Caspar’s face creased in a grin. “Excellently deduced. You are probably correct. However…” He paused to consider. “That does leave a considerable difficulty. How are we to restore it safely?”
“We can’t risk sending Ramsey to retrieve it,” Lizbet said immediately. “I doubt he would tell his story to anyone else, and it would look very bad for him if he were caught with the sword in hand.” She shut her eyes and whispered what sounded like a curse. “It’s going to have to be me, isn’t it?”
“Us,” Caspar responded immediately. “I believe the word you were looking for is ‘us.’”
When Lizbet favored him with a skeptical glance, he lowered his spectacles to look at her over them. “I have seen the king’s suite, Miss Vanholm. I realize the sword is not tiny, but an inventive boy could find any number of places to hide it. You will need help if we are to restore it to its rightful place before anyone else becomes involved.”
“Are you certain?” Lizbet folded her arms and fixed him with a serious expression. “This will have to be a clandestine operation. Very risky for a man of your reputation. There will be sneaking. Missed meetings. Also dust, and probably spiders.”
Caspar pushed his spectacles back into place. “While I do not appreciate spiders, I believe I can suffer them without screaming. And although I have not indulged in sneaking in some time”—he shot her a look of mock reproach—“that does not mean that I have forgotten how.”
“Very well.” Lizbet smiled suddenly, an expression that lit up her eyes with something like anticipation. “If you insist on accompanying me. We shall be sneaky. And damn the spiders.”
Caspar couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing, as Lizbet began to blush.
“I don’t suppose you could overlook my language,” she said, averting her eyes and looking guilty. “I don’t usually admit how much I loathe anything with eight legs.”
“How can I possibly overlook the best thing I’ve heard all day?” Caspar protested. “But if it will ease your mind, I solemnly swear never to reveal your secret to a living soul.”
Lizbet suppressed a grin at the memory, jerked a brief nod and then led the way out of the room. They had a sword to find, a prince to exonerate, and a scandal to prevent. The afternoon was going to be even busier than the morning.
Caspar had long known there were secret passages in the castle, but had never bothered to explore them. Once the passages that led to any sensitive areas had been permanently blocked, some long-ago king had elected to leave the remainder as part of the castle’s unique history. Most visitors never even knew they existed. Often the secret was passed down through the royal family, and extended to their most intimate friends, but no further. And really, Caspar had never been able to see the appeal. They were dark, dusty, and narrow, and didn’t really lead anywhere interesting.
Unless, apparently, you were Lizbet Vanholm.
After they had traversed several halls and gone up a shadowy stair covered in dust, Lizbet turned towards him with what seemed like hesitation.
“Please don’t be offended,” she said, “but I’m going to have to ask you to close your eyes. I don’t have permission to reveal this entrance to anyone, even someone I trust. It was shown to me by my sister, and I don’t know if anyone but myself and King Hollin are aware that it still exists.”
“I am not offended in the slightest,” Caspar replied easily. “And if it makes you feel any better, I can assure you that I am completely lost. After all of the twists and turns, I could no more find my way back here than fly.”
He heard a rustling, a click, and a harsh grating sound, and then the warm pressure of Lizbet’s hand on his.
“Just keep your eyes closed for a moment and step forward,” she told him. “I won’t let you trip. Just three steps.”
Caspar didn’t hesitate for a moment. The feeling of her fingers wrapped around his filled him with a sense of well-being, and he could not for an instant have believed she would lead him astray. Once he took the three steps, he expected her to drop his hand, but for some reason, she did not.
“One moment,” she assured him, whispering this time. There was another click and a creak, followed by a rush of warmer air on his face. Her fingers squeezed his hand. “All right. Two more steps.” He followed her voice, heard another creak and a snick, as though a latch had closed. “You can open your eyes now.”
His eyes snapped open and he almost swore under his breath. They were in a dressing room. One with a tall mirror and rows upon rows of heavily embroidered coats and fantastically embellished robes.
“How is this passage still open?” he hissed in astonishment.
