Say Yes to the Princess, page 23
“For what reason,” Killian asked, “can Princess Elise not search for her missing brother?”
The royal duke paused in the act of taking a drink and considered him. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass.
Killian saw his mistake and tried again. “I can better distract her if I understand why the search is forbidden.”
“Could you do?” challenged Edward.
“For example,” Killian said, “if the brother is actually dead, the princess might be told as much. That would be the end of it. Or, if he’s in another country, she might realize the futility of a search. If the brother is somehow a danger to her . . .”
“A danger to her?” asked Edward. “No, no, it’s not that. And—I might as well tell you—the brother is not dead. Well, so far as anyone knows, he’s not dead. Honestly, I’ve no idea where he is, and I don’t care. But the two of them have an uncle who aspires to be king of France. Assuming the French can pull themselves together and restore a king, any king. A rather large assumption, if you ask me. All things considered.”
Killian hadn’t known about the uncle.
“We hosted a French delegation yesterday,” explained Edward. “The uncle, Louis-Stanislas and his sad, little exiled court. He is the only surviving brother to poor headless King Louis—may God rest him. When you spirted the girl away from St. James’s, Father could finally grant an audience to this uncle.”
“The princess’s uncle was in London? At St. James’s?” asked Killian, all pretense of casualness lost. His heart began to pound. Access to an uncle—someone who could explain her situation to her, who could give her details about her future and her family—would have been endlessly helpful to Princess Elise.
“Was he here?” asked Edward. “I thought the man would never leave. He’s passed his exile in Austria, but he’s been in England for a time, awaiting an audience with Father. With the girl finally absent from the palace—and reliably so, thank you very much, Mr. Killian Crewes—we were able to receive him.”
“I see,” drawled Killian, recovering his careless tone. But he didn’t see. Not at all.
Stalling for time to think, Killian pointed to the crystal decanter in the corner. “May I?”
“Help yourself,” said Edward.
Killian sloshed brandy into a glass and took a slow drink. “I see now why the overnight stay in Paxton Dale was fortuitous. If the princess had been in St. James’s when her uncle called . . .”
He let the statement dangle, hoping Edward would fill in the gaps.
“If the princess had been here,” Edward said, “she would’ve plagued the man with her excessive questions, especially about her brother. And in doing so, she might have—no, she would have—ruined everything. This is why I sent the carriage. This is why I introduced you at the ball. It’s very delicate, these dealings with Louis-Stanislas. We could not risk complications caused by Princess Elise.”
Delicate, why? Killian wanted to shout. Dealings about what?
He couldn’t guess, and the royal duke was being purposefully evasive. Killian knew only one thing for sure: when Princess Elise learned that Killian had caused her to miss an opportunity to meet with her uncle, she would be furious, and rightly so.
If he ever saw her again. If she did not strangle him before he could croak out the excuse. If there was some excuse beyond the unbelievable I didn’t know. Which, in hindsight, sounded careless and lazy in addition to being unbelievable. But it was the truth. He hadn’t known. The circumstances of the fixes had never mattered to him before her.
Nothing had seemed to matter before Princess Elise.
Elise had had a bath and a meal, and now Kirby was plaiting her hair. She winced as the maid worked a comb through the tangles.
“Your head was bruised in the accident?” Kirby guessed, horrified.
“Oh, no, it’s not that, Kirby,” said Elise. “My hair is tangled, nothing more. Carry on. Ignore me.”
“I’ll not add insult to injury. Whoever heard of someone walking away from a carriage accident without a scratch?” Kirby picked gently at her hair. “And then to be forced to climb on a horse and ride through the fields? Chased by a storm?”
Elise thought back to the horseback ride to Paxton Dale, balanced on Killian’s lap. Riding through the fields and hearing about his history had been one of her happiest memories in years.
“It was only a mile or so,” Elise said. “Not so very bad.”
