A Kiss at Midnight (11 page)

Fifteen

T
he picnic and punting took place in the late afternoon, in the gardens stretching behind the castle. The gardens were laid out very formally, stretching from the bottom of a vast flight of white marble steps. There was a hedge maze, and a lake with swans, and everything imaginable a self-respecting castle’s garden should have, including an orchestra, scraping away on a marble terrace.

Kate wore a cherry-tinted wig to match her gown, a lovely tunic with overskirts in cherry, cut back to reveal two layers, one in a paler cherry and another in cream. She had a little argument with Rosalie over the wax inserts, but her maid had insisted that the cherry dress would be disgraced by Kate’s natural shape. Or, more to the point, by her lack of natural shape.

“They may melt, and then where would I be? What if I grow hot, and they change shape? What then?”

“Do not grow hot,” Rosalie had said, with impeccable logic.

Algie and Kate strolled to the top of the long flight of stairs leading down to the garden and paused.

The orchestra was playing something delicious, a waltz perhaps . . . She’d heard of waltzes and their decadent influence on dancers. The music made her want to pick up her skirts and dance.

“Wonder how they keep those fountains going,” Algie said. Water was shooting into the air out of the mouths of great stone sea monsters.

“You might ask Mr. Berwick,” Kate suggested. “I find he’s remarkably knowledgeable about the castle.”

“I certainly will not have a conversation with a servant,” Algie said, appalled. “For God’s sake, Kate, remember that you’re Victoria, will you? My wife would never lower herself in such a manner.”

“If you want to know something, why not ask?” retorted Kate. “I do think that you’re being a snob, Algie. The prince won’t be able to answer your question.”

“As if I would ask
him
!” Algie cried, insulted all over again.

Kate sighed and began walking down the steps. There were more people in the gardens than she had seen in the drawing rooms yesterday; apparently guests were already arriving for the ball. “Don’t leave me, Algie,” she told her sulky fiancé. “I’m quite likely to see people whom Victoria knows. I’ll smile at everyone, but you must handle introductions.”

Algie took a quick look at her and said, “You look more like Victoria today, which is lucky.” Then, suddenly aware of a crucial detail, “Where are the dogs?”

“I left them with Rosalie,” she said. “I thought—”

“No, you must have them,” Algie said, snapping his fingers at a footman in a way that Kate considered contemptible. “Victoria takes them with her everywhere; they’re her signature. Bring the dogs from Miss Daltry’s chamber,” he commanded the footman. “And be quick about it. We’ll wait here.”

The wait gave Kate the opportunity to discover exactly where the prince was. He wasn’t hard to find, as he was surrounded by a veritable flowerbed of young ladies, and wearing a costume of dull yellow silk. At least she knew in which direction not to go.

“Just look at that,” Algie said in an awed voice.

“What?” Kate asked, pretending she had been examining the lake.

“Mr. Toloose’s coat has five seams down the back, rather than three.” He twitched his own sleeve.

“I find it remarkable that you are able to see such minute detail from here,” Kate said, and then, turning to the young footman, “Thank you! That was very kind of you.” She gave each dog a stern look in turn. “Caesar, no barking. Coco, stay away from the water. And Freddie . . .” She paused and looked down at Freddie’s silky little ears and sweet eyes. He looked so happy to see her. “Well, you’re perfect as you are. Come on, then.”

They all pranced down the steps together, Algie in the lead, and she was so busy complimenting the dogs for not pulling on their leashes that she didn’t realize that the prince had shaken off his coterie of admirers and was waiting to greet them at the bottom of the steps.

“Miss Daltry,” he said solemnly, as if the previous night had never happened.

“Your Highness,” said she, dropping into a deep curtsy.

“Nephew,” he said, turning to Algie.

Algie obviously wrestled with the question of what to say in response; he finally blurted out, “Your Highness, Uncle,” and bowed so deeply that his nose likely brushed his breeches.

“I insist that you come with me for a turn on a punt,” the prince said, raising Kate’s hand to his lips.

It really wasn’t fair to the rest of mankind that a prince should have eyes like that. More accurately, it wasn’t fair to womankind.

“Perhaps I will, at some point,” she said, retrieving her hand.

“Now,” he said, sweeping her across the lawn without another look at Algie.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, trying to keep the dogs’ leashes from tangling with her skirts.

“Taking you out on the lake, of course.”

Mere seconds later they were on one end of a long boat the approximate shape of a green bean, with a footman punting them along from the other end.

“Algie—that is, my darling fiancé—won’t like this,” she said, wondering if she could take off her gloves and trail her fingers in the water. It was so beautiful, clear and dark blue.

“Yes, take them off,” the prince said, guessing her thought. “We’re far enough out that no one will see.”

“What on earth do you mean by taking me out in this boat?” she demanded, though she did pull off her right glove.

“Do you know what that group of women over there is talking about?” he said, jerking his chin toward the fluffy cloud of silks and satins in which she’d first spied him.

“No. Here—” She handed him Caesar’s leash. “Can you take care of him? Freddie will be fine, and Coco is actually quite well-behaved, but I wouldn’t put it past Caesar to topple in if he sees a fish.”

“I dislike dogs,” the prince said, looking disdainfully at Caesar’s fluffy tail.

“So do I,” she said cheerfully, and then remembered whom she was pretending to be. “Except for my own sweet doggies, of course.”

“Those women are discussing the extraordinary way you’ve changed since they last saw you in London, two months ago,” the prince said, leaning back and regarding her with a wicked gleam in his eye. “By all accounts, you were
much
more attractive a matter of a few months ago, rounded in all the right places, et cetera.”

“How churlish,” Kate said. “Very mean-spirited of them to be so critical after my illness. Kind of you to warn me, though.”

