Mairi’s smile disappeared. “No, no! I was only teasing.”
“That’s too bad.” Bronwyn pursed her lips. “I believe Papa plans on perusing a treatise on gas lighting this week. I’m sure he would be glad to read it aloud, should you be bored.”
Mairi shuddered. “I’d rather eat raw eggs than listen to Papa read another one of his papers. Mama, I’m very, very sorry for teasing Sorcha.”
Satisfied by her daughter’s chastised expression, Mama nodded. “Good, for I’ve something more to tell you, some truly exciting news this time.”
Sorcha’s eyes widened. “There’s more?”
“Much more,” Mama said with an air of suppressed excitement. “I was able to discover that one of Sir Henry’s nephews, Viscount Strathmoor, is joining the group, and”—she looked around the table, a sparkle in her blue eyes—“there’s also a prince!”
Sorcha gasped. “A real prince?”
“Of course! And one with an income of thirty thousand pounds a year! Mrs. Durnoch overheard one of the ladies in Sir Henry’s party telling another all about him.”
“Thirty thousand pounds,” Sorcha said in an awed tone. “I can’t even imagine.”
Neither could Bronwyn. She knew to a penny what it cost to run Ackinnoull, and annually it was far, far less than the prince’s daily income.
Mama smiled with satisfaction at their astounded faces. “I’d think a prince with an annual income of thirty thousand pounds must be in want of a princess, don’t you?”
“I would think so,” Mairi agreed. “One person couldn’t spend that much in a year, not by himself, anyway.”
“My thoughts, exactly.” Mama reached over and placed her hands over Sorcha’s. “And I don’t know why he shouldn’t choose you!”
Sorcha flushed and pulled her hand free, sending an apologetic look at Bronwyn. “Or Bronwyn.”
“Lud, no.” Bronwyn plucked another roll from the bowl and then reached for the butter. “I can’t imagine anything worse than having to constantly be on display like a museum exhibit, having to curtsy all day, forced to smile when you really feel like settling in with a good book—no, thank you.” She buttered her roll. “I’d rather own a subscription library than be a princess.”
“You can’t mean that,” Mairi said.
“I do mean it. All of those people wishing to gain your attention— Just think of all the articles we’ve read, where poor Princess Charlotte’s carriage was mobbed. Madness.” She wrinkled her nose.
“I like people,” Mairi said stoutly. “And it wouldn’t bother me to curtsy all day.”
“I hadn’t considered it,” Sorcha said thoughtfully, “but I could see where that might become onerous.”
“Nonsense,” Mama said. “You’d enjoy being a princess, my dear. It’s what you’ve been raised for.”
“I wasn’t raised to be a princess,” Sorcha protested.
“You were raised to be a wife to a powerful, well-bred man, which includes princes.” She beamed at Sorcha. “I hear Oxenburg is lovely, too.”
“Oxenburg?”
Everyone looked at Bronwyn, and she realized she’d said the word much louder than necessary. “I . . . I read about Oxenburg somewhere recently. The name seems familiar.” So the huntsman must be one of the prince’s servants, and not employed by Selvach, after all. That explains many things, such as the fluffy dog. I daresay he was watching it for the prince. A smile tickled her lips. No doubt the man was as small and poofed as his pet.
Unaware of the unattractive image Bronwyn had of the prince, Mairi sighed dreamily. “I think marrying a prince would be the best of all things. Coaches and eight, diamond tiaras, new gowns every day of the week, jeweled slippers, people to bring you whatever you want, whenever you want it—how could you hate being a princess?”
Bronwyn poured herself some tea. “Perhaps I’m too particular for my own good. If you don’t mind, I’ll leave all princes to you and Sorcha.”
Sorcha shook her head. “But Bronwyn, just think of all the books a princess might have.” She waved her hands. “Rooms of books.”
“That might make it worthwhile.” Bronwyn pretended to consider it. “But then again, I could also get a subscription to the library in Inverness and have access to their rooms of books, without having to stand in receiving lines until my feet and back ache.”
