Princess in Love (8 page)

She shut her eyes and tipped her head back to rest on the soft upholstery. “I told
you, we just talked. Now I don’t know what to make of him. He has not yet announced
any engagement, nor did he bring his betrothed home with him from London. At least
not that I have heard.” She opened her eyes and looked sharply at her brother. “You
would tell me, wouldn’t you, if you heard anything? I assure you I do not need to
be protected from news of him. I am already pledged to another, and I rather wish
Leopold would make haste and do the same. I believe I would find it easier to see
him if he took a wife.”

Nicholas listened to everything she said, and shook his head. “I haven’t heard a word
about any betrothal, but we’ve all been preoccupied lately. Would you like me to ask
him while he is here in the city? I could summon him to the palace.”

She gazed down at her engagement ring—a stunning emerald-cut diamond—and turned it
around on her finger. “No, that won’t be necessary. It shouldn’t matter anyway. It’s
not for me to care what Leopold does.” The coach rolled over a bump in the road, and
she was jostled about quite uncomfortably.

Chapter Seven

The sun was just setting when Leopold’s coachman pulled to a halt in front of Cavanaugh
Manor. The butler hurried to meet him.

“Hello, Johnson,” Leo said.

“Good evening, Lord Cavanaugh. Welcome home.”

“Has Mother dined yet?” Leo walked up the steps and through the front door, where
he handed over his hat and gloves.

“Not yet, my lord. Dinner will be served at eight. In the meantime, I should inform
you that a package arrived for you yesterday. A rather large package.”

Curious, Leopold halted and turned to face him. “Where is it?”

“In your study, my lord. There are two packages, in fact. One large and one small.”

“From whom?” he asked as he started off toward the stairs.

“From your father.”

He halted with one hand on the newel post as a fierce wave of displeasure coursed
through him, for he did not welcome the notion of being further manipulated. His father
had best not be attempting to bribe him or lure him back into his hopeless crusade—and
God help the man if he intended to use threats.

“Thank you, Johnson.” He wasted not a single moment before he climbed the stairs and
broke the seal on the letter that had been placed on his desk. He would read it before
he opened the boxes, for he was not yet sure he wanted whatever was inside of them.

My son,

I have not been well since our argument in England. It is never a good thing to part
ways on such terms, so I hope you will accept my most sincere apologies for all that
has passed between us.

I understand that King Frederick has also not been well and may not live to see the
end of summer. I have given it a great deal of thought, and you were right about everything.
It is time to stop living in the past.

When Randolph is king, he will remember your friendship as young men, so do what you
must to strengthen those ties. Alexandra will be in need of support from those who
were once loyal to her family, so do your best to be a dutiful subject and a true
friend to her.

I have sent two wedding gifts for the royal couple. I leave it in your hands to deliver
them.

For Randolph, a Scottish claymore which I know he will enjoy. I recall a time when
he expressed a desire to visit the Highlands.

For Alexandra, I have sent a portrait of her parents—King Oswald and Queen Isabelle—which
was painted before she was born. Please tell her that I have enjoyed the honor of
its safekeeping since the Revolution. No one has known of its existence or whereabouts,
but the time has come at last to return it to its rightful owner—the only child left
of the Tremaine dynasty.

Your father,

Kaulbach

Leopold sank into a chair and cupped his forehead in a hand. His father wrote that
he had been unwell since their argument. It must be serious indeed for him to let
go of his old Royalist ambitions and set his son free to live his own life as he chose—as
a loyal subject of the new Sebastian king.

Nevertheless, turning his eyes to the large wooden box propped up against the bookshelf,
Leo could think of only one thing: this gift provided a legitimate excuse to return
to the city and visit the palace.

And see the woman he intended to make his own, by any means necessary.

Chapter Eight

After the death of King Frederick, a full fortnight passed before visitors began to
arrive at the palace, one by one, to present wedding gifts to Randolph and his new
bride.

Clearly the country was eager to meet the woman who had captured the king’s heart,
so it was decided that a banquet would be held to provide the highest-ranking peers
of the realm an opportunity to meet their new queen.

The invitations were sent out and Rose was torn between her turmoil at seeing Lord
Cavanaugh again—for naturally he was listed prominently on the guest list—and her
shame and frustration at feeling anything other than indifference, for she did not
wish to fall under his spell again. That would put her betrothal at risk and her heart
as well, for it had taken so very long to get over him the last time.

When the night of the banquet was finally upon her, she dressed in a gown of black
silk with daisies embroidered on the puffed sleeves—for the daisy was her father’s
favorite flower—and studied her reflection in the looking glass. She wondered fleetingly
if it might be better to feign a headache and avoid attending the banquet altogether.

In the end, she resolved that such absence and cowardice would only prolong the curiosity
that was presently growing by leaps and bounds in her imagination.

Perhaps facing Leopold in person would douse those flames with a heavy dose of reality
and remind her why she was better off with Joseph, who would never flirt with any
other woman and encourage her affections when he was not free to do so. Nor would
he lie to her or toy with her affections. Joseph was decent in that way. He was not
flirtatious or seductive, and for that reason he was not likely to be unfaithful in
the future and break her heart. She could not say the same for Lord Cavanaugh.

By the time she made her entrance with Nicholas into the reception hall, most of the
guests had already arrived. The room smelled of lilacs and roses and hummed with subdued
laughter and conversation.

Nicholas picked up two sparkling champagne glasses from a footman carrying a tray
and handed one to Rose. Together they mingled with the guests until Randolph and Alexandra
were announced and everyone fell into courtly bows and curtsies.

There was much talk of the late king during the first hour. Everyone who spoke to
Rose offered kind sympathies, which she accepted gratefully, but when the dinner gong
rang and it was time to move into the banquet hall, she found herself glancing more
carefully around the room, searching for the one person she had not yet encountered.

