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The rest of our dinner passes with relative ease. We’re served a fine meal, we make small talk, and I don’t catch sight of the Vances again. I’m still too anxious to taste my dinner, but I get the impression it would be delicious, were I in a more relaxed state. By the time we leave and retrieve our belongings from the coatroom—my coat and his hat and cane—I’m filled with a bone-deep exhaustion.
“That went swimmingly, if you ask me,” Albert says as we exit the front door and make our way toward the waiting coach-and-four. The footman descends from the back of the coach, but Albert waves him off and opens the door for me himself.
“It did,” I say as I climb inside. “I’m a little surprised, to be honest.”
He puts a hand to his chest and pretends to stumble back. “Ouch. Was your first impression of me really so terrible?”
I give him a pointed look. “Yes.”
“Fair enough,” he says with an exaggerated sigh. Then his expression turns more serious. Still outside the coach, he props his cane under his arm and leans slightly forward. “I hope I’m earning your forgiveness.”
My heart constricts in a strange way. Part of me wants to thank him for making our first date so tolerable, but I keep my tone neutral. “Today was a good start.”
“Then I’ll prove myself again at our next tour stop.” He tips his hat but makes no move to enter the coach. “Good evening—”
“You’re not coming too?”
Averting his gaze from me, he takes his cane out from under his arm and plants its tip on the ground. Then, with a deep inhale, he makes a show of breathing in the evening air. “No, I think I’ll walk back to my hotel. It’s a lovely night for a starlit stroll.”
I narrow my eyes, a spike of suspicion replacing my previously placid mood. Scooting to the edge of my seat until I’m leaning halfway out the door, I cast a glance around the sidewalk. Once I’m certain no restaurant patrons loiter about close by, I lower my voice and speak in a hiss. “You’re sneaking off to a pub, aren’t you? After that little speech about forgiveness.”
He pulls his head back. “Of course not. I truly am just taking a walk.”
I shake my head with a mirthless laugh and exit the coach. “Very well,” I say. “I’ll walk with you.”
He blinks at me, expression somewhere between amused and annoyed. “You’re going to escort me to my hotel? Is that not a gentleman’s duty for a lady?”
“Yes, but since you’ve so blatantly disregarded doing so yourself, I’ll have to show you how it’s done.” To the coachman, I say, “Drive on.”
The coachman lifts his reins, but Albert holds up a finger to make him wait. The prince takes a step closer to me. “Don’t you trust me?”
“No.”
He clenches his jaw and taps his fingers against the curved silver top of his cane, reminding me of when he did the same over the backrest of the booth last night. This is the first time I’ve seen his jittery behavior all evening. Perhaps access to wine kept it at bay during dinner, and now my interference is keeping him from satisfying his craving.
I flourish a hand at the sidewalk. “Shall we?”
His fingers go still over his cane only to form a tight fist around it. “I wish you understood that you don’t have to worry about me. I…I’m not who you think I am.” He says the last part slowly, as if that will convince me.
While I do feel the slightest pinch of guilt over judging him, I don’t know him well enough to trust that he won’t reverse all the hard work we did tonight.
I lift my chin and meet his gaze with defiance. “I won’t relent.”
With a grumbling sigh, he runs a hand over his jaw. “You can’t watch over me every minute of the day, you know.”
The blood leaves my face at that. Not only is he right, but the thought of spending our married lives together with me constantly worrying over whether he’ll ruin my reputation sends a surge of panic through me. Perhaps I should cut my losses while I can and find some other way to save my career…
“Very well,” he says, gesturing toward the coach. “Let us ride back together. I’ll escort you to your hotel like a proper gentleman.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” I step toward him, holding out my palm to halt him. At the same moment, he draws closer to usher me through the door. My palm collides with his chest, which makes us both freeze in place. Snatching my hand away, I draw in a sharp breath. Gathering my composure, I say, “We’re walking. I want proof of this leisurely starlit stroll.”
He pins me with a glower, and I realize this is the first time I’ve seen the carefree prince look so perturbed. Then, with exaggerated moves, he shuts the coach door and gestures for the coachman to drive on. “Fine, Miss Fairfield. Let us have a romantic walk.”
As the coach rolls forward, Albert thrusts out his elbow—a silent request for me to take his arm. My pulse quickens at the thought of walking so close to him, but with the arrival of two couples exiting the restaurant, I know I have little choice. Taking my escort’s arm while promenading is expected amongst human society, especially since my escort is my fiancé.
Pursing my lips, I sidle up next to Albert and place my hand at the crook of his elbow. Thankfully, my gloves and his jacket provide an adequate barrier between us. Perhaps he won’t be able to tell how badly my hand trembles. I never used to get nervous about touching a man’s arm. Or any part of him, for that matter. I relished every opportunity to get close to a suitor and often initiated such contact. Now…now, it’s different. I feel more like an anxious girl entering society for the first time than a forty-two-year-old woman who’s already experienced the ins and outs of a public courtship.
Albert tips his hat to the two couples as we stroll by. One of the women sinks into a curtsy, and—taking a cue from her—the others follow with curtsies and bows of their own.
