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One had only to look at the sumptuous and obscenely large palace his father had spent his entire life adding to. The huge monolith rivaled Buckingham and required extraordinary sums to maintain. Even now his father was adding more rooms! This house was the reason the coffers were bleeding. The duke had even forced William to sell the ship he’d purchased with his earnings from high-stakes gambling, and had used the funds to pay off some of the debt.
Naturally,everyonein Britain thought William was the profligate, the spendthrift, the foolish man soon to be parted with his money. But in truth, he was the sensible one.
A movement caught his eye, and William turned his head. In a patch of garden at one end of the house, two figures were dressed in white fencing attire with masks covering their faces and necks. Interested, he moved closer to see them better.
The green was just off a terrace where three gentlemen stood, observing the bout. The opponents were not evenly matched in terms of size—one was broader and taller than the other—but the smaller of the two was the more aggressive, pushing his opponent back with some hard advances. William winced as the larger opponent was pushed off balance, onto his heels. William was no fencer, but he knew sluggish footwork when he saw it.
He turned his face to the sun again. What had he been thinking? Ah, yes. His father’s latest debacle.
In spite of William’s strong recommendation that he not do so, his father had apparently gone ahead and invested in the Weslorian coal industry. His father had been enticed by the new Weslorian Prime Minister, Dante Robuchard, a vague acquaintance of the family. When one possessed a title and a fortune, one tended to end up in the same salons with like titles and fortunes.
William knew Robuchard to be ambitious. So ambitious that he’d convinced a wealthy Scottish duke to invest a considerable amount, which, William suspected, was Robuchard’s way of shoring up the Weslorian economy. And now, his father had explained, there were suddenly currents of concern with the investment and the continued prosperity in Wesloria. The king was dying and the young crown princess had been involved in a scandalous incident with a bounder. It looked as if the princess would assume the throne within months, and Robuchard feared a rebellion might result if she ascended without a husband. “I understand she hasn’t the brain of a bloody hare,” William’s father had declared. “Our investment could be lost.”
William had to bite his tongue to keep from reminding his father that it was notourinvestment.
That Princess Justine Ivanosen was involved in ascandalous incidentdid not surprise William in the least. He certainly hadn’t forgotten his ownscandalous incidentwith her in London eight years ago. When he asked his father what her current predicament had to do with him, his father had smiled in that way he did when he meant to ask for something and knew he shouldn’t. Over the next weeks, he’d said, the princess would be in London meeting potential matches. He needed William to go and keep an eye on things and just...let Robuchard know every week how things were progressing. A small favor, he said. A simple task.
At first, William had been struck mute. He couldn’t make sense of those words. Go and keep an eye on things?
So his father had explained it all to him again. It wasimperative, he said, that someone keep Robuchard in the loop.
“No,”William had said flatly to that outrageous request. “I’ll no’ do it, Father. I’m no’ a nursemaid, aye?” He knew how these things worked—many people had to be consulted and appeased on such a match. What did he have to do with it? Wouldn’t the Weslorians have scores of people to report back?
As evidenced by the fact that he was here, in London, calling on the princess, he’d lost the debate. When it was clear his father would not yield, William had groaned and asked, “How long?”
His father had put aside the lamb shank he’d been eating and wiped his hands on a linen napkin embroidered with an H in the corners. “Until the lass is engaged.”
“Diah!”William had exploded. “That could be weeks! Months!”
“Months,” his father had scoffed. “She’ll be in Wesloria before the year ends. The king hasna long to live.”
“I won’t do it,” William had said with conviction.
“Need I remind you,” his father asked as he pulled a piece of meat from the bone of the shank, “of the favor I’ve done you?”
William groaned again, but this time, in pain. “No, you need no’ remind me.”
Unfortunately for the Hamiltons, William’s father wasn’t the only one who made unwise decisions. William’s had been an act of honest concern for a woman... And of course, because his decision was unwise, it had turned into a financial burden. This was what he got for trying to help someone—he was to be a bloody nursemaid.
Ewan startled him by suddenly popping up in front of him. “For God’s sake, Ewan,” he said, and yanked at the ends of his waistcoat. “Well, then?”
“You are invited in, milord.”
“Invited in. What does that mean? What of the princess?”
“The gent said he would inform Her Royal Highness you’d arrived.”
William sighed. “Did you tell him that it was the Marquess of Doug—”
“Aye, milord,” Ewan said.
William studied Ewan. “Do they understand that I—”
“Aye, I believe they do, milord.”
William frowned. “Very well.” She had better see him after he’d come all this way. He turned, and when he did, he caught sight of the fencers again. The larger one was on the ground with an épée at his throat, courtesy of the smaller one standing over him. That had escalated quickly.
He turned fully toward the entrance of Prescott Hall and set his mind to meeting Princess Justine again, eight years since the last time. He remembered a young, vain and ill-behaved princess. He thought she might have been pretty, but with no curves to speak of. Ah, and the strange white streak in her hair that marked the royal family of Wesloria. They all had it somewhere on their head—a streak or forelock of pure white that would not accept color. Odd.
