by May Burnett
“When you negotiated the match with Obernberg’s representatives, did it not occur to you that the bridegroom had a right to be informed and consulted?”
“Why, of course we assumed that the Duke had done so.” Cholmondeley batted this red lashes in exaggerated innocence. “His own father! How should we doubt his word? Not that the precise subject ever came up,” he added meditatively.
“Yet Lord Molyneux was right here in London during those negotiations. It would have been the easiest thing in the world for you to have talked directly to him.”
Cholmondeley shrugged. “Why go to the son when you have the Duke himself willing and ready to deal?”
“Yet I understand that the issue of the dowry is not yet finalised.”
Cholmondeley looked uncomfortable for an instant. “A mere detail, that is between the families. Nothing to do with the Foreign Office at all.”
“But if Lord Molyneux had really been secretly married, as the Society Argus claimed, it would have been embarrassing for the Foreign Office,” James pointed out. “Was it not risky to bet on my friend’s acquiescence after the fact?”
“As I said, I always assumed that the Duke kept his heir informed and acted with his full consent,” the young diplomat asserted. “So there could not be any risk whatsoever.”
“Do you have any idea what became of the debutante who claimed to be Lady Molyneux?”
“Did she really? No, I have no idea. She must have been a poor madwoman, I fear.” Cholmondeley brought his glass to his mouth and took an appreciative sip of port. “These are domestic details, and I only deal with foreign relations. Within weeks I shall be joining our Embassy in Madrid, by the way, so let me take my leave of you now, as it is unlikely we’ll meet again – except at Princess Gisela’s wedding.”
“If you leave within weeks, it is not likely you’ll be able to attend that,” James said, hiding his annoyance. “Are not the bride’s relations from Obernberg coming to attend her nuptials? And don’t forget those pesky dowry negotiations, and the question of settlements. Such things tend to take months at the very least.”
He had the satisfaction of seeing the redhead’s smile falter for a moment. “However long it takes, and even if I’m no longer here in London, I hope it will be a happy match,” Cholmondeley said piously. James had to fight an urge to punch the diplomat’s nose.
“I hope you enjoy your stay in Madrid,” he said, adding silently by himself, as much as you have messed up poor Rook’s life, you bastard.
He had not tasted the port, and left the glass there, abandoned, as he strode out. What had Jonathan been about, to accept such a fellow into the Charybdis Club?
***
The Princess, Lady Amberley, Anna and Rook were sitting in the barouche on an outing to Lake Windermere. Anna had suggested the excursion days before, but the search for Miss Prentice and the changeable weather had not allowed it earlier. Gisela and Marianne were facing in the direction of the coach, while Rook and Anna sat with their backs to the horses, side by side. The conversation was in French, except when Marianne or Anna stopped to translate for Rook. After the first few minutes they had all begun to ignore him, and he was content enough to listen to the three ladies’ conversation.
How different from each other they were. He had known Marianne since childhood. She was close to his own age, but had married much younger, of course, like most pretty and well-dowered girls of their class. At twenty-seven she was at the height of her beauty, her celebrated green eyes looking out at the world with the assurance of a woman who knew herself cherished, and a power in her sphere.
The Princess, in contrast, was much shorter and rounder, her hair the lightest of the three, and her dress richer. Rook suspected that the other two ladies had intentionally dressed more simply than their wont, so as to leave some difference between their attire and that of Princess Gisela. Despite her unmarried state, Gisela was even more self-assured than Marianne, the result of having been taught her own importance since earliest childhood. Yet what good had it done her? She was outside her own rarefied atmosphere, and struggling with the adjustment, although he had to give her credit for trying, most of the time.
