The Prince Who Loved Me (The Oxenburg Princes) (14 page)

“You are serious?”

“Of course. She is the only woman I’ve found interesting.”

Tata made a noise that sounded like a cat choking on a piece of string. “
Nyet!
She is too old! She’ll never have children.”

“She’s only twenty-four.”

“Soon to be twenty-five, and would be even older by the time you courted and married her. Add another year to conceive a child, she could be twenty-seven or twenty-eight, much too old.” Tata shook her head. “There must be someone else.”

He pretended to think, his grandmother’s eyes upon him. Finally he said, “
Nyet
.”

She scowled. “Of all the women at the ball, you like only this one, a woman too old to have children, dowdy and plain and plump and—”

“Miss Murdoch is neither plain nor plump.” To his surprise, a faint flare of irritation invaded his good humor. “She’s attractive and lively. And for once, I have met a respectable woman I wish to know better.” That was true, at least.

“She isn’t—”

“Do you or do you not wish me to take my responsibilities more seriously?”

“I do,” Tata said in a sour voice.

“Then stand back and let me. I will spend some time with Miss Murdoch, get to know her, see if this lightning strikes or not. And if, at the end of a few weeks, she still intrigues me, perhaps I’ll ask for her hand in m—”

“Don’t be so hasty! Courting is not something one rushes into.”

Alexsey hid a grin. Ten minutes ago, Tata Natasha would have said the opposite. He shrugged. “I am intrigued by Miss Murdoch, and I’m rarely even that. Perhaps that is enough.”

“She is too old, she wears spectacles, and her hair is never as it should be. Yesterday she came to tea with a
cobweb
in her hair.”

Sir Henry’s maids should dust the statuary more often.
“She may not possess the sort of beauty the poets write of, but it is there. It is quieter, softer.”
It shines in her eyes and bubbles with laughter from her lips.
Alexsey caught himself and nearly laughed.
I’m being almost poetic.

He continued, “And fortunately for my new directive to spend time with Miss Murdoch, I’m to accompany Lord Strathmoor to visit some of the local families. I’m sure we’ll stop to visit Ackinnoull, where I’ll sit over a cup of tepid tea and admire the length of Miss Murdoch’s astonishing eyelashes.”
If fate smiles, I may even win another kiss from the plump lips of the most intriguing Scottish lass I’ve met yet.

Strath’s voice drifted from the foyer.

“Ah, there he is now.” Alexsey bent and kissed his Tata’s forehead. “I will find you when I return. Meanwhile, enjoy your visit with Sir Henry.”

“Forget Sir Henry.” She caught Alexsey’s hand and held it between her own, her eyes narrowed. “Do you really like this Miss Murdoch?”

“I am truly interested in her.” That much was true.

Finally, with a short nod, she released him. “Go. Have your fun. But do not think you can hide from love. The right woman will find you—and when she does, you will never be the same.”

Alexsey laughed. “I’m not sure if I should hide or arm myself, but I promise you this, Tata: when I am done, you will happily hand me the
kaltso
.” And with that, he left to meet Strath.

At the dinner party, no fewer than fourteen important introductions had been made, three couples had flirted outrageously over the beef, and during dessert, one eager young gentleman had made so bold as to ask a certain young lady’s parents for an audience to “beg a favor.” Lucinda’s aunt declared the affair a most happy one.

Yet Lucinda could not be so excited. The couples who had flirted were all married to others, the introductions had been orchestrated by grimly determined mamas wishing their sons and daughters to marry for wealth rather than happiness, and the young lady who’d been forced to endure the unwanted advances of the drunken gentleman who’d asked her parents for an audience had burst into tears when her father had joyously agreed to hear the young man’s request. All in all, Lucinda thought the evening a sad waste of time.

—
The Black Duke
by Miss Mary Edgeworth

In her sitting room on the top floor of Ackinnoull Manor, Bronwyn dropped another book onto a pile at her feet. Slips of paper stuck out from the book covers in the stack, all marking crucial passages. Somewhere within the pages of her favorite novels was the answer she sought. Ever since she’d overheard the prince at Tulloch the day before, she’d been consumed with one question:
how does one make an arrogant prince fall in love?

She stretched her feet toward the fire, causing the sleeping Walter to stir on the rug before the snapping flame. Of course, it wouldn’t be true love. But a strong infatuation would do, the sort that hinted at exciting things to come and left one breathless with potential. Just enough so that when she finally revealed that she’d known of his caddish intentions all along, he felt a powerful sense of loss. It was the only fair punishment.

She picked up
The Lady of Beaumont
and began to page through it. Within these books were some well-kept secrets of womanhood that she needed. That was the beauty of novels: in the middle of the fantasy were golden kernels of truth. Like when Miss Edgeworth described the pernicious social appetite of society mamas, or when Lady V wrote about the frustrations of a young woman who’d lost her mother. Bronwyn knew those moments well. To her, they’d been very real and, sweetened by the sweeping romance of the rest of the pages, all the more poignant.

