“Sandy Dan is running the next race. You know I don’t bet against my own horses, Alex—”
“Be sensible, Tony. You know I love Sandy Dan like he was my own, but word is Daisychain underperformed on purpose at the trials and I think it’s a sure bet. Come on, what do you say?”
North glanced at Alison. “I…think not.”
Bishop seemed surprised. “Don’t tell me you’re not up for a little wager? I was sure you’d be eager to act on this tip. You wouldn’t want the lady to think you afraid to take a chance, would you?” He smiled at Alison, but his eyes were unexpectedly cold, and she felt herself freeze up a little from the strange expression in them.
North looked at Alison again, then back at Bishop. “Well…you’ve never steered me wrong before. Let’s hurry before the book closes. Your ladyship, please excuse us.” He and Bishop loped down the stairs, leaving Alison with an unvoiced protest on her lips. She watched their retreating forms and fumed. Bishop had just used her to manipulate the Prince. She felt her good mood evaporate. North had said he wasn’t going to bet against his own horse. Then Bishop came out of nowhere and suddenly North was off placing a wager. For all his faults, she’d never seen him easily led. Who was this Alexander Bishop, and why did the Prince care so much for his good opinion, enough to compromise his principles?
The horses were coming onto the track before North and Bishop returned. North again sat beside Alison, while Bishop, to Alison’s dismay, sat on her other side, bookending her like a folio on a shelf. “That’s the horse,” North said, pointing at a chestnut mare in the middle of the pack.
“I didn’t realize a horse named Sandy Dan might be female,” Alison said.
“No, that’s Daisychain. Sandy Dan is on the far side.” The horse’s light yellow coloring made it clear why he was named Sandy Dan. Alison determined to cheer for him, and Daisychain be damned.
“Eight to one odds means we will win eight times as much as we wagered,” Bishop explained. “You can see Daisychain is a high-stepper, can’t you? I feel certain you have an instinct for horses.”
“You flatter me, Mister Bishop,” Alison said, trying to remain polite and wishing she dared tip him out of his seat, not that she was nearly strong enough; he wasn’t as tall and broad-shouldered as North, but he was still a good deal taller than she was. “I believe I would have chosen Sandy Dan.”
“Ah, but there’s more to racing than just the horse,” Bishop said. “There’s the rider’s experience, and the horse’s knowledge of the track, and even the weather can change the outcome of a race. You’ll see.”
“I believe I begin to see already, thank you, Mister Bishop,” Alison said coldly. “But I’ll stand by my choice, if you don’t mind.”
The flag dropped, and the shouting began, North and Bishop roaring out Daisychain’s name, Alison screaming for Sandy Dan in a way she didn’t think she had in her. She felt as if she were running the race herself, flying across the rough ground, passing the others contemptuously because they were no match for her. Daisychain didn’t even deserve to run the same track as her. She—Sandy Dan passed the finish line well ahead of his nearest rival, and Alison jumped and cheered before realizing how ridiculous she looked. She sat down again. North and Bishop looked glum. “Too bad about the track,” Bishop said. “Daisychain can’t have been familiar with it. Next time for sure.”
“Next time for sure,” North echoed. “I should congratulate Jackley. Countess, would you care to join me?”
“Thank you, milord, I would enjoy that.”
“Alex? Or are you off to place another bet?”
“I was actually on my way home when you saw me,” Bishop said. “Thank you, Countess, for allowing me to join you, but I think I’ll take my leave.”
North shook his hand. “I’ll see you tonight?”
“At the club, certainly.” Bishop took Alison’s hand. This time, he brushed his lips against the back of it. “Countess, your servant.”