The Komtesse – Anna, as he called her in his thoughts – was the youngest by about five years, but despite her youth he could not discern the slightest unease or shyness in the young woman. She was if anything more worldly and experienced than the two older ladies, having lived in four different countries during her youth, and learned to put down roots, and pull them up again, over and over. What would that have been like? Rook had never yet had to do so, unless you counted the time he was sent off to Eton, but he’d known he would be coming home at the end of the term. Diplomats’ children often stayed away from their country for years on end. One of his schoolmates, the son of an Ambassador, had yearned for stability and settled firmly as soon as he was old enough. You only learned what you were missing if you had to do without it, Rook supposed.
“Your father is in St. Petersburg now, Komtesse?” Lady Amberley enquired.
“Yes, he is our Minister there. I am thinking of joining him after this stay in England.”
“I thought you were getting married too?” The Princess regarded her companion with faint surprise.
“That may be delayed, possibly indefinitely,” Anna said. Her tone did not invite further questions.
“If you travel to Russia, it would be best not to wait until too late in the year,” Lady Amberley said. “I have not gone there myself, but I understand that the cold in the winter months is hard to imagine for anyone who has not experienced it.”
“Very true,” the Princess said. “So I have heard … from friends in that country.” She was almost certainly referring to her erstwhile Russian fiancé.
“Since Napoleon’s rout in Moscow, all Europe is aware of the severity of the Russian winter,” the Komtesse said. “It is indeed an important consideration. From the books I have consulted in your library, Lady Amberley, October is the latest month advisable for the journey. However, it should not take all that long, since the greatest distance can be travelled by boat, and St. Petersburg is much closer to the sea than Moscow.”
“But you cannot go all alone,” the Countess said, frowning. “Who would accompany you?”
“Apart from my maid, I shall hire a respectable companion in London. It cannot be hard to find some gentlewoman in sufficiently dire straits, that she would be willing to brave the cold Russian winter for a handsome wage.”
“I cannot like the plan,” Lady Amberley said, shaking her head. “The only long journey I have undertaken, around the Mediterranean, has been in the warmer seasons and with my husband. Surely that is a much better arrangement than to travel with some unknown woman, who might turn out to be dishonest, or refuse to go on, or turn mad unexpectedly.”
Anna smiled, unconcerned. “If I choose carefully, none of that is likely. And remember that I am myself an experienced traveller.”
“You had best return to Obernberg and set out next spring,” the Princess advised. “A few months should make little difference.”
“I still would prefer to travel this year,” Anna said. With a sidelong glance at Rook, she asked, “Is there any date set for the wedding yet, Your Royal Highness? Evidently my own plans will have to depend on yours.”
“Sometime in the autumn, I suppose,” the Princess said without enthusiasm.
“But in that case, it is high time to start preparations,” the Countess said. “I had no idea that the wedding was so imminent. Will your family come from Obernberg? Or are you expecting Rook and his family to travel to your country for the ceremony?”
Rook awaited his betrothed’s reply with an interest he could not openly show. She hesitated, deep in thought, for a few minutes, before giving her answer.
“I have not yet received my father’s instructions on the matter. As far as I am concerned, one country is as good as the other, and there is little point in delay.”
&n
bsp; “But you owe it to yourself, and your future family, to do the thing in style,” Lady Amberley objected. “Surely your family want you to have the kind of wedding you deserve, that will be remembered for a generation? Have you ordered the dress yet?”
“Not yet,” the Princess said shortly. Rook breathed a sigh of relief. “What is the name of that hill I see in the distance? And is that a nobleman’s estate to the left?”
The talk veered to the landscape and the houses they passed, since the Princess was clearly no more eager to discuss her marriage than Rook himself. He had noted that Anna, apart from the initial question, had not participated in the discussion of the wedding. Was she not looking forward to the end of her mission? From what she’d said, she was impatient to depart for Russia. He was no happier with that notion than Marianne had been. A pretty woman of twenty-two, no matter how experienced, had no business travelling such a distance to a dangerous foreign country without a man to protect her.
