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‘Nonsense. A misunderstanding. He is a diplomat, he understands that, and Minister Canning assures me he bears no grudge. It was a long time ago, after all.’
‘It was only five years ago.’
‘Almost six. And much has happened since. Now I am squeezed like a nut between the fists of Russia and Austria as they play the Turks against the Greeks. I prefer to test my fate with the English and their navy. I like the English. My years as a student at Oxford were some of my finest.’
‘But he can’t possibly want you to stay here...in his home. You all but kidnapped him and held him prisoner.’
‘Only at first. Then when he was better, I treated him well, didn’t I? We played chess. He is one of the best opponents I have met, and his given name is Alexander, apparently. A fine name for a future King of Illiakos. King Alexander, it has a nice sound to it, yes? I think I wouldn’t mind if he married Ariadne.’
‘You wouldn’t mind...’
Christina waited out the sensation of still being on board the ship that had carried them to England. She should be used to the King by now, but sometimes he still took her breath away. Or perhaps that was the realisation of where they were. Or rather, whom they would see tomorrow. Oh, no, she couldn’t do it. Not again. She should insist on leaving to visit her cousins. They might not want her to come, but surely they wouldn’t turn her away?
‘Perhaps while you are occupied here I should visit my family for a few days.’
‘Nonsense. It is not at all convenient that you leave when Ari needs you most, Athena. This behaviour is not like you. Are you unwell?’
The combination of solicitude and the reminder of her duty crumbled her resistance.
‘I am well, your Majesty, but...’
‘Good.’ He clapped his hands together in satisfaction. ‘We are done here. Go and make certain my little star is in a good mood. She must make an excellent impression. My enquiries tell me Lord Stanton has had the most exquisite of women and his palate is no doubt jaded, so Ariadne must be polished to the finest shine if she is to capture and hold his attention. She is beautiful, yes, but she is still a little rough despite all your efforts to make her the perfect English girl. You should have tried harder.’
‘I...’ She almost let loose her frustration when she saw the expectant mischief in his eyes. He might be fifty, but sometimes he was no better than a little boy.
‘I shall endeavour to do so, your Majesty.’
He sighed.
‘One day you will lose your temper with me, Athena.’
‘I shall endeavour not to do so, your Majesty.’
‘A pity. I think it would do you a world of good. Meanwhile you are looking a little off colour. Why don’t you find yourself a book in that monstrous library you were admiring earlier? Reading always cheers you and you heard what Lady Albinia said, once Lord Stanton arrives, the library and the state room will be in use for the negotiations so take advantage of it being empty while you can. Ari and I will make your excuses. But now go and tell her if she isn’t downstairs in twenty minutes I will...well, do something or other.’
He strode out but Christina didn’t immediately go to do his bidding; she needed time to recover from his unwitting blow.
Lord Stanton. Alexander.
Alex.
What a fool she was. Almost six years had passed. One would think that was enough time for a foolish infatuation to fade, but her thudding pulse was proof the memory of those weeks was still alive inside her.
She couldn’t face him...
Of course you can, you silly girl. He won’t even recognise you. Why should he? He was delirious half the time and the rest of it those ridiculous veils covered you like a tent. Besides, you were just a girl and he was as handsome as a god and as charming as a devil. Of course you thought you were in love with him. But you are older now and quite a bit wiser.
Perhaps this will even do you good, you will see an Englishman all starched and trapped in cravats and waistcoats and bowing and scraping to the King like all the other officials come to pay court. It would be different now.
It had to be different. She didn’t want to have to nurse her way through another bruised heart in silence.
Chapter Three (#u27a96bdb-6347-5195-9026-b229e81fbf41)
Alex held his bay purebloods steady as he turned his curricle through the gates of Stanton Hall. It was usually at this point in the drive from London that his conflicted emotions reached their peak. He loved London and the excitement of his work at the Foreign Office, but there was something about coming to Berkshire and to his own wing at the Hall that calmed him, in particular when his father wasn’t in residence. It wasn’t that he disliked his sire and he certainly cared for Sylvia, his stepmother, and had a real and deep love for his two half-sisters, Anne and Olivia, but when they were away he revelled in having the Hall to himself. Then he could lower his guard and forget about duties and policies, Stantons and Sinclairs. Almost.
