How to Wed a Baron (25 page)

“But it is a brilliant idea,” Charlotte said soothingly. “It's just as your aunt Emmaline has always
said—sometimes men simply have to be saved from themselves.”

Alina giggled and sank back into the cushions. She had yet to meet the twins' aunt, but she already liked her. Emmaline, she'd been told, was also married to a duke: the Duke of Warrington. She giggled again, knowing her nerves were badly rattled, unable to stop herself. But her aunt Mimi had always impressed upon her something she called the
privileges of rank
. Tonight Alina was absolutely knee-deep in dukes, and adding in the marquess made everything all the better. Bless Justin, he might think he was alone in his life, but he had very good, loyal and well-placed friends.

Perhaps enough of them to keep him from some dank cell, if Lydia's idea failed, if she, Alina, could not do her part as she was so determined to do.

The coach moved ahead yet again, and Nicole leaned forward to peer out the window. “We're finally here. I can actually see a small mob of people waiting to mount the steps to the front doors. I'd always thought London was very thin of company at this time of year.”

“He's still the Prince Regent, still the heir to the throne,” Charlotte reminded them. “If His Royal Highness wishes to commemorate the anniversary of the Great Fire with tonight's reception, then who are we to question his judgment?”

Nicole laughed. “Especially when it so neatly
dovetails with our own plan. How fortunate Rafe received that invitation. Ah, at last.” She reached for the handle, ready to open the door herself before Charlotte restrained her. “Impatience. The greatest of my sins.”

“Really? I don't remember being offered a vote in that,” Lydia said, and her sister looked at her in amused surprise, so that she shrugged delicately and added, “Tanner tells me I should speak my mind more often, rather than to keep my thoughts inside as I have always done. He said it would be very…freeing. I think he's right.”

“And I think I'm extremely grateful the two of you are married now, and no longer Rafe's and my responsibility. Shall we go? Alina? Are you all right, dear?”

She nodded, not quite sure she could trust her voice, and within minutes they were all slowly making their way up the outer steps and then up the curving marble staircase that led to the first floor of the Prince Regent's London residence.

She could feel eyes on her, both from the men and the ladies. She could hear the whispers. She took herself back to the Portsmouth docks and the first time she had set foot on English soil, the homeland of her mother.

And then, in her mind's eye, she replaced this multitude of well-dressed gentlemen and their perfumed and bejeweled ladies with the sailors, dockworkers,
even the prostitutes on those docks. After all, people were people, weren't they?

Besides, it made the whole thing easier. Especially if she continued to believe that Justin would soon be here. She did not doubt that he would have been successful in his dealings with the
Inhaber.
It was as Wigglesworth had assured her—the baron always prevailed. Perhaps not at first, but in the end the result was always the same. Success.

To divert her mind, she held on to the curved railing and took in her surroundings. There certainly was a multitude of gold gilt everywhere, along with crystal and stucco and a flotilla of candles that could easily have lit up a village. And yet the entire structure seemed somehow fragile to her, as if it might be only the stucco and gilt that held it all together and they were all fortunate to not have the vaulted roof tumble down on them at any moment.

She raised her eyes to the enormous chandelier at the very top of the staircase. Was that a crystal dove at the center of it? With its eyes picked out in rubies? How ludicrous!

“I'm not afraid anymore,” she whispered to Lydia as they passed beneath the chandelier. “Anyone who must try with such dedication to impress his guests cannot be anything other than terrified that he will not measure up to whatever is expected of him. Poor man.”

Lydia leaned close to whisper. “That
poor man
is
one day to be George the Fourth, King of England. And you
pity
him?”

“Yes. He is probably much like my aunt Mimi. So very concerned with all that is outside of her, so that no one will notice that there is very little inside of her.”

“No wonder Justin loves you. And you will balance his cynicism for his fellow man with your compassionate heart.”

“No, it is all of you who are so compassionate, so extraordinarily kind. The Prince Regent could very easily take you all in disfavor for what you're doing tonight.”