“So who are you?” the prince said, leaning in.

“Look, I think I see a fish, right there!”

“You are not Miss Victoria Daltry.” He reached out and took her hand, turning it over. His thumb rubbed slowly over her palm and her eyes rose to meet his. “Calluses. The darling of the
ton
would not have calluses. Not even after an illness.”

“Well,” Kate started, and stopped.

“Let me guess,” the prince said, with the kind of tempting smile that really ought to be outlawed. “Wick and I discussed it at length earlier this afternoon.”

“Wick?”

“My brother Berwick. He says you ratted to the fact that he’s my brother.”

“I may have surmised—” Kate begun.

“I surmise the same,” the prince said triumphantly. “In short, you are not Victoria Daltry. You are an illegitimate twig of the family, who for some unknown reason has replaced Victoria, thereby explaining many mysteries: your hands, your apathy toward both your dogs and my poor sod of a nephew, your lack of resemblance to the plump and powdery Victoria, and your knowledge of the sufficient area of a sow’s sty.”

“Plump and powdery?” Kate repeated, desperately wondering what she should say. To protest her legitimate birth seemed rather foolish, under the circumstances.

“One of the sharpest-tongued of the young ladies expressed grief over the fact that a doctor must have forced you to spend time in the sun, because you used to have the most beautiful skin.”

“She was distracting you, in the hope that you wouldn’t notice her cloven hoof.”

“Could be,” the prince said, grinning madly.

“I can see you’re finding this a great deal of fun,” she said crossly.

“Well, you
are
family,” he said. “That is, once Algernon has married the undoubtedly delectable Victoria, you’ll be part of my extended family.”

“Won’t that be lovely,” Kate said, scooping up a water lily. She stole a look at the footman standing in the punt’s stern, but he seemed to be preoccupied with avoiding the other boats skewing recklessly across the lake. “Related to a prince. On my list of things to achieve in life, I assure you.”

“Quite like the homeland, where, I assure you, half of the population is related to me on one side of the blanket or the other,” the prince said. “So what’s your name? Wick thought it might be Katherine, but he wasn’t sure.”

So Berwick
had
heard Rosalie’s slip of the tongue. “Katherine,” she admitted. “Though generally people call me Kate.”

“Gabriel,” he said.

“Though generally people call you Your Highness,” she pointed out, “and so shall I.”

“No one can hear us out here.” He leaned back looking rather happy, and she realized with a start that for the first time, he wasn’t looking at her mockingly. “What happened to plump and powdery Victoria?”

“Caesar bit her,” Kate said.

He glanced down at Caesar, who was standing with his front paws on the side of the boat, watching the water keenly in case he saw a reason to attack it.

“He may look tame, but he has a wild side,” she added.

“Shall I push him over?” Gabriel asked helpfully. “With all that hair, he would sink like a stone. Though not as fast as that little one. Are those jewels glued to her coat?”

“Not real ones. They’re glass.”

Gabriel leaned over and examined Coco more closely. “Actually, they are star sapphires. Although as a prince, I may not know their
price
, I can tell you that the value of that dog, jewels included, is approximately the same as a small cottage on the outskirts of this estate.”

Kate looked down at Coco with some dismay. “No wonder she’s so proud of herself.”

“Yes, she’s like one of those circus dancers who carry a dowry in her navel,” Gabriel said. “Obviously I truly missed an experience when Victoria was unable to come. She and I would have so much to talk about.”

“Do you decorate your dogs as well?”

“I have no dogs, but I’m willing to consider the lion as a substitute.”

“Your lion is desperate for a larger cage,” Kate said, scowling at him.

“Dear me,” the prince said lazily. “I’m afraid that we’re attracting quite a bit of attention.”

Kate looked up to discover that the lake was now positively littered with boats, and most of them seemed to be filled with aristocrats craning their necks in the direction of the prince’s punt. “Damn and blast,” she muttered. She shook the water off her hand, but there was nowhere to dry it. “Do you have a handkerchief?” she asked.

“No,” the prince said, looking amused.

“I suppose you have servants who carry around that sort of thing in case you sneeze,” she said.

“You aren’t carrying one either,” he retorted.

“I don’t have room; my reticule is full of cheese.”

“I thought you had an interesting smell! Most ladies smell rather French.”

“Whereas I smell of the dairy,” she said, resigned. “How do French ladies smell?”

“Like flowers,” he said, grinning. “Or sweat. It all depends.”

Kate wasn’t really listening. She couldn’t dry her hand on the cherry silk of her dress because it would spot. “Don’t look,” she told him, and hastily pulled up the cherry silk, and the two layers of silk underneath, until she reached the delicate linen of her chemise.

He looked.

Of course he looked.

She felt his eyes and looked up. He had the oddest little smile.

“You shouldn’t!” she said, twitching her skirts over her ankle.

He leaned forward. “I like your slippers.”

They too were cherry silk, with small heels, and quite irresistible.

“Thank you,” she said sedately. She was fairly sure that a gentleman was not supposed to see a lady’s ankles, but surely shoes were meant to be admired?

He picked up her hand, still ungloved, and raised it to his lips. His eyes glittered at her, a kind of wild invitation, a temptation. “Though not as much as your ankles. Ankles like that . . .”

“They’re just ankles,” she said.

“Yes, but you should never let a man see your ankles.”

“I know that,” she said, tugging at her hand. “I wasn’t raised in a barnyard, you know.”

His eyes were laughing now, but there was a sultry burn in them, a heat that made her stomach curl with . . . something. “You should never let a man see your ankles,” he repeated, “because if they are as finely and beautifully knit as yours, it tells him a great deal.” He turned her hand over and put her palm against his lips, for just a split second.