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“I’ve an idea,” Donovan said.
William looked at him. “Aye, good. But whoareyou? Besides the children’s tutor.”
Beck burst into laughter. “He’s not atutor, Douglas,” Beck said jovially.
“Let’s just say I’m an old family friend,” Donovan said. “Do you want the idea, or not?”
William would take any help at the moment. He gestured for him to speak.
“Invite the matchmaker to tea. Tell her what you know of her picks and offer to assist her. Handsome bloke like you, she’ll accept.”
“A splendid idea, Donovan,” Beck said. “Of course that’s what he must do. He’ll not win if he challenges her.” He looked at William. “So woo her.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
LATERTHATDAY,when William arrived at Prescott Hall, he was feeling a little down. It was not like him to be sullen—if there was one thing that could be said for him, it was that he maintained an even keel. Even his father couldn’t drag him completely into the depths of despair, because as the firstborn and heir, William had learned at a very early age it was best to keep his feelings to himself, lest they be brought out at the supper table to be reviewed by the entire family. His mother in particular didn’t care to have a son who was either mopey or excitable.
But it was more than that—he’d always known exactly how he felt about people and things and situations. He never had cause to question his feelings—whatever they were, they generally seemed straightforward to him. This, however, was one time he couldn’t rightly sort them out. He was a practical man, and yet, he was feeling entirely too hopeful. He was prepared for the worst, and yet, he felt a peculiar ache.
He didn’t like feeling uncertain, and yet, uncertainty was crawling over him like an army of ants.
He got off his mount and promptly dropped the gift he’d brought Justine. He quickly swooped it up and brushed the dust and gravel from it, then strode purposefully to the door before he lost his nerve. Look at him, bringing a gift to a woman who was not his lover.
The butler met him at the door and held out his hand for his hat. “Her Royal Highness is cutting flowers,” he said. “She is in the flower beds on the eastern side.” He pointed down a long path to the end of the east wing. “The guard will announce you.” At the point where the path turned the corner, a guard stood with his back against the wall. He looked bored. Half-asleep.
William put his hat in the butler’s hands. “Thank you.” He walked in that direction. As he neared the corner, the guard came to attention.“Stat.”
William didn’t know what that meant, but he was going to guess it meant stop. “The butler sent me this way, lad.”
“Las ta lebi!”he heard a woman call.
He leaned to his left to see around the guard. Justine was only a few feet beyond. Her face was obscured by the enormous brim of her sun hat. She wore her hair in a long tail down her back, and a gardening apron over her blue dress.
The guard stepped aside and allowed William to pass, but he gave him a dark look, as if he disagreed with the command given. William strode toward the princess.
Justine set down her empty basket and removed her gardening gloves. She brushed a strand of her hair from her eyes. “Why is it everyone insists on finding me in the garden?”
“Perhaps because you’re here?” She looked very appealing dressed like a country gardener. He liked it. “Where is Dodi?” he asked, looking around.
“Poor thing is exhausted. I left her with Lady Bardaline.” She looked him over. “I suppose you came to gloat.”
“Your Royal Highness. I wouldnevergloat—that would be rude, aye? I came to give you this.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a bracelet.
Justine’s countenance instantly changed. She gasped, then looked at him with surprise and gratitude, a warm smile suddenly lighting her face. “Youfoundit.”
“Aye.”
“Thank you!” She stepped forward and put out her hand, palm up. “Idespairedfor it. My father gave it to me at my investiture as crown princess. Look, do you see? Our initials, entwined. The king and his heir.”
“I did see.”
She moved the thin gold chain with the entwined M and J around. “Wherever did you find it?”
“In the Grafton salon, near where your tiara fell. Here, allow me.” He stuffed the book under his arm and took the bracelet from her palm. He wrapped it around her wrist, fastening the hook. And then he stroked her wrist with his thumb. He did it because he wanted to feel her skin, to know if it was as smooth and silken as it appeared to him.
She slowly lifted her gaze to his. “What was that?”
He kept his gaze on hers and shrugged. He stroked her skin again, willing his thumb to memorize the feel of it. “Nothing.” He reluctantly dropped her hand and took the book from under his arm.