“We've already discussed this, haven't we? We'd be very poor friends if we did not support Justin now. We're prepared for the prince's punishment, and even more certain there will be one. We'll survive it, knowing we've done the right thing.” She squeezed Alina's gloved hand. “Now, are you ready? We're next to be announced. Thank goodness they limit the introduction to only the most senior titles, or we'd have another five minutes ahead of us to get through.”

Alina took a deep breath, then nodded. She only flinched the first time one of the pair of liveried footman—were they twins? did it matter?—rapped the bottom of his staff sharply against the marble floor and announced in a near bellow, “Your Royal Highnesses! The Duke and Duchess of Ashurst!”

The second footman followed with, “Your Royal Highnesses! The Duke and Duchess of Malvern.”

“Your Royal Highnesses! The Marquess and Marchioness of Basingstoke!”

And then, as her new friends stood with the ladies to the left, their husbands to the right, as though an honor guard of lesser mortals sent ahead of her, “Your Royal Highnesses! Lady Magdaléna Evinka Nadeja Valentin!”

Alina took five steps forward into the vast ballroom and raised her gloved hands to the hood of the cloak fashioned from a thin ivory whisper of silk and antique Austrian lace that had made her such a curious and intriguing sight to the others on the stairs.

The Duke of Ashurst himself stepped forward as she lowered the hood and untied the silken strings at her throat, lifting it all away from her shoulders to reveal what had been so well hidden.

Several gasps were heard, and a ripple of low whispers began spreading out across the ballroom.
“Who is she?”
Alina heard. And
“My God—magnificent!”

Ah, if only Justin could be here beside her. He would be so proud. She also thought he would appreciate such a moment. He was so delightfully vain.

Alina's gown had been her greatest achievement in her purchases, other than the velvet, ermine-tipped
cloak that she had once sworn she loved with all her heart.

She knew the material of her gown to be extraordinary, appearing as liquid gold, its simple bodice devoid of ruffle or sleeves. The bodice stopped at the high waist, accented by an intricate, braided knot of material, and the nominally full front piece of the skirt was seemingly made up of hundreds of pleats that ran vertically down to within a whisper of the floor. There were forty-two pleats, actually; Danica had told her that several times, having been the one who had to make them perfect with the pressing iron in an obscenely brief amount of time.

Emeralds and diamonds were everywhere. In Alina's dark hair, which was piled at least six inches high, with ringlets caressing her neck. In her ears, on her wrists, over top her long gloves…and in the heavy necklace that possessed the famed Valentin emerald at its center. How Aunt Mimi had coveted that necklace that was never truly hers.

In the midst of all the quiet, Alina heard what she thought might be something that sounded very much like
coo
from somewhere behind her. She had no idea what it might mean, but she decided she would choose to be flattered.

Her chin high, she surveyed the dockworkers and sailors and prostitutes in her mind's eye and then took the arm the Duke of Malvern offered her and proceeded directly down the center of the enormous
chamber, toward the pair of thrones sitting on a cleverly tiered dais. The royal princess Charlotte occupied the smaller throne, her father the monstrously large and overly carved creation beside it.

An Ashurst footman followed them, the velvet-and-ermine cloak cradled in his outstretched arms.

Her heart pounding, her expression one of the confidence she tried with all her might to believe she possessed, Alina dropped into a deep curtsy that spread the deceptive fullness of her gown into a graceful golden puddle. “Your Royal Highness,” she said, holding out her right hand as she kept her chin high, refusing to lower her gaze as she knew she should. “My affianced husband, Lord Wilde, sends his most abject apologies for his tardiness. He assures me he will be arriving shortly to apologize personally. And to thank you, as I do now, for being the wisest of men, who has in his infinite wisdom and charity bound our two hearts together. We are both of us now and forever your most grateful and loyal subjects.”

The world stopped, held its collective breath.

Alina remained deep in her curtsy, at last lowering her head, baring the nape of her neck, as if in supplication. Her outstretched hand remained steady.