This particular return, however, was overshadowed by the unwelcome guests awaiting him.
‘Have my uncle and guests arrived yet, Watkins?’ he asked his butler as he came downstairs after changing out of his driving clothes.
‘Yes, my lord. You were not expected until tomorrow and Count Razumov and Graf Von Haas and their entourages recently arrived and are resting in their rooms, but I believe his Majesty and the Princess and her companion, Miss James, have gone with Sir Oswald and Lady Albinia to inspect the gardens. Apparently his Majesty also has an interest in horticulture.’
‘Oh, God help me.’
‘Indeed, my lord. I presume you will join them outside?’
‘Not for the prospect of world peace, Watkins. I have work to do. They will manage without me until dinner.’
He entered the library, a generously proportioned room overlooking the lawns and lake. He had his own study on the other side of the house, but he liked the combination of space and leather-bound warmth the library offered, with its deep, cushioned and curtained window seats overlooking the lake.
Halfway to his desk he noticed a pair of pale yellow kid shoes on the carpeted floor by the curtains drawn over the far window seat. There was nothing peculiar about them except their very presence in the library when his sisters were away. He moved towards them but stopped when the curtains twitched and two stockinged feet peeped out below, moving slowly towards the discarded footwear, like a cat trying to escape detection. He remained silent, watching with appreciation the elegant line of foot and ankle, the slim calf, and with regret the appearance of the hem of a muslin skirt as the feet finally encountered the shoes and slid into them, sneaking back just as stealthily behind the curtains.
‘I’m afraid it is a bit late for concealment,’ he said, trying not to laugh. He had no wish to embarrass anyone, especially not if this was the Princess. ‘I am Lord Stanton. Will you please come out so we may introduce ourselves?’
There was a moment’s silence and then the curtain was pushed aside. A young woman stood up, shaking out her skirts, her finger still held between the pages of a book.
She was clearly embarrassed, her cheeks hot with colour, but she was just as clearly not the Princess. The Princess had been a child with black hair and brown eyes, not hair the shade of dark mahogany and eyes of a peculiar teal blue. His uncle had also claimed the Princess was exceedingly pretty and he was a stickler for accuracy. The woman facing him didn’t evoke the overused epithet ‘pretty’, but her features had a compelling harmony and her large, wide-set eyes were like staring into the distant shadowing of the ocean, the kind that fuelled travellers’ anticipation and fear. Then reality returned and he recalled Watkins’s words—this must be the Princess’s English companion.
‘I am sorry,’ she said, her voice low. ‘When I am reading, I forget myself. I hadn’t even realised I had taken off my shoes until I heard someone moving in the room.’
The silence stretched as he tried to focus on her words, but they faded away from him, like a vaguely familiar foreign language. All that reminiscing with Hunter and Raven was clearly having some ill effects on him—for a moment he had been dragged back in time to a very different room. He struggled to regain his footing.
‘There is no need to apologise. You are more than welcome to use the library, Miss...’ He groped for the memory of the name Watkins had mentioned. ‘Miss James?’
She smiled and her face transformed for a moment, solemnity disappearing under the weight of embarrassed amusement, quickly checked. It was a powerful transformation, like sun breaking through clouds above a stormy sea. He might have to reassess his initial impression—she might not be a beauty, but there was something about her features that went beyond classical features and made it difficult to look away.
‘I apologise, Lord Stanton. We were told you weren’t expected until tomorrow. I wouldn’t have come to the library if I had known you were arriving sooner.’
‘And why is that?’ he asked, moving closer. Surely if this was the girl who had nursed him she would say something, show some sign of recognition. But her eyes showed only embarrassment as she hugged the book to her.
‘Lady Albinia said the library is your domain when you are at the Hall. I meant to take a book upstairs with me, but then I saw the window seat and forgot. I don’t think I could have conjured a more perfect place.’
