Amberley Chronicles Boxset II (Amberley Chronicles Box Sets Book 2)

by May Burnett

  I have delayed replying to Rudolf until I hear back from you, and urge you to search your heart carefully, if you want me to agree to Rudolf’s demand – likely the first of many such – or if we should use this unexpected opportunity to draw back from the match with honour preserved. In that case, you can leave the breaking-off to me. Please write back as soon as you know which course will be best for your future happiness.

  Her decision had to be rational, and the main question was – since she had to marry someone, would she find anyone better than Rudolf? She was fast approaching twenty-three, not yet old, but already past the age when most girls of her class married. Of course she was not plain, and her dowry was large, not to mention her other expectations as her father’s only heiress.

  Involuntarily her mind presented the picture of the young Marquess to her imagination. If he were her groom, she would hold fast to the engagement, no matter if he flaunted a dozen opera singers. She’d battle them for his attention and his heart, and win, by God …. But he was betrothed to Princess Gisela, who for some unfathomable reason didn’t seem to appreciate him as much one would expect.

  So the matter boiled down to the question, could she do better than Rudolf? And did she want to marry a man so greedy that the very large dowry already promised was not enough for him? Maybe he had spent all his own money on jewels for his mistress, or on gambling. Very likely, in fact.

  Why was she even considering the matter? She did not want a husband who squandered her inheritance on other women. It was disrespectful, no matter if her aunt insisted all men were alike, and one just had to accept it. And it was also dangerous, there were fatal diseases one might catch from a faithless husband … she had heard it whispered among married women, but she had sharp ears, and had not failed to put two and two together.

  Rudolf would have to look around for another bride. She imagined his face as he received the news, how he would twirl his moustache, as he tended to do whenever things did not work out as he wanted, and a chuckle escaped her.

  There. The decision was taken. Anna took a deep breath and felt as though a big millstone had fallen from her shoulders, an invisible weight she had not even guessed at, until it was suddenly gone.

  She was free again. Reprieved at the last moment. She would write back to her father immediately, endorsing his suggestion to break off the betrothal. A few days later she’d also write to her aunt, breaking the news of which the old lady would undoubtedly disapprove; it was she who had suggested and championed the connection in the first place.

  Since the letters to St. Petersburg and from there to Obernberg would take time and it would not do to have the matter gossiped about beforehand, she’d better not mention the decision to anyone else for the time being. She might even stay in London for a few extra weeks, after the end of her current mission, so everything would have blown over by the time she returned to Obernberg.

  Why go back there at all? Now she was free, she might join her father in St. Petersburg. Maybe there was a Russian bridegroom in her future, whom she’d meet at the Czar’s court, and who would drive all thought of broad shoulders, blond hair, hazel eyes and that deep singing voice from her mind.

  What should she make of the rest of her life? It was an open question again, but a question was far better than the wrong answer, as she was increasingly sure Rudolf would have been.

  ***

  In London, James Ellsworthy had spent an extremely frustrating day. He had not been able to catch the Mail Coach despite his best efforts. By the time he arrived at its destination the passengers had long dispersed.

  Through persistence and the outlay of several coins he had finally tracked down the coachman, resting before his next journey out on a different route. The news was mixed: the man distinctly remembered the girl’s big brown eyes, so it seemed likely that the mysterious voyager had indeed been Miss Prentice. However, she had descended in London, and the coachman, busy with his own concerns, did not have the slightest notion where she might have gone from there.

  The possibilities were harrowing. It was not only for stuffy convention that young ladies were restricted from going about alone in town: a girl like Louisa Prentice could all too easily end up in some brothel against her will, even more thoroughly ruined – should she be rescued at last – than she already was after this escapade. How much money did she have on her? Did she have friends or family in London, to whom she could apply? James cursed his lack of information on that point. He should have insisted on Mr. Prentice coming with him, but the man had been prostrate with worry and grief, and looked so frail, that he’d seemed likely to slow him down.

  Still, as Miss Prentice had participated in the season, she must have some friends and acquaintances, who might offer suggestions. There was also Bow Street to call upon.

  James did that first, offering a reward of three hundred guineas for information leading to the girl.

  After quickly changing at his London home, he paid calls on a few ladies still in town, to make inquiries about Miss Prentice’s known associates, but with little success. The girl had come from Northumberland, and her few friends of the same generation were all back in the country now that sweltering summer drove the ton from the capital. If she had family connections or close friends still in London, nobody knew of them. The furnished house her family had taken for the season had been returned to the landlord.

  What had become of the dratted girl? James finally returned to his own London residence, and after requesting his servants to keep their eyes and ears open for the missing girl, spent an unquiet night, dreaming that it was his own Violet missing.

  The next morning he adjourned to Brooks, to see if any of his club cronies might offer useful knowledge. Information came, however, from an entirely unexpected quarter.

  “I say, Ellsworthy,” young Viscount Brambleton asked him, “have you seen Rook lately? Isn’t he staying with your brother in Amberley? His father is likely to be breathing fire and brimstone from the story that appeared in today’s paper.”

  “What story?”