“Nonsense,” Mama said briskly. “Being a princess would be lovely, and I won’t hear anything otherwise. Sorcha, which gown will you wear? We’ve only five days until the ball and we’ve much to get ready between now and then.”
Instantly, Sorcha, Mairi, and Mama began to discuss gowns, shoes, hair ribbons, and other absorbing items. Bronwyn listened for a short while, then found her book and tried to read.
But somehow, her mind kept wandering to the huntsman from Oxenburg. Was the country as beautiful as the man? And why, oh why, was she still thinking about him, wondering about him, dreaming about him? Fortunately for her, there was very little chance she’d ever see him again. And yet . . . she wondered where he was now, and if he thought about that moment in the forest at all. For she did, far more than she wanted.
But all first kisses were like that, weren’t they? she told herself, trying to reduce the memory into something that wouldn’t disturb her sleep or her imagination quite so much. But her task was hopeless. The huntsman had possessed an unearthly skill that even her novice lips had recognized. Blast it, why couldn’t he have been horrible at kissing? I might have stood a chance then. But she’d had no such luck.
With a resigned sigh, she forced her mind to the pages of her book and to the adventures of Roland, whose words now echoed in her mind with a distinct accent and a smoky-smooth tone.
Roland remembered the first time he’d laid eyes upon Lucinda, and how he’d been instantly taken by the innocence that shone from her face like a beacon on a misty shore.
What more could a man wish of a maid than purity of mind and heart?
—The Black Duke by Miss Mary Edgeworth
Alexsey Vitaly Grigori Romanovin, Royal Prince Menshivkov of Oxenburg, and honored guest of Sir Henry Davidson, was bored. Here he was, a man of action forced by his position to don silks and stand in a ballroom filled with preening peahens.
Alexsey bit back a growl as he surveyed the women before him. There were redheads, brunettes, and blondes. Tall ones, short ones, and middling ones. There were plump ones, thin ones, and curved ones. Some were quite attractive, some were not, and at least three of them were beautiful. But what none of them was, was interesting.
“Well?” Tata Natasha asked from where she stood at his elbow, her voice impatient. “Which do you wish to meet?”
Alexsey’s gaze swept the room again, lingering on this woman, then that, searching their faces for something . . . intriguing. Finally, he shrugged. “None of them.”
“Pah!” Tata Natasha pinned him with a black gaze, disapproval an almost tangible cloak on her small shoulders. “There are more than fifty well-born, beautiful women here tonight. Sir Henry assured me they were all gently raised and are well suited as potential brides. You have your pick, durahk. So pick!”
“Your concern for my happiness overwhelms me,” he said in a dry tone.
“You will be happy once you are married. Talk to one. Ask her to dance. You won’t know if you’ll enjoy her company until you speak with her.” When he didn’t answer, she added, “Sir Henry promised that all the women here possess a proper, genteel education, and are well bred—”
“So you’ve said ten times now. Please stop your infernal matchmaking. I escorted you to Tulloch Castle because you asked me to; I did not come to find a wife.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What if one finds you? What then?”
For some reason, an instant image of the fresh-faced brunette he’d met in the forest a week ago flashed through his mind. Which was a pity, for no amount of questioning had yielded her name. Though it was obvious the servants knew who she was, none of them had admitt
ed to knowing her. It had been maddening.
Realizing his grandmother was still watching him, he gestured to the refreshment table. “Shall I procure you a glass of orgeat?”
Her expression soured. “You won’t talk about marriage.”
“Nyet. Not here. And not to you.”
“The day will come when you can no longer avoid the subject. You are a prince, and a prince must wed.”
“True, but that day is not today.” When that day did come, Alexsey could only hope he’d have his father’s good fortune in finding a mate. With just one glance at a lovely Gypsy maid, his father had fallen deeply, madly in love. The laws of Oxenburg hadn’t allowed marriage between the member of the royal family and a commoner, but that hadn’t stopped Alexsey’s father. Ignoring the outraged gasps and furious warnings of his advisors, he’d issued a decree allowing members of the royal family to marry anyone they wished, and then proceeded to parade his lady love before the people of his country. His plan had worked; the people of Oxenburg had fallen just as wildly in love with his beautiful, charming bride-to-be as he had. They’d welcomed the new queen with celebrations of such enthusiasm that his advisors were silenced, and the laws of Oxenburg changed forever.