Lizbet held a finger to her lips. Her other hand still gripped his, as though she had forgotten to let go. “I need to check for servants.” Slowly and with utmost caution, she stuck her head around the door and peered out. “The lamps are out. It should be safe. Everyone ought to be at luncheon.” Towing him behind her, Lizbet stepped out into a dimly lit room that could only be the king’s bedroom.
Suddenly, she seemed to realize she was still holding his hand and dropped it as though it scalded her. Caspar could barely hide a grin at her expression. She didn’t look certain whether she ought to feel more embarrassed or bewildered.
“The passage is still open in case His Majesty ever needs an exit, during times of attack,” Lizbet said, clearly striving for nonchalance. “But literally no one else knows of it, and the entrances are impossible to find if you don’t know exactly where and how to look.”
“Speaking of where and how to look, where should we search first?”
Drawn back to the problem at hand, Lizbet looked around her. “Ramsey couldn’t have come through the passage, as he doesn’t know it exists. We might start in one of the other rooms. That’s where he would be most likely to have encountered a servant by accident.”
They split up and began their search, looking under furniture, inside cabinets and behind doors. Lizbet rattled a suit of ceremonial armor and poked at the seat of a particularly long settee, but with no luck.
“Wretched boy,” she muttered.
“Actually”—Caspar looked up from where he was stretched out on the floor to peer under a chaise lounge—“I’d say he’s one of the most impressive young men I’ve ever encountered. Not every boy even understands relationships well enough to deduce as he did, let alone move to protect someone who doesn’t seem to care about him in the slightest.”
“What makes you say that?” Lizbet’s voice was muffled from having her head deep inside a tall, lacquered cabinet.
“I might be old, but I’m not blind, Miss Vanholm. Prince Rowan has a fine opinion of himself and anyone who can be of use to him. Perhaps I ought not speak so openly, but I doubt you’ve failed to notice it yourself.”
“No.” She pulled her head out of the cabinet and made a face at him. “You do realize there are cobwebs in your hair. And don’t you even dare mention what I look like at the moment.”
She put her hands on her hips and looked around the room. “You’re right, of course. But I’m their aunt.” She walked over and sat on the chaise lounge, shoulders slumped in defeat. “I’m supposed to be impartial. And if Rowan is struggling to establish a worthy character, perhaps it is because I failed him somehow. I know I can’t replace their mother, or their father, but I spend more time with them than anyone except Brawley. There must have been something I could have done.”
“You have sacrificed seven years of your life for those boys,” Caspar reminded her, sitting up and removing his spectacles to wipe off the dust. “You were there for them in their greatest need, and cannot ask more of yourself than the love you have clearly given without a moment’s hesitation.”
She looked down at her lap. “I wish that felt like enough,” she said.
“Is there anywhere left to search besides the bedroom?” Caspar asked, hoping to ease her discomfort.
“No. And we’d best hurry before anyone comes back.”
> They rushed together into the bedchamber and eyed the enormous bed. Then eyed each other. Lizbet laughed, a little nervously. “I’ll look under this side, and you take that.” They split up and peered behind the brocade skirts, but the bed frame was solid and left no space. Probably a way to keep assassins from hiding underneath.
Caspar, not really hoping to find anything, thrust one hand between the mattress and the frame on which it rested. His fingers struck something cold. Metal. “Ha!” He wrapped his fingers around it and pulled. An enormous, gold-chased blade emerged from beneath the mattress, its ostentation appearing cheap and almost gaudy in the dimly lit room. He held it up with a broad grin. “Well done, Miss Vanholm. Your nephew is indeed neither a liar, nor a thief.”
Lizbet whooped in excitement, then clapped her hand over her mouth. They still had to get out without being caught. “Close your eyes,” she said. “I’ll open the door and then we’re free of this mess.”
“Mess?” a frosty voice queried from the open doorway. “Disaster is more like it. Of all the people I might have expected to find engaged in flagrant indiscretion in my very own bedchamber, you, Caspar would have been the last. And with my sister-in-law no less? Have you no sense of honor or decency?”