  “Haven’t you heard yet? Everyone is speculating and discussing it. Ottway must be livid, and I wonder how Rook himself will react. Of course these scandal sheets are often inaccurate.”

  “What paper? Where is it? I’d better see for myself.”

  Brambleton obligingly handed him the publication in question, the Society Argus – a newish weekly that was not quite a scandal rag, but not far removed from that status.

  Incredulously, James let his eyes pass across the article entitled, Love Triangle involving Lord M…..?

  A most scandalous tidbit has come to the attention of this editor from a well-informed inside source, regarding the recently published betrothal of the noble Marquis of M…. to a German Princess, who shall remain nameless as no blame attaches to her in this squalid tale.

  From what we have been told, that sensational betrothal was concluded and announced by the groom’s father, The Duke of O…, without the consent and knowledge of his heir, who only learned of his own betrothal from the notice in the paper.

  Moreover, his Grace is reported to have acted in ignorance and error, since the Marquis is already wed, in secret, to a young debutante of this last season. But if so, how could he have failed to inform his sire of this circumstance? Are we to conclude that in the noble B… family the right hand does not know what the left does? And how will the highborn foreign lady and her family take this development?

  “Good Gad,” James said.

  “Yes, it’s certainly sensational, isn’t it? Despite the use of initials it’s all too clear that the notice refers to Rook and his father. But who could the young debutante be? That’s the part I find difficult to believe. Rook is not the type to marry in secret.”

  “He’s not married,” James said impatiently. “That is all a hum. One of the girls who are always falling in love with him must have invented this tarradiddle.” Though he had no doubt from what ‘inside source’ this not
ice came, he felt reluctant to name Miss Prentice as the debutante in question. Once she was officially connected with this notice, any remote chance she had of righting her life would be gone for good. “The part that will make the duke and the Foreign Office angry is the reference to the betrothal to the Princess.”

  “You mean Ottway really didn’t consult Rook on it? That’s what I call a shabby trick.”

  “Don’t go talking about it,” James advised, knowing even as he spoke that it was futile. But there had been so many people observing how Rook had first learned of his betrothal, that it was only a matter of time until it came out. Well, there it was in the paper already, black and white.

  At least he now had another place where he could try to find the missing girl. It should not be too hard to find the editorial premises of the Society Argus.

  Before setting out on that new errand, he quickly penned a report on this latest development, enclosing the article which he ruthlessly tore out of the Club’s copy. He addressed it to George, who could inform Rook and the girl’s parents.

  None of them would like it, but they had to know.

  Chapter 18

  In the nine days since Anna’s arrival at Amberley, her life had settled into a routine. The Princess would breakfast in her suite and spend mornings at her interminable correspondence, so Anna had a few hours before lunchtime to herself. She had begun reading what books on Russia she could find in Lord Amberley’s library, preparatory to joining her father there – though not a living soul in Amberley knew about this plan, not even the Princess. Whenever the weather allowed it she took her book outdoors, to the garden, her complexion protected by a wide-brimmed hat. Twice now she had met the nursery party playing outdoors, and once even joined in an impromptu game of shuttlecock.

  Lunchtime marked the beginning of her duties, when the Princess would emerge from her suite and expect Anna to be at hand for translation or any errands that might be necessary. After lunch Lord Molyneux would take a turn with Gisela through the gallery or gardens, depending on the weather, and Anna would translate. Unlike the first such occasion, he now kept these talks as tame and boring as possible, offering little challenge to her ingenuity. The Princess would talk of her relatives, or they would discuss music; but even that subject showed a disparity, as it was merely an occasional diversion to the Marquess, and very close to a passion for the Princess. She would be describing past performances she had attended, in great detail, while he made noises like “Interesting,” and “Hmm.”

  In the afternoon the Princess would play the piano to herself. A first-rate instrument had been placed in her rooms, and the servants had strict orders not to listen or loiter close by when she played. She had a preference for Bach and some of the more recent Italian composers.

  That interval gave Anna another window of freedom before it was time to change for the more strenuous dinners. The menus prepared by the temperamental Luigi were as delicious and varied as ever, although fish was not served at the head of the table; but Anna could rarely concentrate on enjoying his offerings, since she anxiously monitored the interactions between the Princess and the rest of the House Party. Several of them seemed to have taken Gisela in dislike, and since these people all spoke French, whenever she was close enough, Anna had to head off their remarks or veiled criticisms before Gisela noticed them. Fortunately the Princess paid little attention to subtleties, and her deep conviction that nobody of inferior rank would dare to intentionally criticise her, protected her like an invisible shield. Even so, Anna had some bad moments.

  At least the Marquess, due to his pretended inability to speak French, was not in a position to offend Gisela, as long as Anna was close by. She was puzzled by his attitude towards the Princess. He was polite but distant, and treated his bride much like an elderly great-aunt to whom he was paying a rare courtesy visit. There was nothing the least lover-like in his attitude. Well, with Gisela regarding him in similarly impersonal fashion, it was perhaps little wonder. Anna had never met a pair so unenthusiastic about their impending union. The Princess spoke tentatively of a wedding in London, in a few weeks’ time, but from her tone it sounded like an unwelcome duty rather than a joyful occasion. Lord Molyneux did not contradict her plans, but neither did he affirm them; he seemed to regard the whole matter with a neutrality Anna found almost reprehensible.

