“No, no,” Archer cut in. “Please, my lady, allow me.” He did not under any circumstances mean to let her keep talking. “Lady Ruby Ballimore, may I present to you Signor Urbano Neri, majordomo of House di Sangro?” He turned back to Neri. “Or—I beg your pardon, signore. Perhaps you have already been introduced to her ladyship?”
Neri squinted through his spectacles at Ruby, who did not look especially like anyone’s ladyship in her current state. “Hangleton’sdaughter?”
“The... elder,” she said faintly. “Yes.”
Archer let the lies spool out from his lips. “I asked for the ambassador’s assistance in the renovation of the house. And he, knowing his daughter’s exceptional taste and talent, sent her to Cornwall. She has been the one to select the drapings and the wall coverings and—and—”
Here his imagination stumbled. He could not say rugs. Or silks. Or, God forbid, wine.
But Ruby had marshaled her forces. “All the ornamentation,” she said through white lips. “The entablatures and pediments are done in the Erecthean style. I thought it would appeal to the princess.”
“There, do you see?” By God, he almost wanted to cheer. “The Erecthean style. Naturally.” Neri still looked incredulous, so Archer lowered his voice and said confidentially, “Lady Ruby is known as something of a genius in certain circles. Hangleton does not like to boast.”
Neri blinked. And Ruby went pink to her hairline.
“It’s unfortunate that we have not finished the project in time for your arrival, signore,” Archer continued, “but we shall carry on undeterred. I don’t doubt that with Lady Ruby’s excellent guidance, we can have the lower floors at least prepared within the week.”
Neri appeared mostly mollified, and his gaze went to Gerry again. “Your man will take over? With the dog?”
Gerry offered a pained sort of smile. “Most assuredly.”
“I will help,” Alice said. She’d crept closer and, as she spoke, she reached out to gently stroke Zenobia’s enormous ear.
Zenobia responded to the soft entreaty with a low growl. Alice blinked and withdrew her hand.
Archer’s smile widened as he looked at Neri. “Fortuitous, isn’t it, that ladies of the princess’s own age and standing should be here in time for her arrival. Why, it’s almost as if—”
He glanced at Ruby then, who was flushed and warm and edible, exactly as he most liked.
God above, he couldn’t help himself.
“It’s almost as if they are her ladies-in-waiting,” he said cheerfully.
And then he winked.
She was staring back at him. Her face was flecked with salt and sand, and her ribbons hung in a tangled mass at her waist. She looked flustered and disheveled and—
Well. There was some bit of hope written on her face, flaring back to life like an ember, and Archer felt at once terrified and hideously smug to have engendered it.
Tamsin stepped forward. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Signor Neri. I am Miss Tamsin Drake, daughter of Leopold, Lord Drake, and niece to the Countess of Bridestowe.” She paused as if to let the grandiosity of her rank distract from the sight of her trousers. “Perhaps you will allow me to escort you down to St. Petroc’s while the maid prepares your chamber.”
Neri attempted to protest, but Tamsin overrode him.
“There is a very fine public house. Excellent wine. And”—she had linked her arm with his and was now leading him to the door—“not a single dog to be found there.”
“It has been a very long journey,” Neri said. “By ship. By carriage. And... you say there are no dogs?”
She had marched him almost fully outside as he spoke, but she tossed a harried glance back over her shoulder, mouthing a hasty sentence before she disappeared from sight.
“What was that?” Lamentation asked. “What did she say?”
Archer too had been unable to make out Tamsin’s words.
But Ruby had. Her fingers fisted and then released, and she moistened her lips before she spoke. “She says... we should prepare. In case my father decides to come to Pomeroy House as well.”
Alice, who’d been once again rebuffed by Zenobia, turned abruptly. “Oh, Ruby! Do you think he will?”
“I... don’t know,” Ruby said. She swallowed. “If Signor Neri writes—and tells him that the princess is coming—I think he might. I know he has long wished to meet her.”
