How to Pursue a Princess (20 page)

Something is afoot. But what?

The next day, Lily sat on the settee by the fireplace in her bedchamber. It had been a long day and a half, though she couldn’t remember much of yesterday
afternoon since the physician had insisted on giving her a draught of some sort. The bitter liquid had done nothing for her shoulder, but it had put her to sleep. And sleep she had—for the rest of that day and most of this one. When she’d awoken well after noon, she’d found herself sore and starving and cross as a bear.

Her mood only became worse when, among the notes and cards brought on her lunch tray, she didn’t find one from Wulf. It was silly to expect anything, but she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since she’d awakened. It was the fault of the laudanum, of course, for it had left her feeling hollow and filled with lingering bits of dreams, most of them ending with her in Wulf’s heated embrace.

She moved restlessly and wished for the hundredth time that it had been Huntley who’d kissed her and not the prince. Then she’d have dreamed of Huntley . . . wouldn’t she?

She sighed and closed her eyes, struggling through the lingering fog. Bits and pieces of the dreams flickered through her mind, of her and the prince waltzing through the field of yellow flowers while the sun warmed the world about them into a golden haze. He’d smiled at her, bold and beautiful as he lifted her to her horse, though first he’d held her and kissed her and—well, much more than that.

She scowled and kicked at the cover entangled about her legs, wincing as she moved her shoulder. The hours and hours of sleep had done nothing to
help—it was stiff and sore.
It would have been much better if I’d been awake and had moved it.

She pushed the cards on her tray to one side, frowning.
He didn’t even send a note, asking how I fared. At least Huntley has been attentive.
It seemed that every few hours there was some message from him.
Which is good, as he’s the man I wish to fall in love with.

Yet she couldn’t help but wonder where Wulf might be. Was he in the castle? Or at home in his cottage? Though her dreams were broken and vague, she vividly remembered the day before. She remembered the feel of his strong arms as he carried her through the field. The scent of his cologne when her cheek rested against his coat. The way his thick lashes shadowed his green eyes. The taste of his mouth on hers and how his hands had—

Lily shivered.
Stop thinking about that!
She shouldn’t have kissed him to begin with. She’d hoped that the embrace would quench her yearning, but all it had done was set ablaze a new fire, one that was far more difficult to control. His touch was so—

Stop thinking about Wulf! Think about Huntley. Calm. Logical. Always-correct Huntley.
Instantly, her heart slowed, her face felt cooler.
That’s better. So, what do I like about the earl? He’s kind and thoughtful. He’s handsome, and tall, and . . .
She waited. Nothing came.
There have to be more things I like about him.
She picked up one of the notes he’d left.
He has excellent handwriting.

She grimaced and threw the note onto the table. Good God, that was beyond sad. Besides his fortune, there had to be a thousand things that she liked about him. It was just that her mind was still lingering on Wulf’s kisses, and that was her undoing.

She absently picked up the small bouquet of flowers that Huntley had sent. It was lovely, of roses and two white lilies.
Wulf doesn’t seem like the type to send flowers or—
She caught herself and moaned.
Forget him! He says that he wishes to be with me, but what does that really mean? What
can
it mean? He knows I must marry a wealthy man.

She bit her lip. To Wulf’s credit, her bald pronouncement hadn’t chased him away. He’d even seemed sympathetic to her plight, which she hadn’t expected. He’d made no secret of his feelings for her. But . . . what sort of feelings? Could she trust a man who claimed to have fallen in love with her at first sight?

She pulled a pillow from the settee and placed it on her lap, threading the gold fringe through her fingers. “If he truly cares, then I could be in an unbearable dilemma. But perhaps he just means that he wants me physically.” That would be less complicated, but—to be honest—disappointing.

But why? Why would that bother me?
She punched the pillow. “Blast it, why am I even thinking about this? He’s—”

A soft knock sounded at the door. Lily called out a greeting, and Freya, the maid assigned to her by the housekeeper, entered the bedchamber. A talkative
girl, she had two missing teeth and a surprisingly positive outlook on life.

The maid peered around the room as she placed a tea tray before Lily. “Och, there’s no one here. I though’ I heard ye speakin’ to some’at.”

Lily tossed the pillow to the other end of the settee and gave the maid an embarrassed smile. “I was just thinking aloud.”