She picked up the list she’d been making. So far she had three items that held some promise. In
Castle Graystone
by the divinely talented Lady V (who was supposedly a true member of the peerage, although Bronwyn suspected that rumor to be a ploy to sell more books), she’d found a passage that described how the hero’s reason had been swept away by the faintest hint of the heroine’s perfume. At one point, he’d even found himself stealing her kerchief to carry her scent with him.

She tapped a finger on the page. Where did one find a scent that no other woman might have? That could prove tricky, but she’d think of something.

The next hidden gem was from one of her favorite tomes by the ever-popular Miss Henrietta Opal,
My Lady Lost
. Bronwyn had discovered three pages devoted to how the hero admired the heroine’s dulcet tones as she sang while playing the pianoforte. Bronwyn didn’t play the pianoforte, nor did she often sing in public, but her voice was quite acceptable. At least, it was no better or worse than anyone else’s. She pursed her lips. It might be worth a try.

The last hint in seduction came from one of her favorite books of all time,
Dark Castle
, written by the prolific Mary Edgeworth. In this book, the heroine—a lady of great resources who spent the better part of two chapters precariously balanced on the windswept ledge of a rain-lashed castle as she orchestrated an escape from her evil cousin’s clutches—had captivated the hero with her deep knowledge of his family home and estate, both of which were real locations that carried historical significance, which made the book all the more enjoyable. Bronwyn would have to find the book on Oxenburg that Mama had read.

Feeling more hopeful, she yawned and stretched her arms before her, peering out the window to where the sun spilled onto the rooftop. Her rooms consisted of a sitting room, a dressing room, and a small, cozy bedchamber. Back when Ackinnoull Manor had housed a wealthy miller and his large, growing family, these rooms had made up the nursery suite.

Lady Malvinea hadn’t been happy when Bronwyn had asked to move to this floor, but to everyone’s surprise, Papa had agreed. Bronwyn thought he knew the real reasons she’d wished for the upper floor to herself—so that she’d have some peace and quiet so she could read and, most importantly, sneak her dogs in and out of the house without Lady Malvinea knowing.

She bent down and patted Scott’s head, which lay in her lap. “I expected Alexsey to visit yesterday, but he never came. The duchess must be keeping him busy. But that is good; it’ll give me time to prepare.”

Scott rested his chin on her knee, his large brown eyes so soulful, she was forced to kiss his forehead. “Prince or no, Alexsey will never be as adorable as you.”

Scott wagged his tail.

Despite the sting of being used, she couldn’t stop thinking about the first time she’d met Alexsey, when he’d merely been a handsome huntsman.
Those kisses.
She shivered at the memory. Kisses were far more exciting than she’d realized.

But that was all in the past. Now she was dealing with a smug prince who deserved a setdown, and planning how to do that was unexpectedly exciting.

Yet the whole thing had her topsy-turvy. Though she was prepared to give as good as she got, she couldn’t stop her well-fed imagination from whispering
, Is that
all
? Don’t you really want
more
?

She might want more—but the real question was, should she?

It had been disconcerting to discover that some princes really
were
make-your-knees-weak handsome. It seemed unfair of fate to put such handsome men on earth and then give them flaws like arrogance and—Well, that was really the only flaw she knew he had, but there were sure to be more. And they would all help her resist his seduction attempts.

Which would be difficult: they had already kissed, and the memory of those alone tempted her. And oh, what delicious kisses those had been. They still made her skin tingle, her heart pound, her nipples harden—

Argh! She moved Scott’s chin from her knee and stood. “Princes and kisses. Both should be avoided by people with large imaginations who—”

Someone came running up the steps; then the door popped open and Mairi stumbled in. Her hair was a mess, a comb sticking out over one ear, her gown wrinkled where she’d grasped it with both hands as she’d galloped up the stairs.

She placed a hand on her chest and leaned against the doorframe, panting.

“Goodness! What’s gotten into you?” Bronwyn asked.

“Mama—says—you—all of us—must come—now! The prince—Strathmoor—sent a note!”

A swell of excitement warmed her.
Finally!
“When will they be here?”

“Mama says—we are to be—in the sitting room—ready—by noon!”

“Excellent.” Bronwyn glanced at the clock. “That’s a half hour, just enough time to get ready. Thank you, Mairi. And walk back to your room. You won’t be fit to speak to anyone if you run up and down the stairs like a terrier looking for a rat.”

With a grin, Mairi left, her footsteps only slightly slower as she went downstairs.

Meanwhile, Bronwyn hurried toward her wardrobe, then stopped short. If she dressed in something bonnier than usual, it would make the prince think she wasn’t the woman he’d met in the woods. And he’d been attracted to that woman. To plain old her, without the frills and furbelows her mother thought so necessary to secure a man’s attention.

Well. Perhaps I just learned one lesson in seduction—use what works.
Smiling to herself, she turned to the dogs. “I won’t change, then. Let him see me as I am. Meanwhile, it’s time I let you two out to play.”