He glanced at the window seat, at the cushions arranged into a little nest in the corner, still bearing the outline of her body. She turned and began arranging the cushions, plumping them back into shape, her skirts falling forward to accentuate the soft curves of her hips and behind. There was nothing intentionally provocative about her actions, any more than the surreptitious manoeuvre with her shoes had been calculated, but his body wasn’t in the least concerned with intentions. It was focused on actions and on curves and was heading deep into unrealisable potential when she finally finished and turned, her cheeks flushed and the apology still in her eyes.
‘There, now you won’t even know I was here.’
He searched for an answer, something polite and non-committal and removed from the impressions his mind was struggling to master and the messages his suddenly rebellious body was sending.
The silence began to sag in the middle and then, thankfully, there was a movement in the window and he forced his gaze to the sight of his uncle and aunt coming up the path from the gardens with the King and Princess. He grasped at the opening they offered as he would at a rope in a stormy sea. It made no difference whether this was the veiled girl or not. She was the Princess’s companion and a guest. His guest. Everything else must be put aside to be dealt with later, if at all.
‘Your solitude is about to be interrupted anyway. Why didn’t you join them? Don’t you like gardens?’ he asked, more bluntly than he might have intended, but Miss James didn’t appear to find anything strange with his question. She answered it as given, glancing down guiltily at the book she held.
‘I do, but I love books more. Please don’t tell Lady Albinia, I know how she adores her gardens and I would hate to offend her.’
‘Of course not. You are more than welcome to use the window seat when you wish, whether I am at the Hall or not. The only time I am afraid the library is out of bounds is when we will be busy with the negotiations in the stateroom, which is through those doors. Other than that you are welcome here.’
He wondered what on earth he was doing, trying to make her comfortable when the last thing he wanted was to have his privacy invaded any more than absolutely necessary. As they watched, the group in the garden turned on to the lake path.
‘Well, you have just earned another half hour. My aunt is probably taking them to see what remains of the water lilies on the lake. So, what are you reading? Won’t you sit down?’
Embarrassment was often very useful. Now that he was overcoming his initial discomfort he resolved to make the most of hers. People revealed more when off balance and he wanted to know what he was dealing with here. He indicated the window seat again, using his superior height to press her back. She sat down but her eyes narrowed at the manoeuvre. She was a peculiar combination—her expression was cool and calm, but something in the blue depths contradicted that assessment. He stepped back and pulled over a chair, suddenly noticing she held Bruce’s Travels to Discover the Source of the Nile. The veiled nurse had had a preference for agony columns, he remembered.
‘This is a rather unusual choice of reading material. There are shelves of novels in my sisters’ parlour next to the conservatory, you know.’
‘I love novels, sometimes I think they are the anchors of my sanity. But I love tales by people who have seen the world and been stretched to their limits. I hadn’t even realised how much time had gone by.’
Her face had descended into a serious look, but then another smile dispelled it almost immediately. It was like light reflecting off conflicting currents in a lake, confusing hints of forces at work beneath the surface, shifting as soon as the eyes settled on them. Once again his concentration shattered, but the certainty that had struck him when she had first spoken was fading. Her voice was already her own and he couldn’t for the life of him remember if it resembled that young woman of six years ago or whether it had been a trick of his own memory. Perhaps he should just ask her...what? Were you the girl who saved my life? Remember? I’m the idiot who made a fool of himself and asked you to run off with me?
‘That has effectively stifled all conversational gambits, hasn’t it?’ she said into the silence, the amused self-mockery in her deep voice rousing him from another round of uncharacteristic stupor. He shook his head, trying to keep to the surface of the conversation. It should have been easy, but he felt himself struggling to find the anchor of polite patter that was second nature to him and usually took up no more than a tenth of his mental effort while the rest of his mind was engaged on more momentous matters.
‘Does the Princess share your interest in tales of adventure?’
‘No, she is much saner than I. We are currently reading Mrs Carmichael’s Hidden Heart. But you wouldn’t like her.’
‘Why wouldn’t I?’ he asked. But his hope that the conviction in her statement might indicate an admission of familiarity faded with her next words.
‘Most men despise novels, don’t they?’
