The Prince Who Loved Me (The Oxenburg Princes) (5 page)

Sorcha’s delicate brows rose. “Why didn’t you see Mrs. Durnoch at once and verify the man’s information?”

“That’s what I would have done,” Mairi added.

“I didn’t have time, with the extra work I’ve had to do for Papa’s newest patent request.” But there was another reason she’d hesitated in visiting Tulloch Castle. A much bigger reason . . . one well over six feet tall.

She’d never met a man who’d made her feel so exposed. And excited. And alive. Had those moments mattered to him at all? And why did she care?

She shifted impatiently in her chair. It was silly to keep thinking about a one-time event. Yet late at night, her imagination took over and she not only remembered the kisses, but elaborated on them as if she were writing one of Miss Edgeworth’s books.

Just thinking about those kisses sent a warm shiver through her, and made her acutely aware of an odd sense of loss, of missed opportunity, of . . . loneliness.
How silly is that?
She hadn’t felt lonely since her sisters had come to live with her.

She pushed the odd thought out of her mind and smiled brightly. “Now that Sir Henry’s arrived, I hope there are several dinners
and
a ball. If not two.”

Mairi sighed blissfully. “I would love
two
balls and
four
dinners. Oh, and perhaps a carriage outing to the loch, or a picnic in—”

Lady Malvinea sailed into the room, waving a letter in the air, her fashionable green gown rustling with each step. “Look what just came!” Though her burnished blond hair owed its color to artistry rather than nature, and her figure had settled into a thicker cast over the years, and she claimed that her eyes were puffy some mornings, Mama was still a handsome woman.

She beamed at her three daughters now, though Bronwyn saw a determined glint behind the excitement. “All my lovely daughters in the same room, and here I am, bursting with good news!”

Mairi scooted forward, an eager expression on her face. “Is it about Sir Henry? Is he having a dinner for—”

“Mairi, please. All in good time.” Mama took a chair at the table with her daughters. “A lady
never
rushes.”

Mairi slid back in her seat and clasped her hands before her, though a hint of stubbornness marred her subdued expression.

“There,” Mama said approvingly. “What a pretty picture! Such—” Her gaze found Bronwyn’s gown. “Bronwyn?”

Bronwyn lifted her gaze to her stepmother’s. “Yes?”

“I thought you threw out that gown.”

“This one? No, I threw out the gray one.” Actually, she hadn’t thrown that out, either, but had designated it as a to-only-be-worn-out-of-doors gown. When she remembered.

“But we spoke about
that
gown, the green one. Not the gray one.”

“Did we?” Bronwyn tried to look confused but was fairly certain she was failing.

“Yes. We spoke about how it was out-of-date, and needed to be resewn in a dozen places, and did very little to flatter your figure, and—”

Bronwyn had to laugh, though it made Mama’s mouth tighten. “This gown needs some repair, I’ll agree, but only where the pocket snagged on a door handle. It served well enough for the chores I’ve done this morning.” When Mama’s pained expression didn’t lighten, Bronwyn hid a sigh and threw up a hand. “I promise not to wear it in front of guests. Ever.”

Mama opened her mouth to argue, but Sorcha was faster. “Tell us about this invitation. Will we need new gowns? Or will the ones we ordered last month do?”

“I’m so glad we ordered those extra gowns for your coming out, although it’s a pity we’ve none for Bronwyn.” Mama
tsk
ed at her stepdaughter. “I do wish you had allowed me to order you some gowns when we had the chance.”

Bronwyn could have pointed out, as she had at the time, that the budget didn’t allow for them all to order new gowns at the same time, but she refrained. “I have three excellent gowns for visiting, and I rarely wear them now.”

“Visiting gowns, yes, but no ball gowns. I’ll have to give you one of my older gowns and have it altered to fit now we’ve been invited to Sir Henry’s opening ball—”

“A ball?” Mairi broke in, her eyes wide with excitement. “Sir Henry is having a
ball
!”

Sorcha clapped her hands together. “And he invited
us
!”

“Indeed he did!” Mama gave an excited laugh as she waved the paper once again. “My dears, you will never believe this, but Sir Henry has brought more than
thirty
guests with him to Tulloch Castle, all men and women of breeding and gentility. Our sleepy little hamlet has never seen the like!”

Mairi gave another hop in her chair.