Both Lizbet and Caspar turned as one to confront the outraged visage of their sovereign lord, King Hollin Tremontaine. His beard positively bristled as he loomed in the doorway, glaring at each of them in turn. Behind him, Caspar could see at least one other man, though whether it was a councilor or the king’s valet he couldn’t tell.
“I suggest someone begin explaining,” the king demanded, “before I am forced to accept the obvious interpretation of this ridiculous scene.”
Caspar held up the blade in his hand. “Just returning your property, Your Majesty.”
“Don’t ‘Your Majesty’ me,” Hollin growled. “Where did you find that? And why didn’t you just put it back in the Treasury Hall instead of risking Lizbet’s reputation?”
Up to this point, Lizbet had found herself frozen with shock, embarrassment and indecision. But she’d had more than enough of listening to her brother-in-law’s tirade.
“Oh, be quiet,” she snapped, and both heads jerked towards her, mouths open. “Stop being ridiculous. You wanted the sword found and we found it. Caspar was simply helping me so we could keep things quiet and not start any rumors about the boys. If you don’t like the way I choose to do things, maybe you could pay attention when things are going well, instead of only descending into the boys’ lives when there’s a catastrophe.”
For the moment, the king seemed struck dumb, whether by her anger or her effrontery, Lizbet didn’t know. She had the upper hand and didn’t intend to lose it.
“Your younger son took the sword because he was afraid his brother’s friends were going to steal it and break it and he didn’t want Rowan to look bad in front of his friends. He hid it in your room because he’s not a thief. He refused to tell us what he’d done because he didn’t want anyone else to get in trouble. And Rowan knew very well what his friends were planning and tried to convince me that Ramsey stole the sword for himself.” She threw up her hands. “I have no idea how to be a parent to the boys and I’m at my wits’ end. They need more than I can give them. I swear that I love them too much to want to abandon them to the court, but if all you have is accusations then I am done. I quit. I will walk away and live my own life for once, somewhere else, unless you are willing to be reasonable.”
Her mouth closed with a snap. Heavens help her, she’d just verbally attacked the king. With witnesses. Her mother was going to die of shame when she found out. Brother-in-law or not, it simply wasn’t done. She glanced over at Caspar, still on the other side of the bed, still clutching the sword. So help her, the man was smiling as if he’d enjoyed every minute of her rant.
“Is that all?” King Hollin asked, quite calmly under the circumstances.
“Yes,” she muttered. “I suppose that’s enough for now.”
“Very well.” The king walked all the way into the room and sat down on a chair next to his bed, looking more weary than anything. “I can’t say I’m surprised. By any of it, actually.”
“Then you’ll leave their punishment to me?” Lizbet asked hopefully.
“No.”
“But Ramsey…”
“I know,” the king interrupted. “Don’t worry. I don’t intend to punish either of them, actually. At least not in any way they might expect. Perhaps they will find it more of a punishment if I decree that they spend time with me, each day, involving themselves in the business of ruling, learning what it takes to be a king. I daresay they’ll be begging to be let off before a day is out.”
Caspar, unexpectedly, chuckled. “I believe the Commerce Council would be an excellent place to begin, Your Majesty. So many topics of absorbing interest for growing boys.”
“I’m not finished with you, Caspar Norelle,” the king barked, turning to look at his friend. “I hope I don’t need to tell you how absurd it is for a man of your age and reputation to involve yourself in a potential scandal of this magnitude. You have been seen, and not only by myself”—he gestured to the rest of his suite where presumably his former companion waited—“alone, in a bedchamber no less, with my sister-in-law. A woman of unimpeachable reputation. If even a hint of this gets out, and it will, her character could be ruined and her marriage prospects could be destroyed, possibly forever.”
“And now you’re just being dramatic.” Lizbet hastened to reassure him. “There was a perfectly innocent reason for us to be here and no one needs to find out. Whoever that is, I’m sure you can request their silence.”
