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Another blast of a shotgun caused them both to crouch. But it seemed to have done the trick—the geese were flying back into the water and sailing away, all while managing to look like the offended parties. People slowly began to pick themselves up and assess the damage.
“I’d say this soiree is done in,” William mused.
“I certainly hope so,” Justine muttered. “Does it seem unusually hot to you?”
That was the moment Princess Amelia emerged from the maze, her arm linked through Lady Constance’s arm, a half dozen young men trailing behind them, moving toward the steps.
And then came Sutherland, jogging up the steps, and behind him, Earl Rotham.
Justine sighed deeply.
“Had enough of this outing, have you?” William asked hopefully.
“Is it obvious?”
“No’ to anyone else,” he answered honestly.
Just as Sutherland and Princess Amelia and Rotham reached the landing, William took a step away from Justine and said loudly, “If I may, Your Royal Highness, the hour grows late. I am at fault for no’ being more mindful of your appointments. I believe you are expected elsewhere. Shall I have the coach brought round?”
His suggestion was instantly met with cries of protest and entreaties for her to stay. Justine was wrong about one thing—these people had not come to see her falter; they had come to gawk, to curry favor. To see for themselves just how unmatched she was and pray for a small miracle for their sons.
“But you’re still here on the landing!” Princess Amelia exclaimed. “You’ve not even come down to the lawn.”
“So soon!” Sutherland echoed. “You must not fear the geese, Your Royal Highness. As you can see, they have swum to the other side—”
“Your Royal Highness, I had hoped to have a word with you before you go,” Rotham said quickly.
“You can’t think to leave,” Princess Amelia begged her. “Lady Constance has invited us to dine.”
Justine looked flummoxed. Her gaze moved from Lady Constance to Princess Amelia and to all the gentlemen behind the two young women. “You stay, Amelia. I have so many things to attend,” she said and gave a flick of her wrist in the directions of the vague things she had to attend.
Princess Amelia’s countenance instantly brightened. “Do you mind terribly?”
“We’ll see her safely home, ma’am,” Sutherland said helpfully. “I’ll send an army of footmen along with her. Have no fear.”
“Then it’s settled.” Amelia clapped her hands with delight and turned to Lady Constance with a smile, reaching for the hand of her new friend. The two of them scooted off, the gentlemen on their trail.
“Are you certain you won’t stay, Your Royal Highness?” Rotham asked pitifully.
All eyes were on her, and Justine’s breath seemed to grow a little short. “I’m afraid I cannot.” Her smile was wobbly. To Sutherland, she said, “Thank you for your kind invitation to my sister. And for the tour of your picture gallery. It was indeed a wonder to behold. I shall add it to my list of favorite sites.”
Sutherland gushed his return of thanks for coming to his “humble” home and gracing them all with herexaltedpresence. The more effusively he talked, the more Justine seemed to shrink. She was such a curious creature, this woman. William noticed how her gaze flicked between Sutherland and the people pressing closer to hear what he was saying. When the duke turned away for a moment to address someone who had posed a question, Justine touched William’s hand to gain his attention.
It was odd how well he understood what she needed from him without even a word. The crowd had grown in number, everyone jockeying for a glimpse of the princess before she escaped, some of them calling out invitations of their own. “Thank you again, my lord,” he said firmly to Sutherland. He took Justine’s elbow and escorted her back up the stairs, through the French doors, through the picture gallery and to the foyer, where a butler was waiting with his hat and her bonnet.
He escorted her down the front stairs to the drive with Sutherland bouncing alongside, carrying on about a ball he thought he was considering, and how delighted he would be if Her Royal Highness might attend. The Weslorian guards were already assembled behind his coach. William reached the door before the coachman and helped Justine inside. He shut the door, then turned back to Sutherland and his never-ending grin.
“Sutherland, old friend,” he said, and patted him on the chest. “If anything were to happen this evening that would give a single person a reason to cast aspersions on Princess Amelia, I will personally remove your bollocks with my sheep shears, aye?” He smiled.
Sutherland blinked. “Of course, Douglas. Of course.”
“Good lad.” And with that, he opened the door of the coach and climbed inside.
CHAPTER TEN
INSIDETHECOACHJustine leaned back against the velvet squabs, her legs sprawled before her, and rested one hand across a ridiculously tight corset, anticipating the moment she would remove the offending thing from her body. She closed her eyes and drew several deep breaths. She was tired, she’d hadfartoo much champagne—not that she would ever admit it to one Scottish marquess—and she wanted only a bath.
It was always the same after a crowded event like this—she felt emotionally and physically drained. The press of people, the scrutiny, her bloody raw nerves. She wished she could be like Amelia, who basked in the attention, but she wilted like a dandelion.