“Look who’s returned!” said an excitable voice from the doorway. Her cousin Juliette. Elise took a breath, bracing herself. She caught Kirby’s gaze in the mirror.
“How worried we were,” trilled Juliette, sweeping into the room. “Well, some of us more than others, perhaps? Because first we were told you were quite well, and then we were told you were in the care of Mr. Killian Crewes . . .”
Juliette came behind Elise, shouldered Kirby out of the way, and stooped to embrace her. She squeezed her to the back of her seat like she was strapping her to the chair.
“When I heard the royal dukes had sent you off with Mr. Crewes, I thought, ‘Lucky little thing,’” proclaimed Juliette. “I assured everyone their fear was misplaced. I always had a good feeling about him, you’ll recall.”
“Yes, how insightful you are,” said Elise.
“And then came the news that you’d pass the night at Mr. Crewes’s country house, and I was green with envy. But whatever was he like, Elise? Just as I always thought, surely. Charming and dashing and the perfect gentleman? What of the estate? Was it grand?”
“Not everyone aspires to have their carriage tip over,” said Kirby, speaking through a mouthful of pins. “The princess has been through quite an ordeal, I assure you. She may not wish to describe it until she’s recovered.”
“Oh, look at her,” Juliette cajoled. “She looks rather rosy-cheeked and fresh-faced if you ask me. In fact, I can’t remember our princess ever looking quite so pretty. But was Mr. Crewes so gallant and resourceful when the carriage collided with the tree?”
“It didn’t collide with a tree,” Elise said. “The wheel hit a rock in the road, and the carriage tipped over.”
“Was he gallant and resourceful when the carriage tipped?”
“He was,” confirmed Elise, willing herself not to respond. “He worked with villagers, I believe, to hoist the thing upright. I cannot say for certain. I was speaking to local women who stopped to observe. It was quite a spectacle.”
“‘Hoist the thing upright,’” repeated Juliette reverently. She stared into the distance as if imagining Killian, shirtless, lifting a carriage from the road with his bare hands.
Elise frowned. “I’m sorry to have slipped away yesterday. All of you have been so loyal to accompany me in my search for Gabriel. But then the royal duke suggested an outing beyond London, and it was meant to be a very quick, uncomplicated jaunt. Mr. Crewes could ride out for a handful of hours, and we’d return by luncheon. I never meant to stay the night with his family. I never meant to worry anyone.” She glanced at Kirby.
“Funny,” said Juliette, wandering to the bed and dropping down with flourish. “This is not what I was led to believe.” She began to carefully arrange her skirts.
Elise turned to her cousin. “Whatever do you mean by that?”
“Hmm?” asked Juliette innocently.
“What have you been led to believe?”
Before Juliette could answer, Elise’s third lady-in-waiting, Marie, appeared in the doorway.
“She returns,” said Marie. She smiled at Elise but shot a warning look at Juliette.
“Don’t scowl at me,” Juliette snapped at Marie. “No one could find you. You’re always praying.”
Marie ignored her and ducked into the room.
“Marie,” breathed Elise, an unexpected lump in her throat. Marie had only returned to Elise’s life these last four weeks, and she wasn’t accustomed to the relief of seeing her friend pop into her bedroom.
“I’m here, Marie, and I’m perfectly sound,” Elise told her friend. “I’m so sorry to have worried you.”
Marie crossed herself, bobbed a curtsy (Marie and Kirby never failed to curtsy) and sank to her haunches beside the vanity. She studied Elise like she wasn’t certain if she was the real princess or an imposter.
“I’ve had a new brush with death to add to my collection,” Elise reported. “Toppled carriage.”
“May this be the last one,” Marie said.
Elise wanted to fall against her friend and tell her everything, but of course they were not alone. Juliette’s behavior was more pointed and annoying than usual. She could feel her cousin’s eyes, tracking her every move.
“But have you heard, Highness,” Marie asked quietly, “what happened here in the palace while you were away?”
“What do you mean?” Elise shook her head. “I’ve heard no news from the palace.”
