Princess Charming (28 page)
Authors: Beth Pattillo
“I’m not following you, princess. I’ve merely changed my mind about the desirability of a night among the trees. If the Selkirks will have me, I will make up a pallet on their floor.”
His reward for his courage was the startled expression, and a dawning look of approval, in Lucy Charming’s eyes.
FAINT MORNING light stole through the slats in the wooden shutters, rousing Lucy from slumber. With the ease of much practice, she stole from the bed where Mrs. Selkirk lay sleeping. In the dim light, she pulled on the dress and stockings she’d brought in her rucksack and collected her half boots. Eager to meet the new day, she peered through the doorway that separated the sole bedroom of the cottage from the main room. The larger area held the three sleeping men: Mr. Selkirk, Tom, and Nick.
Lucy shivered in the cool air of the cave and reached for a shawl on a peg just inside the bedchamber door. Nick snored lightly, she noticed, apparently able to transcend the discomfort of cold night air and an even colder bed. For all his trepidation about the cave, he must have found some peace in the night, and she was glad for his sake. Perhaps she should have shown Nick more pity, but he seemed to have already ladled a generous helping into his own dish. Her heart had nearly broken at his story of that disastrous night in the mountains of Santadorra, but Lucy knew from experience that no matter how tragic one’s history, life must go on.
Half boots in hand, Lucy slipped past the sleeping men and let herself out the front door. The summer morning lay fresh on the hills, where the sheep had yet to devour the new grass, and overhead the sky stretched like an enormous aquamarine dome. A good omen, she hoped, for such an important day, for by sundown she would settle her wager with Nick one way or another. Either today’s reform rally would convince him of the need for such measures, or she would agree to become his bride.
Both eventualities seemed as unlikely as rain clouds appearing in the crystalline sky, but somehow, Lucy knew she must win the wager before her love for Nick led her astray from what she knew was right. If she won the wager and convinced Nick of the necessity of reform, then he would be able to accept her but no longer be bound to marry her. And if she lost, then she would be forced to marry a man she loved who would never accept her for herself. Either fate seemed untenable, and yet Lucy knew that she could only make the one choice. Life without the man she loved would be far preferable to life with a man who did not love her.
“Good morning, Lady Lucy.”
Lucy jumped at the sound, and her heart pounded until she realized that it was not Nick who had stepped through the doorway to join her in the sunlight. Instead, Tom Selkirk appeared, tucking his shirt into his breeches. Lucy was both relieved and disappointed.
“I’m too excited to sleep properly,” she confided to Tom. Instinctively, they set off down the rutted road, two young people accustomed to each other’s company. For a moment, the years fell away, and they were again the best of friends, tramping through the woods and walking the smoother paths near Charming Hall.
“‘Tis a shame your father’s not here to see this day,” Tom offered as they followed the track past dozens of other abodes. The little village of caves would begin to stir soon, its inhabitants eager to descend on the Market Square in Nottingham for the day’s festivities.
“Yes, ‘tis a pity.” Her joy in the day faltered at the thought of her father. He had believed reform the only means for averting in England what had happened in France. In truth, he’d been rather traditional as an aristocrat. He’d not been hesitant to lend his strong back during the sheep shearing or lift a pint in the village tavern with his field laborers. He had known his station, but he had not looked upon the common folk as
his inferiors. In a world where
noblesse oblige
was fast disappearing, her father had been a man who honored the responsibilities of his position.
Lucy’s throat tightened as her last sight of her father rose in her mind, his body prostrate on the floor of the library, blood everywhere. Her stomach roiled, but her heart protested her even entertaining the possibility that her father’s gunshot wound had been self-inflicted. He would not have committed an act of desperation as her stepmother insinuated. He held his principles too strongly. And yet
. . .
She had seen the growing despair in his eyes in those last weeks, when it became clear that reform was an impossible dream in Nottingham. And she knew that her dependence upon her father had left her exposed and vulnerable to the machinations of her stepmother. Never again would she depend on anyone, she’d sworn, and until Nick, she would never have imagined any difficulty in keeping her oath.