She knew he was here in the city. He had come to the palace that very afternoon to
present a gift to Randolph and Alexandra in the throne room. Or so she had been told.

But where was he now?

A group of gentlemen in the far corner of the room stepped apart just then, and she
spotted him. He wore a dark green dinner jacket and fawn breeches, and was listening
intently to the man across from him who was speaking passionately about something
while waving a hand through the air in a series of gestures.

The very instant their eyes met, Rose’s body began to whirr with awareness. She hid
it well, however, and gave Leopold nothing more than a courteous and regal nod of
her head as she passed by—as if he were any other acquaintance in the room.

Which he was not. Everything about him hit her like the zap of a lightning bolt.

More than a little shaken by her response to the mere sight of him, Rose moved into
the banquet room on Nicholas’s arm and sat at the head table with the rest of the
royal party.

When everyone was seated, a number of toasts were made in the king and queen’s honor,
and there was a moment of silence for their late father.

More often than she intended, Rose found herself glancing at Lord Cavanaugh. She was
intensely aware of his presence at all moments and the force of her attraction to
him was greatly disturbing to her in every way—for she did not invite those feelings
nor could she banish them, no matter how dutifully she tried.

After dinner, everyone moved into the ballroom where the orchestra had begun to play
a cotillion.

The room was crowded. There were nearly three hundred guests, but somehow Lord Cavanaugh
found her within minutes, just when she was beginning to feel a heavy sorrow in her
heart over the fact that her father was not here to enjoy the music and dancing.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” he said as he approached.

Rose was standing with a group of ladies from one of the more fashionable new neighborhoods,
but turned when Leopold spoke.

“Good evening, Lord Cavanaugh,” she replied. “What a pleasure to see you.”

While they greeted each other, the other ladies seemed frightfully keen to listen
in on any conversation.

“I wish to convey my deepest condolences over the loss of your father,” he said. “If
there is anything I can do…”

She swallowed over a rush of emotion that threatened to undo her carefully cultivated
decorum, and found herself confessing what she truly wanted in that moment—which was
something that went against her better judgment, but there it was. The words spilled
past her lips before she could stop them.

“Actually, there is something,” she said. “You could ask me to dance. It would do
me good to focus on my feet instead of my heart.”

Needing no further bidding, he offered a gloved hand. “Will you do me the honor?”
A new set began and he escorted her onto the floor. “I believe this one will be a
waltz.”

She suspected he was warning her that he would soon slide his hand around her waist,
rest it upon her back, take hold of her other gloved hand and touch her in that manner
for the entire piece.

Despite the butterflies in her belly, she kept her eyes fixed confidently on his.
Under no circumstances would she permit him to know that she was the least bit unsettled.
She must do everything in her power to hide it—from him and everyone else.

At last the music began and he swept her into the first few steps.

He was an excellent dancer, but she knew that already, for they had danced many times
before, but never the waltz, for it was very new in Petersbourg.

“Again, Rose,” he said, this time more intimately, closer to her ear, “I am sorry
about your father. I know there is nothing anyone can say to make it better, but I
want you to know how often you have been in my thoughts.”

The wall she had constructed between them cracked slightly at his kind words, and
she found she could do nothing but speak from the heart.

“Thank you, Leopold. It has been difficult, especially when I think of how far away
we were when he fell ill. I will never forgive myself for not being here.”

“But you came home as soon as you learned of it, and I am certain he must have been
pleased by what you accomplished in England. He was proud of you. That was obvious
to everyone.” He paused. “He was a great king. He will never be forgotten.”

The sentiment brought her comfort, and she thanked him.

“How is your mother?” she asked as they circled around to the other side of the room.
“It’s been too long since I’ve seen her. Please tell her that she would be most welcome
at court.”

“I will convey your message,” he replied, “but you know my mother. She hates to leave
the country. She loves her gardens too much.”

“She has such a gift with flowers. Thank her for the beautiful bouquet she sent. It
was the loveliest of them all.”

“She will be pleased to hear it.”

They danced in silence for a moment or two, and Rose was relieved they were keeping
to polite conversation. There was no obvious awkwardness or tension, though she had
not yet conquered the butterflies in her belly.

As the dance continued they chatted about the summer heat but stopped talking as the
music reached a crescendo. He held her steady in his arms and swept her lightly around
the room until her cheeks were flushed and her blood was racing at a swift and exuberant
pace.

She was pleased they had danced. It took away some of the fear she had felt about
seeing him again.

Everything would be fine, she told herself. All would be well.

When the dance came to an end, however, she was sorry for it. She did not wish to
take her hand off his shoulder.

“Thank you, Rose,” he said in that appealing husky voice as he escorted to the edge
of the room.

As they walked together, she glanced up at him. “It is I who must thank you for such
a delightful few minutes on the dance floor. It has lifted my spirits.”

They found a quiet corner to watch a number of guests gather for a quadrille.

“Look,” Leopold said. “Nicholas has escorted the queen onto the floor. She seems to
be adapting well to her new life here, and you have a sister now. So much about the
world has changed in recent months, has it not?”

Rose watched her brother dance with Alexandra and wondered what they were saying to
each other. There had been some tension between them since Nicholas learned Alexandra
was a Tremaine, for she had kept that secret from Randolph during their courtship
in England.

“That is very true,” Rose replied. “And how are things in your world, Leopold? The
last time we spoke, you told me about your engagement. Did you finally meet your intended
in England?”

He kept his eyes fixed on the dancers. “I regret to say it has not worked out quite
as everyone expected. As it happens, she fell in love with another fellow and is now
happily married to him. It was a good match for her. I can hardly blame the woman,
so there are no hard feelings.” He paused and looked down at Rose. “I am now a free
man, released from my obligations.”