“Good afternoon, Mister Bishop,” Alison said, retrieving her hand with a little more force than necessary. Far from being offended, Bishop smiled, a surprisingly smug expression that made Alison wonder what he thought he’d accomplished by “accidentally” meeting North here today. He had no interest in courting her himself, she was certain of that, but for whatever reason, he didn’t want North courting her either. The Prince must not have told him the reason he was escorting her so frequently. How petty of Bishop! Suppose North were genuinely interested in her, which he was not? What kind of person wanted to ruin his friend’s happiness? An ache began behind her temples, which she rubbed surreptitiously as they left the stands to find Jackley and Sandy Dan.
Jackley was a pleasant-featured young man only an inch or two taller than Alison, and he seemed not at all overwhelmed by his royal employer. Alison managed a few questions about his job and petted Sandy Dan, but mostly listened to the technical conversation between North and Jackley. North treated Jackley without condescension and listened closely to his suggestions. He didn’t mention betting against Sandy Dan and Alison didn’t give him away.
They didn’t speak much, the next few races, which satisfied Alison because her headache was worsening and she felt increasingly inclined to snap at North. By the end of the sixth race, her head was pounding as if something were trying to emerge from it. She was also hungry, which made her even more irritated at North that he hadn’t thought to provide food for this long excursion. “Milord, I hate to cut short our outing, but I feel a little unwell,” she said. “Do you suppose we might return now?”
“Of course,” North said. He sounded genuinely concerned, which irritated her further. As if he really cared about her needs. She rubbed her temples again. That was unjust of her. He’d been such a pleasant companion, hadn’t once ogled her body or said something suggestive, and during their shared excitement over the racing she’d felt for a brief time that they were friends. It surprised her to discover she wanted to be his friend—not the swaggering man-about-town, but the enthusiastic, genuine man who existed somewhere beneath that façade. When was the last time you called a man ‘friend’? When has any man been interested in something you cared about instead of your body? Then Bishop had appeared and the Prince had changed again, behaving like a puppy wanting a treat—no, that was unfair, there was nothing puppyish about the Prince. But he’d certainly wanted Bishop’s approval.
North helped her into the carriage, and they drove away from the race grounds. “Is there anything I can do to ease your discomfort, your ladyship?”
“Thank you for your concern, milord, but I simply need to rest.”
“What’s wrong, Countess?”
“Nothing, milord.” She knew she sounded frozen. She was too tired to keep the mask from falling.
“That’s not true. You only sound like that when you’re upset. Are you angry with me?”
“Why should I be angry with you, milord?”
“That’s not an answer.” Now he sounded angry.
“I would rather not talk about it, milord.”
“And now you’re using a title every time you speak to me.”
“Am I, milord?”
North swore and reined in the horses so he could give her his full attention. “I have behaved with perfect propriety toward you all day. I haven’t paid you any of the attentions you’ve made it clear you don’t welcome. And yet you’re behaving as woodenly as if I’ve somehow disappointed you. Tell me, Countess, which of your impossibly high standards have I failed to meet this time?”
Stung, she retorted, “You weren’t going to place a bet.”
“And? It’s not as if I killed someone. I enjoy wagering on races. And I think I’m free to change my mind if I wish.”
“Is that what you call it? Freedom?”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I mean you had no intention of wagering, let alone against your own horse, until your friend Mister Bishop appeared.”
North’s lips
were set in a hard line. “I don’t recall asking you to approve my choice of friends, Countess.”
“Not at all. You’re free to choose whomever you wish to associate with.”
“Countess,” North said, “Alex Bishop has been my friend for many years. He supported me after my father’s death. I owe him a great deal. Yes, I choose to be guided by his opinion, but that is because time has shown me it is an opinion worth heeding. I don’t need a lecture from you on the appropriateness of his company.”
“As you say. It’s not for me to approve your choice of friends. I apologize for the insult.” She didn’t have the energy or the inclination to sound penitent.
North turned away and flicked the reins. As the team began to move, he said, “I would prefer you keep your opinions about my lifestyle to yourself, Countess.”
“I will certainly do so in the future, your Highness.”
They rode in angry silence back to the palace. Alison didn’t wait for North to help her down. He didn’t offer.
