“Je,” Isidora said weakly.

His head spun. Who were these men that would use women so ill? How could he be nearly thirty years old and not know men like that existed in his sphere? The knowledge soured his stomach and made him more determined than ever to end this abominable practice.

But first, he had to agree to a price for Isidora. Unfortunately, Leo was not adept at the art of negotiation—when he agreed to the outrageous sum of one hundred pounds, Mrs. Mansfield’s little eyes had gone wide with surprise, and he knew then that he’d been outdone.

He brought Isidora to the Clarendon Hotel, ignoring the looks directed at him, and paid for a room for her. The desk clerk could hardly contain his disgust at what he perceived was happening, and at first he refused to grant her a room. But Leo reminded him how much the Kingdom of Alucia was paying for the rooms he let. The clerk reluctantly agreed to allow one night. Only one night. “Won’t have her type here, Your Highness,” he’d said tightly.

“Her type,” Leo had said, “is that of a woman who has been treated very ill by your country.”

But the Clarendon Hotel was not a solution, and Leo fretted to Josef. “The lass wants to go home to her family,” he lied. “I need a place she might stay until I can arrange it.”

As Josef had not seen Isidora, he had no reason to suspect what Leo was about. He thought about it a moment and said, “May I suggest Mr. Hubert Cressidian.”

Leo knew of the gentleman, an Alucian merchant living in London, who was, by all indications, richer than Croesus. “Do you know him?” Leo asked. “Can I trust him?”

Josef’s expression had remained entirely neutral. “It is my experience, Highness, that Mr. Cressidian may be trusted for a price.”

It turned out that Josef’s instincts were right. Mr. Cressidian was thin and wiry, with black hair and eyes so brown they appeared almost black. Leo told him he needed a place to keep a young woman safe from harm. Mr. Cressidian didn’t ask any questions about Isidora. He didn’t seem to care. He didn’t seem particularly curious about anything, really. He merely stated his terms: a stipend for her keep, and an introduction to a French shipping magnate Leo knew.

Neither did Isidora ask questions—she seemed resigned to whatever fate had in store for her. But when they arrived at the very large house in Mayfair, she looked at Leo. “Who are you?”

She truly had no idea who he was. “I’m no one,” he said, and he meant it. He smiled and said, “My friends call me Leo.”

Three days later, Josef informed Leo that his invitation to the Montgomery ball had been rescinded.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN


A soiree to be held at the London townhome of the Duke of Norfolk was postponed indefinitely. A friend of the duke has said that the reason might have had to do with one of the guests being unsuitable to dine with someone as dignified as the duke and duchess. Could it be the same gentleman who was disinvited from the Montgomery ball?

Ladies, doctors advise a period of nine hours of complete rest with no distractions or diversions after a period of maternal confinement and birth, with no more than five minutes allotted to one’s husband to assure him all is well.

—Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and


Domesticity for Ladies

CAROLINE HAD A habit of entering her home through the back door if she’d been shopping, lest Beck see her packages. Generally, he was none the wiser when she used this method of entry, but this afternoon, he was striding through the kitchen when she tumbled in with her wrapped packages of brocades and silk fabrics. He took one look at the bundles in her arms, then at her. “What are those?”

She tried to think of an excuse that would spare her. None came to mind.

He frowned at her silence. “Come with me,” he said gruffly.

Things had reverted to normal between them, with Beck complaining about her spending and the fact that she ate his favorite jam—oh, and that she practiced the piano when he was trying to read. And, of course, his favorite complaint—that she did as she pleased.

“Why?” she asked as she hastily shoved her packages beneath a wooden bench in the small entry into the kitchens.

“Why do you think?” He was holding a wooden tray onto which he had himself, apparently, put cheese and bread. “I rang for you two hours ago.”

“I was out, Beck,” Caroline said as she followed him down the hall. He was striding purposefully, and she was struggling to keep up as she tried to unfasten her cloak.

“Yes, you were out shopping again!” he said crossly over his shoulder before turning into his study.

Caroline managed to get the cloak unfastened and pulled it from her shoulders, dropping it onto a chair in the hall.

“I have my own money, have you forgotten? And besides, Felicity Hancock is desperate for one of my gowns. Ladies are beginning to notice—”

“I don’t care,” he said, and dropped the tray onto his desk as she struggled to remove her bonnet. “And need I remind you that your inheritance is in a trust. You are spending our money.”

“Well, whose fault is that?” Caroline demanded.

“It is necessary, Caro, as you have given every indication you would spend all of your trust if given the opportunity.”

Caroline managed to remove her bonnet, but it caught a pin in her hair, and one thick tress tumbled down over one eye. “Blast it,” she complained, and with a sigh of exasperation, she tossed her bonnet onto his desk, too. “I’ll just go and repair my hair,” she said, but before she could turn to the door, he stopped her.

“No, no, we’ll have this said and done now,” Beck commanded her. “I mean to go out soon, and I know your tricks, Caro. If you go up to your rooms, I won’t see you for hours, and when I do, you’ll probably have brought along Mrs. Honeycutt to verbally assault me.”

“Hollis does not verbally assault you, Beck. She is careful to say only what is true.”

“Oh? So is it true that I was born with the head of a monkey and the heart of an ass?”

“Not that, obviously, but the other things she says are true.”

Beck wasn’t listening. He was waving his hand at her. “Enough about Hollis Honeycutt. If Percy were alive today, he’d have her in hand. He shouldn’t have died like he did.”