At the word “out,” both dogs rose to their feet, stretching and yawning.

Humming to herself (she really did have a nice voice), she took the dogs downstairs and let them out the back door to roam the fields. “Don’t chase Mr. MacGregor’s sheep. He’ll come a’yelling if you do.”

With nearly fifteen minutes still left on the clock, she stopped long enough to collect a cup of tea and a biscuit from Cook before making her way to the sitting room. As the frantic sounds from the upstairs bedchambers were audible, she wasn’t surprised to find herself alone.

She finished the small biscuit and put her tea on a side table as she walked to the shelves that lined one side of the room. There, she looked up and down until she found the tome on Oxenburg that Mama had mentioned.

Within moments, she was pages deep into the book.

Later she heard the door open and Papa wandered in, a messy stack of papers in his hand, a harassed look on his face. He was a slight man of slender build, with brown eyes and a mass of thick white hair that never seemed to have been combed, though her stepmother made certain it was done at least once a day. Ink stains marred his left hand, while a large inkblot colored the center of his crooked cravat where a pin should have rested.

He brightened on seeing Bronwyn. “I’ve been a-lookin’ all over for you, wee ’un.”

“How odd to see you abovestairs,” she teased, setting her book aside. “It’s not even dinnertime.”

He looked at the clock, mild confusion flickering over his face. “Is it time for dinner already?”

“Not quite yet. And you’d be sorry to miss it, for Cook has made apple tarts especially for you.”

Papa brightened. “Well! Tha’ is something to look forward to, then.” He squinted at the book she’d left beside her chair. “Oxenburg, eh? Interesting country, tha’.”

“Why do we have a book about it?”

“Two of the researchers I correspond with are from there. I wanted to know a little aboot their country.”

“It’s very interesting. What are you doing out of your workshop at this time of the day? Mama must have mentioned our visitors.”

He grimaced and, with a harried look at the open door, said in a greatly lowered voice, “Is tha’ what she came blithering aboot down in me workshop? I was runnin’ the new gas machine and couldna hear a word she said, but dinna wish to hurt her feelin’s, so I just nodded and went on with my business.”

Bronwyn patted his shoulder. “That’s all right. I’m sure Mama didn’t wish you to join us, or she’d have asked you to change your clothes.”

His brows knit. “She might ha’ said somethin’ aboot tha’, but I dinna know. ’Twas too noisy in the shop. But now tha’ I have ye here, perhaps ye can help me with some correspondence while we’re waiting. I canno’ find me spectacles to save me life.”

Chuckling, she rose on her tiptoes and slipped his spectacles from the top of his head back to his nose. “They were hiding on your head, as they always do.”

Papa grimaced. “I should ha’ looked there first, bu’ I was distracted by this letter fra’ Lord Watt.”

“About the rotative gear?”

“Aye, aye. He questions all of the reports I’ve sent, and wonders if the gear is truly as efficacious as the tests show, the bloody arse!”

She frowned. “Lord Watt thinks you’re forging the results?”

“He hints at just tha’, though he’s no’ mon enou’ to come right out and say so.” Papa scowled. “I hate such mealymouthed methods.”

“Oh dear. That doesn’t sound like Lord Watt at all. He’s usually so direct. Perhaps I should read the letter?”

He dutifully handed it to her.

She read it quickly, her brow clearing as she turned the page. “Papa, Lord Watt doesn’t question your results. He just says he can’t read your handwriting, and asks you to use a chart to display your findings. That’s all.”

“Oh!” Papa squinted at the letter she’d returned. “Hmm.” He sent her a hesitant look over the rim of his spectacles. “Perhaps I should look up Lord Watt’s last paper on propulsion and see wha’ format he used for testing? If I matched tha’, he might better understand my results.”

She arched a brow at him. “I take it you’d like me to find that paper for you?”

He brightened instantly. “Och, me wee, sweet bairn, tha’ would be jus’ the thing.”

“It should be in the bound works from the Royal Society. The newest version is in your study. I’ll look after dinner.”

“Tha’ would be lovely.” He adjusted his spectacles and then returned to the messy stack of papers and began shuffling through them. “Also, I received a letter fra’ Knightley and he says the patent description you wrote was perfect, and the drawing quite thorough, too.” He beamed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You are a treasure, Bronwyn. I dinna know wha’ I’d do without you.”

Normally, when Papa said such things, Bronwyn would hug him or tell him not to worry, for she had no plans to be elsewhere than at Ackinnoull with him. But for some reason, the words stuck in her throat. In that instant, in a wild, unfettered moment, she had an image of herself and Alexsey, kissing under her favorite reading tree.

It was a ludicrous vision and she instantly banished it, but the memory lingered.
Do I really wish to be here for the rest of my life? Will I still feel useful, filing Papa’s patents when I’m thirty? Forty? Fifty? Will there come a day when I’ll wish I’d lived a more adventuresome life?