Princess Annie (6 page)

Lucian chuckled and put his hands on her shoulders again. His smile had a hard edge to it and was no longer reassuring. “Women are always shedding tears over my brother. Georgiana, Felicia, and countless others.”

Annie swallowed and retreated a step. Georgiana’s name had caught in her heart like a fishhook, but not because she was jealous. “He adored Georgiana,” she insisted, in a whisper. “Everyone knows that.”

“Oh, yes,” Lucian retorted, with disgust. “He adored her, all right. I don’t believe he mentioned that to any of his mistresses, though.”

Annie twisted out of Lucian’s grasp. Rafael’s love for Georgiana had been legendary, and Annie wouldn’t see it tarnished. “You’re lying.”

“Ask Felicia,” Lucian said moderately. “Miss Covington will arrive shortly—she wouldn’t dare ignore a summons from Rafael, even now.”

Fresh pain speared Annie; it was as though she’d been run through with one of the gleaming rapiers Lucian and Rafael had wielded only a little while before. Still, she straightened her spine, took a deep breath, and released it slowly. Looking Lucian directly in the face, she said, “Of course I won’t ask Miss Covington anything of the sort. Her association with the prince is none of my concern.”

Although Lucian was smiling, something hateful and hard lingered in his eyes, like splinters of steel. He had the decency, at least, not to remind her that he’d found her on her knees in the grass, weeping as though she would never stop, when she’d been with Rafael just a short time before.

“This is not a fairy tale,” he said. “And my brother, prince or not, doesn’t ride a white charger. If you allow yourself to love him, Annie, he will destroy you.”

Annie had no doubt of the truth in Lucian’s words, despite their cruelty, but it was already too late to turn back. She nodded and looked away, and Lucian, after a few moments of hesitation, left the garden.

Annie was crossing the great hall, intent on splashing her face with cold water and hiding out in her room until her eyes were no longer puffy and red-rimmed, when Phaedra came racing down the main staircase, her hair flying behind her like an ebony banner. Her face was alight with an unsettling combination of jubilance and anxiety when she reached Annie.

“He’s coming!” she cried, embracing her friend with feverish strength. “His carriage has been sighted from the north tower!”

“Who?” Annie asked, frowning.

“Chandler Haslett, of course,” Phaedra chided breathlessly. “My bridegroom. He’s come all the way from America to marry me!”

Annie knew all about Mr. Haslett, though she had never actually met the man. Like Rafael, he was well-acquainted with her parents, and his own father had been a Bavian nobleman, his mother, a beautiful young heiress from Boston. He had plenty of money and had hunted tigers in Africa and polar bears in the Arctic. He looked handsome enough in his photograph, and was perhaps thirty years old—a perfect age for a new husband.

Annie sighed inwardly. It was all so romantic.

Annie and Phaedra had sat up many a night, back at St. Aspasia’s, in Switzerland, talking about the marriage that had been arranged when the princess was still an infant, speculating and theorizing. It had been a delicious topic then, a safely distant prospect, but now Annie felt the beginnings of trepidation on her friend’s behalf. After all, Phaedra hadn’t seen Mr. Haslett since she was a child, and for all anyone knew, he was mean-spirited. Perhaps he gambled, chased unprincipled women or consumed ardent spirits to the point of intoxication.

In a moment, Phaedra’s exuberance faded, and Annie saw her own misgivings mirrored in the princess’s perfect face.

“What if I don’t ever love him?” Phaedra whispered, clutching Annie’s hands in a frantic grip.

Annie took charge. After all, one of them had to be strong. “If you find Mr. Haslett unacceptable,” she said reasonably, “you have only to tell Rafael that you don’t wish to go through with the marriage. I’m sure he’ll call it off immediately.”

Phaedra was pale, and her brown eyes had gone round. “Oh, Annie, you’re so very
American
. I was promised to Mr. Haslett years and years ago. Papers were signed and properties were exchanged. It is a matter of honor—Rafael would never break such a pledge, even though he didn’t make it himself.”

