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ASPRINCESSESWENT—or rather, how William assumed princesses went, as he didn’t have any firsthand knowledge—Justine Ivanosen was a confounding one. There was simply no other word that he could think of to properly describe her. In her salon, with the footmen stacked against the walls like toy soldiers, she was assured and regal. In the coach he’d been convinced she had the upper hand with him. But here at Stafford House she seemed on the verge of coming out of her skin. In one hand she gripped the side of her gown, and in the other she gripped a crystal flute with enough champagne to launch a fleet. If someone said something to her that she found amusing, she laughed. But not politely as young women were taught—as a general rule, he was suspicious of women who didn’t truly laugh—but as if she’d just heard the funniest anecdote in twenty-five years of living. Then in the next moment she would lean forward, her brow furrowed, with an expression that made him fear she might cry.
The future queen of Wesloria was crowd shy. Remarkable! Of all the women in the world to be afflicted with nerves, it would be the one who would be queen and as such, never really free of crowds.
It was remarkable, too, that he hadn’t sensed it when she’d been in London eight years ago. It might have helped to explain her behavior the night of Chairs—the house had been packed to the rafters with guests. But then again, she’d been seventeen years old, and everything she did had seemed a direct result of inexperience.
He idly wondered just how much champagne she’d drunk thus far. He considered himself something of an expert and if the lovely flush in her cheeks and the thick strand of dark hair that had come undone and curled enticingly over one eye were any indication, she was pissed. Not that he was the sort to count another’s cups, but today he felt intolerably responsible for her, having brought her here to begin with.
Bloody hell, Sutherland.He doubted there would be this many gawkers at her coronation. He’d decided, as he’d watched Rotham flirting with her, that it was too late to save her, and maybe what he ought to do is shield her so that no one would guess her state of inebriation. He could imagine the talk that would spread like fire through London.Princess Justine, drunk and stumbling at Stafford House.
First things first. He had to get the lass some air. He suggested repairing to the lawn for a stroll. There was a small pond, a lovely fountain and the flowers were in full bloom.
Sutherland thought it a grand idea and Rotham, sensing an opportunity, had surely strained himself in his mad rush to be the one to escort her through the French doors onto the terrace. As William suspected, Justine was desperate to be outside, and practically hurdled over her would-be suitor to get out of the crowded room.
But the outdoors had not accomplished what he’d hoped, for everyone poured out after the crown princess, surrounding her in hooped skirts and dark coats. William had never seen so many people trip over themselves in his life.
He made the mistake of not moving quickly enough and now Rotham, damn him, had very craftily positioned himself as protector to the future queen. Several more gentlemen, most of them unmarried and available and eager for attention, jogged down the steps behind her from the terrace to a landing like a litter of puppies with tails high.
On the landing Justine took a fan someone had offered her and was waving a gale force wind at her face. William had the dreaded sense that things were on the verge of going awry, and he had visions of the entire afternoon unraveling like a ball of yarn, picking up speed as it went. He was debating how to extract her from that crowded landing when Princess Amelia suddenly appeared beside him with an unusual glow about her. He didn’t see how she’d reached him and eyed her with suspicion—that sort of glow came from good food, good drink or good sex, and he dared not guess which one. “Where have you been?” he asked, looking over the top of her head.
She clucked her tongue at him. “You’re not my father.”
“And we’re both grateful for it, aye?” He offered his arm to Princess Amelia. “Take it.”
“What?” She looked at his arm, held aloft. “Why? Where are we going?” And yet, she took it, because this was a woman who was naturally inclined toward the male arm.
“We must rescue your sister.”
Princess Amelia groaned.“Again?”As if she was often asked to save her sister. “Why? What’s she done?”
“She’s had a wee bit of champagne. A bucket more to the point. And she’s in a crowd of admiring young gentlemen.”
“Where?” She craned her neck to see Justine in the crowd, surrounded by people clearly eager to speak to her. The party hadn’t even made it to the lawn. “You’re right. We must stay close.” She glanced at her hand on his arm. “What are you waiting for?”
What was he waiting for? For just one of these Weslorian princesses to behave in a manner he could at least anticipate, that was what. But he and Princess Amelia marched down the steps to catch up with the mob. When they reached the landing, he led Princess Amelia to skirt around to intercept the princess and her escort before they descended any further. Justine noticed; she eyed him and her sister suspiciously.
And then Rotham turned to see what had caught her eye. When he saw Princess Amelia, he suddenly beamed. He was a little pig in slop, his hidden curly tail probably wagging with furious abandon.
“There you are, sister!” Princess Amelia said grandly. The crowd parted to allow her to join Justine. Princess Amelia exclaimed with delight to one and all that today was a beautiful day for a walk about the gardens, and she was so happy to see her dear sister enjoying herself.
“Je,”Justine said. She looked as if she was tilting a smidge to the right. Lord, she wasn’t about to topple, was she? “May I introduce Lord Rotham and—” Justine glanced at the men who were edging forward to have a look at Princess Amelia, and flicked her wrist in their direction “—his many friends. My sister, Princess Amelia.”
“Your Royal Highness,” Rotham said, bowing low. “It is my great honor to make your acquaintance.” He took a long step forward, beating out any other gentleman who had in mind to reach her first. Amelia let go of William’s arm and moved toward Rotham, her hand charmingly outstretched.
Rotham took it, and as he gushed about all the pleasure he was having in making her acquaintance, William sidled next to Justine. She looked a bit clammy. “All right?” he asked.
“Je.Why wouldn’t I be?” Her words came out in a rush.
Princess Amelia was gesturing to the small lake below, where several geese were gliding serenely across the surface. Rotham offered his arm, and then, just like that, Princess Amelia and the merry band of gentlemen began to jog down the steps to the lawn and the lake.
“You’re as pale as a sheet and gripping the champagne flute like a croquet mallet,” he said as they watched them go.
Justine looked at her hand as if she wasn’t aware she held a flute, and seeing it, tossed what remained down her throat before handing the glass to William.
He took the glass and held it away from his person until a footman took it.
“Would you like to join your sister and the others? Or would you like a reprieve from the crowd?” He winged his arm for her.
“Thank you, but I don’t need a reprieve from my duty and I never will.”
