Truth about Leo (17 page)

“Oh!” Dagmar gasped and would have taken the diary again, but Nick snatched it out of Thom's hands.

“Yes, of course she's a real princess. Her cousin is the king of Denmark.”

“The
king
,” Dagmar enunciated slowly and clearly, “of, as Thom says,
Denmark
.”

“Oh, dear,” Plum said, her gaze moving from person to person. “It would seem there's been some sort of misunderstanding.”

“I believe that is a gross understatement.” Nick made Dagmar a little bow. “You have my apologies, madam. Er…Your Highness.”

“The correct form of address is Your Serene Highness, not that I ever expect people to address me that way, because my sainted mother said that it was more important to comport yourself as a princess than to expect others to treat you as one; however, for you, I will make an exception.”

“She's also Leo's wife,” Thom said, suddenly looking a lot more cheerful.

“Yes, I am. We were married in Copenhagen more than a fortnight ago.”

Nick looked from Thom to Dagmar then to Plum. He blinked, opened his mouth to say something, shook his head, made yet another bow, and excused himself. Since his carriage had departed, he took himself off down the street and never once looked back.

“Well, that was very odd,” Dagmar commented as the three ladies turned to climb into the waiting carriage. “What a very strange man. I take it that he isn't Leo's servant as I first thought?”

“No, he's an old friend. I believe they met in school. They've certainly known each other for most of their lives. Thom, did you know he was in town?” The two younger ladies settled themselves facing the rear. Dagmar wanted badly to ask Thom about her history with the odd Nick, but decided it would be impolite to pry.

“No.” Thom looked out the window, her fingers smoothing again and again a pleat in her gown. Plum and Dagmar exchanged looks that she hoped meant that Plum would fill her in on the details at a later time.

Dagmar was returned to her temporary home some six hours later, having seen a great many available homes, but none that she felt would suit Leo. He was an earl, after all, and didn't deserve a home that had stinking drains, unsanitary attics, or walls in imminent threat of tumbling down.

“We'll try again tomorrow,” Plum told her as she prepared to leave the Dalton's house, having stopped in just long enough to greet Louisa Hayes and chat politely for a few minutes. “There's sure to be something that's not filled to the window sashes with rats or reeking of cesspits.”

Dagmar thanked her for her help, saw her off, and returned with Louisa's arm linked through hers.

“It sounds as though you had an absolutely horrible time. I'm sure a cup of tea would go a long way to restoring your humor—”

A loud crash and muffled shriek stopped them for a moment; then both were running for the library door. Louisa flung it open to display the sight of Julia clasped in Philip Dalton's arms. Dagmar couldn't believe her eyes: Julia was laughing and gazing up at Philip with a delighted coquettishness.

“Philip!” Louisa gasped, her face a contortion of anger and surprise. “What are you doing with that woman?”

Julia's coy manner fled as Philip hastily set her on her feet, his face flushing a dull red. “Ah. There was an accident, you see. Mrs. Deworthy was on the ladder getting a book from the top shelf—”

“A book of sermons,” Julia cut in quickly. “By the Bishop of Lansdowne. My father used to love his sermons and read them to us frequently.”

“—and when I entered the room, it disturbed her, and she slipped and might have injured herself gravely, but I managed to catch her.” Philip Dalton sounded as uncomfortable as he looked, gesturing at Julia even as he put a polite distance between them.

Louisa just stared at him until he took a few more steps away from Julia, repeating, “She could have been gravely injured.”

Dagmar smiled, feeling it necessary to defuse the situation since Julia was sure to be the focus of Louisa's irritation. “And we are all grateful that you were there to see to it that she wasn't injured. Julia, my dear, come to my bedchamber with me. I have a slight headache in my temples and know you will soon make it go away.”

She took her companion firmly by the arm and hustled her out of the room even though Julia trailed half-finished explanations.

