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Victoria dismissed his uncustomary acknowledgment with a brusque wave of her hand. “You also know how highly I regarded your father. He was a fine and honorable man, a dear friend to both Albert and me. That, however, does not mean that I condone what you’ve become since his death. You’ve become a moody, bitter, vengeful recluse.” She cleared her throat. “I assume by her surname that the young lady you feel suddenly compelled to marry is related to Baxter Caldwell.”
“His sister,” Trenton supplied.
“His sister?” The Queen looked startled. “But Vanessa …”
“Not that sister.”
“Ah, the child,” Victoria murmured, remembering back six years to the tragic drowning that had rocked the ton … and the family whose lives it had altered. “Ariana, I believe her name was. I’d nearly forgotten. … She was such a shy little girl, so very much in Vanessa’s shadow.”
The Queen stared off thoughtfully, her memory conjuring up the image of a diminutive, copper-haired child with huge, turquoise eyes and a wistful, faraway expression. “But she wasn’t even in her teens when Vanessa died!” Consternation registered on Victoria’s face. She cast a quick glance at Beatrice, who was now being helped into the house by two fussing maids. Satisfied with the renewed color in her daughter’s cheeks, the Queen turned back to Trenton, lowering her voice so as not to be overheard. “Why, Ariana Caldwell cannot be more than a year or two older than Beatrice!”
Trenton’s lips twitched. “And were you so advanced in years when you wed the Prince Consort?”
Victoria was in no mood to be dissuaded from her course. “Precisely how old is she?”
Trenton shrugged. “Significantly younger than Vanessa; probably by a decade or so. I would judge Ariana to be seventeen or eighteen.”
“You don’t even know her age?” Victoria burst out, appalled. “How long have the two of you been acquainted?”
“We met last night.” A glint of humor flickered in his eyes. “In fact, she was the other damsel in distress I rescued.”
The Queen drew herself up angrily. “Just how far are you willing to carry your hatred, Trenton? In the name of heaven, she is but an innocent—”
“As was my father,” Trenton said grimly, all traces of amusement having vanished.
“That changes nothing. I will not allow you to vent your hostility on a blameless young girl.”
“You did give me your word, Your Majesty,” Trenton reminded her. “Any request I made you would honor.”
“Not at a guileless child’s expense.”
“She is no longer a child,” he countered, recalling Ariana’s vivid beauty, her soft and very feminine body against his as he carried her back to the party. “And I have no intention of harming her.”
Victoria ingested this declaration silently, a meditative look on her face. “Tell me,” she said at last. “Is there more driving you to the altar than mere vengeance?”
Trenton went rigid. “Ariana is a very beautiful woman. I assure you, she will not find marriage to me distasteful.”
A faint smile touched the Queen’s lips. “Very well, Trenton. You shall have your royal edict … and your wife. Lady Ariana Caldwell will soon be the Duchess of Broddington.”
Trenton’s eyes narrowed on Victoria’s suddenly composed face, scrutinizing it for clues to explain her abrupt reversal He found none. “And the stipulations?” he asked suspiciously.
“None.” She shook her head, silently urging her instincts to be reliable in their direction. “You saved my daughter’s life. This is the least I can do to express my immeasurable gratitude.” She walked over to the fountain, gripping the back of the chair where Beatrice had sat. “I shall issue the decree at once.” A private light glinted in the Queen’s eyes. “Congratulations, Trenton, on your forthcoming marriage. May it yield all you truly crave.”
“How is your ankle faring, my lady?”
Blinking, Ariana lowered her novel, reluctantly leaving Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland to return to the more mundane reality of her own morning room. Putting the irrepressible caterpillar on hold, she smiled at Theresa.
“My ankle is much better. Practically all healed.” She lifted her right leg from the sofa and wiggled her foot in an exaggerated motion. “See? A mere three days of your ministrations and my ankle is as good as new.”
“Not quite, but nearly,” Theresa agreed, propping up the slightly swollen foot on a feather pillow. Gently, she traced the circles beneath Ariana’s eyes. “Yet your mind remains troubled.”
“Baxter tells me we are practically penniless.”
Theresa shook her bead. “Your unrest is caused by more than that.”
Ariana leaned her head back, rays of summer sunlight trickling through the bay window to warm her face. “I have no other reason to be troubled; yet I am,” she admitted in a small voice. “I have a nagging feeling that something else remains amiss. …” Restlessly, she shifted the drapery, gazing out over Winsham’s southeast garden, seeking serenity … finding none.
“Amiss … perhaps,” Theresa murmured without conviction. “More likely, unsettled.”
