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Payton shifted her gaze to the entourage following the woman and the very handsome blond man at her side. With an inward shrug she dismissed their presence and settled in a chair by the fire and opened the book. She’d come to a point in the story she was crafting for the children where she was frustratingly unsure of how to proceed. Should she allow the princess to choose the royal guard or the prince himself? Both had journeyed together over marshlands and battled dragons and trolls to save the maiden only to find she’d already outwitted the gargoyles holding her captive.
The door to the smaller parlor was flung open, and Aunt Florence rushed in, distracting Payton from the unknown guest and her readings. Anxiety sliced through her, and she stood. She dropped the book on the chair, folded her arms, bracing for the fight. “I will not walk with Lord Jensen,” she snapped. The persistent man had already demanded her company twice since morning, and she had refused. Of course he would now try to secure her family’s support.
Her father had returned and was in the smaller library with her mother. They were probably discussing how to badger her into marrying Lord Jensen. She was also sure her mother was informing Father of her scandalous behavior in dancing with the “horse breeder” at last night’s ball. She’d anticipated her father’s roar of anger, so the silence was maddening.
Aunt Florence clasped her hands in front of her. “Your father has asked Lord Jensen to depart Sherring Cross and to no longer approach him for your hand.”
Confusion and joy rushed through Payton in equal measure. “Oh, thank heavens.” She made to rush past her aunt, but she halted Payton.
Her aunt beamed. “Give your father some time. Your mother is insisting on speaking with Pr—Mr. Konstantinovich, and your father has requested an audience to soothe her.”
Payton frowned. “What?”
“It seems Mr. Konstantinovich saw your father in London and asked permission to court you. Approval was given.”
She remembered Mikhail’s confidence last night. Why had he not mentioned he’d seen her father? Was that what he wanted to speak with her about at the cottage today? But what was most amazing was her father’s capitulation. He even sent away Lord Jensen. Sudden trepidation sliced through Payton, and dreadful knowledge hovered. “Father and Mother have no objections to Mr. Konstantinovich courting me?”
Aunt Florence hesitated. “Your father will speak with you, my dear.”
Before she could demand more clarification, the door was flung open, and the beautiful woman from outside swept in, the unknown man and Vladimir at her side.
“Is that her?” the woman demanded scathingly with a pointed glare aimed at Payton.
“Princess Tatiana,” Vladimir started soothingly. “It is best we wait until the prince is available. He will not take kindly to you upsetting the girl, and it was not my intention for you to force a confrontation.”
What prince? And why were they speaking of her as if she were not present? Payton dismissed them and moved to walk out of the parlor. She would head to the cottage and wait for Mikhail. Why had he not informed her of his visit to her father?
“I have not finished speaking with you,” the woman snapped, stepping rudely into Payton’s path, looking down her thin but elegant nose with disdain.
Payton stiffened. “I beg your pardon. I was not aware you’d addressed me.”
The princess’s lips parted in a contemptuous sneer. “She is an American.” She shot an accusing stare at Vladimir. “You had me worried for naught. He would not dare to think to align himself with someone so unworthy of his family’s name. I am sure you misunderstood what Prince Alexander told you.”
Vladimir grimaced. “I implore discretion, Princess.”
Payton pushed aside the anger rising inside and moved for the entrance.
Sharp nails sank into her arm as the princess gripped her.
“You have not been excused,” she snapped with imperious command.
Payton stared at the woman in disbelief. “You will release my arm at once.”
The princess’s cheeks were flushed with obvious anger. “Do you know who I am?”
“I have little interest to know. Good day,” she said with a nod, yanking her arm away, uncaring that the princess’s claws had drawn blood. She had to get away. A sickening sensation had been rioting inside her, and her heart slammed so painfully she felt on the verge of fainting.
“I am Princess Tatiana, Prince Alexander Konstantinovich Dashkova’s fiancée.”
Payton stumbled, and her stomach hollowed, and unfortunately she did not contain the cry of denial that slipped from her lips.