One might assume that such a change would mean that the king’s sons could follow their hearts on the path to true love. One might also assume that the Grand Duchess Nikolaevna, the mother of the Gypsy-turned-queen, would encourage her grandsons to marry for love as her daughter had done.
But no.
No one was more critical of bloodlines than his Tata Natasha. A tiny woman with a fierce pride, she was more conscious of her new title, and those of others, than anyone born to the velvet. Worse, she acted more queenly than any born-to-the-throne queen Alexsey had ever met. And he’d met them all.
Tata Natasha pinched his arm.
He flicked a glance her way. “Stop that.”
“You were not listening. I was pointing out the beauties in this crowd and you were staring at the opposite wall as if you were in hell.”
“Is there whiskey in this hell? If so, I’d gladly— Tata, stop that. Pinching my arm will not encourage me to listen. In fact, it has quite the opposite effect.”
“You are fortunate to be here. Otherwise, you would still be in Oxenburg with that—”
“Don’t!” Alexsey scowled. “It’s always the same with you: you spend too much time trying to order my life, and I need no such help. I know what I want.” And at the moment what I want is a few hours under a tree with a certain bespectacled, round-cheeked housemaid. He’d visited her reading spot every day but she’d never reappeared; she had disappeared like the morning mist. He could find another woman, he supposed, but he doubted he would find one as tempting.
Tata Natasha clicked her tongue, a contrite look in her gaze. “Come, Alexsey. Do not look so troubled.”
He didn’t trust her for one moment, and just lifted a brow in her direction.
She scowled. “You have an affinity for the most unsuitable women. Why will you never select a woman of noble birth?”
“I enjoy women who challenge me, who do not whine when they get damp or must sit in the dirt.”
“And that is why you like the Romany women so much? Because they do not ‘whine’?”
“They are very independent and have such spirit.” He twinkled down at her. “The truth is, I wish to find a woman like you, Tata Natasha. One who always surprises and never takes no for an answer.”
Her expression softened, and she said grudgingly, “There are not many women like me, even among my people.”
“There are more there than here.” He nodded toward the ballroom. “Beside you, these women are colorless.”
“You are too particular in your tastes.” Her wrinkled fingers touched the heavy gold rope necklace that hung about her neck, one of many. With a practiced twist, she pulled it free. There, swinging from it like a heavy pendulum, was his grandfather’s kaltso, heavy with gold, the ruby flashing a deep red.
Alexsey’s hands curled into fists. “The kaltso should be mine.”
“You will get it when you’ve earned it.” Her voice cracked sharply. “You’ve romanticized our people, Alexsey. I sometimes think that will keep you from being a good voivode.”
“Try me, old woman. Dyet wished it; you know he did.”
“You know as well as I do that your grandfather would wish you to prove yourself.” She clutched the ring, her fingers caging it as if it were alive. “I will recommend you to the council only when you’ve proven you’re mature of mind, settled in your ways, and capable of leading a people of vast complexity.”
“I know the Romany, Tata Natasha. I’ve stayed in their tents, shared their food—”
“Yes, yes. And slept with their women.” She sent him a sour look. “A great many of them, from what I’ve heard.”
“Nonsense. You exaggerate, though I admit they are appealing. They are unfettered, free, and passionate.”
“If you wish to be their leader, you cannot sweep through the women like a scythe through grass.”
“Give me the kaltso and I’ll never sleep with another.”
She fingered the ruby ring, her dark gaze searching his face.
He didn’t flinch.
After a moment, she snorted. “I don’t believe you.” She tucked the ring away.
Alexsey’s jaw tightened. “You know I am what’s best for our people. Other than you, no one in our family understands the Romany the way I do.”
