How to Propose to a Prince (4 page)

Elizabeth leaned up and kissed Great-aunt Prudence’s cheek. Even now her elderly aunt was a lovely woman who could easily pass for ten years younger than the seventy-five years she claimed to be.

Prudence was a dear if occasionally addled woman, and Elizabeth had thought it such a pity that they had not known of her existence until after their father passed away and the Royle sisters were sent to live with her in London. It would have been wonderful for her and her sisters to know their extended family when they were younger.

“Please, Lizzy, swear you will not pursue Prince Leopold whilst Laird and I are away in Brighton,” Anne pleaded. Her brow pinched at the bridge of her nose and three rows of worry wrinkles appeared upon her forehead. “I am certain I will not be able to sleep a wink while I am away if I must constantly worry about you making a grand cake of yourself in public.”

“Dear, Anne, I sincerely hope you do
not
sleep a wink while in Brighton, else I fear your honeymoon will be dreadfully disappointing for both you and Laird.” Elizabeth looked from her fretful sister to her great-aunt again. “Don’t you agree, Prudence?” She grinned, but the merriment dissolved from her lips. Great-aunt Prudence had already fallen asleep again. Or was pretending to be asleep.

With a sigh, Elizabeth dropped down upon the other chair beside the fire. “Fear not, sister, I will not pursue the prince at the ball. Nor will I marry him, even he if asks.” A sly smile inched across her lips. “That is, until you and your dear earl have returned to witness my dream come true. For what would my wedding be without both of my sisters and their handsome husbands in attendance?”

“You are incorrigible, Lizzy,” Anne all but hissed.

“I have given you my word.” Elizabeth arched her ruddy-hued brows and widened her green eyes innocently.

Anne looked at her with growing suspicion, but Elizabeth maintained a serene countenance, knowing she was not lying.

She would not pursue Prince Leopold at the ball tomorrow evening. She wouldn’t have to.
All she needed to do was place herself in his direct path, and she would not be pursuing him. He would be coming to her.

Just as fate had intended.

The next morning

T
he sun had risen, changing the sky from a somber gray to cerulean blue, but the air had not yet been warmed by its glow, and the day still felt as crisp as an autumn morn.

The ashes had been raked from the hearth and the kitchen fire relit for the day’s cooking, but the night’s chill still hovered in the room.

Elizabeth wrapped a damask shawl tighter around her as she sat before the worktable in the kitchen, scrutinizing Mrs. Polkshank’s market list, trying not to fall asleep. Closing her eyelids, she rubbed her fingertips over them, hoping to revive herself. She hadn’t slept well
after the worrisome dream she had last night. But how could she? Telling herself it was only a dream would have done no good. Her dreams weren’t like ordinary dreams—hers oft came true, and last night’s nocturnal vision promised naught but horror in her near future.

In the dream, she was wearing an emerald ball gown, the one she and Lady Upperton had fashioned, with the modiste Madame Devy, precisely to their specifications. Suddenly, something struck her, knocking the air from her lungs. Slowly she looked down and saw red liquid trickling down her bodice. And with that moment came a feeling of foreboding so heinous, she felt sickened by it.

Even now, just the thought of her dream left her body aching and chilled to the bone.

She tried to shake off the dreadful feeling by shaking her head and shoulders, as one might do to shake snow from their hat and coat before going inside, but it was no use. And so, she tried distracting herself by quizzing Mrs. Polkshank about the market list. “There aren’t so many of us now, Cook, do we really require so much mutton?”

“A leg-of-mutton is a
leg.
I can’t very well go in and ask for a knee, now can I?” Mrs. Polkshank crossed her arms over her large breasts
and huffed her displeasure at the new mistress of the house—the third in two years.

The household cook, a former tavern wench who had been engaged by Elizabeth’s tuppence-pinching sister Mary, had never been the sort to hold her opinion to herself. Yet, because she’d always managed to keep the family well fed with an amusing selection of dishes, despite the family’s limited budget, they’d kept her on.

Or so Elizabeth had been led to believe by her sisters.

She’d only been managing the family’s funds for a sennight, perhaps, since like Mary before her, her sister Anne had also had the good fortune to marry and move to her husband’s grand residence. Now, all of the household responsibilities ultimately fell to Elizabeth.

Approving the daily market list was a tedious task, just like all of the other monotonous jobs she’d inherited from her sisters, such as paying the house staff, approving daily menus, and attending to all correspondence and requests for payment.

But this week her ledger of household expenses revealed an interesting change—instead of costs going down after the departure of both of her sisters, the weekly expenditures were actually increasing. Elizabeth peered charily at
Mrs. Polkshank. “Is there anything…less expensive?”

