“Can’t one simply enjoy the season?” she said lightly. “Oh, come now, Lord Deveraux, let’s be friends.”
“Friends,” he said mournfully. “I have enough friends.”
Finally it was the end of the evening, and Ronan had danced with almost every eligible young man in the place. She stood to the side, fanning herself. She was glistening with sweat, the night was beautiful, and she had quite enjoyed herself. The band played the most marvelous music, and there were many fun and handsome boys to choose from. Not that she really noticed, as she was only interested in one handsome gentleman in particular.
She saw Wolf nursing a drink on the other side of the room. He caught her eye and walked purposefully toward her. She ignored him, remembering again how insulted she had felt the other day when she had come to call. Truly, these fatheaded Europeans should join the twentieth century. In New York, no one would think twice.
“Ronan,” he said.
She turned away. “Did you hear something, Archie?” she said. “I don’t see anyone, do you?”
Archie raised his eyebrows. “We don’t?”
“Ronan, please,” he said. “Please hear me out.”
She rolled her eyes. “I guess he won’t leave me alone.” She nodded to the boys to indicate they could leave her with him. She turned to Wolf coldly. “Enjoying the evening, my lord?” she asked.
“Not so much, no,” Wolf admitted.
“Why is that?”
“I was hoping I would get a chance to speak to you and explain, and apologize about the other day, yet I find I can barely get a word in before you are whisked off by another ridiculous boy. It’s become quite tiresome, really.”
Ronan shrugged. “Next time, try to get your name in early.”
“Ronan—I am sorry for the way I acted. I should not have turned you away. You surprised me, and court etiquette is very strict about these things. You don’t understand.”
“I understand that you did not follow the protocol to call on me, and so I thought I would give you a chance to remedy that. Instead, I was humiliated.”
“My father was there that day, and it looked as if you were one of those girls who are always accusing me of fathering their babies—and you’d come after me. That’s what they thought. That’s why I was embarrassed.”
“You have girls accusing you of fathering their babies?”
“Yes—very many.”
“And have you?”
“No!” he said. “I’ve never—it’s all lies and entrapment. It’s a tactic. They hope to blackmail me into marriage somehow.”
“But I assume you did play strip billiards with them, didn’t you?”
He did not protest, which she took as a yes. He’ll break your heart, that one—be careful of him. Wasn’t that what Perry had told her?
“It was nice to see you, Prince. But I’m afraid I am full up all evening,” she said.
“Oh, you mean this?” he asked, holding up her dance card.
“Where did you get that?” she asked, searching her pockets. “Give it back, sir.”
Wolf smiled as he tore it in half, then into tiny little pieces that fluttered to the ground.
“Excuse me!” Ronan said indignantly.
“Relax—now you are mine all evening.” Wolf smiled and took her in his arms. He whispered in her ear. “Come, now—you have made your point, and I have made mine. We are made for each other, can’t you see?”
Ronan never felt as happy as she did surrendering to his victory. Over his shoulder, she saw Archie and Perry raising their glasses in celebration. She winked at them and went back to nuzzling Wolf’s neck.
“I’m sorry about the other day—I was wrong to say the things I did. I was wrong to send you away. And I was wrong not to call on you properly,” Wolf said. He had so much to tell her, and now that she was in his arms, he wanted to tell her everything. “It’s just that I wasn’t sure before.”
“You weren’t sure about me?” she asked softly.
“I wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do,” he said. “To court you. If I am not free.”
“Not free, my lord?”
“But it is all right now. My father is so happy that Leopold is marrying the princess, he does not care who I marry. He told me so this morning.”
She bristled at the suggestion that she was less than worthy, and he strove to soothe her doubts. “I am sorry to speak so bluntly. But there are duties and responsibilities that come with my position, and I did not want to begin something that I would not be able to finish…I would never want to hurt you.”
His cheek was pressed against hers, and her lips were almost brushing his face. She could dance like this forever. “But you are free now?” she whispered. “Free to love me?”
