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The queen ignored him, as she was apt to do. “Drakkia? Drakkia, take note,” she said, summoning her private secretary.
The gentleman stepped forward with his pencil and small, leather-bound notebook. The king coughed into a bloodied handkerchief.
“Send this directly to my daughters—Amelia, you are to come home at once. Your behavior with Principe di Aggiani is disappointing and troublesome. Do you intend to follow in your sister’s footsteps?”
“Strike the last sentence,” the king said. “It is unduly harsh and I thought we agreed we’d not speak of what happened.”
“Very well. Write instead—what could you have been thinking? The gentleman was there to determine if he was a proper match for you sister. Not you.” She glanced at the king. He nodded.
“Next sentence—Justine, you have failed your parents by allowing Amelia to conduct herself in such a manner. You must show responsibility! Your people must know you are competent and not easily swayed by whatever Amelia puts in your head!”
“I hardly think it Justine’s fault that Amelia is impetuous,” the king said.
“It’s not her fault, but if she doesn’t make it her responsibility then what hope will Wesloria have when we are gone?”
“Our daughters will have the wise counsel and steady hand of their husbands,” the king said. “Agnes, my love, you must do nothing to disrupt the matchmaking. It is imperative that Justine find a match and marry before the inevitable.”
The queen softened. “Don’t say that, Maksim.” She squatted down beside him.
“Would you have me pretend?” he asked weakly. “The sooner she is matched, the sooner she is home and the abdication may be arranged. Isn’t that so, Robuchard?”
“Je, Your Majesty,” Dante said quietly. He didn’t like to think of it any more than the king.
“I should like to be of as much help to Justine as I can before the end. Allow the lady to do what we have engaged her to do.”
The queen did not respond to that. She slowly rose and nodded to Drakkia. Her secretary took his pen and paper and left the terrace.
Later, Dante dashed off his own notes. The first to Lady Aleksander—she had written that Principe Gaetano di Aggiani had not been a good match. He didn’t know Lady Aleksander as well as he would have liked, but if she thought what had happened was merely “not a good match,” he was a bit concerned. He wrote that the news they’d received in St. Edys was concerning and he hoped that she would find a more appropriate contender. He reminded her that she had assured them she was highly skilled at royal matches, and once again expressed his sincere wish that his personal pick—Prince Michel of Miraval—would be looked upon favorably. Dante had a personal relationship with the prince and thought a union with the small Mediterranean seafaring nation would be a boon for Wesloria for many economic reasons.
To William Douglas, he sent a curt reply:She stays.
CHAPTER TWENTY
AFTERTHREEDAYSaway from Prescott Hall, Lila returned late. She’d shooed away the maid who so desperately wanted to attend her, and then had flung herself into her bed, dress and corset and all, exhausted.
She awoke in the very same spot hours later, her legs tangled in her skirt and petticoats.
She’d accomplished quite a lot in the three days away, beginning with arranging an introduction to Mr. Jonathan Ashley. That had been easy enough—friends of her disgraced father were still willing to help his poor daughter, even though it had been several years since her humiliation. And, frankly, introductions were easy to get when one was pursuing a match for a future queen. News of her current commission had already traveled into the countryside.
It was amusing to her that ambitious young men the world over thought highly of themselves and were easily flattered. Sometimes with good reason. And sometimes not.
Mr. Ashley was easily flattered.
She found him to be charming and affable, handsome enough as those things went. He had gold hair and brown eyes, was tall and fit. He would make any woman a good husband, she had no doubt.
But she didn’t want him as a husband for the princess. She needed him for another reason.
Before she had contacted Mr. Ashley, she had called on an old acquaintance of her mother’s who could always be depended upon to know the details of any scandal. Rose Maugham, Lady Radcliff, was a fixture in Mayfair. Years ago she’d tried to marry her daughter, Katherine, to an Alucian prince who was now a king. She had failed, of course, because those things required some finesse, and, well, the prince had been caught up in a murder scandal and Lady Radcliff was quite out of her depth.
Lady Radcliff had never recovered from her failure to marry her daughter to a prince and kept close watch on the goings-on in and around Mayfair, and in particular, the bachelors. Over tea, she was not the least bit hesitant to tell Lila what she knew—that the bad blood between Douglas and Ashley had to do with a woman. Lila found the reason tiresome—it always had to do with a woman. Why couldn’t gentlemen be more interesting? Lady Radcliff hadn’t known the details, other than it had been an age, and she wasn’t sure which of them had held the young lady in high regard and which one had swooped in and ruined any chance of happiness. And then she said something curious—that it hardly mattered because of what had happened in Scotland recently.
“What happened in Scotland?” Lila had asked curiously.
“I don’t know precisely, but I have heard that the scandal around the marquess isbad.”
“Very bad?”
Lady Radcliff’s ringlets bounced around her face with her nod.