It wasn't until they were alone in her room that she asked, “Honestly, Julia, what were you thinking? No, don't tell me it was an accident; I know full well you didn't throw yourself into his arms, but once you found yourself there, you really should not have been so obviously pleased by the situation. You know that Mrs. Hayes seems to have an unreasonable distrust of you, and such behavior, while innocent on your part, cannot help but fan the flames of her suspicions.”

“Oh, my dearest princess!” Julia put her hands to her cheeks, her eyes round with horror. “You can't think that I—that I should lower myself—to act like a common woman—with Mr. Dalton, who has been so kind to Lord March and you—”

“No, no, I know you didn't arrange for it to happen.” Dagmar took a deep breath while Julia declared again and again that she was innocent of all wrongdoing. She was always so emotional and took slight at any perceived slur upon her character, whether or not such a slur existed. Dagmar knew to tread carefully, lest she have a hysterical woman on her hands, and she very much wanted to spend some time alone with Leo when he returned from his duties rather than calming her friend. “Don't be silly, no one thinks you're throwing yourself at Mr. Dalton's head. No, I certainly do not think you behaved incorrectly. No, my mother would not cast you out from the house for wanton behavior. There was nothing to be wanton about. Why don't I have some tea sent up, then you can take a little rest? Your nerves are clearly not recovered from the seasickness during the voyage.”

It took some doing, but at last she managed to calm Julia down, although she refused to rest in her room and took herself off to a small side garden, where she claimed she would commune with nature and rest her jagged nerves.

Dagmar considered taking a nap herself, but the arrival of a man with a packet of mail for her forestalled that event.

“For me?” she asked when Louisa had her fetched. “Are you sure? No one knows I'm here.”

“It looks like a royal seal to me, although I don't read Danish. Perhaps it's from one of your illustrious cousins?” Louisa asked, handing her the oiled silk packet.

“Possibly, but I don't know why one of them would wish to contact me. Oh, you're absolutely correct. It is from Frederick.”

Although plainly curious, Louisa murmured something about having some letters to write and moved across the room to a small escritoire, giving Dagmar privacy to read her letter.

You
right
royal
pain
in
my
arse
, the letter opened.

Oh, yes, it was from Frederick. The man might have fooled everyone else, but with her he had the manners of a leprous swine.

Admiral Nelson has presented me with a bill for the transportation of yourself and a serving woman to England. I thought you said you were going to marry that Englishman who you almost killed in your garden? We have an agreement, Dagmar. You signed it, and my advisors tell me it is legally binding, so don't even think of returning and trying to foist yourself upon me. I have enough grief trying to cope with Papa and the English, and now the French are irritated with us, and I think I'm getting gout in my left foot.

Stay away! We have an agreement! Go wed that Englishman and blight him with your presence. Enclosed is the bill for your travel. I wash my hands of you.

Dagmar fumed silently to herself, thought of several scathing things she could say to Frederick in response, but decided that she was above such things. And besides, she had a feeling he'd burn any letter from her without bothering to read it.

A shadow crossed her as she stood wondering whether or not to show the bill to Leo or whether she should just let Admiral Nelson hound Frederick for the money. She looked up and, to her amazement, saw Philip Dalton carrying Julia up the steps from the garden and through the French doors to the very room she was in.

Louisa twisted around in her chair and watched with tight lips, the quill crushed in her grip. Philip said, as he entered the room, “You won't believe the tremendous run of bad luck this poor lady is having. She was out strolling through the west walk and twisted her ankle in a rabbit hole. She thought she might have broken it, but I've examined it and assured her that it's only wrenched. There, now, you sit quietly on that sofa and I'll have the doctor fetched. Louisa?”

Dagmar tucked her letter into her sleeve and knelt by Julia, giving her ankle a quick look. It wasn't swollen or disfigured in any way, although there was a large smear of dirt on the back of Julia's stocking. For a moment, she was ashamed to find herself considering the idea that Julia might have arranged the accident just so that Philip would have to carry her.

