“Uh-uh, watch your steps,” he said. “People are looking.”
She told herself that his playful smile was a compliment, but his eyes smoldered as he gazed down at her, and he didn’t relax his hold. They were dancing too close. It felt all wrong.
“So, do you live at the governor’s house?” he asked.
“Oh no, sir. Your Highness. My father’s farm is not far from town.”
She leaned back, resisting the pressure of his hand on her back. He only kept smiling and murmured, “You are lovely, you know. Much too lovely to be working as hard as you do.”
“Thank you, but it was necessary.”
“Oh? I’m sorry to hear that.”
“My father was injured….”
The music’s rhythm called for a turn. The prince swung her around and pulled her even closer. “Maybe between the dances we can slip outside. It’s becoming quite warm in here.”
“Oh, I—” Molly stared at his second button, not daring to look up into his face. Though she’d never attended a ball before, she knew instinctively that disappearing with a man would be frowned upon if not outright scandalous. “Surely you have partners lined up for every dance, Your Highness. I’m certain every lady in the room wishes to dance with you.”
He shrugged. “The night doesn’t hold enough hours for that. But you are right—I must spread my favors as broadly as possible. Pity.” He gazed down at her again with a longing Molly found disturbing.
“Are you enjoying your stay on the island?” She hoped her tone conveyed her desire to keep the conversation light.
“Oh, yes, it’s wonderful. But I’ve lacked for female companionship. There are ladies all around, but none who are approachable. Are you approachable, Miss…hmm…Orwell, was it?”
“Orland,” she said.
“Orland. Of course.” His eyebrows shot up. “Don’t tell me you belong to the dairy I visited today…?”
“My family was delighted to meet you, Your Highness.”
“Well, well.” He swept her around with a flourish as the music rose in crescendo. As they met once more, he said, “So you belong to the farm where I stopped to imbibe the excellent local ale.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“What a charming coincidence.”
Molly suspected it was no coincidence but a machination of the Earl of Washburn’s—however, she would hardly voice that to the Prince of Wales.
“You said your father was injured.”
“He broke his leg in a farming accident.”
“Oh, yes, I recall that he had crutches. I hope he recovers quickly.”
“Thank you.”
The music came to an end. They stopped dancing and bowed to each other.
“Thank you, dear lady.” The prince bowed over her hand.
“My pleasure,” she managed to say.
He leaned close to her. “Perhaps we shall manage to spend a few minutes together later.”
He walked away, and Molly stared after him. Should she be flattered or outraged? Her face flamed, but most people watched the prince’s departure, waiting to see what lady he would dance with next. This might be the ideal time to slip into the hall and retire to the ladies’ powder room. She might be able to hide there until her face returned to its normal color. At least the other young gentlemen had held back after the prince left her. Molly whirled toward the door and nearly collided with Peter.
“May I—would you—”
She smiled at his discomfiture. Peter always seemed so calm, but tonight he looked anxious. “Of course. I was hoping you were close by.” Her desperate urge to leave the ballroom evaporated.
He took her into his arms and swept her around as the music started again. She was relieved that she wouldn’t have to wonder any longer when he would claim his dance…or deal with a bevy of other young men.
“I stayed too long outside, and I was afraid I’d missed my chance,” Peter said. “Either that or I’d have to beat off a dozen fellows.”
“No, I think they lost their ardor.”
“More likely they were making sure the prince was well out of the way before they approached you.”
Molly looked over his shoulder. The Prince of Wales was dancing with the daughter of a shipbuilder. Molly had waited on her the previous evening at Government House and knew her by name. The young woman wore a gorgeous blue gown, but unfortunately, her long, plain face and her intimidating father had kept suitors from her door.
She turned her attention back to Peter. He moved gracefully, steering her around the other dancers, but his gaze barely left her face.
“I met your brother outdoors.”
“Nathan?”
“Yes, he’s waiting for you. I told him it would be awhile.”
“Thank you. He’s very good to me.”
“Molly.” Peter bent his head slightly until his lips grazed her hair. The gentle pressure sent a tremor through her. “I’ve anticipated this moment all day,” he whispered. “Ever since I heard you would be here tonight.”
“So have I.”
The music ended all too soon. As they came to a halt amid swirling skirts, bowing gentlemen, and fanning ladies, three young men wound their way to Molly.
“Miss Orland, are you free for this number?” asked the first.
“Oh, I—”
Peter took a step back from her and bowed. “Thank you very much. Perhaps I shall see you later?”
“Why, yes, Mr. Stark. I’ve promised you the last dance.”
Peter smiled and nodded. As he disappeared into the throng, Molly’s heart sang. She couldn’t give him every dance and maintain propriety, but the promise of one more was not too bold. It would give her something to anticipate and an excuse to hold off the more aggressive of the young men clamoring for her attention.
“Let’s see. I believe you asked first, sir.” She took one man’s hand, knowing she’d seen him before at Government House, but she was unable to put a name to him.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said as they settled into the rhythm of the music. “I’m Philip Draper.”
“And you live here in Charlottetown, don’t you, Mr. Draper?” she asked.
“Yes. I’m a physician. My father and I have a surgery office on Allen Street.”
