Like Lanselin, Leopold had looked like the kind of boy who would enjoy a chase—and so she’d meant to give him one. But perhaps Leo was too lazy after all. He was a prince; he was not used to effort. She had piqued his interest, but any more exertion was too costly to him. What was she doing, anyway, thinking about him? It was disloyal to Marie, her friend—his future wife—no matter that Marie did not love him. She would marry him, as was her duty. But Aelwyn couldn’t keep him from her thoughts. You always found him charming; maybe you should marry him, Marie had said jokingly, even though they both knew that would be impossible.
Lanselin du Lac, Leopold of Prussia. The golden boys everyone wanted, including Aelwyn. When she was a child, she’d always wanted what was the princess’s. Even at seventeen years old, it was a hard habit to break.
The first kiss was not their last, and by the end of the trip Ronan was looking forward to the afternoon billiard games with growing impatience. It was all a lark, a tryst, a distraction, she told herself. She didn’t even know his real name, and he did not know hers. They were Heath and Cathy, passing the time together on a long seafaring journey. It was their last week on board the Saturnia; they would arrive in London soon. It was a pity they would never see each other again after they reached the city. They were not so different, when it came down to it. It was such a shame they had been born into different stations. There were several titled lords on board, but somehow Ronan managed to avoid spending any time with them. If Vera had known that she was spending every afternoon half-dressed with a strange boy, she would have sent Ronan back to New York on a lifeboat.
Right now she was lying with him on top of the billiards table, the game forgotten. She was dressed only in her slip, and he was only in his trousers, his chest bare. Her lips were puffy from kissing. While she would have let him have his way with her, he was respectful of taking it too far; they never did more than kiss. She could kiss him for hours, she thought. She traced a map of scars on his hard stomach with a light finger. She didn’t know very much about him, other than what he had told her: he was a fighter, a boxer, returning home to the ring. His mother was dead, and he was estranged from his father and brother. He wasn’t cut out for the family business, he explained.
“Don’t have it in me to join the firm,” he sighed.
“What does your family do?”
“Oh, them? They keep sheep,” he smiled.
“I see. And you are not the herding type.”
“Not the least bit. I’m not one to follow the herd, if that’s what you mean.”
She laughed prettily, her long blond hair falling over her shoulder like a silk curtain. “Yes, somehow I can’t picture it.”
“So what about you? You never told me why you were traveling to the capital,” he said. He ran a finger along the edge of the strap of her slip, playing with it. She held her breath, wondering if he would tug it away, but he seemed content to just caress her skin softly with his finger.
Ronan squared her shoulders. “I am going to London to sell myself,” she said, her tone hard and brittle. Earlier she had told him about her disastrous family finances, and had finally confessed that she had lucked into the first-class stateroom by accident.
“Such dark words for such a bright girl. I was not aware you were for purchase.…” he said, his tone light. “If I had known this earlier, perhaps I would have placed a bid. May I?”
“Oh please, you can’t afford me. But it’s the same thing, is it not? Because of my circumstances I must marry for money, and not for love. I might as well be one of those painted ladies in Amsterdam, with a red light over my head.”
“Then don’t do it,” he said softly. “You’re better than that.”
“If only that were true,” she said with a bitter laugh, sitting up to wrap a shawl tightly around her shoulders. “No, you will find I will be quite good at it. I will pretend to fall in love with one of these titled dopes, and that will be the end of me. But perhaps all is not lost, after all; there will be all that lovely money, and all the magic it can buy.”
He shrugged. “Magic is overrated. I didn’t take you for a cynic.”
“Just a realist.”
“So that is the plan, then? To enter into a fraudulent, loveless union in order to save face and status, and earn a token from the Merlin?” His tone was sharp and disappointed. He sat up as well and put his shirt back on.
“Don’t judge me. Without our name, without our home…” She shook her head. “I told you that you wouldn’t understand. Your family…”
“Herds sheep. Yes. But you are wrong there—I understand perfectly,” he said, fastening his cuff links.
Ronan, watching him dress, noticed that his cuff links were gold—although gold-plated, most likely.
“My mother had to do the same thing. She had to marry my father. She had no choice in the matter,” he said.
“You’re so lucky. You can do whatever you want. You can keep fighting…your future is your own. Mine is behind a golden cage.”
“Then break the chains,” he said, daring her. “Why not do something wild—and consider a different outcome.…” He put a hand on top of hers. “Perhaps one that you did not expect.”
She looked at his hand. There were faint lines on his knuckles. More scars from his fights, she thought. He was offering her something—she was certain of that—but what could he offer her? He was no one, from nowhere—a nobody. Her mother hadn’t pulled herself out of the frontier so her daughter could sink back into obscurity. If she set her lot with his, she would lose the game before the season had even started, by giving her heart to this nameless boy. Ronan knew she should take her hand away from his, but she did not. She clung to him, as if he were a life raft. He was offering something—something—what was he offering her? They stood there for a long moment, holding hands on the billiard table. The question he posed hovered in the air between them. She was filled with doubt: what was he talking about, really? Was he even serious?