“It was the way she clung to him,” she said to her reflection some hours later. She sat in a borrowed nightdress before a small mirror in her bedchamber, absently brushing her hair. Louisa had offered her the loan of a maidservant, but Dagmar had always had a dislike of people touching her hair and had sent the maid away. “She was definitely enjoying it far too much for someone who had twisted her ankle. Or…maybe I'm being influenced by Louisa. Maybe it was just an accident, as Julia claims. Oh, this is ridiculous. Now I'm doubting what I saw with my own eyes. I'm also talking aloud to myself. Well, at least I'm not answering myself. That would definitely be bad. The Louisa kind of bad where one is prone to scenes accusing guests of throwing themselves at one's brother's head.”

She gave her hair another few passes with the brush, musing on the way Louisa had accused Julia of attempting to compromise herself.

“I don't even know if that's possible,” she said, setting down the hairbrush.

“What don't you know is possible?” A swirl of cool air around her ankles had her turning to see Leo closing the door behind him. A little shiver of anticipation swept over her. Now that he had recovered from the fevers, he really was quite nice to look at.

“If one can willingly compromise oneself. You look well, Leo. Quite, quite well.” Her gaze all but consumed him as she watched him move across the room. Even having been so gravely injured, there was a sense of hidden power about him, an air of coiled strength that both titillated her and made her feel protected. It was a heady mix, one that she realized was the source of the languid arousal that made her skin feel too small for her body.

“Do I?” He looked down at himself, frowning at his boots. “I could have sworn I cleaned that mud off. Why do you wish to compromise yourself?”

“I don't, but I couldn't help but wonder, just for a second—and I'm truly ashamed to admit this, although if I can't bare myself to my husband, I don't know who I can bare myself to—did you say something?”

“No.”

His voice was choked, and Dagmar wondered if he was in pain. She hoped not. She was willing to give the lovemaking another try despite the fact that there was some element that had been most painful. She watched with interest as Leo (who also eschewed the use of a servant) began to disrobe. “As I was saying, I am ashamed to think this, but I couldn't help wonder if Julia isn't behaving with less dignity than she should around Mr. Dalton.”

“Throwing herself at his head, you mean?” To her surprise, Leo nodded. “I think you're right.”

“Just because of the incident in the library and then the one the garden? I'm not so sure. I wondered if I wasn't being affected by Louisa's dark suspicions.”

“You are not including into your calculations the incident in the hall.”

He carefully peeled off his jacket, waistcoat, and shirt, leaving his upper parts bare. Dagmar mentally applauded this action and waited with bated breath for him to remove his trousers. “What incident in the hall?”

“It was something I saw when I came upstairs just now.” Leo moved over to the bootjack and loosened his boot. Dagmar, realizing he had no manservant to help pull it off, obliged, taking advantage of the assistance to admire his thighs in the tight-fitting trousers. They weren't skin tight, as one sometimes read of in sensational literature, but they were very snug, and she wholly approved of Leo's choice in tailors and the tailor's interpretation of how Leo's thighs should be clad. “You know how there's a bend to the left that you have to take to get to this wing?”

Dagmar nodded and pulled off his other boot. She wondered if he'd think her bold if she whipped off his trousers while she was at it.

“Well, just as I came around that bend, I found your companion with her hands on Dalton's shoulders and his nose practically on her leg.”

“What?” Dagmar stopped fantasizing about Leo's thighs and stared down at him. “What a very odd position to be in. Were they touching in an inappropriate manner? The way you did last night?”

Leo grinned but shook his head. “No. Mrs. Deworthy said she caught her gown on a nail and couldn't release it. Dalton happened by on his way to bed and was helping her. Or so he said.”

“And Louisa?”

“She came down from the floor above, evidently having been called upstairs by the housekeeper, and when she saw Dalton on his knees before your friend, she went into hysterics. I'm surprised you didn't hear her.”

“No doubt I would have if I hadn't been too busy talking to myself.” With reluctance, Dagmar rose to her feet. Disrobing Leo would have to wait for another time if there was trouble with Julia. “I will go calm down Julia and do what I can to reassure Louisa that her brother is in no danger of being coerced into marriage.”