Chapter 23
“It is almost as though Louisa really believed in her marriage to you,” Mr. Prentice said to Rook. They were standing in Amberley’s library; Prentice was about to depart for London with his wife, in response to James’s second, even more urgent message within twenty-four hours. “Are you quite sure –?”
“I’m afraid so,” Rook said apologetically, “your daughter, while very pretty, is too young and fanciful for a sober fellow like me. There never was any question of marriage, secret or not. It is hardly something I could forget.”
“Of course, I knew it was so,” Mrs. Prentice said in a hopeless voice. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she seemed to have diminished in stature in the last few days. “I only hope we can find Louisa in London, that the reward Mr. Ellsworthy offered will have led to some good soul bringing her to him – to us – by the time we arrive in the capital. Thank you, Lord Amberley, for all you and your brother have done to assist us in this terrible time.”
“I only wish it had had more tangible results.” George was speaking with compassion, unhappy that such a tragedy had occurred under his roof, during his house party at Amberley. “Once you find her, if there is anything we can do to help her, just let us know. I am speaking for my wife also.” Did George believe that even Marianne would be able to re-establish the girl’s social standing after this? But perhaps he was merely looking ahead; the most logical solution would be a quick marriage to anyone respectable who would have the girl, for that large dowry. Then Lady Amberley and the groom’s family might yet work some social magic.
“I very much regret my own inadvertent role in these tragic events,” Rook said formally. He felt angry at their daughter, not so much for her lies involving him, more at the way she was making her parents suffer; but his feelings hardly mattered. First of all the girl needed to be found, with any luck safe and sound, though the chances of that were diminishing by the day and hour.
“Do you have any idea why she would have gone to the Society Argus and told her story there?” he asked Mrs. Prentice. “It is such a strange thing to do.” In fact it was enough to ruin her all by itself, quite apart from the sensational content of her claims.
“The Argus recently did a series on the season’s notable debutantes,” Mrs. Prentice recalled, “Louisa may have met their journalist then, though I cannot imagine how, or the article might have stuck in her memory. It was quite flattering, mentioning her sylph-like grace and unforgettable eyes.”
“I see.” Rook was not in the habit of reading such publications, and that particular article sounded like complete twaddle.
“I suppose the Duke will have been rather annoyed about the recent article,” Mr. Prentice said lugubriously. “Louisa is a truthful girl in general, that’s why I fear that her wishful thinking might have turned her head to the point where she actually believes in her fabrication.”
“Surely not,” Rook said, “and even if so, over time she may be brought to realize that the reality of the situation is different. Once you find her.”
“Yes, and we’d better not lose any time,” Mrs. Prentice said. They went out towards the waiting carriage at last, leaving George and Rook looking at each other in mingled dismay and relief.
“I hope my daughters never put me in such a situation as that,” George said with a heavy sigh. “Do you think it possible that Louisa Prentice really considers herself married to you?”
“Not for a moment.” Rook was positive. “Her father might think her a truthful girl, but fathers are often sadly deluded on the nature of their children. With an only child arriving late in life, as pretty and vivacious as Miss Prentice can be, it is little wonder if they idolized and spoiled the girl. She probably was quite unprepared for the shock that life might not work out as she wished and imagined.” Yet was he not himself rather in the same boat? He also had imagined until very recently that his life was his to order as he chose, and marital happiness a foregone conclusion.
“That is rather severe,” George said. “But you of all people have reason to be upset at the girl’s antics.”
“My father also,” Rook said, “and I can only hope that Miss Prentice did not run across him in London. But from what we now know of her second and even more mysterious disappearance it seems unlikely. I would like to go up to London myself and help in the search, but-“
“On no account!” George interrupted. “That would only fuel the rumour that you are involved with the girl. The best thing you can do for her, and for your own family, is to stay well away from Miss Prentice.”
“I know. And James is capable of doing anything I could do, I have always appreciated his energy and ingenuity. If she is there to be found, surely he will get results.”