Molly nodded and tried to portray a serene lady. Where were all these young men before the prince noticed her? None of them had ever come around to the Orland farm asking to court her. She supposed she’d lived a rather isolated life on the farm. She’d attended the small rural school and a church outside the city. If her mother were here tonight, she’d no doubt urge Molly to encourage her dance partners to call on her. This might turn out to be a rare chance for a country girl to draw the attention of potential husbands in the city.
But there was only one man Molly would care to have calling on her, and he would be gone at daybreak. She glanced about the room and spotted Peter, back in the place he seemed to like—in the shadows, where most people overlooked him. He could stand there and watch the dancers—watch her. She smiled, and he smiled back, trusting, waiting. Now that the dreaded ordeal of dancing with the prince had passed, Molly realized she was more worried about Peter’s departure in the morning. How could he be so calm, if he really cared for her? Of course, he wasn’t really as calm as he managed to look—she’d seen his agitation earlier.
The music wound to its final strains. Philip Draper still talked, and she tried to focus on what he was saying.
“—and if you would agree, I could come by next Friday evening.”
“Oh, I–I’m not certain. Did you mean… I’m sorry—would you please repeat that?”
Already, aspiring dance partners pressed through the hoopskirts toward them.
“I should like to call on you at your home. Next Friday evening?”
“I… ” She glanced about at the others. “I’m sorry, I can’t answer that just now. Perhaps we could talk later.”
Draper’s fretful expression ch
anged to a brilliant smile. “Of course, Miss Orland. I’d be happy to.” He bowed.
Molly wondered what she had just agreed to. Would Peter come around now, hoping for the next dance? No, she decided. He’d wait for the last one. She cast her gaze over the waiting gentlemen. The eager young men fell back, giving way to a uniform. Molly sucked in a breath.
General Bruce smiled down upon her once more. “Miss Orland, the prince would like to reserve the quadrille with you.”
“I—uh—” She fumbled in the small reticule at her waist and brought out her dance card. The quadrille was two down the program, and three from the end. “Certainly, sir.”
“I will tell His Royal Highness.” Bruce bowed and marched away.
After a moment’s silence, one of the perspiring gentlemen made a bold move. “Miss Orland, I beg you to dance with me. I’ve been waiting all evening.”
“Surely.”
He took her hand and tugged her away, leaving the others gaping.
Molly followed his lead about the floor. The prince had requested another dance with her? What did it mean? He hadn’t danced more than one with anyone else. She’d thought he was spreading his royal presence around as much as possible. Could it be that he actually liked her as a person and wanted to spend more time with her? The thought was flattering, but it made her uneasy. Peter was the man who filled her heart. The prince was two years younger than her, and she didn’t want to embark on a flirtation with him—or any other man—that would end in regret.
She put the prince out of her mind and conversed with her partner. Her heart felt a hundredweight lighter since her time with Peter. And she would have the last turn about the floor with him. That prospect put her in such good spirits that she was able to respond merrily to Draper’s jokes and questions. When he asked again if he could come a-calling, Molly put him off with a vague answer. If she flatly turned them all down, her mother would probably take her to task. And after Peter had sailed out of her life, wouldn’t she eventually wish to settle down with a nice young islander?
No! Again she sought Peter. He’d left his post beneath the gallery. For a moment her heart fluttered. Until it was his official time to leave, she didn’t want to lose track of him.
“And do you like opera?” Philip Draper asked.
“Opera? I’ve never seen one.”
“We must remedy that. Might I escort you to the next one staged in Charlottetown?”
Molly gulped. “Perhaps. Why don’t you ask me when the time comes?”
“All right, I shall.”
They turned and whirled, and suddenly another young man tapped her partner on the shoulder and swept her away from him.
“Oh. Er…hello.” Molly gazed up at him, uncertain what to say.
He laughed. “Hello to you, Miss Orland. I’m Timothy Rollins. I’ve hoped to meet you, but you’re always the center of a crowd, it seems.”
“Well, we’ve met now.” The remark sounded inane in her own ears.
“Yes. I decided that if the prince can cut in, so can I.”
“Indeed, sir.” She looked around and saw the Prince of Wales grinning as he hopped about with one of the merchants’ daughters.
She bumped against someone and jumped closer to Rollins, at the same time turning her head to say, “Excuse me!”
Emmet returned her gaze. His surprised expression slid into speculation. “No harm.”
The music pulled them apart. A young man in an officer’s uniform from the Volunteers regiment cut in on Rollins, and Molly tried to catch her breath as he led her about the floor at a near gallop. All the dancers seemed to have become less inhibited, and during the next five minutes, Molly changed partners seven times.
She almost felt relieved when the Prince of Wales once again claimed her hand.
“Your Highness.” She swept a curtsy, and he bowed before her.
“Lovely Molly, I’ve longed to speak to you again.”
“Truly?” She was still short of breath from the last polka, and she found his charming smile alarming.
“Certainly. No other woman here draws me as you do.”
“Th–thank you.” She swallowed hard.
“It’s getting stuffy in here,” he said. “Perhaps we can catch a breeze out in the garden.”