“I was just about to tell her,” called Juliette from the bed.
“Juliette?” asked the nun. “May I have a moment alone with the Princess?”
This surprised Elise. They trod very lightly around Juliette; a direct dismissal would mean days of pouting.
“I should prefer to stay,” declared Juliette. “And I’m affronted you would ask, Marie. You’re in no position to—”
“Juliette, will you leave us?” Elise said sharply.
“Elise,” complained her cousin.
“I will tell you everything I know of Mr. Crewes shortly,” Elise lied. “Pray, allow me speak to Marie alone.”
“Fine,” said Juliette, swanning from the room. “I feel quite certain I already know all of her many secret revelations.”
Elise turned to her lady’s maid and shot her an imploring look. “Kirby?”
“Of course, Highness,” said the maid, bobbing a curtsy. She collected her comb and pins and closed the door as she left.
Elise spun back to Marie. “What is it?” She couldn’t imagine. Virtually nothing happened in the palace that called for private discussions. For years, boredom had reigned.
“While you were out of the palace with Mr. Crewes,” said Marie softly, “your uncle and his entourage called on King George and the Prince of Wales.”
Elise shot to her feet. “My uncle? Which uncle?”
It was a stupid question. She had only two paternal uncles—her father’s two brothers. One had been the King of France, Louis XVI, and he’d been killed by the guillotine. The other . . .
“Louis-Stanislas,” Marie said solemnly. “Contender for the French throne.”
The royal duke poured himself another drink and held out the decanter to Killian.
Killian raised his half-full glass. He worked to maintain a neutral expression and keep his tone light.
“What of your meeting with the princess’s uncle? Is Britain not at war with France?” he asked.
“Well, Britain is at war with Napoleon, aren’t we? And Napoleon has seized control of France. The French royals are another story. As such, Louis-Stanislas wants something from us. But in order to get it . . . we’ll require something from him. It’s always a negotiation, these things.”
And what are we negotiating? Killian want to shout. He ambled to a bookshelf and stared up. After a long moment, he mused, “Nothing gets you nothing, I suppose. Question is, who has the most to gain?”
“Indeed,” agreed the royal duke.
Killian swore in his head. He tried again. “Anything you require from me in your dealings with the princess’s uncle?”
“More than keeping the girl out of sight and away from her brother?”
“Aye,” said Killian. “Easy enough to keep her from the brother if no one knows his location.”
“Well, keep the girl away from the idea of him,” Edward amended. “It’s the threat of her brother, isn’t it? Louis-Stanislas is determined to reclaim the French throne. No small task, mind you. He’ll have to contend with the tyrant Napoleon, not to mention millions of French citizens who, just ten years ago, were shouting for his head. It’s an uphill battle, and I don’t envy the man. The last thing he wants is a family squabble on top of everything else.”
“A fight with the princess?” guessed Killian.
“No, no—her brother. But don’t you see, Killian? This is the point. The uncle wants to be king. But Princess Elise’s brother could, theoretically, be king. This is why she must leave off looking for Prince Gabriel; he is a threat to her uncle.”
“And King George wants the uncle for France? Not the brother?”
“Father is less concerned about which of them endeavors to rule France,” dismissed Edward. “He wants what the uncle will give us if we help to keep the brother . . . lost. For lack of a better word.”
“We?” asked Killian.
Edward exhaled, exasperated with having to explain. “Princess Elise’s brother is in England somewhere. Well, probably, it should be said, he’s somewhere in England. Can you see: because the brother is in England, and Princess Elise is in England, their uncle wants our family to keep both of them suppressed and out of the way.”
“The uncle believes they will challenge him?”
“Well, not the princess. In France, only a male heir can rule. But the princess’s brother could challenge Louis-Stanislas, certainly. Regardless, the uncle wants both of them to be largely forgotten. In the instance of the brother, this means ‘lost’; in the case of Princess Elise, it means ‘quiet.’ Do you see?”