“Your father might have been the duke, but he never forgot his people,” Tom said. The words caused a tightening in her throat. Yes, indeed, her father would have enjoyed this day, and Lucy felt both sorry and angry that he was not there to see it.
She did not reply, and Tom respected her silence, offering her his hand as he had done from childhood. Lucy grasped it, and they continued forward, each preparing for the coming day. They were still hand-in-hand when they returned to the Selkirks’ doorway, only to be met by a frowning Nick.
“Your mother wants you,” he said to Tom, and the boy blushed at Nick’s choice of words. Lucy frowned at Nick, but he ignored her expression. Tom gave her hand a squeeze and ducked through the doorway into the house.
“Tom is sensitive about his age,” Lucy began, but Nick only rolled his eyes.
“He is but a boy.”
“He’s far older than you were when you fled to the Santadorran mountains.”
Nick flinched, and at this sign of a direct hit, she scaled back the tirade she might have delivered. “There’s no reason to torment Tom.”
“You are a great defender of his.” He sounded miffed, and even—could it be?—jealous.
“Tom will be a leader in the movement someday. He is intelligent and eloquent, two necessary skills for the job.”
“In the meantime, he has you to hold his hand and coddle him.” Nick sounded more like a petulant schoolboy than a worldly prince.
“You are jealous,” Lucy said in wonder, delighting in the words as they rolled off her tongue. How ridiculous, but how satisfying, too. The Crown Prince of Santadorra jealous of an unseasoned Nottingham youth.
“I would never stoop to jealousy,” Nick snapped. He looked wonderful in the golden morning light. Dark stubble covered his jaw, giving him the air of a pirate, and his clothes were rumpled. It was hardly fair that men should look so attractive first thing in the morning while women must spend time at their toilette merely to appear presentable. Then again, Lucy had spared no time at her toilette that morning. She lifted a hand to her hair. The results were probably quite evident.
“Of course you’re not jealous,” she agreed in false, bright tones. “Is it time for breakfast?”
A disgruntled Nick nodded. “I came to fetch you. Mrs. Selkirk has the porridge ready.” She could hear the underlying resignation in his tone and wondered when was the last time that His Highness had eaten porridge. She almost asked but thought better of it. She had unearthed enough unpleasant memories from him the previous night. The day would be reserved for happier pursuits, or at least less haunting ones.
In less than an hour, they had eaten their meal, tidied the Selkirks’ home, and begun the descent into Nottingham. Lucy walked with Tom, Nick trailing a few steps behind. As they drew closer to the town proper, the throng of people grew, swelling to fill the dusty road. The excitement in the air lent a spring to Lucy’s step, but Nick’s boots began to drag. For the first time, she thought about what it might feel like for a prince who’d been chased by a mob, and then by soldiers, to willingly join in such a mass of people. Her heart skipped a beat, and she slowed her pace, allowing Tom to move ahead and Nick to fall into step with her.
“When we reach the square, you will remain close to me,” he instructed as they walked. Lucy bristled at the command, but then his words of the previous night came rushing back. Nick had reason to fear, although there was no need. Still, she would humor him and allow him to see that not every popular gathering was a recipe for disaster. This peaceful rally would be the very thing to effect a change of heart in her reluctant prince.
“I want to hear the speakers,” Lucy answered, not willing to let his command pass without any protest whatsoever. “We must be near enough to the dais to gain a sense of the speeches.”
Nick looked down at her with a grave air. “You believe this will turn out well, don’t you?” Skepticism marked every line of his face.
“It is a peaceful assembly, Nick. No one here intends any harm.”
“You are too trusting. Not everyone’s motives are as pure as yours.”
Lucy laughed at the thought that her motives might in any way be called pure. She was no saint. Reform was important because it meant a better life for so many people. If more of society’s elite truly comprehended the dire straits of the peasantry, they would act in quite a different manner. An image of the Prince Regent and his indifference flickered through her mind, but she pushed it aside. Peaceful rallies such as this one must attract the notice of Parliament, even if the Prince of Wales could not be brought to see the justice of the cause.
“My motives are as jumbled as anyone’s,” she teased him, and she was pleased to see his stiffness relax a bit.