“Yes,” he said. His father would give them his blessing. There was nothing to fear. He looked forward to this new adventure with her by his side. His heart leapt with joy to be able to hold her so closely. If he could, he would marry her now—but they had to follow proper procedure. His brother would marry first, but perhaps they could be married a few months later, in the fall. A smaller ceremony, of course, and it would not be in London. Perhaps they could even get married in New York, although he doubted his parents would allow it.
A strong, spirited and smart girl…Ronan Astor…he had been looking for a girl like her for so long. And now she was real, she was in his arms. Better yet, he had a fight scheduled for later tonight, in the dungeons…he was looking forward to the adrenaline and the exercise. Perhaps he would even take her to see one of his fights—he wanted to share everything with her, and Ronan seemed like the kind of girl who might even enjoy it. She was different, and never cared what anyone thought. He couldn’t believe she had simply walked into the palace and called on him like she had done the other day.
A girl and a fight. The public was right—this was the best London Season yet.
It was time. Fifteen to midnight. She would meet the sun the next morning as a commoner; she would no longer be the princess. It was a perfect night, clear and balmy for London. The whole court was in the gardens, far from the basement passageways that would lead to her freedom. Marie-Victoria put on her most practical outfit: a black cotton poplin dress, a traveling cloak, and her gloves and hat. She tucked the envelope with the keys and coins into her pocket, and picked up the small bag she’d stuffed with clothes, books and tonics for her illness. Starting tomorrow, it was all she would have in the world.
Marie looked around at her beautiful pink room, at the pink wallpaper with the gold filigree, and hoped that Aelwyn would enjoy her life.
The wards would only be down just long enough to let her pass, for a few minutes after the hour. Once she was past the last gate, Gill would be waiting for her right outside. In the morning, they would board the ship bound for New York and begin their new life together. They would find the captain of the ship and have him marry them, so they would arrive in the new land as husband and wife.
Marie had never been so frightened in her life. She was really doing this. She stole out of her room and found the hidden panel in the hallway that allowed her inside the secret passageways. She followed the brass rail down to the basement, unlocking each door until she was in the bowels of the castle. Near her were the dungeons where her ancestors had kept their enemies, until the Merlin forbade the practice several hundred years ago.
The last gate was up ahead—the final door. The wards that kept the castle and its residents safe were down, she could tell. There was no feeling, no heaviness in the air. The wards were down, like she had been promised.
She walked toward it, and noticed the damp basement had the usual loamy, earthy smell, but there was something else—a vinegary, sour smell—and right underneath, a smoky acridity. She stopped to wonder about it, when she heard a noise in the tunnels.
There was someone else down here.
She heard the footsteps come closer and then run away in the other direction, back to the party, ba
ck to the gardens.
Who was it? Who else knew about these passageways?
She had to go—the ward would be down for only a little while longer, and Gill was waiting. So was her new life, her new name, her new reality. Good-bye to the princess, good-bye to the palace.…
Good-bye…
Good-bye…
Marie ran as fast as she could through the rest of the tunnels that would lead to the iron bars of the last gate.
Why was she seeing double? Everywhere she looked was so fuzzy, and her head hurt. She thought she might be laughing too loudly, but what Lord Stanley was saying really was so funny. Hysterical. “I think you’ve had enough, Isabelle,” Louis said firmly, taking away the glass of champagne in her hand. “Let’s get you home.”
“Give that back!” she screeched, reaching for the flute helplessly and dissolving into more giggles. “Don’t be a killjoy.”
“Aw, come on, let her have it,” William Stanley said with a sneer.
“Yeah, I heard she’s more fun with a few in her,” said Edward Finch-Hatton with a bit of a knowing air.
“You’d know, wouldn’t you, Beziers?” William Stanley said.
“Excuse me?” Louis said, holding her up by her shoulder. “What did you say?”
“Saw you leave with her last night, when she was plastered. Don’t tell me you didn’t get lucky.”