A light shifted in the depth of the woman’s eyes, and if Payton was not mistaken it looked like pity.
She looked away, and her gaze collided with her aunt’s.
“It is true; he is a Russian prince, Payton.” Her aunt’s eyes glowed and she vibrated with excitement. “Better, your stable master is the heir to the Dukedom of Avondale.”
Her aunt turned to Princess Tatiana. “It is my pleasure to inform you, Prince Mikhail has asked to court my niece, Miss Peppiwell. He would not conduct himself with such dishonor knowing he was committed to another.”
While Payton’s heart shared such sentiments, it stunned her to witness her aunt’s defense of Mikhail.
“Do not be foolish! Prince Alexander would never pursue this unrefined commoner.”
The distressing name and title resounded in her head once again. Prince Alexander. Mikhail is a prince…and a duke? And he was to marry…a princess? It was as if a claw attached itself to her throat and ripped down with brutal precision to her chest. Payton’s stomach constricted.
“Excuse me,” she said, pushing past the princess, hating the tears gathering behind her eyes.
Outrage twisted in Payton when the princess grabbed her arm again.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” she snapped low in her throat. “You have been inexcusably rude, and I will not suffer the presence anymore of someone with the manners of a pig. If you thought to confront me because you believe I have some claim on your prince, disabuse yourself of the notion. He is a lying cur like most lords I have been unfortunate to know, and I gladly relinquish him to your venomous embrace.”
Liar, her heart screamed, but Payton could not deal with her mind’s instinctual rejection of Mikhail being with another woman.
“Impertinent miss!”
Payton inhaled deeply. “Forgive me, that was uncalled for. I had no cause to insult pigs.”
Her cheek exploded in fiery pain as the princess slapped her.
The door was flung open, and the duchess entered. “Princess Tatiana,” she clipped. “I would invite you to join me in the Rose Room until Prince…” Her voice trailed away when she spied Payton, then regret and apology flashed in Jocelyn’s gray eyes. “Payton, I am so sorry,” she said softly. “Please do not leave; let me summon Prince Alexander.”
Payton flinched. Of course the duchess would have known. She felt like a naive trusting fool. What cause would Mikhail—Alexander—have to deceive her so? Tears tightened her throat, but she would be damned if she allowed any to spill. Last night she’d suspected he belonged to the haute monde. But she’d thought a baron, or maybe a viscount. But a prince? Oh God.
At a loss for what to say, she looked to her aunt and blanched. Aunt Florence’s eyes gleamed with avaricious cunning. Mikhail was no longer unworthy. Payton wanted to scream at her aunt’s fickleness and her lack of caring for the hurt pummeling Payton. He’d deceived her, misrepresented himself, and they did not care because he was a Russian prince and a duke.
“Please do not, Your Grace,” she said formally, and Jocelyn winced. “I am leaving Sherring Cross.”
The princess shifted even closer, and Payton wanted to smack the sneer from her face, but suppressed the desire with a will she’d not thought herself capable.
“I believe that is the smart decision, darling. Prince Alexander and I have known each other for years.” The princess t
hen rested her hands against her stomach and rubbed in a gentle motion. “There are very compelling reasons he will not be able to marry anyone but me.”
Her aunt gasped, and a smug smile appeared on the princess’s lips.
“It is very fortunate Vladimir wrote and informed me of Mikhail’s fascination with you,” Princess Tatiana spat, contempt twisting her features. “Please inform her of what you told me, Vladimir.”
He stepped forward, a distinct look of discomfort creasing his handsome face. “Prince Mikhail loves Princess Tatiana, and…and he was merely seeking a distraction with you.”
Payton flinched, and the duchess gasped.
Princess Tatiana gave her another sneering smile. “Did you even believe for a second he truly wanted you, a common peasant?”
The room exploded into conversation with the duchess ordering them to be polite or leave her home, her aunt insisting Mikhail would wed her, and the princess hurling insults at Payton.
Payton walked away. Within a few seconds she was outside. She curled her hands into tight fists, desperate to stop their shaking.