“Oh, I… Surely that’s not allowed, Your Highness.”
He laughed. “Not allowed? How do you mean? Are the chaperones of Prince Edward Island so strict?”
“No, Your Highness, I meant…” What did she mean? She looked about the room. Peter was speaking with Lord Washburn, not looking her way. Near them, however, the general stood straight as a pillar, watching them with a critical eye. “General Bruce—”
“Fie on the general. Come on. For my sake?” He guided her between the other couples, away from the general, toward the door. Everyone leaped to get out of their way.
As they reached the doorway, Molly looked back. The path had closed behind them, like water after a stone has sunk. If Peter hadn’t seen them leave, he would have no idea where she was.
The prince tugged her hand. “This way.”
Lord St. Germains stepped out of a recess. “Your Highness, may I help you with anything?”
“I should say not. It’s hot in there, and we’re going out to get some air.”
St. Germains faded into the shadows. Molly gulped. Would she be considered, by association, someone who’d been rude to an earl?
The prince guided her around the corner, into the entry. A footman hastily shoved open the door and held it. They burst out into the cool night air, and Molly stopped to inhale deeply.
“Oh, that sea air is refreshing.”
“Isn’t it? Come, let’s stroll down below, through the shrubbery.”
A garden of rosebushes and evergreen shrubs, with several plantings of late summer flowers chosen especially because they would bloom while the prince visited, lay before the imposing building. Molly descended the steps cautiously, with the prince holding her elbow. She glanced around, wondering where her brother was. A couple walked slowly along one of the paths, and several gentlemen lingered in the lamplight, smoking. She didn’t see any sign of Nathan. Had he given up and gone home? Molly felt vaguely uneasy and wished he was nearby.
The prince seemed to want to walk in the darkest corner of the garden. The farther they strayed from the portico, the louder rang the alarm bells in Molly’s brain. The only light was from the windows behind them and the gleam of the lanterns along the distant walkway that led from the street to the steps of the Colonial Building.
She shivered. The prince slid his arm about her waist.
“Please, Your Highness, I’d like to go back now.”
“Oh, Molly, Molly, surely you wouldn’t deny me a kiss.”
She caught her breath and stopped in her tracks, staring at him. “I beg your pardon, sir. I can’t think why I shouldn’t. It isn’t seemly.”
“Not seemly?” He laughed.
Molly hoped his retainers would hear and come to them. Where were they all, anyway? The equerries and General Bruce either had not noticed their exit or didn’t care. And where were Lord Washburn and Nathan and—and Peter?
“Come, now,” the prince said smoothly, pulling her toward him. One arm went about her waist, and with the other he reached toward her face. “I’ve been kept caged up for weeks and I’ve had no chance to enjoy the company of a pretty girl like yourself. Won’t you make me happy tonight, Miss Orland, and send me off to Quebec with a favor?”
Molly threw back her shoulders. “Really, Your Highness! Is this the way you behave everywhere you go?”
“Not everywhere.” He pulled her closer.
“Please! Let me go.” She struggled, but his grip on her tightened.
“Don’t be coy. You ought to be flattered to have a little fun with me.”
“Let the lady go.”
Peter’s tall form materialized behind the prince. Molly took advantage of His Royal Highness’s surprise and je
rked backward, pulling her wrist from his grasp.
“I beg your pardon?” the prince’s acid tones would have wilted an oak tree.
“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” Peter glared into his sovereign’s eyes.
Molly clapped one gloved hand to her mouth as the two young men took each other’s measure.
Chapter Nineteen
Through narrowed eyes, Peter gauged Albert Edward, heir apparent to the throne of the British Empire. He couldn’t think of Albert’s position now. He had to think only of Molly. No man—not even a prince—should insult a woman so.
“Stark.” The prince’s lips drew back in a strained smile. “What’s the meaning of this?”
“Miss Orland asked you to release her. Any gentleman would do so at once.”
The prince kept his arm around Molly’s waist and yanked her toward him. “Ah, I see. And does knowing that make you a gentleman, Stark?”
Peter’s blood rushed to his face. No doubt the prince knew of his background. No doubt at all. And he wouldn’t hesitate to use it against him in this embarrassing situation. Molly pushed against the prince’s chest with both hands now, in an effort to keep some air between them.
“Call me whatever you like, Your Highness, but let the lady go. Now.” Peter put steel into the last few words.
“How dare you?” The prince squared his shoulders. “Leave us at once.”
Molly shrank away from him. “No, don’t, Peter. Please.”
Peter glanced at her and back at the Prince of Wales. He couldn’t ignore the panic in Molly’s voice or the pleading in her eyes, whatever the cost. “The lady obviously does not want to be alone with you, Your Highness. I suggest you let me escort her back to the ballroom.”
“And what will you do if I refuse? Are you forgetting to whom you are speaking?”
“Not for an instant.” Involuntarily, Peter clenched his fists. How had it come to this? No doubt the prince had received years of training in self-defense and pugilism, along with diplomacy, etiquette, horsemanship, and a score of other disciplines. But could he fight like an orphan who’d been taunted since infancy?
Love Finds You in Prince Edward Island Page 20