“Lucky? With Leo’s sloppy seconds?” Finch-Hatton scoffed. “That’s like shooting fish in a barrel. She’s a done deal. A sure thing.”
“Ignore them, Louis—come on, let’s leave, just let it go,” Isabelle said, coming to her senses when she understood what they were saying about her: that she was fish in a barrel. She did feel very floppy and out of water just then. She just needed to get away from this awful party, this awful city. Away from these horrid boys.
But Louis-Philippe would not let it go. He turned to the rowdy lads. “I don’t think I quite understand you. What are you saying about my cousin?”
“C’mon, everyone knows she’s been giving it up all winter to Leopold—that he had her brought here so that he could…well, you know. She’s sloppy seconds and soiled goods, right? But you’re a good man, you don’t care. All we’re saying is, maybe you could share.”
Isabelle couldn’t look at him; she knew the look of horror on his face too well. It was the same face he’d made when the healers told them their parents had succumbed to their illness, leaving them both orphans. He pulled her to one side. “Isabelle, is this true? Did Leopold…did he take liberties with you?” Louis asked, his voice hoarse and angry.
She nodded, ashamed. “Yes,” she whispered. “Because I was to be his wife anyway. Because we were engaged.”
“When did it start? In February? When he came to Orleans?” Louis asked, his face slowly draining of color. “Was it then?”
She hung her head and nodded.
“And after the engagement was dissolved?” Louis whispered. “Did you continue to—did you—did he—”
She looked at him beseechingly, and he knew the answer.
Louis-Philippe put down his drink and removed his jacket. She had never seen him look so angry in her life. “Leopold!” Louis called, his voice ringing through the party. “Leopold, come here!”
The prince, who had been marveling at a dancing bear in a tutu that was pirouetting for its trainer, looked up with a bemused expression. “Excuse me?”
“Leopold. A word, please.” Louis kept calm, though his fists were clenched in rage.
“Yes?”
“These men have accused my good cousin of harlotry. Surely you will defend Isabelle’s honor as a gentleman and a prince.”
“But your cousin has no honor,” Leo smiled. “At least when I knew her. And I knew her very well and very often, didn’t I, Isabelle?”
“Let’s go, Louis—come on, let’s go, please—you’re just making it worse,” Isabelle pleaded, hanging on his arm. “Please, let’s just leave here. Please.”
“NO!” Louis threw down his glove at Leo’s feet in a rage. The crowd went silent. Even the orchestra stopped playing. There was a dangerous malice, a strange feeling in the air; as if the world was hinged on a precipice, and could fall at any moment.
Leo raised an eyebrow. “Are you mad, sir?”
Louis put up his fists and insisted Leo do the same. It was as Leo said: Louis looked crazed. The vein on his forehead was throbbing, and he looked as if he were about to burst.
Isabelle came between them. “Louis—let’s go—what are you doing? Let it go. Stop this!” But he pushed her off. He lunged after the prince.
“I challenge you to a duel! To defend Isabelle’s honor,” Louis called.
Leo knelt and picked up the glove. He put it in his pocket. “I accept.”
“Now.” Louis removed the pistol he always carried as part of his gentleman’s uniform. He motioned to the garden, away from the party. An empty courtyard would accommodate the ritual.
“As you wish,” Leopold said lazily.
“Louis!” Isabelle screamed. “No! No! Take it back. Don’t do this! He’ll kill you!”
“Leave me alone, Isabelle,” Louis said. “Hugh, you will be my second?” he asked, finding his white-faced cousin among the crowd.
“What are you doing?” Hugh whispered fiercely. “You cannot challenge the prince to a duel at St. James! This is madness! Apologize and pledge your loyalty, then let’s get out of here. This has gone too far. Isabelle will survive this slur. No one will remember unless you go through with this.”
But Louis’s jaw was clenched and his face was set. Isabelle recognized that same stubbornness in her father. There was no talking him out of it. He would see this through to the very end.
“I look forward to the challenge. I will enjoy winning,” Leo smiled. He looked around. “Find my brother,” he said, irritated when he was unable to see Wolf in the crowd. “Tell him to get my guns.”