“I do the same meself.” The maid left the room and came back in carrying a stack of towels and a small vase of flowers. She placed the towels and the vase on a dresser and went to shut the door.

As she started to close it, she looked down and frowned.

A pug marched into the room, stood and looked around, then gave a huge sneeze.

“Och, Meenie, wha’ are ye doin’ here? The duchess will no’ be pleased.” Freya shook her head and held the door wider. “Oot wit’ ye, ye muddy creature!”

The dog merely sniffed the air, wagging its tail as it looked around.

Freya stomped her foot. “I said oot wit’ ye!”

But the dog had already caught sight of Lily’s tray and was trotting her way.

“The blasted pugs!” the maid muttered. “I’ll call a footman to come an’ get ’er, miss.”

“Oh, no. She seems quite harmless.” Lily watched as the dog came to sniff the side of the tray. She patted
the settee beside her. The dog gave a ferocious wag of her tail, and then jumped up and curled beside her. “Such a wee, pretty dog!”

“If’n ye’ll excuse me language, miss, she’s a wee pain in the arse, is wha’ she is.” Freya shut the door with a thump. “I left her in the kitchens wit’ the others who are a-gettin’ their baths today, but she must have followed me.”

“You bathe them in the kitchen?” Lily asked as she selected a tea cake.

“The pantry, actually. MacDougal has special tables brought in fra’ the barn fer the dog washin’, which we do once’t a week.”

“I’m surprised MacDougal doesn’t just wash them in the barn.”

“Wha’? Her grace’s puir, wee, delicate bairns, oot in the barn where they might take cold?” The maid snorted. “They only go to the barn if they’ve been bad an’ they need lockin’ up to keep them from harm’s way. There’s a special room fer them tha’ is more like an inn than else.”

“Fancy, eh?” Lily sipped her tea.

“Och, ’tis better than me own room in the attic. Each o’ the dogs has a bed wit’ their names, and little silver bowls, too, as if they was—” Freya caught herself and grimaced. “I’m sorry to go on an’ on aboot the dogs, fer they’re guid creatures, as dogs go. But her grace does spoil ’em.”

Lily patted Meenie’s soft head. The dog was lying
still, as if sleeping, but Lily could tell by the way the dog watched the tray that she was just waiting to steal some tea cakes when Lily turned her head.

“I’ll draw yer bath, miss.” As the maid went to collect the towels, Lily caught sight of the flowers in the vase. They were bright yellow and remarkably similar to the ones in the field. “Freya, these flowers . . . where did they come from?”

“I dinna know, miss, fer they was already on the table in the hall when I came in.”

“Then . . . they were not for me?”

“There’s no note, so mayhap one o’ the upstairs maids put them on the table to brighten up the hallway. Since no one would see them there, I brought them here fer ye to enjoy.”

“Thank you. That was very kind.”

“Ye’re welcome, miss.” Freya went into the dressing room, and the sound of the bathwater came from the doorway. After a moment, she came out to collect the towels. “Yer talkin’ to yerself made me think o’ Lady Charlotte. She does tha’ all o’ the time. Mutters aboot this an’ tha’. It used to bother me, until I realized tha’ she dinna even know she’s doin’ it.”

“Neither did I, I fear. I don’t normally talk aloud to myself, but I’m still half-drugged from the doctor’s potion.” To be honest, Lily was also a bit lonely. At home she usually had her sisters to talk to, but now she was relegated to discussing her life with a pillow. It would have been a lowering thought, but at just that moment, Meenie grunted and plopped her chin on
Lily’s knee and looked at her with an imploring black gaze. Chuckling, Lily patted her.

“Her grace’s doctor do like to use the laudanum.” The maid glanced back into the dressing room. “Yer bath is almost ready, miss. I’ll bet a good soakin’ afore dinner will feel good.”

“Lud, yes. It’ll help this shoulder more than anything.”

The maid moved the tray out of the way, placing it on a high dresser and Lily rose and went to the tub. Meenie sighed sadly, got up, and hopped off the settee.

Freya helped Lily out of her dressing gown and then assisted Lily onto the small stool that was perched beside the tub. The dog trotted along with them and sat down by the door to watch as Lily sank gratefully into the water. She slid down to her chin as the heat soaked though her, the scent of lavender tickling her nose and easing her muscle aches. “Ah. That’s just lovely.”