“You know less about servants than I thought,” Hollin replied severely, “if you think even I can command silence. No, there isn’t much help for it. Caspar, I’m going to have to demand that you act the gentleman and do your duty by her.”
“Absolutely not!” Lizbet snapped. “I might be your sister-in-law, but I am not your sister and I don’t care if you are the king, you have no right to tell me who I will marry and who I will not.”
Hollin ignored her. “Caspar?”
Caspar turned to regard her. He seemed sad. Regretful even. “Your Majesty, I fear I must decline. I have too much respect for Miss Vanholm to force her into a marriage that she finds distasteful.”
“You’d rather her reputation suffer?” the king demanded, growing louder with anger.
“I would rather she be allowed to make her own choice,” Caspar replied evenly. “She is a strong, intelligent, beautiful woman with many prospects before her. I am proud to call her my friend and I wish with all my heart that I was perhaps ten years younger so that I might aspire to her esteem. But I am what I am, and I will not take any part in subjecting her to a marriage not of her choosing.”
Lizbet flushed and found herself staring at the man she had once believed past the age of romance. He had somehow just made the most romantic speech she had ever heard. And he was risking the wrath of his king for the sake of a woman who had rejected him for no better reason than thinking him old. Perhaps she had misjudged him more completely than she knew.
“How old are you?” she asked suddenly.
“What does that have to do with anything?” King Hollin demanded irascibly.
“Quite old,” Caspar replied, meeting her gaze with a rueful smile. “I am all of thirty-seven. A veritable doddering old man on the brink of decrepitude.”
“Not to mention rheumatism,” Lizbet added, smiling back at him. “But really, thirty-seven is still quite young when you think about it. Your hair is only a bit gray. I believe I have nearly as many gray hairs as you after putting up with the boys these past seven years.”
“I have all my teeth, too,” Caspar announced. “And a respectable inheritance. Though perhaps you would be most impressed if I mentioned my rather enormous library.”
“Libraries are good,” Lizbet admitted, “but not the most important thing.”
&nbs
p; “And what is the most important thing?” Caspar asked, looking earnestly into her eyes.
“Something I suspect we already have,” Lizbet answered, crossing the room to offer him her hand. “Count Norelle, my friend, would you by any chance do me the honor of calling on me again? I quite enjoyed our last conversation and I believe my parents would not be averse to deepening their acquaintance with you.”
Caspar accepted her hand and bowed over it, expression serious. “Miss Vanholm, it would be the greatest honor of my life if you would permit me to do so. But I must ask…” He seemed to fumble for words.
“You’re not going to court her,” King Hollin interjected sharply, “you’re going to marry her.”
“Do be quiet,” Lizbet said cheerfully. “I will marry whomever I choose. You were saying, Caspar?”
“Yes,” Caspar said. “Whomever you choose. Is this genuinely your choice? To link your name to mine in a public courtship? We are friends, yes, but you are independent, and have made a place here for yourself. You don’t need a husband and have never seemed to seek marriage. And…” His mouth twisted in self-mockery. “I’m not exactly the prince you’ve been waiting for.”
“You’re right,” Lizbet admitted. “You’re not a prince, and I don’t need a husband, or any greater position in life.” She could feel his disappointment so she pressed his hand as she continued. “You see, I’ve spent rather a lot of time with princes and in general they’re a great deal of trouble, in my opinion. I don’t particularly want one of my own.”
“Perfectly understandable,” Caspar allowed.
“What I want,” she went on, blushing a little, “is a man who I both admire and respect more than anyone else of my acquaintance. A man whose company I enjoy, and who is not really all that terrible looking when he remembers to smile.”
She winked up at him to let him know she was only teasing. In fact, she had decided she was quite fond of the way he looked. Gray hairs, smile lines and all.
“I don’t need to know about your position or your inheritance or even what the rest of the court thinks of you,” she continued, more seriously. “The truth is, all I really need to know is whether you think you might someday come to love me.”
The Countess and the Frog Page 6