The books she had read as a child were filled with stories of heroes and heroines who risked everything for love and adventure. They left their families and their ordinary lives behind for travails on the road, the oceans, the unknown. She had loved those stories when she was younger. She’d thought of herself as an explorer, an adventurer—a girl with a free and wild heart—which was why she had played the game with him, why she met him every afternoon. To see how far she would dare. How far she would let it go.
But if he was asking what she thought he was asking, she knew she had taken this illicit affair too far. “So, what do you say? Come with me when we get into port. I know a judge in London, a friend of a friend who can see to everything. Or we can pop down to the General Register Office. Whichever you’d like—it’s all the same to me,” he said.
A judge? A quick trip to the Register Office? Was he mad? Out of his mind? Did he truly think she would consider getting married without the blessing of the sisterhood? Without a sign from the Merlin? She was Ronan Astor. Her wedding would be the talk of New York! The queen would be invited (she probably would not attend, but she would be invited nonetheless!), and her bridesmaids would number the wealthy, the beautiful and the titled! She could not see herself plighting her troth in her traveling clothes, taking a fighter for a husband, standing in front of some sleepy-eyed judge whom they had roused in the middle of the night.
Oh, but he was so handsome and kind. He smiled at her, and she felt as if she would give him anything he wanted. Was it so wrong, what he was offering? They were in love, were they not? She had disrobed in front of him—he knew almost every part of her by now, from all these secret afternoons filled with laughter, champagne and intimate conversations, not to mention the passionate kisses they’d shared. She had been more honest with him than she had been with anyone in her life. He knew her and he liked her. She had lost her heart to him from the beginning, when he had spoken to her at the port in New York.
Perhaps she would regret it for the rest of
her life—in fact, she had a feeling she would certainly regret it for the rest of her life. As a fat matron with a rich husband, she would look back on this proposal from this strange and wonderful boy, and wish with all of her might that she had answered differently—that she had said yes to him. But as it was, she was too much her mother’s daughter to throw away her future so recklessly. She couldn’t do it. In any event, he could not truly be asking what he was asking, surely? He was just teasing her, trying to make her feel better. For that matter, she didn’t even know his real name…nor did he know hers.…
“So, what do you say?” he asked again, and his grin was wide and confident. It was too bad she didn’t know he had a ring in his pocket, and that if she’d said yes, she would have been wearing the famous blue diamond of Brandenburg on her finger when they arrived in London.
“You’re such a sweet boy. I’m sorry, but the answer is no,” she said, and quickly changed the subject. “My father says our civilization has become stilted, that magic has corrupted reason, logic and freedom…if magic did not exist, we would be living in a different world,” she said as she pulled away from him.
The light in his eyes faded as he turned away from her. “Perhaps, but perhaps some things would still be the same. There would still be the London Season. There would still be the Debrett’s rankings.”
“I think you might be right on that,” she allowed. Later she would wonder how a boy from steerage had known about the social calendar, or the name of the social bible. Or, for that matter, how a boy like him would know to order the best types of champagne. Perhaps he read tabloids. Perhaps it was another hobby of his.
“So, that’s your answer, then,” he said lightly, but his face was pained, hurt. Ronan wanted nothing more than to take that hurt away, but she steeled her heart against him.
“Yes,” she said. “Maybe we’ll see each other in London,” she offered, even though she knew it was insincere.
“Maybe if we’re lucky,” he said with a sad smile. “So this is good-bye, then, is it?”
“Good-bye, Heath,” she whispered, watching as he gathered his things, put his socks and shoes and coat back on.
“Good-bye, Cathy,” he said. When he walked out of the room, he didn’t look back.
She didn’t see him for the rest of the journey. She found that she was more devastated than she’d expected. One lonely afternoon she contemplated looking for him in every corner of the boat, but Vera came back from tea early for once, and the chance passed. Perhaps it was just as well. If she’d spoken to him any longer, if she had let him kiss her again, if they had shared another steamy afternoon, she had a feeling he would have succeeded in talking her into eloping somehow. Ronan had been so close to saying yes that afternoon, to risking the unknown…perhaps it was for the best that she’d never see him again. She had done the right thing. She was certain.
Everyone’s here and frightfully gay;
Nobody cares what people say.
—NOEL COWARD,
“I WENT TO A MARVELLOUS PARTY”
When the Saturnia docked in the Port of London, Wolf felt a heaviness in his step at having returned to Europe. He had enjoyed the Americas; had liked the broad open spaces of the Midwest plains, the awkward and aggressive confidence of the cities, the fact that no one cared who his father was, that no one recognized him. But back in the empire, he was back to being the prince again—back to being his father’s son and his brother’s wayward problem.
Unlike Leo, he was ushered into the palace with hardly any pomp or fuss when he arrived. Oswald and his loyal valet were his only entourage, and aside from a few giggling ladies of court, no one else seemed to pay him much attention. Perhaps they were all too busy, as the “small season” had already started with the opening of Parliament, and the hectic festivities would build from Easter until the official opening of the season at the royal ball. Wolf tried not to feel too offended that there were no high-ranking representatives from the queen’s circle to greet him. While he hadn’t expected Her Majesty or the Merlin to make an appearance, a minister or two would have been nice. The suite of apartments he had been given was adequate, but after traveling for months and then spending the sea voyage in second class, he was itching to just go home to the family schloss in Brandenburg. The homefront was indeed plagued with the aforementioned sheep, but did boast a very comfortable bed.