Mama fairly beamed. “Sir Henry is scheduling all sorts of events, beginning with an opening ball. And yes, he invited
all
of us, as is only right, since your papa has been his nearest neighbor for years.” A flicker of displeasure darkened her eyes. “Of course, Papa is already saying he cannot go, for he’s too busy with some project or another, but that’s quite all right. Bronwyn and I will chaperone the two of you.”

“So I may go, too?” Mairi asked in a breathless tone.

Mama’s face softened. “You may. Papa and I have already spoken about it, and we believe it will serve as good training for when you’re to be presented. But if I see any hoydenish behavior, it will be the
last
time you enjoy company until you’re eighteen. Do I make myself clear?”

Mairi nodded emphatically. “Yes, Mama.”

“It is quite unusual for a girl of sixteen to attend such a grand event, but Papa pointed out that it’s a country ball and not a formal one, so it will be quite all right for you to attend this one time.”

“I shall behave myself, I promise.” Mairi’s voice was fervent.

“Why is Bronwyn to chaperone?” Sorcha looked displeased. “She’s too young to chaperone.”

“Nonsense. She’s twenty-four, and the perfect age to watch over her younger sisters.” Mama took a sip of her tea. “Besides, it will take both of us to keep an eye on you two. I daresay your dance cards will be filled before we’re even there five minutes.”

“I’m always glad to chaperone,” Bronwyn added. “Relieved, in fact. I dislike talking to people I’ve nothing in common with, and if I sit with the other chaperones I can speak with Miss MacTavish, who has been making the loveliest jellies for her father. She’s promised me the recipe every time we meet, but keeps forgetting to bring it by.”

Sorcha was already shaking her head. “Miss MacTavish is forty if she’s a day. You’re too young to sit with the chaperones.”

“Sorcha’s right. Besides,” Mairi added, “how do you know you’ve nothing in common with someone until you talk to them?”

“Because I dislike talking to gaggles of strangers. And don’t say I’ll miss the dancing, for I won’t at all. Remember our lessons?”

Mama had insisted on those lessons, no matter how Bronwyn begged to be excused. Fortunately, after several painful sessions, their dancing master had agreed that Bronwyn was a lost cause. She could never keep time, which made dancing impossible.

Bronwyn chuckled. “Poor Monsieur Beaumont was tearing out his hair in frustration with me. It wouldn’t be fair to the men of Sir Henry’s party to be subjected to both of my left feet at the same time.”

“Dance Master Monsieur Beaumont wasn’t a patient man.” Mairi sent her sister a sly look. “He was quite fond of you, though, Sorcha.”

Sorcha flushed. Monsieur Beaumont was one of a long list of tutors who’d been dismissed after falling wildly in love with her, something that had happened quite frequently since she’d turned fourteen.

Mama sent Mairi a quelling look. “Say what you will about Monsieur Beaumont, he was a highly sought-after dance master. One of the best.”

“But a wretched poet.” Encouraged by Sorcha’s flushed cheeks, Mairi added, “Bronwyn, do you remember the poem he wrote for Sorcha?”

Bronwyn had to grin. “It started with—what was that line? Oh yes, ‘Fair maid who doth stand in the night’s window—’ ”

“ ‘—and chase the sun with her stare of beauty,’ ” Mairi finished, laughing. “ ‘Her stare of beauty’! What on earth is that?”

Sorcha’s face flamed. “I wish you would forget that wretched poem, for I have.”

“How can I forget your stare of beauty? And what else did he say? Oh yes, he said your white shoulders were ‘mountains of granite and silk—’ ”

“Mairi, that’s enough,” Mama said firmly. “Or perhaps you’ve already decided not to attend Sir Henry’s ball and would prefer to stay at home with your papa?”

Mairi’s smile disappeared. “No, no! I was only teasing.”

“That’s too bad.” Bronwyn pursed her lips. “I believe Papa plans on perusing a treatise on gas lighting this week. I’m sure he would be glad to read it aloud, should you be bored.”

Mairi shuddered. “I’d rather eat raw eggs than listen to Papa read another one of his papers. Mama, I’m very,
very
sorry for teasing Sorcha.”

Satisfied by her daughter’s chastised expression, Mama nodded. “Good, for I’ve something more to tell you, some
truly
exciting news this time.”

Sorcha’s eyes widened. “There’s more?”

“
Much
more,” Mama said with an air of suppressed excitement. “I was able to discover that one of Sir Henry’s nephews, Viscount Strathmoor, is joining the group, and”—she looked around the table, a sparkle in her blue eyes—“there’s also a prince!”

