to look in a mirror, so she had no idea how that was going.
Finally, Louise and Agatha glanced at each other and nodded.
“Okay,” Louise said. “Take a look.”
Emma got up gingerly. Her face felt strange and she was afraid to smile for fear of cracking something. Creeping up to her mirror, she closed her eyes until she was in front of it, then opened them again.
“Oh, no!” she cried, her eyes tragic. “Oh, it’s horrible.”
“No, no!” Louise said. “You’re just not used to it.”
“I look like a clown.” Emma grabbed a damp towel and began rubbing her face vigorously, while the two others shrieked and ran to stop her. They were too late. She’d wiped her face clean, destroying two hours of work.
“I would die before I would go in public like that,” she said firmly. “Face it, ladies. I’m just not the type for makeup.”
“Oh.” Louise looked crushed.
But Agatha had a thought. “You know, she’s right,” she said, her head to the side as she looked at Emma. “She’s not really the type for heavy makeup. But I’ll bet something that just hints at it would do very well on her. You ought to try something with a bit more subtlety.”
“Good idea,” Louise said, watching Emma’s reaction anxiously. “I’ll do it again, only much better. Please, Emma,” she added as Emma shook her head. “This time, I promise, you’re going to like it.”