Annie forced herself to smile for Phaedra’s sake. “Never mind that,” she said. Her store of confidence was dwindling rapidly, for it had been a trying day, but she drew on what remained. “Mr. Haslett is a wonderful man—he must be, with all he’s accomplished. I’m sure you’ll fall hopelessly in love with him right away.”

“But suppose I don’t?” Phaedra fretted, her panic rising in spite of Annie’s hasty reassurances.

“We’ll worry about that when the time comes,” Annie said resolutely. All the same, she was glad
she
hadn’t been promised to a stranger like a building or a piece of land, and she was furious at the very suggestion that Rafael would force his own sister into marriage for the sake of his blasted honor.

CHAPTER 3
 

C
handler Haslett’s entourage came through the main gate late that afternoon, with much color and commotion. The party was escorted by hired soldiers mounted upon bay horses and wearing bright blue coats. Mr. Haslett rode in a fancy carriage with brass lamps and a monogram painted on its side. Behind this august vehicle were two smaller, less spectacular coaches.

Annie stood beside Phaedra, while a throng of servants, grooms and others who made their homes within the keep’s far-flung walls strained and whispered behind them. Rafael watched the proceedings from the balcony outside his study, Edmund Barrett at his side. Lucian was nowhere to be seen.

Annie held her breath, and knew Phaedra was doing the same, when the liveried driver stepped down from the box of the grand carriage, but he didn’t open the door right away. Instead, he walked around to the boot, brought out a set of steps and placed them carefully. Only then did the guest of honor descend.

Relief flooded Annie as she assessed Mr. Haslett. He was of medium height, nicely built but not muscular, with a profusion of glossy brown hair. He wore breeches, riding boots, and a coat and ascot, but it wasn’t the simple quality of his clothing that eased Annie’s fears. It was the glow in his eyes, and the way his gaze swept the crowd of people and alighted unerringly on Phaedra. He smiled with a warmth that could not have been feigned.

Annie looked up at Rafael just then and saw Mr. Barrett turn abruptly and stride back into the study. The prince lingered and, although she told herself she was imagining it, it did seem to Annie that he was watching her, not his future brother-in-law or anyone else in the small throng.

Quickly, she turned her attention back to Mr. Haslett and was startled to find that he had already crossed the distance between them and was now looking down into Phaedra’s pale, upturned face. There was something rapt in his expression, for just a moment, as though he were looking upon an angel instead of the most mischievous princess in Europe.

He took Phaedra’s hand, raised it to his lips and brushed a gentle kiss across her knuckles. Standing at her friend’s side, Annie felt a shudder of vicarious delight. Phaedra executed a stiff, somewhat awkward half-curtsey and murmured, “Welcome to St. James Keep, sir.”

“My pleasure,” Mr. Haslett responded. His voice was melodious, and his maple brown eyes danced with happiness. “I am honored to see you again, Your Highness.”

Phaedra’s odd pallor was washed from her face by a flood of color. “You must be very weary of the road,” she said, after drawing a deep breath and letting it out slowly, “and I am sure you would like some refreshment. Please come inside.”

Annie frowned. She’d expected Phaedra to be reassured by the visible proof that Mr. Haslett was a gentleman, and an attractive one at that, but instead the princess’ manner was rigidly formal. It took all Annie’s forbearance not to nudge her friend in the ribs and tell her to stop looking like a tragic queen, about to be marched onto a scaffold and hanged.

“Thank you,” Mr. Haslett replied. If he was disappointed in Phaedra’s greeting, he showed no sign of it. “You will excuse me, I hope? I must see to my men and horses.” With that, he sketched a slight bow, turned and walked away.

Phaedra fled into the keep, and Annie dashed after her, thinking what a sight they must make, skirts in hand, racing one behind the other across the broad expanse of the great hall.

“Phaedra—” Annie protested breathlessly, when the princess set off at a fast walk through a maze of winding corridors, which were lit only by the occasional stray beam of sunlight sneaking in through some crack or crevice.