Sorcha gasped. “A
real
prince?”

“Of course! And one with an income of thirty thousand pounds a year! Mrs. Durnoch overheard one of the ladies in Sir Henry’s party telling another all about him.”

“Thirty thousand pounds,” Sorcha said in an awed tone. “I can’t even imagine.”

Neither could Bronwyn. She knew to a penny what it cost to run Ackinnoull, and annually it was far, far less than the prince’s daily income.

Mama smiled with satisfaction at their astounded faces. “I’d think a prince with an annual income of thirty thousand pounds must be in want of a princess, don’t you?”

“I would think so,” Mairi agreed. “One person couldn’t spend that much in a year, not by himself, anyway.”

“My thoughts, exactly.” Mama reached over and placed her hands over Sorcha’s. “And I don’t know why he shouldn’t choose you!”

Sorcha flushed and pulled her hand free, sending an apologetic look at Bronwyn. “Or Bronwyn.”

“Lud, no.” Bronwyn plucked another roll from the bowl and then reached for the butter. “I can’t imagine anything worse than having to constantly be on display like a museum exhibit, having to curtsy all day, forced to smile when you really feel like settling in with a good book—no, thank you.” She buttered her roll. “I’d rather own a subscription library than be a princess.”

“You can’t mean that,” Mairi said.

“I do mean it. All of those people wishing to gain your attention— Just think of all the articles we’ve read, where poor Princess Charlotte’s carriage was mobbed. Madness.” She wrinkled her nose.

“I like people,” Mairi said stoutly. “And it wouldn’t bother me to curtsy all day.”

“I hadn’t considered it,” Sorcha said thoughtfully, “but I could see where that might become onerous.”

“Nonsense,” Mama said. “You’d enjoy being a princess, my dear. It’s what you’ve been raised for.”

“I wasn’t raised to be a princess,” Sorcha protested.

“You were raised to be a wife to a powerful, well-bred man, which includes princes.” She beamed at Sorcha. “I hear Oxenburg is lovely, too.”

“
Oxenburg?
”

Everyone looked at Bronwyn, and she realized she’d said the word much louder than necessary. “I . . . I read about Oxenburg somewhere recently. The name seems familiar.”
So the huntsman must be one of the prince’s servants, and not employed by Selvach, after all. That explains many things, such as the fluffy dog. I daresay he was watching it for the prince.
A smile tickled her lips. No doubt the man was as small and poofed as his pet.

Unaware of the unattractive image Bronwyn had of the prince, Mairi sighed dreamily. “I think marrying a prince would be the best of all things. Coaches and eight, diamond tiaras, new gowns every day of the week, jeweled slippers, people to bring you whatever you want, whenever you want it—how could you hate being a princess?”

Bronwyn poured herself some tea. “Perhaps I’m too particular for my own good. If you don’t mind, I’ll leave all princes to you and Sorcha.”

Sorcha shook her head. “But Bronwyn, just think of all the books a princess might have.” She waved her hands. “
Rooms
of books.”

“That
might
make it worthwhile.” Bronwyn pretended to consider it. “But then again, I could also get a subscription to the library in Inverness and have access to
their
rooms of books, without having to stand in receiving lines until my feet and back ache.”

“Nonsense,” Mama said briskly. “Being a princess would be lovely, and I won’t hear anything otherwise. Sorcha, which gown will you wear? We’ve only five days until the ball and we’ve much to get ready between now and then.”

Instantly, Sorcha, Mairi, and Mama began to discuss gowns, shoes, hair ribbons, and other absorbing items. Bronwyn listened for a short while, then found her book and tried to read.

But somehow, her mind kept wandering to the huntsman from Oxenburg. Was the country as beautiful as the man? And why, oh why, was she still thinking about him, wondering about him,
dreaming
about him? Fortunately for her, there was very little chance she’d ever see him again. And yet . . . she wondered where he was now, and if he thought about that moment in the forest at all. For she did, far more than she wanted.

But all first kisses were like that, weren’t they? she told herself, trying to reduce the memory into something that wouldn’t disturb her sleep or her imagination quite so much. But her task was hopeless. The huntsman had possessed an unearthly skill that even her novice lips had recognized.
Blast it, why couldn’t he have been horrible at kissing? I might have stood a chance then.
But she’d had no such luck.