Caroline tried to push the tress from her face. But the way her hair was pinned, it kept falling. “You have no regard for my very dear friends who have been my loyal companions all my life.” She swiped up a bit of cheese and stuffed it into her mouth and said, dismissively, “Go on then. What is it that is so important?”

“You want to know? I’ll tell you, Caro. You need to marry.”

Caroline froze. Then she laughed. “Not this again!”

“What? You’re six and twenty or very near, and it’s high time you married and it’s high time I let someone else worry about your purchases.” He picked up a stack of bills and waved them at her. “As it happens, I’ve taken matters into my own hands.”

That got her full attention. Beck often ranted about the need for her to marry, but he’d never said anything like this. “Pardon?”

“Your reluctance to entertain an offer before now has left half the eligible gentlemen skeptical of you. So, I’ve let it be known—discreetly, of course—the size of your dowry.”

“You did what?”

“You can’t continue on like this, flitting from one soiree to the next dressmaker without any regard for who you are destined to be.”

“How do you know who I am destined to be?” she demanded, fighting the lock of hair.

“Are you mad? Must I tell you that you are destined to be a wife and mother?”

“Who decreed that I must be a wife or a mother? This is precisely the reason I do not entertain the idea of marriage, Beck. Men think they know all there is to know. Perhaps I’d like to be an artist instead.”

Beck sat down in the chair behind his desk and leaned back, templing his fingers. “That would be well and good, darling, had you ever shown the slightest interest in becoming an artist. I hired an art tutor for you when you were seventeen, you may recall, and you deliberately painted as horribly as you could to chase him away. The only interest you’ve shown is being invited to the next social gathering.”

“At which I excel, thank you. And I didn’t say I will be an artist. I was making a point. I might like to be a dressmaker. I happen to be very good at it.”

Beck snorted. “You will not be a dressmaker. I spoke to the prince about it, and he—”

Caroline let out a bark of laughter before her brother could finish. “Your friend Leo? Your dear, dear friend who has been uninvited to everything in the last fortnight? He knows nothing.” She swiped up another piece of cheese.

She noticed Beck had stilled. When he didn’t give her a snippy little retort, Caroline looked at him. “What?”

“I was about to say, Caroline, that I spoke to the prince about it, who happens to be standing just there.”

An icy scrape went down her spine. The top of her head buzzed. She stared at Beck for a long moment before she pushed her hair from her face and made herself turn around to see. The prince was indeed standing there, his back against the wall, one dark brow arched. He gave her a half-hearted wave. She hadn’t seen him because the door was open and impeding her view, and her bloody hair had obscured the rest of her vision. She whipped back around to Beck. “Why didn’t you tell me he was here?”

“I should think it obvious, seeing as how he is just there,” he said, gesturing emphatically toward the prince. “And by the bye, what do you know about the invitations being recalled?”

“Nothing!”

Beck narrowed his gaze.

“And what, pray tell, did the illustrious Royal Highness have to say for my deplorable status of being an unmarried woman?” She knew quite a lot about those invitations, as it happened. It was she, after all, who had suggested to Lady Norfolk that she might want to postpone her soiree, given Lady Montgomery’s rather visceral reaction to the gossip surrounding the prince. Priscilla had relayed to Caroline that while having tea with Lady Montgomery, she’d mentioned the prince’s unsavory habits, and Lady Montgomery had nearly choked on her crumpet, and screeched for her secretary then and there and demanded the invitation be rescinded at once.

Also, Lady Norfolk was terribly pregnant and terribly cross. Caroline had assumed, on her friend’s behalf, that the anxiety would be too much.

“Watch your tongue, Caroline,” Beck warned her. “Naturally, he said what any man would say—that it’s well past time you married.”

“Ah—with all due respect, Beck, that is not exactly what I said,” the prince politely demurred.

“It was implied,” Beck said impatiently.

“What did you say?” Caroline asked, turning back to the prince.

“Caro, please! Do not speak to His Royal Highness as if he were some servant to be interrogated for a missing spoon!”

“It’s quite all right,” the prince said. “I merely said that in Alucia most women are married by the time they are twenty. It was an observation, that’s all.” And now he was observing her hair with a curious look.

“And you are well past twenty, Caro,” Beck needlessly pointed out.

Ooh, she would strangle Beck when they were alone. Why was it she could never meet the prince when she looked her best? Why must she always look so bedraggled? He’d been casually looking on all the while she was standing with her hair half down and stuffing cheese into her mouth.

She slowly turned back to her brother. “You’re right, Beck. I should marry. Bring on the suitors, then. Bring them now! If the prince says it—”

“Again, I did not say it,” the prince said quickly. “I simply had a conversation with a friend—I didn’t mean to offer advice.”

“But you did.”

“Caro! For God’s sake, he is a prince of Alucia! Show some respect!” Beck bellowed.

“My lord?”

Caroline and Beck turned toward the door at the same moment. Garrett had stepped inside, unnoticed by them, and interrupted what Caroline felt was the prelude to a brawl. “My lord, there is a gentleman at the door about the horse.”

“Ah!” Beck grinned and hopped to his feet. “That must be the stable master where I intend to house my horse when she arrives. Fine blocks of stables they are, too—the queen’s Horse Guard is stabled there.” He started for the door but paused to look at Caroline. “This would be an opportune time to do something with your hair,” he added, his fingers fluttering in the direction of the fallen tress that drooped over her shoulder as he hurried out.