That morning dawned bright and early, and at first Wolf was disoriented, unsure of where he was. It was strange to be back on land; he had gotten used to the gentle rolling of the waves on the ship. He blinked open one eye to see a shining apparition at the door.
“So, the prodigal son has returned,” the apparition said, stepping into the room and out of the sunlight, so that Wolf could see his brother clearly. Leo walked in with a broad grin and clapped his hands loudly. “Wake up! Wake up!”
“Hello to you too,” Wolf grumbled, forcing himself awake and upright. “You’re awful cheerful this morning.”
“Am I?”
“Isabelle here?” Wolf said pointedly.
“I wouldn’t know,” Leo said, but his eyes were smirking. “Is she?”
Wolf shook his head. His brother was a pig. Poor Isabelle. She should have known better than to give her heart to Leo. His brother took after their father, with an eye for every pretty girl in his path. And yet, for all of Leo’s indiscretions, there was hardly a whiff of scandal about him. He was the golden boy: nothing tarnished his sheen. If anything, it made him more lovable. Wolf didn’t know how his brother got away with everything, but he always did.
“How were the provinces?” Leo asked.
“Provincial,” Wolf grumbled, even though he had enjoyed his time there. He looked at Leo, dressed in a proper British cricket suit. “Settled in, have you?”
“Fancy a game?”
“Not today, thanks.”
“Right, then. Well, see you later. Dress for dinner, will you? And get the doctor to give you something better for that eye. You look like a burglar.”
Wolf nodded.
He didn’t want to admit it, but he hadn’t felt like doing much of anything since the American girl had rejected him. Of course it had been a foolish offer—what was he thinking, going around proposing with his mother’s diamond ring? What made her so different from all the other girls he had romanced and left behind? From all the other girls he had played strip billiards with, for that matter? But there was something about her honesty, her brave determination, that had touched his heart. She was trying so hard to be the grand lady, but she was a kindred spirit, wild and uninhibited. He had been drawn to her fire, and to the impulsiveness of marrying her without knowing her real name—the daringness of it. It was a story they could tell their children, something out of a fairy tale. How their mother had not known who he was when she accepted him, and the frog turned out to be a prince. But the princess had been unwilling to kiss the frog, the prince remained warty and unloved, and now there was no adventure to be had. Perhaps the world was right about him after all—without his title, he wasn’t much use to anybody.
Wolf thought that maybe he should have been honest with her. Not about his name—he was too careful for that after the latest paternity accusation—not that she would do something like that, but it was safer to remain anonymous. No, he wished he had spilled the dark secrets of his own heart and admitted that, like her, he was not free to live life on his terms—not at all—but instead was as much a prisoner to duty and family as she was. Which was why she should have accepted his proposal, because together they could have forged a new life that was unconstrained by tradition, a new and uncharted adventure. He would have married her then and there if she had said yes. He had never met a girl who didn’t know who he was, who his family was, and who only liked him for himself. And she had liked him, had liked him fine, but not enough…not enough to risk it. Alas.
If only she had said yes.…
He wondered what he would do when they saw each other again—she h
ad mentioned she had been invited to the royal ball. Perhaps if they met again, he would tell her his real name.…
There was not much time to feel sorry for himself, however. Once he arrived in London, there were social and royal obligations to meet. During his first week in town he was a fixture at the opera, the ballet, dinners, dances, and suppers that lasted until the wee hours of the morning. People whispered when he walked past; he could not enter a dining club or a theater without causing guests and patrons to titter, or worse, being obliged to greet and pay homage to the various dignitaries who knew his father and brother.
That evening he tagged along with Leo to a dinner given by one of London’s best hostesses, one Lady Constance Grosvernor. It was the standard fancy affair, with the usual mix of the beautiful and the titled, and Lady Constance had remarked to him that she had a friend who had also sailed on the Saturnia to London. She had thought of inviting her, but had decided against it at the last minute, as it would have caused their dinner to have an odd number at the table—and everyone knew that was unlucky. Wolf found the prattle as mind-numbing as usual. He was glad when Leo entered the room, and the lady and the rest of the party left him to swarm over his brother.
Wolf was even gladder when Leo decided it was time to leave the dinner and head to the nearest private club. The night ended at a rather famous bordello, and the next morning at the breakfast table Wolf cursed himself for taking the carousing too far. He looked and felt like death, but of course Leo looked like he always did: perfectly robust, healthy and whole. Meanwhile, Wolf felt as if his head would crack open, it was pounding so hard. He finished off his coffee—so much weaker than they took it back home.
“A note for you, sir,” the butler said, placing an envelope with the royal seal on his plate.
Wolf smiled as he recognized his friend Marie’s handwriting. He had been feeling a bit lonely and useless at the palace, and it was nice to be remembered by a friend. Dear old Marie, as constant and thoughtful as ever.