“And what does King George stand to gain if you—” Killian paused to rephrase. “What does the king gain if we manage to subdue the princess and not find her brother?”
“Oh, it’s no small thing, I assure you. Louis-Stanislas doesn’t have much with which to barter—exile is not the Palais-Royal is it?—but he’s finally come to us with something that would benefit England very much . . .”
“Louis-Stanislas was here?” exclaimed Elise. “Yesterday? Exactly yesterday?”
Marie nodded.
“For how long was he here? In St. James’s Palace? The castle in which I reside? The place I’ve been, effectively, trapped for five years with almost no contact with family?”
“He was here all day, Highness,” Marie said solemnly. “And he dined with the royal family in the evening. I was told he left near midnight.”
“What?” cried Elise. It was a useless exclamation but quite literally the only word in her brain.
“But how could he call on the precise day that I am away?” Elise demanded.
Elise thought of the number of letters she’d written her uncle—twenty at least—imploring him to tell her news of the French court, of what was intended for her, of the location of her brother and sister. She’d begged for any direction on how she could safely leave the protection of the British royal family.
He’d written back one letter to her every five. In these letters, like those of her mother, he’d said almost nothing of consequence, he’d bemoaned the very great challenges faced by their family, the importance of steadfastness and faith and patience—blah, blah, blah.
Elise spun away and began to pace.
“But what did Louis-Stanislas discuss with King George?” she wondered out loud. “Was the queen also in attendance? What of the king’s sons or the girls? What of other courtiers?”
She stopped and stared at Marie. “Was everyone present but me?”
“I cannot say who met with your uncle,” said Marie. “I do believe all members of the royal family dined with him in the evening, Her Majesty Queen Charlotte included. This comes from a footman, and he suggested that nothing of consequence was discussed at the meal. But he did not serve during the closed-door meetings with the king and Louis-Stanislas. He cannot say what they discussed.”
Elise heard this statement in snatches . . . The queen . . . nothing of consequence . . . he cannot say . . . closed-door meeting . . .
She resumed pacing.
“This makes no sense,” Elise insisted to Marie. “He called on the palace the exact day I was away?”
“It was remarkable to me,” said Marie.
Elise stared at her, and Marie stared back, and a terrible intuition passed between them. Not a formed thought, no accusation—a suspicion. It crept into the room like a serpent, squeezing beneath the door. Elise refused to see it for what it was. It wasn’t a snake, it was a length of rope. It was a vine. It wasn’t a villain, it was . . . Killian.
“It’s more of this new regard I’ve endured,” Elise said. “The way I’ve been treated since seeing my brother. They view me as some sort of a threat. They don’t trust me.”
She stopped, considered this, then began to pace again.
“My uncle would want to hear about the sighting of Gabriel,” Elise said. “Louis-Stanislas and my brother were great friends. Gabriel was only a boy before we fled France, but Louis-Stanislas had been a loving uncle to him. He doted on Gabriel—he loved Gabriel, I’m certain of it. Louis-Stanislas would want to hear that he’s alive.”
“We can speculate for days,” said Marie, “but there are important bits of the story we do not know. I am trying to learn what Louis-Stanislas discussed with the king. Your uncle traveled with an entourage, but his servants were rude and dismissive of St. James’s staff. My only hope is to learn something from a footman or guard who served the king during that private meeting. I need more time.”
God love Marie, thought Elise. She’d always been more warrior than nun. It was no wonder that she’d been chosen to steal Elise out of France.
“In the meantime,” Marie went on, “it’s necessary to take special care with your safety. Tread carefully on your alliances. Even Juliette, perhaps, should not be taken into confidence.”
Elise turned to her. “You believe me to be in danger?”
Marie raised her hands in question. “I know only that you were conveyed away from the palace within hours of the arrival of your uncle. And while you were away, you were in a life-threatening accident.”
“You believe they tried to have me killed?” And now the serpent/rope/vine began to wrap around her throat.
