Amanda Scott (18 page)

“Can you be searching for anyone in particular?”

She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Sydney’s voice, and although she realized who it was at once and with a surprising rush of pleasure, she did not hesitate to say sharply, “I don’t know how you do that! I didn’t hear a sound as you came up behind me, and we are walking on gravel, for pity’s sake.”

“You were lost in your thoughts,” he said. “I trust you slept well.”

“Yes,” she admitted with a reluctant smile, “and breakfasted well, too, thanks to Ching Ho. I hope you will express my gratitude to him. Maggie tells me I would most likely have starved had he not arranged for my breakfast.”

“We have stayed here before, you see,” he said, regarding her lazily. “I like that cape. The color suits you very well.”

“Thank you, but don’t change the subject,” she said. “This is the oddest house, is it not? There must be hundreds of horses in the stables, yet none for guests to ride, and hundreds of servants, yet we must rely on our own if we are to eat before dinnertime. I daresay we can all be glad that you have been here before, for Godmama would probably blame poor Puck or her own woman if she could not get her morning chocolate, and what she will say if Ching Ho had not contrived to provide her breakfast, I cannot think.” She shot him an oblique look. “He will attend to her as he did to me, will he not?”

“He will,” Sydney said, taking her hand and tucking it into the crook of his arm, drawing her toward the woods. “I daresay Mama knows the way of things here as well as Ching Ho and I do, however,” he added, “knowing her highness as well as she does.”

She looked up at him suspiciously, but she could not tell if he was joking or not. Nor did it matter much, she decided, smiling at him. “Did you stay up till dawn with the others?”

“I am not much of a hand at whist,” he said gently. “Hush now. Listen to the birds’ songs, and if you watch the shrubbery just along here, you may even see a red fox. The animals know they are safe so near to the house, for the duchess’s dogs are so overfed and lazy, they don’t trouble to chase any of them.”

As they walked together in silence, Carolyn was suddenly aware that she was quite alone with him, and found herself watching him instead of the shrubbery, wondering how it was that she had not noticed before how handsome he was. Of course, she told herself firmly, one generally didn’t think in such terms about men with whom one lived and with whom one had been alone countless times before. And, too, before she had come to live at Bathwick Hill, she had thought of him only as one of the grownups she knew, not as a friend or companion—or, as was now the case, one with whom she had decided to flirt. Not that anything would come of that, she decided with a sigh. She had not yet given up looking for true love, and Sydney was no one’s notion of a hero.

To be sure, he was a comfortable companion, a man she could trust, and a reliable friend, but he was definitely not a hero. In point of fact, he was often rather silly, particularly when he worried more about creasing his coat or snagging a fingernail than he did about important matters. Still, she thought, turning at last to peer into the shrubbery along the path in hopes of seeing some small, trusting animal, just now, in this very odd household, his presence was a very great comfort.

When a gray squirrel skittered up the trunk of a tree only feet away from her to be greeted by a raucous, chattering diatribe from its mate, she laughed aloud. “I believe that gentleman must have been away all night. Naughty man!”

“Most likely, he came home without bringing his greedy wife something to eat,” Sydney said. When she glanced up at him, she saw that his eyes were twinkling as though he waited for her to debate the matter. She stuck out her tongue at him instead and was oddly pleased when he chuckled.

She could smell the river now, and when she looked ahead she could see it, the current moving swiftly as it flowed past Oatlands landing. A moment later they came to the towpath, and she could see Hampton Court Palace upriver on the distant shore.

“Wasn’t Oatlands once a royal palace, too?” she asked. “One also belonging to Henry the Eighth?”

“It was.”

“Well, wasn’t it a trifle extravagant of him to have two of them built so close together?”

“He didn’t build Hampton Court,” he pointed out. “He merely acquired it. There are others even closer together than these, and in any case, Henry was not a king noted for his fiscal prudence. He commanded a veritable spate of royal building, you know—no doubt in rebellion against the frugality of his father’s reign—but whatever his reason, there was so much of it that his nobles were unable to find craftsmen to work for them. He kept nabbing the best ones for his palaces.