‘Just as most women love them? Isn’t that simplistic? I have very little time for fiction, unfortunately, but with two sisters I have been exposed to more novels than I can remember and I certainly don’t despise them. Hers haven’t come my way, though. Are they any good?’
‘I like them; they are almost as good as my dreams.’ Her words ended on a little surprised sound as if she had remembered something or merely realised that she was being a tad too honest. She stood up abruptly and handed him the book.
‘Thank you for the use of the library and your book.’
He stood up as well, taking the book automatically. Between his bulk and the chair he knew he was impeding her exit, but he wasn’t quite ready to conclude this conversation.
‘Formally it is my father’s library. Why are you convinced it is not his book as well?’
She had to look up at him, her head tilted back, accentuating a very stubborn chin. Then she smiled again.
‘I guessed,’ she said simply and slid past him in the manner of a child slipping past a strict parent and he found himself turning as if he could capture her scent as she passed.
This time it was his memory that took precedence, just a flash, a moment from when he had still been caught in the fever of the wound, perhaps the first time he had really been conscious of her, or of her scent. He hadn’t thought of it since, but the memory had somehow remained—like a soap bubble that had formed years ago about the girl’s essence and had only now burst. Wildflowers deep in the woods. At his desk he placed the book on the blotting pad and smoothed unseen wrinkles on the leather binding. It was warm and supple, as leather is after being handled, not surprising if she had been curled up with it in that sunny corner.
Almost as good as my dreams... What a strange thing to say, whether she was that veiled nurse or not. What on earth would she have done if he had asked her to describe those dreams? She might be peculiar, but that would probably have stymied even her. Possibly. Maybe not.
He pushed the book to the edge of the desk. He had work to do before he had to play host to his problematic guests. Whatever she was made no odds. He had a task to complete and that was the sum of his interest in the King’s affairs or employees.
Damn Oswald.
Chapter Four (#u27a96bdb-6347-5195-9026-b229e81fbf41)
‘Mint and valerian.’ Lady Albinia smiled, patting the empty spot on the sofa as Christina entered the drawing room in the wake of the King and Princess. Christina sat down with relief, happy to escape another direct encounter with Lord Stanton as he came forward to greet the King. It took her a moment to register Lady Albinia’s strange comment.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Earlier today you asked if I happen to grow horsetail and hyssop, but then we were distracted by his Majesty’s interest in impatiens and periwinkles for the castle gardens. If you need horsetail for stomach ailments, mint and valerian might do, as well. I am not familiar with hyssop’s qualities.’
Christina smiled.
‘Thank you, both will do very well. It is actually for a tisane I sometimes prepare for the King when he has trouble sleeping. I saw you have cowslip and chamomile and woodruff which are wonderful. On Illiakos I grow bird’s foot and pennyroyal, as well.’
‘My mints are mostly down by the lake,’ Lady Albinia replied, leaning forward as if to guard a secret. ‘They are thirsty things, the dears. My pennyroyal never took, but I shall bring you some spearmint if you like. Very soothing.’
Lady Albinia’s faded face was lit from within and Christina almost regretted the topic had ever been broached. Herbs had been her father’s passion and she continued to tend the herb gardens he had planted, but for her they were instrumental, not the passionate occupation they appeared to be for Lady Albinia. By her vague expression Christina guessed the current Marquess’s sister was very used to spending hours propping up walls whenever events at the Hall required her attendance in the absence of Lady Wentworth herself. In thirty or forty years Christina might become much the same at the Castle. Once Ari married perhaps her herb garden would be all that was left to comfort her on Illiakos. The thought terrified her, but she stifled it.
‘That would be very kind, Lady Albinia.’
‘It would be my pleasure. So few people appreciate herbs. Flowers are always popular, but most people find herbs rather dull,’ she said wistfully and Christina smiled.
‘Herbs are often more potent beneath the surface, but even the most beautiful flowers can have hidden depths, like foxgloves, for example. I believe we should judge each plant on its own merits.’ She cringed a little at her pedantic response, but Lady Albinia’s smile warmed.
‘I cannot decide which you are.’