“There’s verrah little tha’ hot water willna cure. There’s soap on the washcloth on the edge o’ the tub, miss.” The maid left Lily and began to straighten up the room, moving back and forth across the open doorway. When she stopped by the tray of letters, she called out, “Yer flowers are beautiful, miss.”

“They’re from the Earl of Huntley.”

“He’s a fine gentleman. Everyone is sad ye were injured, miss. There’s been verrah little talk of else in the drawin’ room.”

“How tedious for them! The sooner I’m out of the sickroom, the better.” Lily picked up a washcloth and began to carefully wash her shoulder where a bruise had formed.

It was no wonder she was feeling a bit maudlin, waking from such a deep sleep and then sitting alone in her bedchamber. She needed company, talk, the warmth of a meal shared with others. It would be good to join the duchess’s guests tonight.

Meanwhile, there was less than two weeks left of the house party. The time had come to secure Huntley’s interest and make certain that such a union would make them both, if not happy, at least satisfied.
That’s enough for a good, solid marriage. Surely I could be content with that.

Meenie peeked over the edge of the tub, her back feet on the stool, and Lily laughed in surprise. The dog panted happily, her tongue hanging out one side as she looked at the water with interest.

“You’d best have a care or you’ll slip and fall in,” Lily told the dog. “I don’t think you’d like that.”

Ignoring Lily’s warning, the dog put her paws on the tub edge, leaned over, and began to drink the bathwater.

“Och, no!” Rushing into the dressing room, Freya scooped up the dog and tucked it under her arm. “I’m sorry, miss. I tol’ ye they were a wee bit spoiled.” But even as the maid spoke, she gave the dog an affectionate rub on the head.

Lily laughed and continued her bath while Freya settled Meenie on a towel in the corner. After Lily washed her hair, she allowed Freya to assist her out. Together they selected a gown for the evening, and the maid combed Lily’s hair before the fire so that it would dry.

Hours later, Lily was dressed and ready for her first public appearance since her accident. She looked forward to rejoining the others. Now, if only she could keep her thoughts on the Earl of Huntley rather than a mysterious green-eyed prince.
I must,
she told herself as she smoothed the Indian silk shawl Freya had just draped across Lily’s arm.
Time is slipping by and I must make the hard decisions now, before they are too difficult to make.
“Freya, can you hand me my fan?”

“Yes, miss.” Freya handed Lily a small, hand-painted fan with an ivory handle. “Ye look as pretty as a picture, ye do.”

“Thank you.” Before she drew on her long gloves, Lily paused to give Meenie a final pat.

“Are ye ready, miss?”

“As ready as I shall ever be.”

Freya opened the door and Lily, clutching her determination to her as tightly as she could, swept through it.

•  •  •

Upon joining the other guests in the sitting room as they gathered to wait for dinner, Lily was instantly surrounded by well-wishers and inundated with solicitous remarks.

She was a bit relieved when Huntley arrived and, with a firm air of command, escorted her through the swarm and established her on a settee, fetching her a glass of water and pulling up a chair so close that his knees brushed hers. The other guests noticed, and several times Lily caught people exchanging significant glances.

She should have been glad for such specific attentions—and was, truly, but somehow it made her feel awkward and she was glad when Emma joined them.

Emma smiled. “I can see that you’re feeling better.”

“Much, although I’m embarrassed to be the center of so much attention.”

“It can be wearing, can’t it, having to tell each person that you’re quite well, which they’d see if they’d just look at you?”

“Yes, it is, though everyone is being very kind.” Lily glanced at Huntley, who’d been distracted by the comments of a young lord who was quizzing him on the arrangement of his neckcloth.

Huntley’s quite fashionable. That’s not something I wished for in a husband, but it could be considered an asset.
She’d certainly never seen Wulf wear anything like the intricately tied cravat and blazing ruby that the earl was sporting. The prince never spent such time with his clothing, yet he still managed to seem elegant, as if he’d been born to fit the fashion rather than fashion having been made to fit him.

Lily forced herself to smile at Huntley, who left off
his conversation to lean forward almost eagerly. “Miss Balfour—Lily, are you getting tired? Should I procure you a glass of Madeira?”