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And then she did.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JUSTINEDIDN’TFAINT—she was desperately trying to breathe deeply as Monsieur DuPree had advised her, and found it was easier to do when her head was lolling against the squabs and her eyes were closed.
“Your Royal Highness!” William said sharply. “Justine!”
She felt his hand on her cheek and opened her eyes to see him looming over her, peering closely, his gray eyes filled with concern she didn’t want from him. “Stop that!” She batted his hand away.
He sank back, looking startled. “I thought—”
“I told you she went mad,” Amelia said from her spot in front of the window.
Justine drew a steadying breath. “Stop saying that, Amelia. I’mfine.”
She wasn’t mad—she was a ball of anxiety. She abhorred moments like the one she was apparently about to face, when crowds of people would draw close to see her, to study her, sometimes even touch her. A shiver coursed down her spine.
The first time she’d come undone had been when she was eight or nine years old. She’d accompanied her father out of the palace and into the streets of St. Edys. The onlookers wanting a glimpse of her had gotten so thick that they’d begun to push. The wave of humanity got close enough to touch her, to stroke her hair and her face. She couldn’t remember much but the terror she’d felt, the screams that had erupted from her throat, the guards whisking her away to safety.
For weeks afterward she was plagued by nightmares of being snatched. It didn’t help in the least to know that her father had had another child before her, a son, who’d been stolen from his cradle in an attempted palace coup before his first year, never to be seen again.
Now that she was an adult, she didn’t fear being snatched...but she couldn’t shake her nerves in large crowds on those occasions she was outside palace walls. She felt entirely conspicuous, a zoo animal. It felt as if they could all but see through her clothing and her skin to her spine. They whispered. They smiled and laughed, or glared, or called out to her, begging for alms. Some still tried to touch her.
That fervid attention stoked her insecurities. What did they see in her? Did they see someone as confident as Queen Elena? Or did they see a sniveling young woman with no fortitude for the throne?
“I rather think they are looking at Amelia,” her mother had once said when Justine had complained of the attention. “Fair-haired ladies are always preferred.” She’d said it quite matter-of-factly, and Justine hadn’t taken offense—she thought it was true enough. And fair-haired Amelia liked that sort of attention. It invigorated her.
The breathing helped to fill Justine’s lungs again and she settled somewhat from her surprise at seeing so many people gathered. She slowly realized that Douglas was still watching her with concern. Blast it, now her mortification was taking root. “Please...don’t mind me.” She refused to meet his gaze, annoyed he was there to see her like this. She hadn’t really wanted him in the coach, hadn’t wanted to look at his smug face. But curiously, she’d wanted him towantto be in the coach.
Well, she was confused about what exactly she’d wanted, but she certainly hadn’t wantedthis.
“The footmen are coming,” Amelia announced excitedly.
Justine sat up and smoothed the side of her hair. In spite of the tremor she still felt inside her, her hands seemed steady enough. She didn’t look at Douglas, knowing that the striking, self-assured man before her in his black frock coat, his patterned waistcoat, his gray top hat, had witnessed her panic. For heaven’s sake, she was going to bequeen! She could do or be whatever she wanted! Except leave Prescott Hall when she liked, or dance too often, or smile too broadly in public, or cry too deeply in private lest she get circles under her eyes, or go out in public without escort for fear that she might fall in love with another bounder.
Oh yes, she could do whatever she liked, couldn’t she? Queen Elena she was not.
The door suddenly swung open. Both sisters sat back. Douglas glanced uncertainly at Justine, then exited the coach. A moment later a gloved hand, attached to a black sleeve of superfine wool, extended across the opening, palm up.
Amelia didn’t hesitate—she grabbed that free-floating hand and launched through the door, disappearing from Justine’s sight.
Justine drew another breath. “It’s like every public appearance you’ve made in the last ten years. Don’t be such a ninny,” she muttered under her breath. She gathered her skirts and moved toward the opening. At the threshold she caught sight of Amelia standing a few feet away and waving.Waving.As if they were all friends.
The hand appeared again, and Justine slipped hers into it. The thumb of that hand wrapped across her knuckles, holding firmly as she stepped down. When she had both feet on the ground, she tried to pull her hand free, but William squeezed her fingers and forced her to look up at him from beneath the rim of her bonnet. “Better?”
“Fine.”She pulled her hand free and pretended that the little tingle that went up her spine when he’d squeezed her hand hadn’t happened. And then all thoughts of little tingles quickly disappeared when she looked up at the house and saw the windows had been opened and scores of people were crowding into them to see her.
She hadn’t expected the house to bethisgrand, but there it was, three stories, as long and square as the two palaces it was situated between—Buckingham to the south, St. James to the north. The entrance was supported by Greek columns so large they dwarfed the people who were spilling out onto the portico. And built on the edge of Green Park as it was, it looked almost to be in the country. “Doeseveryonelive in a palace here?” Justine murmured.
“Oh,je, they live like kings and queens inle bon tonhere,” Amelia responded. “Every house seems bigger than the last.”
“That is Sutherland, aye?” William said. “The tall one.”
A man had appeared on the portico who was a head taller than anyone around him. He paused at the top of a long flight of stairs to the drive and seemed to be arranging a retinue of gentlemen and ladies behind him.“Aug,”Justine said, because her mind couldn’t seem to think of any real words to say. Behind her she heard the coach roll away, and with it, her hope for an escape.
“Shall we proceed?” William asked. “Or would you prefer to stand on the drive and be met like the royalty you are?”
“Actually, I should like to return to Prescott Hall.”