“And what would you do if you became the voivode?”
“I’d build permanent camps.”
“The Romany would never stay in one place.”
“I don’t expect them to. They leave every spring and come back each fall. I would never change that, but I’d give them permanent camps on the river in Oxenburg—snug, safe wooden structures where they could live through the winter. It would keep them warm, dispel the damp that is so harmful to the old, and let them repair their caravans and tents for their spring journey. During the winters I’d provide schools for the young, and bring a doctor to consult with their healers.”
“You think a doctor could teach something to a Romany healer? Ha!”
“They could learn from one another if someone but gave them the chance,” he said quietly.
She didn’t look convinced. “You would never get them to agree to such changes. They are people of the wind and have no wish to be walled in.”
“I could if I were the named voivode, as Grandfather was.”
Her expression softened. “Your Dyet Nikki was an exceptional lidir.”
“I would never presume to say I could do as good of a job as he. He had much more knowledge of the people, how to pull them together, despite their independent spirit—but I would try, Tata. And I wouldn’t stop trying until I had improved their lives.”
“Improve? You judge—”
“I do not judge, but neither do I pretend all is well when it’s not. I am a realist, not a romantic as you seem to think. I love the Romany, true, but I know their shortcomings. I am not blind to their flaws. They can be far too quickly swayed by gold.”
“Perhaps you see them clearly enough,” she admitted, her tone grudging. “But it does not change my mind. For now, the kaltso stays with me, around my neck, where your grandfather placed it.”
“Bozhy moj, what must I do?”
She clutched his arm and leaned forward. “Marry a woman of good breeding, someone who will settle those restless ways of yours, and have sons to carry our family name.”
“How do you know I’ll have sons? You only had a daughter.”
She sniffed. “Aye, but she has produced four fine strapping sons. She has good, strong blood, she does. My blood.”
Despite his vexation, he had to grin. “You take credit for far too much, Tata Natasha.”
A twinkle lit her black eyes. “Perhaps.” She patted his arm and released him. “You must let me help you, Alexsey. Last year you were t
his close”—she held up her finger and thumb, with almost no space between them—“to making a proskchek a member of our family.”
He stiffened. “I can’t believe you’d use such a word.”
Tata waved a hand. “I say what I see.”
“You know nothing. I spent a lovely few weeks in the company of a nubile young dancer—”
“A proskchek.”
“I never planned to make her a member of our family, and you know it. I had tired of her long before you even knew of her existence.”
“Humph. I heard you were mad for her.”
“I have never been mad for any woman.”
Natasha’s gaze sharpened, a look of true curiosity crossing her face. “Nyet?”
“I think I am not cut of the same cloth as Father, who fell deeply in love at one glance.” He shrugged. “I do not have that capacity.”
“Which is fortunate for all of us, considering the low company you keep,” she muttered.
Alexsey raised a brow. “Stop consigning me to the devil for being a man.” He smiled at her. “If I could find a woman with your spirit, I would marry her today.”
“Pah! Don’t try to charm me. I am immune to compliments.”
He laughed and bent to kiss her cheek. “Then I won’t say another word. In fact— Ah! I see someone I’ve been waiting to speak with. If you will excuse me, Tata.”
“Who is it?” She stood on her tiptoes. “Is she lovely? Tell me who she is and I’ll ask Sir Henry to introduce you.”
“Nyet. I have been waiting for Viscount Strathmoor. Though he is of good birth, even you would not wish me to marry him, for he is very short and has the devil of a temper. Now excuse me. And no more matchmaking, please. It is wearing.” He kissed her hand and then left, ignoring her frown as he made his way across the room to Strath.
Alexsey had known the viscount for more than ten years. Strath’s sharp wit always made him laugh, and if there was one thing he could use right now, it was a laugh.
Aware he was being surveyed from head to foot by every woman present as he crossed the room, Alexsey eyed them all back. They stared, measured, and—sadly for them—hoped. There were several beauties among them, but none possessed anything that tantalized him. His Roza would outshine them all.