“It’s mutton, not a side of beef.” Mrs. Polkshank’s words grew louder as her frustration seemed to grow. “What would you have us eat instead, Miss Elizabeth? Pigeons from the park? Rats from the alley?” She slapped her palm to the worktable, the air she’d displaced blowing the skin from an onion she’d been peeling earlier into Elizabeth’s lap. “So, will we be needin’ a rat catcher then? I can help with that. Know a fine one, I do.”

Elizabeth brushed the onion skin off her skirt and looked down at the ledger once more. She wasn’t going to allow herself to become distracted by Mrs. Polkshank’s antics. Why, she could clearly see that the household food expenses had increased—nearly doubled.

Then it occurred to her, and she narrowed her eyes. Mrs. Polkshank was taking advantage of her inexperience with handling the family’s money. She glared down at the page.

She should confront her now. Mrs. Polkshank would of course deny any wrongdoing and there was no way to prove her charge without hiking off herself to the butcher and the market to verify prices. And that was not going to happen. At least not today. She had too many prep
arations to make before the ball this evening. The ball she now dreaded after the dream she had last night. The horrible dream.

“Why, Miss Elizabeth, you’re tremblin’.” The cook’s expression became one of concern. “The fire is roaring now. The kitchen is toasty warm. Have you caught a chill or somethin’?”

“No, no, I am well. Mrs. Polkshank, please pay my words no heed today.” Elizabeth rested her head in her hands. “I am simply overwrought. There is a ball at Almack’s tonight…and Prince Leopold may be in attendance.”

Cook nodded her head. “Oh, he’ll be there. At least, that is the word from the belowstairs set all across Town.”

Elizabeth whipped her head around to look up at her. “Truly?”

“That’s right. Last night I…talked to one of his strapping young footman, myself. His attendance is the worst kept secret in all of London. I promise you, Miss Elizabeth, the prince will be there.”

Her heart double thudded in her chest and warmth permeated her chilled body. “
He
will be at Almack’s. And so will I.” The beginnings of a smile pulled at Elizabeth’s lips.

Mrs. Polkshank settled her strong, reddened hands on Elizabeth’s shoulders and began to
knead her muscles like coarse bread dough. “And don’t you be frettin’ none about what the others say about your dreams, miss. I don’t think you’re mad.
I
believe you. Truth to tell, I’ve had dreams like that myself once in a while. I think we all do, only most are just too afraid of admitting as much.”

Elizabeth wrenched her neck around and stared at Cook. “How did you know about my dream?”

The plump woman chuckled deliberately. “Nobody knows more about what goes on in this house, or with my ladies, than me, Miss Elizabeth.” There was movement in the doorway just then and Mrs. Polkshank glanced up as Cherie appeared in the kitchen. “Except,” she tipped her head to the maid, “maybe that tight-lipped little frog right there.”

Cherie stretched out her slender hand and held out a billet of sale. Elizabeth took it from her and passed her gaze over it. She turned her eyes up to Cherie. “B-But…I thought Madame Devy was having the gown delivered. I require it tonight. She knew this.” A tingling of dread skittered across her skin.

The mute maid-of-all-work shrugged her shoulders.

“I’d offer to fetch it for you, Miss Elizabeth,
but Cherie is worthless when it comes to toting a hefty leg-of-mutton. Look at those bony arms of hers. Pitiful. And as it is, she’s got her own duties today, including going all across Town to place an order for your great-aunt Prudence’s special claret.” Mrs. Polkshank raised her bushy eyebrows.

Before Elizabeth was able to utter her next thought, Mrs. Polkshank had crossed that option off her list as well. “MacTavish is polishing all of the silver this morn. I shouldn’t think you’d want him touchin’ your gown after that. No matter how well he scrubs up after, he’ll smudge the silk.”

No, she was not about to risk anything happening to her emerald gown. Especially not after the nightmare she had about it last night.

Elizabeth slapped her hands to the bare wooden worktable and pushed up to stand. “There is plenty of time. I shall simply go to Madame Devy’s myself. Please excuse me.” With a nod to the staff, she stomped out the door and up the stairs.

At this early hour she’d expected to find a short line of hackneys waiting for passengers at the corner of Berkeley Square and Bruton, but there was none. She would have to walk to
Madame Devy’s. Walking would not be so bad, in fact, the activity might even shake some of the weariness from her. After all, the shop was near enough, and as long as the rain held off, she would be fine.

As she walked, she glanced up at the clusters of clouds draped low over the buildings. The sky peeking between the gray-bottomed clouds was still a cheery blue. Her steps slowed. There was likely no need to worry about a downpour this morn. She stopped and stared upward. No, she did not wish to risk losing another gown to rain. Spinning around, she raced back down the pavers and into the house to fetch her umbrella.

Elizabeth flung open the door and nearly collided with her great-aunt, who stood, straight-backed and almost vigorous, in the center of the passage. “Prudence!”

Seeing the woman walk anywhere except to her chamber was a rare occasion, to be sure, but Elizabeth had never seen her great-aunt appear so…able-bodied. She smiled at the old woman. “You must have had a good night’s sleep. You are so spry this morn.”