Just as she thought she had surely failed, she heard the creak of bone stays. She believed she could sense the Prince Regent rising from his red-velvet-and-
gold-gilt throne. A fleshy hand took hold of hers, and she was drawn to her feet.

He bent over her fingertips, not actually kissing them, but still quite graciously, as if acknowledging her extraordinary and faintly exotic presence.

And the world breathed again.

“The shimmer of your gown is as nothing when matched with the worth of the true gold I see in your eyes, madam. The emeralds, however, are astounding. You've brought a present for me? From your king?” the Prince Regent asked in a curiously high-pitched voice.

Alina carefully recited the words Lucas had also penned for her, working on the two short speeches, refining them again and again during their hurried journey.

“For Her Royal Highness Princess Charlotte, sir, a gift from Lord Wilde and myself, if it pleases you. There is not another like it anywhere, as is proper, for only the daughter of the most beloved Florizel can do it justice. May she wear it in good health for the next fifty years.”

Rafe nodded to the footman, and he stepped forward so that the duke could lift the cloak and flourish it, the ermine tails showing to their best advantage.

From her throne, the princess inclined her head and smiled.

“My compliments, madam. You may inform your
affianced husband that he has gained himself a most delightful and formidable advocate,” the Prince Regent said quietly.

There was the sound of some commotion at the doorway to the ballroom, and Alina hid a smile.

“I believe it may be possible that you might tell him yourself, Your Highness.”

She didn't turn to watch, even as another round of gasps danced about the ballroom, even as she heard and recognized the confident footfalls of her beloved approaching.

Only when she felt his presence beside her did she dare to look at him. Oh, he was such a handsome fellow in his finery. Even if his neckcloth was slightly askew, and his hair somewhat the worse for the hat that must have sat on it for several long hours. She bit back a smile. The man actually smelled a bit of horse. Poor Justin. How his consequence must be suffering, that he was not his usual pristine and perfect self.

And how important she must be to him.

“Justin,” she said quietly.

“Alina,” he drawled almost languidly, without so much as nodding his head in her direction. “Imagine seeing you here. Was Basingstoke that much of a bore in my absence?”

Oh, dear. If he grew any more polite, she felt sure the pressure building up inside of him would soon
have the top of his head exploding into pieces. He must be very worried about her.

“Your Royal Highness,” Justin said then, as he moved closer to the dais and bowed deeply to the Prince Regent, his voice so low, so intimate, that even Alina had difficulty hearing him. “My betrothed means well, but she is not a part of this. I am here to tell you that I was wrong and present myself for punishment. What transpired between us the last time I was in this building was unforgivable, the worst of it being that I misjudged you, and that I likewise misjudged my deep love and devotion for this country. I offer no excuses. No apology, no matter how abject or sincere, can adequately correct the insult I have dealt you. I can only say that I will do anything you ask, Your Highness. I am yours to command.”

“How delightful, if difficult to believe. Yet rather easy to prove,” the Prince Regent said just as quietly. “Would you give her up if I were to ask it of you—for love of Crown and country?”

At last Justin turned his head to look at Alina. His eyes widened slightly, which served to warm her heart quite a lot. He took her hand in his, which brought tears to her eyes.

Please, Lord, let him behave. Please make him be diplomatic. Please don't let him say anything witty and damning….

Justin turned back to the Prince Regent. “No,” he said flatly.

The future king at last showed that he wasn't as shallow and perhaps even stupid as many of his subjects would believe. He nodded, smiled—he was really rather handsome when he smiled, Alina thought charitably—and said, “Take her home, Wilde, now. Leave this very minute. Your lady, and your impertinent friends. We look forward to the pleasure of your company again in the spring. But not until then, not any of you. Do we understand each other?”

They were prepared for this. They knew this could be their very public punishment so that the Prince Regent might have his small victory.
Say yes, Justin,
Alina prayed silently.
They're your friends, our friends. Take what they've offered. You're not alone. You'll never again be alone….