Chapter Seven
Alison’s irritation with the Prince persisted for several days. He’d been arrogant. He’d been proud. He’d dared imply she was the one in the wrong. Well, it didn’t matter to her if he wanted to be led by that awful Alexander Bishop. He was shallow and selfish and she didn’t even like him. When, after five days, a sealed note with her title scrawled across it in his careless hand arrived, Alison snatched it up. Finally, an apology. But it merely requested the pleasure of her company at a concert featuring two of Aurilien’s most popular opera singers. Alison crumpled the note into a ball and tossed it into the fire, then flung herself onto her bed. He knew she disliked concerts; this was a petty continuation of their battle. Typical. She went into the sitting room and penned a cold, formal acceptance. She didn’t have to sink to his level. She would behave with propriety, not childishness.
The Prince arrived precisely on time that evening and offered Alison his arm with nothing more than a chilly, “Shall we go, your ladyship?” Alison responded with a curt nod. So he still thought himself wronged, after he’d spoken so rudely to her. Well, they didn’t have to speak at all tonight.
They sat together near the edge of the concert hall, Alison clasping her hands tight before her to keep from drumming them on her knees with impatience. She did like music; she just liked it in company with something else, like a play or an opera. Watching two people sing about something that in isolation had no meaning bored her nearly to the point of leaping out of her seat and fleeing.
She covertly observed the Prince. North sat perfectly erect, giving no indication he was enjoying himself but not appearing bored, either. He really was handsome, not that it mattered to her at all, with those cheekbones and the strong curve of his jaw, the way his eyebrows swooped just the tiniest bit at the inner corners to draw attention to his absurdly blue eyes. He shifted minutely, and Alison whipped her gaze back to the performers, certain he knew she’d been watching him. It didn’t matter how attractive he was, he was still shallow and incapable of thinking of her as anything but a potential conquest. What a fool she’d been to think they might ever be friends.
The lights came up, and Alison belatedly added her applause to that of the crowd. “Shall we take a turn about the room during intermission, your ladyship?” North said, his voice still cold. “Might as well make certain everyone sees how very friendly we are.”
Alison stood and accepted his arm. “Even if we are not?” she said in a low voice.
“If we are not friendly, that’s hardly due to me. You’re the one who so high-handedly criticized me and my friend.” He spoke so quietly his lips barely moved, then smiled at an elderly lady dripping with diamonds who bowed to him as they passed.
“Drawing attention to your poor-spirited behavior is hardly criticism.” They’d reached the back of the room, which echoed with dozens of conversations so theirs was lost in the confusion, but she kept her voice low regardless.
North stopped and turned to face her, his face not showing any sign of the anger evident in his voice. Damn him. “I, poor-spirited? Because I failed to meet your expectations? I wonder that any man could ever do so, you seem so hell-bent on crushing the fun out of every experience.”
“I beg your pardon?” Alison glanced around to see if anyone had heard that. “I am not the one who thinks women exist solely for his viewing pleasure!”
“I haven’t made a single admiring comment all evening, much as I’d like to compliment you on that gown, and I’ve apologized for making you uncomfortable. You don’t seem to be interested in giving me any credit for that. I’m beginning to think you had that sense of humor on loan.”
“I—!”
A few chords rang out, indicating that the concert was about to begin again. North glanced around and cursed. “I don’t feel I need to excuse my behavior to anyone as judgmental as you.”
“Better judgmental than completely incapable of making my own decisions!”
“You have the nerve—”
“You have the nerve—” she said exactly as he spoke.
They both went silent. North was finally glaring at her. She replayed their argument in her head, heard how shrewish she’d sounded, then began to laugh. “Your Highness, I apologize. My pride was so injured I made myself believe you were entirely in the wrong. I had no right to criticize your behavior and certainly none to speak ill of your friend, whom I barely know.”
His eyes widened. “Countess, you don’t have to apologize to me.”
“Actually, milord, I think I do.”
