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“Ah, how delightful my given name sounds when said with such a lovely Weslorian accent. I rather like it. I would imagine you feel the same delight when you hearJustinesaid by a Scot.”
“Mein Gott.”She meant to tell him she did not, but in truth there was something about the lilt of his Scottish brogue that sent a tiny trickle of delight down her spine.
“Has anyone ever told you that you have a surprisingly strong grip,Justine?”
Justine looked down at her hand clutching his arm and saw that she’d dug her gloved fingers into his sleeve.
“Here we are!” Sutherland said loudly from the door of the gallery. He swayed forward to announce, “Your RoyalHighness, PrincessJustine, may I introduce mywife, Lady Sutherland.”
And Justine was forced to let go of William’s arm to be swept into a crowded foyer, where many,manyintroductions were made. Without his arm to cling to, she began to worry a thin gold bracelet on her wrist, twisting it around. She was surrounded by so many curious onlookers, with so many names and so many words said to her. She felt a little dizzy what with all the smiling and agreeing that the weather was pleasant, or that she did very well, thank you, or yes, she’d had the pleasure of visiting London before. Someone took her bonnet, but she never saw who. It felt as if the foyer was shrinking in size, the walls and people closing in on her, all of them vying for her attention. Did she learn English in Wesloria? How did her father and mother fare? Did she recall meeting this or that one in London eight years ago? The people and questions became a sea, growing and pressing in on her.
Someone put champagne in her hand. She could hardly feel the glass, as she seemed to have lost the feeling in her fingers. And yet, she still managed to sip more than was advisable on an empty stomach. When a woman wearing a red-and-white-striped dress that reminded Justine of the candy sticks she coveted as a girl said loudly that they were allwaitingand that this entrance wastaking far too long, Sutherland invited Justine to join him as they moved around the gallery. His guests ambled alongside her as if they were one giant organism, blocking any meaningful view of the art. Justine made quick work of the champagne in her glass and looked around for another.
A gloved hand appeared in her line of sight, palm up. She placed the glass in it and said, “More, please.”
“You do no’ exaggerate your discomfort.” It was William, of course, and he frowned down at her. “If you donna mind me saying, you’re looking a wee bit wild-eyed. Perhaps more champagne is no’ the best idea?”
“Why are you speaking to me as if you are my mother?Pleaseget me more.” She couldn’t wait for him to agree, as the river was suddenly moving along again. But she kept checking over her shoulder to see if William was still close by.
He was.
And if she doubted it, she felt his hand on the small of her back a time or two. Hardly a touch at all, but to keep her from bumping into someone, or to let her know he was there. And then, thankfully, the glass of champagne she had requested appeared. She smiled at him with sincere gratitude.
He clucked his tongue, and with his chin, indicated the doors from the gallery to the park had been flung open. “I deliver this only because I fear you might explode into bits. But I am no’ a servant.”
“I asked nicely.”
“There was a wee hint of expectation.”
“Andthat, Your Royal Highness, is the picturegallery!” Sutherland announced grandly as they completed their circle of the room large enough to host a grand ball. “What do you think?”
She thought that she had hardly seen a single work of art. “Mmm,” she said, nodding, and took a good, fortifying sip of the champagne, resisted the urge to wipe the back of her hand across her mouth and looked up at the painted ceiling that soared high overhead, and the view through the French doors to the lawn and Green Park beyond. “It’s magnificent, Your Grace.”
“It is, itis,” he enthusiastically agreed. “Your Royal Highness, if you please, will you stand just here? This spot affords the bestviewof the gallery.” He gestured to a star inlaid into the floor in the center of the room. But people were standing on it, so he began to urge them all to move away, to allow the princess room to view the work.
William stayed beside her while Sutherland herded his guests. He clasped his hands at his back, turned his attention to a painting and said softly, “Sutherland fancies himself a broker.”
She was almost out of champagne. Her hands were shaking slightly as she lifted the glass to her lips, and she saw that William had noticed. “Of art?”
“Probably that, too.” He slid a look at her.
Justine hastily swallowed the bit of champagne she’d just sipped. “Do you mean...?”
“I mean he would be most delighted to be involved in any future marriage agreement you might make.”
That was so stunning and so none-of-Sutherland’s-business that Justine was pressed to down the rest of her champagne.
“Your Royal Highness? Just here,” Sutherland called again, gesturing to the best spot in the room, cleared of any onlookers.
“If you get the opportunity, have a look at the Rubens on the south wall. I believe it is a painting of one of your distant ancestors. And do have a care, Justine,” William murmured, glancing back at their host. “As your friend, I must warn you no’ to trust a gentleman on the mere basis of a compliment prettily given.”
Justine gaped at him, but William had strolled a few feet away from her, his gaze on a Biblical scene.
Sutherland, apparently having grown impatient for her to join him, was suddenly at her side, swaying into her person again. “The view of the gallery isperfectfrom the star,” he said, pointing.
Justine didn’t think the view could possibly be any better than where she was standing, but she went along with her host, and stood in a circle of people who were staring at her more than they took in the art. She tried to listen to Sutherland; she really did. She wanted nothing more than to be a model guest. But the champagne had given fizz to her nerves, and her thoughts were racing wildly around her conversation with William Douglas. Howdarehe imply that he knew anything about her at all, much less what shethoughtof any gentleman? He couldn’t possibly know how many gentlemen she met in any given week, of all stripes, or how she received them.
But what really vexed her was that he was probably right, that she did like compliments “prettily given.” It infuriated her so completely, that had she not drunk all her champagne, she might have been tempted to fling it at him and demand satisfaction.