  Yet what choice did he have? Now that she herself was liberated from her engagement to Rudolf, she found herself sympathising more and more with the young Marquess. Older than she, of course, by some four or five years, but women were naturally more mature and sensible at a young age, weren’t they? With a few exceptions, it had to be admitted, such as that foolish Miss Prentice, of whom no news had yet surfaced.

  After dinner there would be music or card games. Anna avoided any further duets with the Marquess, and neither he nor the Princess had suggested any since that first occasion. Instead she would sing from the large repertoire of solo soprano songs, and if she felt the hazel eyes of the Marquess on her in thoughtful appraisal and occasional admiration, it was merely the reaction of a music enthusiast, nothing more. She was still far too susceptible to his voice. Whenever he sang she had to suppress tiny involuntary shivers.

  One afternoon the Princess was chiding her bridegroom for the way he had first met her, atop his horse. In what she probably fancied to be gentle raillery, she said, “Your penchant for sitting atop your huge horse may be a direct inheritance from your knightly ancestors, but it is hardly appropriate in the presence of ladies, in this modern day.”

  “Horses are a major part of my life,” the Marquess responded, “I thought it only appropriate that you should see me from the first in the most characteristic position. Do you not ride yourself?”

  “I learned as a child,” Gisela said, “but I never liked it much. Horses have an unpleasant smell, and they move around unpredictably. A carriage is so much more civilised than sitting bodily atop an animal.”

  “Maybe it is different with a side saddle, but riding is a great pleasure, and I actually like the way horses smell.” The Marquess fixed his hazel eyes on Anna’s. “What about you, Komtesse? Do you like horses, and do you ride?”

  “As a matter of fact, I like a good gallop.” He had recently developed this disconcerting habit of suddenly including her in the conversation, not merely as the translator but as herself. She quickly went on to translate his last sentence to the Princess, omitting his question to herself, and her answer.

  “Why do you ladies not join me on a ride tomorrow morning? Early, before breakfast, is the best time,” he went on.

  “Out of the question,” Gisela immediately replied.

  “What about you, Komtesse?”

  “It would not be seemly.” He must have noticed the longing in her voice, for he threw her a penetrating glance before changing the subject.

  Over tea, the Marquess deftly organised a riding party for the next morning, including Lord Pell, Lady Ariadne, Lady Minerva, the earl, and herself. With such a large group, there was no argument of propriety she could use, except – “Maybe you have need of me tomorrow morning, Your Royal Highness?”

  But Gisela said no, she had more letters to write. Anna would be able to use her elegant new riding habit for the first time, and she only hoped that the horse she was assigned was not some safe slug. To her delight, when the time came she was presented with a beautiful, spirited mare, whose grey coat set off her blue habit.

  The English riders were all experienced, and thought nothing of jumping a hedge or two. Gisela would never have been able to keep up, but Anna had no trouble; she had learned to ride in early childhood, and though she had not had time to practice her skill on a side saddle in recent months, found it had not deserted her. For the first two miles she was conscious of the Marquess watching her now and then, so as to assure himself of her safety, but after that he seemed to take for granted that she could hold her own.

  When they returned in the middle of the morning, she knew
her cheeks were flushed, and hoped that the hair had not been disarranged under her hat.

  It was only from the exercise and the warmth of the day. Nothing at all to do with the constant presence of the Marquess, hovering close by on that giant horse of his, or the way his muscles bulged when he jumped a hedge with perfect posture. She was stupidly conscious of every detail about him – the large hands with their long fingers holding he reins so very calmly, the keenness of his gaze, the exuberant control of his jumps.

  This foolish infatuation really had to stop. Not only was he destined for another, he would make it almost impossible to be satisfied with any of the young Russians she would meet in St. Petersburg. What was the point of pining for what you could not have?

  If she was not careful, she would become as foolish as Miss Prentice soon.

  Anna resolutely turned her eyes away from the magnificent form of the rider in front, and fixed them on the twitching ears of her lovely mare.

  “You ride very well,” the Marquess said, suddenly right next to her. The mare tossed her head flirtatiously at his magnificent stallion. “Where did you learn, Komtesse?”

  “At my father’s estate in Obernberg, we had some excellent horses. The bay I learned on had been mustered out from the Obernberg guard, he was old but rock-steady, and taught me more than my riding teacher ever did.” She smiled in memory. “By the time I was ten, I would ride all over the countryside, with a groom or friends, of course.”

  “Why did you not mention before this, that you like to ride? You have been here for over a week.”

  “I am here as companion to the Princess, and my own predilections are unimportant just now, Lord Molyneux.”

  “Call me Rook,” he invited, “as everyone else here does.”

  “But not the Princess – it would be most inappropriate.” What was he about? Did he want to set up a flirtation with her under the Princess’s nose? Had he – mortifying thought – noticed the way she felt about him? No, impossible; surely she had better control than that. He was merely toying with her, or maybe trying to pull her to his side, in his invisible battle for power with his royal betrothed.