“Charlotte and the twins are not happy at James staying away so long,” George said. “This house party is not turning out at all as we planned, with one thing after the other going wrong. Guests departing early, disappearing, being added at the last moment, - it may be a long time till we have the heart to plan another.”
“I’ll do my best not to add any more to your troubles,” Rook said, “but it’s only fair to warn you that a quarrel with my father is in the offing, when he arrives. I don’t know what the outcome will be, though I don’t want the Princess to be affected by it, if possible.”
“No need to warn me of that,” George assured him, “anyone familiar with your circumstances would be able to foresee as much. For what it’s worth you have my full support in this conflict of titans.”
“Thanks.”
“Now it’s getting time we set off for Church.” It was Sunday. When in residence, George and Marianne never failed to appear in the family pew during mass.
“I’ll come with you,” Rook decided, receiving a look of surprise from his host. But he might as well see if prayer could deliver him from his irksome situation; he saw little other chance than hoping for a miracle.
Since on other mornings his betrothed did not emerge from her suite before lunchtime, he was surprised to see both the Princess and Anna join the churchgoing party, together with Charlotte and Lord Pell. The two German ladies were dressed elegantly in dull silk, suitable for daytime wear.
“I look forward to seeing how Mass is celebrated in your local Church,” the Princess said to Lady Amberley. “Will there be singing?”
“Undoubtedly, but you must expect mostly simple hymns suitable for untrained voices. I wonder if they are the same as in your country – the music, I mean, obviously the words would be different. Our organist is quite accomplished.”
The Komtesse listened to this conversation in silence. She looked speculatively from him to Gisela. Something was on her mind – what could it be? Why did she occupy his thoughts so much more than the Princess, his intended bride? Did she miss her fiancé? Had something occurred to break off their betrothal? Would she really depart for Russia in the autumn? It was such a perilous enterprise.
Studying Anna’s thoughtful expression Rook uncomfortably recalled his dream of the previous nig
ht. He’d been reading Homer before sleeping, hoping the familiar Greek cadences would distract him. Instead they had invaded his dreams. He’d found himself in the role of Paris, supposed to give a golden apple to one of three beauteous ladies who resembled Lady Ariadne, Lady Chloe, and Miss Prentice. Infuriating all three, his dream self stubbornly withheld the golden fruit. Later he’d found himself imprisoned in what looked like Hades, a grey and dreary place whose ruler resembled his father. Somehow he’d broken free, for the dream had ended with him washing up on a shore as Ulysses, and meeting a formidable Nausicaa with brown hair not unlike that of Anna von Rosenfels, Jarl jumping around at her feet … maybe he should not have had that cheese after dinner. Rook was normally a very sound sleeper.
They arrived in Church soon enough and descended from the two large carriages to take their places under the curious regard of the local congregation. Farmers, tenants, artisans and shopkeepers, Rook deduced from their attire; there was also a large contingent of servants from Amberley.
The familiar hymns were like a soothing balm on his soul, and Anna’s lovely soprano especially elevated his mood. The Princess listened with interest, like a scholar classifying a new phenomenon, but did not attempt to sing. Well, she could not understand English, so it would all have sounded foreign to her. Rook himself sang every hymn at full voice, his muscles slowly releasing their tension from this gentle exercise.
The vicar was visibly gratified at the number of noblemen attending, and yet looked a little nervous as he adjusted his pince-nez before tackling the long sermon he read from a sheaf of handwritten notes. It was on the subject of Giving to Caesar what was Caesar’s and to the Lord what was his … did this precept apply to his own situation? Caesar could be taken to stand for the Crown, the Foreign Office, Rook’s father. Was his hand in marriage and his honour Caesar’s to dispose of? Surely not.
What did he owe Gisela, what did he owe to himself, and to his children and grandchildren? Rook had always seen himself as part of a long chain of generations, working for the good of future descendants, as his father also did in his own way.