‘Which what?’
‘A flower or an herb. Usually I can tell right away. You have elements of both. I shall reserve judgement.’
She sounded so serious, Christina restrained her urge to laugh and looked around the room, forcing her gaze to skim past Lord Stanton as swiftly as possible. Even a brief glance told her he was magnificent in evening wear, the contrast of black and white accentuating the austere perfection of his features. But it also confirmed that although she had been too shocked by his sudden appearance that afternoon to assess their encounter calmly, she had been right about one thing—he had changed. Or perhaps she had. If she didn’t know better she might have assumed this was that man’s older brother. Incredibly like him in looks, more virile, but less swashbuckling. Just...different. The alternating sardonic charm, flirtatiousness and irritability were gone, replaced by watchful politeness. For a moment in the library he had even appeared a little confused. He had probably been thinking about something else and her presence had been unwelcome, but his manners had prevailed.
He was still the most attractive man she had met, but at least she hadn’t made as much of a fool of herself as she might, especially after being discovered huddled in that corner in her stockings. She flushed again at the memory and pushed it away. She had survived that meeting quite well, certainly better than anticipated. It was a relief that he made no connection between Miss James and his newspaper-reading nurse. And really, why should he? She had been negligible then and was negligible now.
She glanced again in his direction. He stood with the King and Princess, his head bowed slightly towards Ari’s who was laughing at something he said, her silver-and-white fan clutched in her hands in a gesture Christina knew betokened excitement. They looked beautiful together, a perfect melding of north and south and at least outwardly it appeared the King might realise his ambition, but Christina couldn’t help being worried, and not merely because of the lingering damage to her own heart. Lord Stanton might be leagues beyond any of the men who came to pay court to Ari at Illiakos, but she didn’t know if he could make Ari happy. He might have changed, but she remembered bitterness and anger under the flirtatious charm five years ago that she doubted would have just disappeared. None of that was in evidence now, but there was something distant about him despite the charm of his smile and the appealing curiosity he had exhibited while talking with her in the library and which he was clearly exerting on Ari even now. Beyond that something else lay, but she had no idea what it was and it scared her a little.
She drew herself up at that wholly ridiculous thought. He was merely an English diplomat whose only agenda was to secure a treaty with Illiakos. Fear had no place here.
Lady Albinia gave a slight sigh and patted Christina’s arm as the butler entered to announce dinner.
‘Come along, child, we have a long evening ahead of us.’
Christina followed her into the adjoining room. She was accustomed to splendour after years of the King insisting she accompany Ari to all state dinners, so when she entered the Stanton dining hall she was impressed, but not cowed. It could clearly accommodate several dozen people, but the central table had been shortened to fit their modest number and the elaborate silver epergne shaped like an eastern temple had been moved to a side table and replaced by a China bowl bursting with flowers. It was a peculiar touch amidst the sparkle of crystal and silver and gold-embossed dinnerware, both modest and lively. Christina thought the arrangement was not only tasteful but clever. It tied the group together in a warm intimacy and masked their antagonistic agendas.
Lord Stanton was seated at one end of the table and the King at the other, flanked by the Austrian and Russian envoys. Christina noted this concession to the weaker parties as she took her seat between Ari, seated to Lord Stanton’s right, and the Russian Tsar’s envoy, Count Razumov.
Again Christina felt her kinship with Lady Albinia. The older woman sat on Lord Stanton’s left, and as he listened to Ari’s happy chatter, she occupied herself with her food and a calm oversight of the servants who moved about, placing and removing covers with silent efficiency. Had Lady Albinia ever dreamt of being anything else but what she was? Of a family and home of her own? She had a pleasant face and she was not unintelligent. Had life just slipped past her while she tended her herbs and her brother’s family? She didn’t appear unhappy, but was that just resignation or true contentment?
‘...Miss James? Miss James!’
Christina turned at the King’s peremptory use of her name. He was frowning and the envoys were staring at her in surprise and for one mad moment Christina wondered if she had committed some horrid social solecism, but could not for the life of her think of anything she had been doing other than meandering through her own less-than-optimistic thoughts.