As they entered the city, enormous crowds converged in the streets, pressing on toward the great square where the open-air market was held. Men toted heavy baskets of food or pushed small handcarts loaded with the day’s provisions for their families. The women cradled babies or swung toddlers up in their arms. Older brothers and sisters dashed back and forth, adding to the general merriment and disarray in the crowd.
When they reached the square, the area was filled with banners and booths. Mr. Selkirk and Tom found an unoccupied corner between a cobbler’s stall and a man selling ices. The wiry Mr. Selkirk set his basket on the cobblestones, and Mrs. Selkirk began to unpack it. Tom immediately disappeared into the crowd, and Lucy longed to go with him. He would surely find his way to the very edge of the dais, but she held back out of concern for Nick. This spot, tucked away from the worst of the crowds, would be easier for him to endure and so more favorable to her cause.
“Was there ever any day such as this?” Mrs. Selkirk asked with a bright smile as she settled herself onto a cask, as comfortable a chair as anyone was likely to find.
Lucy grinned at her. “The hard work of the reformers has yielded great results. Parliament must listen to so many voices raised as one.”
“Parliament will be more concerned about preventing revolution than with listening,” Nick replied under his breath so that only Lucy could hear. She stilled, momentarily distracted, for Nick’s words rang true. She was accustomed to counting the common folk as her friends, but those who lived in the
haut ton
felt differently. And yet, Lucy thought, not for the first time, how could a gathering that included women and children be perceived as a revolutionary threat?
The speeches began, and Lucy’s party was near enough to hear most of the words. Still, though, it was difficult to ignore the low buzz of conversation and the cries of babies. Lucy edged out from between the traders’ booths.
“Lucy!” Nick hissed, but he didn’t reach out to try and restrain her.
“Just a bit closer,” she said and slipped out through the crowd. Nick could wait with the Selkirks. Her presence was not likely to change his mind if the speeches failed to do so, and she had waited so long to be a part of this day.
“No, Lucy.” His voice rose slightly, but she ignored him and made her way toward the front of the crowd. Nick’s voice had held a hint of desperation, but what was there to be concerned about? Lucy suppressed a pang of guilt. The rally was proceeding well, and there was no sign of the local militia, much less the king’s dragoons. All would be well.
Lucy wove through the throng until she caught sight of the dais. It was draped in red and blue bunting, and the speakers’ platform rose several more feet in the air. A man she did not recognize was holding forth with great eloquence on the need for additional poor relief.
“The parishes cannot rectify a problem that far exceeds their means,” he shouted, and the crowd roared with approval. Lucy applauded, her heart full. The power of the common people was an amazing thing to witness. Justice, decency, and goodness radiated from the crowd in the market square up to heaven itself.
The speaker shook his fist in the air. “Parliament must hear! The Regent must hear! The men of England demand that their voices be heard!”
This time the roar that rose from the crowd was deafening. Lucy stopped applauding and clapped her hands over her ears. Suddenly, the ground beneath her feet began to rumble, further heightening the din. She looked around but could see nothing beyond the press of people. Then, to her right, there was a flash of metal in the sun. The crowd’s roar died, and the ominous thundering of horses’ hooves sounded against the cobblestones.
The screams began when the first line of dragoons appeared at the edge of the square. They rode straight for the dais, ignoring the men, women, and children in their path. Her heart in her throat, Lucy watched in stunned disbelief as the mounted soldiers in their bright uniforms passed within a few feet of her. One horse reared, and when the beast’s hooves descended, a man fell beneath them. The woman next to her screamed and hit out at the soldier, who responded with a swing of his bayonet. Blood sprayed, fine as mist, and Lucy covered her mouth with her hand, holding back her terror as the genial mood of the crowd instantly transformed into absolute panic.
CHAOS REIGNED in the square. For one frustrating, aching moment, Nick couldn’t squeeze around Mrs. Selkirk’s girth. The older woman struggled to her feet while Nick tried to slip past her and then finally grasped her shoulders and lifted her from the cask. She turned toward him, ashen.
“Lady Lucy. Tom.” She mouthed the words over the noise of the fleeing throng. The sharp report of rifle fire echoed in the square, and nausea rose in Nick’s stomach. He should never have let Lucy out of sight. Not for a single moment.