It took a little while to locate Wolf, but when they did, each combatant was ready. Louis checked his gun and cocked it back to make sure the bullets were set. He cleaned the handle and practiced removing it from its holster.
“You must walk away while we still can—they will have our heads!” Hugh screeched. “Louis-Philippe, I forbid you to carry this out!”
“You are no longer my guardian, Hugh. I have come into my father’s title. Now, do be quiet, as I have to concentrate,” Louis-Philippe said.
“Louis! Wait!” Isabelle rushed out to the courtyard, pushing away the ladies who attempted to keep her back.
He turned to her, his face open and hopeful. “Yes?”
“Louis…” she said, wonderingly. “Louis, I wanted to tell you something, before…”
“I’m not going to die, Isabelle,” he said.
She gulped and nodded, tears forming in her eyes. She couldn’t believe it. Was he truly doing this for her? She did not believe she was worthy of honor, and here was her cousin, wagering his very life on her virtue. The rules of the duel were clear: whoever won was the moral victor. If Louis-Philippe won the duel, Isabelle of Orleans would be as pure as the driven snow. And if Leopold won, then she would be cast out from society as a wicked woman, a loose woman, a harlot.
“Louis—I love you,” she said. Did she love him? Why had she said that? Because he was about to die for her, and she wanted him to die with that knowledge? To die happy? No. She was not lying. She did love him—she had always loved him, with all of her heart. He was her true love—her childhood friend and protector. But he was a man now.
She had been consumed with sadness to see him with Celestine—to know that he meant to propose to the girl. She had thought she would lose him forever. But the sadness was not just jealousy, like when she had believed herself in love with Leo and wished ill on the princess. She was sad because she wanted Louis to be happy, and she realized that he could be happy without her—perhaps happier, even.
“Isabelle,” Louis said, his face conflicted. “Don’t.”
/>
“I love you; it’s okay. It’s okay if you don’t love me. But I want you to know that I love you.”
He closed his eyes and holstered his gun.
“Take this,” she said, removing a chain from her neck. It had once held a stone, but it was gone now; she had given it away. “It was my mother’s. For luck.”
Louis nodded. “Hugh, are you ready?” he called.
Hugh nodded, holding his own weapon.
Isabelle watched them walk to the courtyard.
“What are you doing?” Wolf asked. “What is this? Walk away from this, leave the boy alone.”
“Worried about me?” Leo asked. “Don’t be, little brother. He won’t be able to touch me.”
“If you won’t back down, then let me do it—I’m the better shot. Let me take your place,” Wolf insisted.
Leo laughed. “I don’t hide behind anyone. Now come.”
Wolf shrugged his shoulders and holstered his gun. If Leo wanted to duel, then he couldn’t stop him. Leo always got what he wanted.
It was midnight at last. Aelwyn checked herself in the mirror. She still couldn’t get used to the sight of Marie’s face staring back at her. The illusion stone created a mask that was uncanny, unreal. She touched the bridge of her nose, her cheekbones; it all felt strange, unfamiliar. She changed from her acolyte robes to the dress that Marie was meant to wear to the garden party, tucking the stone into her dress under her collar. Aelwyn stopped to consider what she was doing. After tonight, she would no longer be an acolyte, a mage; she would be the princess of the empire.
Marie had made it clear she had no interest in the throne, or in wedding the future king. The ring and the crown were there for the taking—all Aelwyn had to do was claim them. But her heart was heavy as she stole away from the charter house toward the castle proper. She remembered how she and Marie had looked, the night that Marie had told her she and Gill were really leaving the palace, that Aelwyn was to take her place as princess. Their faces had been so ashen, so unhappy…was this the right choice? There was no stopping now. Marie would be gone when the sun rose in the morning.
As she made her way to the gardens, she thought it seemed oddly quiet—there were no sounds of murmured conversation, no clink of glasses or forks against plates. There was no music playing.