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“Who?” William whispered at the same time as Justine muttered, “She’shere?”
They watched as Bardaline hurried forward and the woman tried to listen to him while at the same time instructing the coachman to be careful with her bags.
Justine gave William aGod-help-melook. “It’s the matchmaker.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LILAHADARRIVEDafter an unremarkable crossing of the English Channel and a quick trip up from Dover to London. She was effusively greeted by Lord Bardaline, whose unrelenting demand for attention made itself immediately known as a pair of footmen ushered the crown princess into the house while Lila stood on the drive.
Lila knew very well that the young woman was Princess Justine—she’d been sent several copies of portraits done of the princess over the years. While giving his remarks, Bardaline noticed Lila looking past him and hastened to assure her that once the princess was settled, there would be an audience. And wouldn’t she like to “freshen” before she made Her Royal Highness’s acquaintance? He then enlisted the aid of his wife, and the two of them hurried Lila inside. Was there anything she needed, anything at all? Perhaps some tea or wine or port?
The Bardalines, both of them, were insufferably eager to please. Lila was always suspicious of people who weretooeager to please—one couldn’t help but feel that at some point, something would be demanded in return after all that eager pleasing.
She was shown to a suite of rooms that she would occupy in her time here. There was a small, but well-appointed bedroom, a smaller sitting area and a dressing room. The walls were done in bright yellow floral wallpapering, and the view from the tall windows faced the drive and the park beyond.
She unpacked her own bags. The task gave her hands something to do while her mind floated over many thoughts and questions about what she needed to do here, about Valentin—she already missed him terribly—about the things she had learned about Wesloria in her journey here, about the young Italian prince who would arrive on the morrow. And perhaps most urgently, she wondered who was the gentleman who’d been standing with the princess on the drive? He was quite handsome—that was the first thing she’d noticed. But then she had slowly realized that she must know him. From where or when was the mystery, but there was something indeterminately familiar about him.
The two of them had been standing beside a grand coach, pulled by a team of four, with showy red feather plumes at each corner. They’d been standing close, speaking so intently that neither of them seemed to notice her coach pull in behind them. Whoever the gentleman was, the spread of warmth across Lila’s nape had told her that her eyes were not lying—those two were having a moment. They were having such a private moment, in fact, that neither of them saw Bardaline barreling out the door, charging at them like a ram.
“Well, well, well, Your Royal Highness,” Lila murmured. “Who is your acquaintance? Have you done my job for me?”
When she finished unpacking, she had still not been summoned to meet the princess. She decided to stroll the grounds of Prescott Hall and see the gardens for which it was renowned. She discovered them to be as spectacular as reported, full of vibrant color and very much to her liking. She would enjoy her morning walks here.
The sun was sinking toward the horizon and it was well past the time for a proper English tea. She wondered if Princess Justine had any intention of receiving her this evening. She returned to her suite to try and read while she awaited some word, but she’d only just picked up the book when she heard a knock at the door. “Enter.”
A maid stepped inside and curtsied. “Lady Bardaline bids me tell you that Her Royal Highness will receive you in the green drawing room.”
About time. “Lovely!” Lila picked up her shawl, wrapped it around her shoulders and headed downstairs.
Lord Bardaline was on hand to greet her at the bottom of the stairs. “There you are,” he said, that silly beaming smile returned to him. He gestured to a closed door across the grand foyer, and started in that direction.
“If I may inquire, my lord,” Lila asked as she kept pace with him, “who was the gentleman who accompanied Her Royal Highness home?”
“The Marquess of Douglas.”
Lila blinked. Ofcourse.No wonder he’d seemed familiar to her—shehadmet him before. Not that they were close acquaintances by any means, but she knewofhim, knew he was a Scottish noble who roamed the continent and cropped up at some of the best houses for a weekend shoot or a ball. She recalled she’d met him a few years ago, at the marriage of Princess Charlotte of Prussia to Prince Georg of Saxe-Meiningen. What she couldn’t recall was if he’d attended in the company of someone or had come alone. “Is he a suitor?” she asked as they reached the double doors into the salon.
“What?” Bardaline looked startled and appalled by the question. “Certainly not. He is an acquaintance of Robuchard, as I understand it, and has agreed to accompany Her Royal Highness in and around London so that she might take in some of the sights.”
Aha.Lila didn’t know Douglas, but she knew Robuchard, and there was only one reason Robuchard would send anacquaintanceto show the princesssome of the sights, and that was to know how things were progressing. Which meant Douglas was a spy. That was information she would keep in mind and use to her advantage should the situation arise.
Bardaline opened the doors and announced her.
Princess Justine was standing in the middle of the room, her hands clasped loosely at her waist. Lila’s first thought was that she was tall and slender and quite lovely. She strode across the room with a smile and curtsied, very low, because queens and princesses could be a bit judgmental about the depth of a woman’s curtsy. “Your Royal Highness, how good of you to receive me.”
“Je, of course.”
Lila rose from her curtsy. Princess Justine had a pretty face and a fine figure. But her truly remarkable feature was not the streak of white in her hair—that was just an odd little thing that seemed to run in the Ivanosen family—but her unusual gold amber eyes. Just like her father’s. And just like her father, she didn’t seem to smile easily. She was studying Lila, taking her measure, until she seemed to remember herself. “Welcome, Lady Aleksander.” She gestured to a chair as if it was an afterthought.
Lila doubted a colder reception could be had, but she was not daunted. “Thank you.” She perched on the edge of the chair the princess had indicated. The princess likewise took a seat across from her and folded her hands in her lap.
Princess Justine was stiff. Lila understood why that was probably so—the princess did not want to be matched. Who could blame her? There was nothing drier or less romantic than a match made at the highest levels of society. Her Royal Highness would not be the first reluctant or aloof young woman she’d been hired to match, and she would not be the last.
“I didn’t think you’d come so soon,” the princess said.
Lila tilted her head to one side. “No? I understood Prime Minister Robuchard had sent word to you.”
The princess glanced down at her lap and pretended to address a loose thread or piece of lint. “I don’t read every communiqué from the prime minister.”