“Is that when the grotto was built here?”

“No, that was much later. Have you seen it?”

“No, I thought it must be along this path.”

“It isn’t. You must take the path through the rose garden. I’ll show you later, but now it’s time we were getting back.”

“I thought Maggie said everyone would sleep past noon.”

“Not everyone. The Princess Charlotte arrived late last night, but she is an earlier riser, and others will emulate her. Have you been presented to her?”

“No, for she’s only fifteen, after all, and was never present at any function I attended. Do you know her?”

He nodded. “Met her on several occasions, mostly here, but I spoke once with her at Carlton House, when I was permitted the honor of advising her father on some Chinese soapstone figures he wanted to purchase.”

“Will you present me to her, as you did to the duchess, or must I wait for Godmama to do so?”

“Don’t know if Mama has had the honor herself, but it won’t do for me to present you, as you must know if you would but think about it. What our amiable duchess will tolerate won’t do for the heiress to the throne. Moreover, not only am I not your guardian but I ought not to approach her on my own. Of course,” he added casually, “you might ask one of your royal beaux to attend to the matter. I wouldn’t recommend asking Cumberland, though. Charlotte detests him.”

Carolyn looked away, hiding a smile. Although she could not accuse him of so passionate an emotion as jealousy, or even persuade herself that he was very much provoked, Sydney clearly disliked the fact that she had been encouraging the royal brothers to flirt with her, which was at least an auspicious beginning. Making her eyes wide with innocence, she said, “Why doesn’t Charlotte like him? I thought him perfectly amiable myself, despite his reputation, and surely she is not so young that she is frightened by no more than a black eye-patch!”

Sydney was silent for a long moment before he said gently, “Perhaps you ought to consider the fact that the princess is rather better acquainted with him than you are.”

Despite his careful tranquility, she detected an edge to his voice and was even more encouraged. Shrugging with elaborate unconcern, she said, “Charlotte is very young, sir, and you must agree that family relationships do not always provide the best evidence of a person’s character.”

“Perhaps.” They reached the garden path just then to discover that others had decided to take the air, and Carolyn was not pleased to see them, for she had found her conversation with Sydney delightfully stimulating. Nonetheless, she made no objection when he changed the subject, for she knew they could not go on in the same vein when almost anyone might overhear what they said. She set herself to be especially agreeable instead, and by the time they reached the house, she had had the satisfaction of having made him laugh again.

Inside the house, once Sydney had returned Carolyn to her bedchamber door and she had rung for Maggie, she soon discovered that, despite the arrival of even more guests to attend the ball that evening, no other plans appeared to have been made for their entertainment in the meantime. The duchess was nowhere to be seen. Sydney had disappeared after their return to the house, and the dowager, who arose at noon, emerged from her bedchamber only briefly before retiring to it again to recuperate for the evening, with Miss Pucklington to read to her before she settled down for her usual nap.

Carolyn had no intention of spending the afternoon in her bedchamber. Deciding it was an excellent opportunity to search for the famous grotto, she set out for the rose garden, managing to find a footman who did not mind indicating the way, although when she asked if he would escort her there, he looked at her as if she had spoken a foreign language. She did not press him, having made the request only to see what the response would be, and when two of the duchess’s dogs ambled up to her, languidly indicating a willingness to accompany her, she laughed, declaring their manners were much better than those of the royal servants.

Others had chosen to walk in the gardens, and just before entering the rose garden, she caught a glimpse of the Princess Charlotte walking with the Regent some distance away—no doubt in aid of that image of cordiality they were expected to present—followed by Lord and Lady Yarmouth, and other attendants. The rose garden itself was empty, however, and there were only a few late blooms to be seen, so she did not linger.

Perceiving at once the most likely path to the grotto, she soon found herself, greatly to her surprise, in front of a large square building constructed of magnificent shell-work and nestled into the thick growth of surrounding trees. As she stood gazing at the structure in bewilderment, she heard footsteps behind her. Turning gratefully, in the expectation of finding a servant or guest who could put her on the proper path to the grotto, she found instead, his highness the Duke of Cumberland.