Great-aunt Prudence stared back at Elizabeth, who hastened to her side, then lifted the old woman’s arm over her shoulder and started her toward the parlor. “Here, do allow me to help
you to your chair. I can fetch a book for you. Would you like that?”

Cherie appeared at the end of the passage, dressed for heading out to Piccadilly to place the claret order. The instant she saw the old woman standing in the middle of the passage, her eyes rounded. Rushing forward, she quickly relieved Elizabeth of Great-aunt Prudence’s weight.

“Why, thank you, Cherie, but I could have managed. I should not wish you to strain yourself.” Elizabeth was astonished as she watched the petite maid support Great-aunt Prudence’s heft until they reached the chair beside the fire.

Elizabeth stared at the little maid with the bony arms. What could Mrs. Polkshank have been thinking? Cherie was perfectly capable of carrying a leg-of-mutton! For heaven’s sake, she’d just hoisted an old woman up and nearly carried her through the parlor.

Cherie and Great-aunt Prudence exchanged a quick, meaningful glance, then the tiny maid hurried past Elizabeth, only to return a moment later with an umbrella.

How did she know that this is what I returned for?
Silently, Elizabeth nodded her thanks, then walked through the front door and out to the square.

Gorblimey
. As efficient and kind to Great-aunt Prudence as Cherie was, there was something about the maid that completely unnerved her.

Within the hour Elizabeth had left Madame Devy’s shop with her exquisite emerald-hued ball gown. It was certainly the most beautiful gown she now owned, and she was quite pleased when Madame Devy took the care to wrap the confection of fine Chinese silk in a linen cover to protect it from the elements.

Elizabeth’s gaze lifted to the sky once more. The clouds were darkening and now only an ink spot of blue poked through their girth here or there.

No, do not risk it. Spend a few shillings. Find a hackney. Protect the gown. Protect the gown
.

She walked to the jutting corner of Grafton and Bond Street and stood on the edge of the pavers to scout a hackney. She looked down the length of Old Bond Street and New Bond Street, but not one hackney was to be had. The only conveyance in sight at all was a fine town carriage sitting a short distance away outside of the Clarendon Hotel. She sighed.

But as she gazed at the carriage a little longer, an idea sprang into her mind. If the owner was inside, she would make an appeal for his or her
assistance in seeing her to Berkeley Square before the rain swept the street with her and her lovely gown. Simple.

There was always the possibility that the owner was not inside the cab, however. Should this be the case, Elizabeth decided she would just bribe the driver to take her the short distance to Great-aunt Prudence’s town house. He could be back in front of the hotel before the owner ever realized the carriage was missing. She smiled at her own cleverness. Perhaps her association with the cunning Old Rakes of Marylebone and Lady Upperton had advantages she never imagined.

As Elizabeth walked toward the carriage, she loosened the bag’s ties. It was best to be prepared. Why, she might be required to show the owner her gown to convince him of her great need for sheltered transportation. After all, once anyone saw the unmatched quality and color of the silk, who could deny her assistance? No one.

With that belief firmly affixed in her mind, she scurried down New Bond Street to the carriage and made her plea to a pleasantly featured young woman who sat inside.

Elizabeth did not wait to be asked, but dropped the umbrella she held under her arm,
then released the bows at the top of the linen cover and revealed to the woman the bodice of her glorious emerald gown.

“You are quite an audacious young lady, aren’t you, dear?” the woman said, her gracefully curved eyebrows lifting in amusement…or perhaps astonishment. Elizabeth could not discern which.

“No, my lady. I am desperate,” Elizabeth replied, and glanced up at the sky again just as the first droplet splashed on her cheek. She gasped and thrust the gown forward, into the cab, to shield it. But then, to her horror, the woman took her protective gesture as an invitation to touch the silk.

“It is a grand gown, and the color matches your eyes, even in this low light.”

“Yes, my lady. I cannot allow it to be ruined. There is no other like it.” She looked at her umbrella lying on the pavers. “You see, my umbrella is not large enough to shelter the gown sufficiently.” Cool droplets of water dotted Elizabeth’s back, and she leaned farther into the cab. She looked at the interior of the grand carriage and at the woman’s superior clothing. “I know you, of all people, can understand. Please, won’t you help me?”

The woman laughed and slid across the
leather bench, patting it with her gloved hand as an invitation for Elizabeth to enter.

She set her foot upon the step and then bent to carefully arrange the gown on the opposite bench so it would not wrinkle. When she was satisfied, Elizabeth sat down beside the woman.

The footman closed the door to the cab, but for some moments the carriage wheels did not move. “Oh good heavens, please do forgive me, I was so concerned about my gown that my manners were left on the pavers, I fear. My name is Miss Elizabeth Royle, currently of Berkeley Square—where we are headed. Thank you so much for rescuing me, my lady.”