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This time, they’d come to see a princess.
They spotted the picnic across a meadow on the banks of the river. The carriages were lined along the curving road, and a pair of horses grazed contentedly at the water’s edge.
Once, when she and Justine were quite young, they’d witnessed the Duchess of Tartavia race across a field and then fling herself into a dismount. They’d been so impressed that they’d spent an entire summer seaside practicing that very thing. Amelia was an accomplished horsewoman, and made a hasty decision, turning her horse off the road and sending her down the grassy slope into the meadow. She liked that her gold skirt billowed behind her as she gave the roan her head. But she misjudged the roan’s spirit, and the horse ran with abandon, even when Amelia tried to pull up on the reins. The people gathered hopped to their feet and began to scatter, as if they thought she would plow right through them into the river. It was at the last minute that Amelia was able to give the horse enough of a pull to stop her from doing just that.
She swung off her horse just like the Duchess of Tartavia had, but she stumbled and righted herself before she fell. She straightened her bonnet on top of her head and looked at the roan. “I had hoped for a bit more cooperation,” she said to the horse, then turned to the gathering. “Good day!Bon dien!”
For a moment, nothing moved except the edge of the linen tablecloth as it lifted gracefully on a breeze. A flower in one of the vases toppled onto the tabletop. One of her guards, still panting from the chase, took the reins from her.
And still, no one spoke.
“Is something wrong?” Amelia asked.
“Not at all!” Lila came out of her trance and looked frantically around at the guests. Suddenly, everyone was dutifully bowing and curtsying. The girls, who had been playing under an elm, ran forward to curtsy, too, knocking into each other as they did.
Lila and Beck moved forward at the same moment, startling each other. Beck picked up his pace to be the first to reach Amelia. “Your Royal Highness, you gave us a fright. Are you all right?”
“A fright!” She laughed. “I’m perfectly well, thank you. I really did think the horse would yield to my rein, but she had a mind of her own. You know how females are.” She chuckled at what she thought was a clever joke. Not a single person laughed.
“Thank the Lord you are unharmed.” Beck glanced uneasily at her horse as he cupped her elbow and drew her toward those gathered. “May I make some introductions?”
“Please!”
He began with some familiar faces. Mr. Darren, the solicitor, and his wife. The vicar, Reverend Stevens. Then onto those she’d not met, all of whom she had to greet and make the necessary small talk. Behind the first few to come forward, she could see a few gentlemen and was eager to move on to that portion of the afternoon.
Lila was on hand for that. She first introduced her to Lord Wexham. Amelia was thrilled, as he wasquitehandsome. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord,” she said prettily.
“The pleasure, Your Royal Highness, is mine. My only regret is that my wife is not here to meet you as well. Alas, she is with child.”
Amelia suppressed a groan.
Next, Mr. Charles Highsmith, who had kind eyes and was no taller than she. He was an industrialist, and Amelia remembered Justine’s warning about men who would want to line their pockets with business in Wesloria. “Find someone who lovesyou, darling, and not your country.” She’d paused and held up a finger. “Wait—they should certainly love your country. But not too much. Blast it, you know what I mean.”
Amelia knew what she meant.
Next was the affable Earl of Clarendon. He was practiced in the art of bowing low. He was not as handsome as Mr. Highsmith, or as married as Lord Wexham, but he was charming and had a lovely smile. The sort that let you know straightaway you would be friends.
All in all, Amelia was pleased with the gentlemen, and was confident they would at least make for a diverting afternoon. But then Lord Clarendon asked if she’d had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of his friend, the Duke of Marley.
Amelia actually laughed. “Hardly,” she said, and meant to add that he had been away from Hollyfield, but that she’d certainly met his caretaker. Before she could, however, a contretemps between Maisie and Peg-leg Meg erupted over the perfect stick Meg had found and Maisie wanted. One of the girls screamed and tried to hit the other, which cased Birdie to burst into tears, and people were scampering after the girls to calm them.
Except for Amelia.
And the Grim Reaper. The terrible caretaker. The fisherman who thought he owned a public path.
They stared at each other across a few scattered chairs. Amelia stared with great surprise; he with much less. She was so discombobulated by his presence that she didn’t see Mathilda until the girl barreled into her, nearly knocking her to her arse.
“Lady Mathilda!” her father said sharply. “Have a care!”
“Sorry, Papa.”
“My apologies,” Lila said, returning to Amelia’s side. “May I present the Duke of Marley, Highness?”
He clenched his jaw tightly and bowed crisply.
“He is the Duke of Marley?” Amelia repeated disbelievingly. She couldn’t quite work this out, for there was no possibility that this man was the duke. “Is that what you said?” she asked, hoping she’d misheard.
“Yes...from Hollyfield?” Lila added uncertainly.