The princess kept walking, finally reaching a plain door, rounded at the top, with a crude wooden cross pegged to its center. They had reached the rear pentrance of the chapel, Annie guessed, and when Phaedra worked the latch and opened the door, she saw that she’d been right.

It was a serene place, large enough to accommodate not only the royal family, but the crofters and tradesmen, servants and grooms of St. James Keep as well. There was an altar, unadorned but hewn from the richest oak, and behind that six enormous stained glass windows loomed, showing several saints in varying poses of suffering or supplication. Even after hundreds of years, the colors were still vivid.

Phaedra took a seat in a front pew, covered her face with both hands and began to sob.

Annie sat next to the princess, putting an arm around her and wishing she’d stuffed a handkerchief into her sleeve or bodice, the way most ladies did. “Phaedra, what is it?” she asked, with gentle impatience. “Mr. Haslett is very handsome, and he did seem kind—”

“If you think he’s so wonderful,” Phaedra flared, pulling away from Annie and sliding farther down the pew, “then
you
marry him, Annie Trevarren!”

Annie sighed. “If you would only give the poor man a chance, I think—”

“No!” Phaedra cried. “I know now that I could never love him! Never!”

“What did he do to inspire such a violent reaction?” Annie asked, honestly puzzled. “You’re acting as though he has horns and cloven hooves.”

Phaedra was nearly hysterical by that point and could offer no sensible response. Annie found a cup behind the altar, wiped it clean with the hem of her petticoat and went out into the courtyard seeking water. She found a fountain near the front entrance to the chapel, filled the cup and returned to the princess. Phaedra took the drink almost desperately, clasping the chalice with both hands, and when she’d emptied it, she was calmer.

Annie sat beside her, waiting in silence.

Finally, after considerable snuffling and a few pathetic whimpers of despair, Phaedra turned to her. “It isn’t that he’s horrible, or ugly, or bad,” she confided, in a small, stricken voice. “It’s just … well, I’ve been praying all these years”—she paused and glanced accusingly at the altar—“that I would
feel
something when Mr. Haslett and I finally met. It would have been a sort of sign from heaven that we’d be happy together.”

“And you didn’t feel anything?” Annie prompted, full of sorrow. Her only experience with love—the star-crossed passion she felt for Rafael—had been rich with sensation.

“That’s just it,” Phaedra confided earnestly. “I
did
. It was terrible—something dark and crushing. Annie, I think it was a warning.”

Annie straightened her spine. “Well, then,” she said, resolute. “You’ll just have to go to Rafael and tell him the marriage is off. Perhaps he won’t welcome the news, but in time he’s certain to adjust.”

The princess shook her head, the very vision of despondency. “You don’t understand. Rafael would rather die than break his word.”

“But you said before that someone else made the original agreement. If that’s the case, Rafael wouldn’t be going back on his word—how could he, when he never gave it in the first place?”

Phaedra looked smaller somehow, as though she were shrinking under the weight of her troubles. “I can’t bear it, Annie. I can’t bear it.”

A feather-brush of fear touched Annie’s heart, for there was a note of true desperation in Phaedra’s tone, and people did rash and foolish things when they were desperate….

Annie took both the princess’s hands in her own and gave them a reassuring squeeze. “If you won’t talk to Rafael,” she said, “then I will. Somehow, I’ll make him understand.”

“He’ll never listen,” Phaedra insisted, but if Annie wasn’t mistaken, there was a faint glimmer of hope in her eyes.

“I have to try,” Annie said. She knew how brusque and imperious Rafael could be, and the task ahead of her would not be an easy one. Should the effort fail, she and Phaedra could always run away to the Trevarren villa in Nice; Annie’s mother and father could be counted on to help.

Phaedra nodded and wiped her ravaged eyes with the heel of one palm. “All right,” she said softly.

As it happened, Annie had no opportunity to speak privately with Rafael for the rest of that day, for no sooner had the contents of Mr. Haslett’s carriage been unloaded and his men and horses assigned their proper and respective quarters, when another coach arrived. This one, too, Annie saw from an upstairs window, was surrounded by soldiers.