A smile spread across his face. “You’re right. You were presumptuous.”
“And you were arrogant.”
They were almost the last ones still standing. The performers had again come to the front of the room, to general applause. “You’re not enjoying yourself, are you,” North said. Alison shook her head. North took her by the arm and drew her swiftly out of the room. “I see no reason for us to stay any longer, then,” he said. They left the building and North led her to his waiting carriage, once again pulled up near the front doors. When the coach had set off along the street, North said, “We were both behaving like a couple of infants, I think.”
“We were. How embarrassing. I thought I had better manners.”
“So did I. You’re the most correct and proper person I’ve ever met.”
“I don’t believe that’s true.”
“It is! You even sit like a correct and proper person. Do you even know how to slouch?”
“Do you even know what a corset is, milord?”
“Oh.” North laughed. “All right, I hadn’t considered that. We can’t go home yet, you know.”
“We can’t? Why not?” The idea of returning to her suite, getting out of the detested corset and into a comfortable nightgown with a book and a glass of wine, had danced before her eyes, and the Prince’s words had made it dissolve like chalk in rain.
“It’s too early. Zara won’t believe we’ve fulfilled her instructions.” North sat back and gave her a steady look that had nothing of seduction in it. “Do you trust me? Or, I should say, will you trust me?”
Alison regarded him, his relaxed pose and those intent eyes. He hadn’t behaved objectionably at all tonight, either. Perhaps she could give him the benefit of the doubt. “Yes,” she said.
“Harvey,” North called out to the driver, “take us up to Old Fort. I think you’ll like this,” he said to Alison. “It’s—no, I think I’ll let you see for yourself.”
“Should I be filled with dread?”
“You said you’d trust me, right? I promise I have no ulterior motives.” He turned to look out the window, where the tall, narrow mansions of brick and stone slipped by, their dark façades lit only by the street lamps’ warm orange glow. Alison could smell snow on the air, and wondered how Kingsport looked now, where the first snows had fallen a week ago, blanketing the city with white. The small boats would all be locked up for the winter now, the larger fishin
g boats still going in and out of the harbor regardless of the weather. Waxwold Manor—had her father remembered to tell the gardeners to set out the bird feeders? Her mother had started the tradition, and although Alison suspected doing so was interfering with the natural order, she didn’t have the heart to cancel it. He probably wouldn’t order the Wintersmeet light Devices put up, with her not there. Martin Quinn was indifferent to every holiday except Alison’s birthday, though the celebration was always the same: supper at an expensive restaurant and the gift of a rare book for her library at the manor. She would be returning from Aurilien just in time for it. The thought made her heart ache with homesickness as it hadn’t yet since she arrived, and she turned her head further to keep North from seeing her eyes.
“So you won’t tell me where we’re going,” she said to cover her emotional lapse. The last thing she needed was to cry in front of the Prince.
“It’s the highest point in the city, and that’s all I’ll say,” North said. Alison realized the coach had been ascending a gentle slope for several minutes. They were passing more mansions, more sprawling than those near the palace and more opulent. What was it about hills and wealth that the two so often went together? The lights were more widely spaced now, and shed a clearer, whiter light that flashed across the carriage windows, painting it first bright, then dark again. Beyond the mansions and the lights she could see the summit of the low hill Aurilien had been built around. She had read there had once been a fortress on that hill, but it had no source of water, and in the days before Devices that could burrow down hundreds of feet to reach hidden aquifers, it was ultimately indefensible and had been abandoned. Not that the current palace was any more defensible, with its sprawling wings and half a dozen entry points and the gate that was probably rusted open.
The coach came to a creaking stop. “This is it,” North said, and helped her out of the carriage. Alison looked around. She saw nothing but the continued curve of the hill rising to the long-destroyed fortress and the patiently standing horses, the one on the left ducking his head as if he hoped to find a nosebag somewhere nearby.
Servant of the Crown (The Crown of Tremontane Book 1) Page 9