“Beauty in distress?” he said, coming to a halt so close to her that she took an involuntary step backward.

“Not distress, sir, or not exactly,” she said, standing her ground reluctantly and noting without surprise that her canine companions had abandoned her. The intensity of the duke’s gaze made her nervous, but she told herself not to be foolish, that he could not be as sinister as he was painted. He was only a man, after all, and a royal prince, at that. Moreover, he was quite advanced in years, at least forty, so he was bound to be courteous to her. “I am looking for the grotto,” she explained, “but this cannot be it.”

“Not only can be, but is,” he said, glancing at it with undisguised contempt. “Must be the first time a grotto ever found itself above the ground rather than below it, but so it is. We go up those stairs yonder to reach it,” he added, indicating the stone steps ahead, leading up to a heavy wooden door.

He looked away as he gestured, and without his piercing gaze to disconcert her, she found it easier to collect her poise. “I have been away longer than I intended, sir,” she said. “I ought to return if I am to be dressed before they ring for dinner.”

“Nonsense, they will not ring before seven o’clock, and it hasn’t even gone three yet. You have hours.” He looked directly at her again and held out his hand. “Come, I’ll show you. ’Tis nothing much, but once you have seen it, you can be as delighted with it as anyone else—or not, as you please.”

Carolyn stood where she was.

“Are you afraid of me, Miss Hardy?” he inquired softly.

“Certainly not,” she replied stoutly. “Should I be?”

“It is your choice. Come.”

His forceful tone giving her to understand that she had no choice but to obey him, she allowed him to guide her up the steps to the door, hoping they would find it locked. But it was not, and a moment later they were inside.

The dim light from the few narrow slits in the stone walls had been augmented by a number of torches that burned brightly despite the lack of a single servant to see to them. Indeed, as Carolyn soon discovered, the whole place, consisting of four or five chambers, the walls and roofs of which sparkled brilliantly in the torchlight, appeared to be deserted.

“It looks as though the walls were encrusted with diamonds,” she said, awed despite her nervousness, as they moved down a short flight of steps into the third chamber, the floor of which was paved with flagstones. Carolyn’s gaze shifted upward to the crystal stalactites clinging to the roof high above her.

“Nothing but satin spar and a few sparkling ores, crystals, and shells,” he said, adding in a tone of deep distaste, “Yonder is the pool one is expected to make so much of. No more, to my mind, than an overlarge washbasin of cold, dirty water.”

Glad of an excuse to step away from him, she crossed to the edge of the glassy pool and looked down into its depths. “It does look a trifle murky, but perhaps ’tis only the light.”

“Perhaps.” He had moved up behind her and now placed his hands upon her shoulders. “Look at me, my pretty Carolyn.”

Her breath caught in her throat as a shiver of panic raced up her spine, and she knew she had been as much of a fool as ever Miss Laura Lovelace had been. She could not step forward without falling into the pool, and she could not step backward without pressing against him, the very thought of which repulsed her, for Cumberland was Count Rodolfo come to life.

“Please, sir,” she said, standing perfectly still, “I must go back to the house at once.”

His grip tightened, and he snarled, “Don’t think to trifle with me, girl! You will not like the consequences.”

“I know I behaved badly, your highness,” she said, trying to keep her desperation from sounding in her voice. “I ought never to have acted as I did last night or come unattended to the grotto today—though I never for a moment thought I would be in danger so near the house,” she added with more spirit. “Certainly, not from any member of the royal family.”

She knew at once that she had said something very wrong, for he jerked her around to face him. “Danger, Miss Hardy?” His tone was grim, his fury nearly palpable. “Had it been my brother, you would not prattle of danger.”

“Your brother?” Carolyn stared at him, as bewildered now as she was frightened. “I don’t know which brother you mean, sir, but I assure you, I should dislike being treated so by any man.”

“I saw how you played up to George,” he said, “but you misconstrue his attentions if you think them more than fleeting. He prefers women older than himself, not little girls.”