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Lyddy Munroe had joined then now, and after Lavinia had excused herself to go and rejoin her mother, who was signalling to her, Lyddy turned to Emerald and said excitedly, ‘Imagine marrying a prince, and having your very own country, just like Grace Kelly marrying Prince Rainier.’
‘You’d never catch me marrying a foreigner,’ Gwendolyn told them sniffily.
‘No, I dare say you wouldn’t,’ Emerald agreed unkindly. ‘After all, you’d have to find one willing to marry you first.’
Gwendolyn’s face went beetroot red whilst Lyddy looked uncomfortable and confused.
Gwendolyn had had it coming to her, Emerald thought with satisfaction. She never lost a chance to needle her about her boast that she would marry a title better than her mother’s, and she was just waiting for her to fail so that she could crow over her. But she wasn’t going to fail, Emerald assured herself, darting a teasing look in the prince’s direction before turning her back on him. Gwendolyn was right about one thing: marrying a foreign prince did not have the same cachet as marrying a member of one’s own royal family. However, there was no harm in her holding her new admirer in reserve, and using him to make the Duke of Kent jealous.
‘The Duke of Kent isn’t here then?’
The gloating note in Gwendolyn’s voice made Emerald wonder angrily if the other girl had somehow read her mind.
‘Are you really going to marry him, Emerald?’ Lyddy asked in awe.
‘I never said that I was going to marry the Duke of Kent. Yo u were the one who mentioned his name,’ Emerald answered sharply.
‘She’s saying that because she’s afraid now that he won’t want to marry her,’ Gwendolyn told Lyddy with a smirk.
‘No I am not,’ Emerald snapped, temper flashing in her eyes.
‘But you haven’t seen him since we went to that party, have you?’
‘No one’s seen him. He hasn’t been in London,’ Emerald pointed out curtly.
It was true that she had expected to have seen the duke again by now, although she would die rather than admit that to Gwendolyn and Lydia. He had her address, after all, and he knew that she was doing the season. But then he was a royal duke, and no doubt had all manner of formal appearances to make at various events, which had obviously kept him out of London. When he did return she would undoubtedly discover that he had been desperate to get in touch with her, and he would probably bombard her with invitations as well as declarations of love.
She shook her head, refusing the offer from a passing waiter of another cup of coffee. It wasn’t so very long ago that Britain had still been living with food rationing and, despite her narrow waist and slender size, Emerald loved her food. She thought longingly of the rare occasions when she’d eaten at the Ritz and the Savoy, and of the delicious pastries she’d enjoyed in Paris. It provided her with a great deal of amusement that Gwendolyn, who was chubby, with thick ankles, had been forced to endure the humiliation of thin soup and no bread whilst they had been at finishing school in an unsuccessful attempt to get her weight down.
Laughing at Gwendolyn’s expense lifted Emerald’s spirits no end.
The Kents were bound to accept their invitation to her ball. After all, her late father had been held in high regard, and he and her mother had been very prominent socially, being invited everywhere and knowing everyone there was to know, according to Aunt Beth. And once they were there, the duke was bound to ask her to dance, and once he had…
People were starting to leave, mothers and chaperones anxiously shepherding débutantes towards the exit, whilst doing swift and complicated mental arithmetic as to the likelihood of their managing to fit in the day’s quota of events. Lunches were followed by afternoon teas, which were followed by cocktails, and formal dinners, evening parties, shows and, if a girl was lucky enough to have a male escort, perhaps even an outing to a nightclub.
Aunt Beth had broken away from her table of fellow chaperones and was summoning her now.
Emerald finished her glass of too sweet rosé wine and stood up to leave.
‘No, please, you can’t go until I have made myself known to you, and told you how much I admire you. And how very beautiful you are. The most beautiful girl in the world. A vision…an angel of loveliness.’
Emerald thought about looking indifferent and even haughty, but the look of shocked disapproval on Gwendolyn’s face caused her instead to smile graciously at her admirer knowing it would only add to Gwendolyn’s disapproval.
‘A man cannot introduce himself to an unattached girl. It is not correct protocol,’ she teased him, but with a warning in her voice that told him that she was the kind of girl who expected his sex–even members of it who were crown princes–to treat her with full respect.
But the Crown Prince shook his head, giving her a look of burning intensity, as he told her passionately, ‘Please do not send me away. I shall be desolate if you do. My heart and my life are yours to command. Between us there can be no need for protocol. We are, I think, twin souls, and destined to meet. I feel it here, deep inside me.’ Alessandro thumped his chest with his fist, his gaze pleading for her to listen to him.
Emerald was amused. His behaviour was dreadfully theatrical and foreign, it was true, but it was also true that he was extraordinarily good-looking, and a crown prince. Being royal allowed a person to behave differently.
He was certainly far better-looking than the Duke of Kent: tall and broad-shouldered, with that smouldering gaze that made her want to laugh and yet, at the same time, sent a delicious little sensation of excitement tingling down her spine. Somehow it was much easier to imagine Alessandro clasping her to his chest and covering her face with passionate kisses, just like the hero out of a film, than it was to imagine the Duke of Kent doing the same thing. His passion, whilst quite ridiculous, was deliciously flattering, and all the more enjoyable because Gwendolyn so obviously disapproved of it–jealous, of course. After all, no handsome crown prince was ever going to fall at her feet declaring undying passion for her, was he?
‘We are strangers. You don’t even know my name.’
‘I know your heart. It is pure and good and it has captured my own heart. You are so very beautiful,’ he breathed ardently.
‘Do come along, you two.’
Aunt Beth was hovering now, whilst Gwendolyn’s thin pursed lips showed her increasing irritation.
