Her stockings and her pride.
She understood that he meant to protect her from Lord Case. But upon entering the castle by the front door she learned from a footman that the earl’s valet had not yet been summoned to his rooms to dress his master. Lord Case had not yet arisen. She could go about without fear for her life, especially if she didn’t drink any wine.
Hours of walking the floor of Lord Vitor’s chambers had her stomach gnawing and now she headed for the dining room. Relief made up the other part of her hunger.
He had not died. Of all her healings, the relief she had felt when his delirium had turned to regular exhaustion had no equal. Tears had pressed at the backs of her eyes and she had nearly exposed herself disastrously before the prince. But he seemed as moved as she.
“He is inestimably dear to me,” he had uttered, his shoulder beneath Vitor’s as they lowered him to the bed. “I should not know how to go along without him.”
“Needn’t,” he had mumbled, surprising them. “Either of you.” But his eyes were closed and he seemed to sleep as he spoke. The prince himself had pulled the coverlet over him and told Ravenna he would remain with him while she went to sleep.
She poured tea and drank it in a gulp, knowing she should not be aching with both relief and confusion. But every time she allowed herself to dwell on the feeling of him inside her, hot, delicious agitation washed over her. Perhaps he would not remember what had passed between them—her words, or his, and their brief, astounding mating. It would be better if he didn’t, really. Then they could go on as they’d been before, until the party ended and he returned to his world of entitlement and wealth and she returned to her life outside that world not even bothering to look in.
“Ah, mademoiselle,” the general said from the doorway. “Good morning. I hoped to speak with you in private. May I?”
“Sir?”
“Miss Caulfield, I keep substantial kennels at my home in Philadelphia. Both hounds and nonsporting dogs like my daughter’s Marie. Recently my kennel master returned to Ireland and I was obliged to hire a new man. Unfortunately, he has proven incompetent. I feared to leave him in the care of my dogs during my journey here.”
“How worrisome.”
“My wife remained to oversee the keepers, so I have no worry now. She is infinitely capable.” He lowered his voice. “I do not wish to overstep, mademoiselle, but I must speak to you of a matter that interests me. In the strictest confidence, Sir Beverley shared with me your expertise in caring for his animals. He said that you wish now to perhaps take on a greater role, one more suitable to your talents.”
“He did?”
“He told me that you are a woman of science and medicine.”
“I have cared for his animals, and Mr. Pettigrew’s, for six years, both house pets and oftentimes horses. I have some experience with farm animals as well.”
“And dogs?”
“Especially dogs. Sir Beverley is not a hunter, but he has many house dogs. His close neighbor, however, keeps a pack of spaniels that I often treat.”
“Sir Beverley has recommended that I offer to you the position of kennel master. He suggested that I write to his neighbor to gain an independent recommendation. My daughter and I are impressed with your good sense. Moreover, Sir Henry Feathers continues to praise your care of his Titus. Would you be interested in the position I have to offer?”
She could only imagine one reason Beverley would have done this: now that she could no longer live with him and Petti, he wished to provide her with an alternative to marrying.
“But I am a woman.”
“My wife was master of five hundred acres of farmland before I married her. Since then she has been much more than a hostess in my house. She has been steward of my property and kennels during my many absences. I have never heard a man sing such praises as Sir Beverley has sung of you, nor I suspect will I hear the end of Sir Henry’s encomiums until I depart from this house. If you wish, we could arrange for a year’s contract. At the end of that time we can both assess the success of the venture.”
“I don’t know what to say. In truth, sir, I have never imagined such a thing.” She had dreamed it. But across an ocean? It would be years before she saw her sisters again.
“You will like time to consider it,” the general said. “In a month we will sail for America. If I have your answer within the fortnight I will be able to arrange for your passage on our ship.”
“Thank you, sir. I am honored.” She set down her teacup, and walked in something of a haze to the hall. She almost didn’t hear the whimpers coming from the armory room. Reversing direction, she went toward the door that stood partially ajar, and pulled it open.
Her first thought was that from this moment onward she would always knock before entering a room. Her second was that, unlike Iona with Lord Whitebarrow, Lady Grace did not seem to be enjoying herself with the guard who had her trapped in a corner.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
The guard lifted his head from Grace’s neck. His eyes went wide and his hands dropped from Grace’s breast, but anger crossed his face. She recognized him as one of the guards usually stationed at the castle’s gate. He backed up and Grace’s skirt slithered down her legs.
Palms over her face, Grace turned toward the corner and a sob shook her slender body.
“Get out.” Ravenna’s voice trembled. She stepped away from the door.
He came toward her, for a moment bristling in silence. But he stood not much taller than she, though much thicker, and she looked him firmly in the eye. He brushed past her and out the door.
She hurried to Grace.
“My lady.” She touched her on the shoulder. Grace flinched. “Grace, did he harm you?”
Grace shook her head. Her flaxen hair was falling from its pins and the top buttons of her gown below the nape were torn.
“Grace, you must tell me. How did this happen?”
Grace whispered into her hands. “I . . . invited it.”
“You invited that man to maul you in the corner of this room?”
Grace turned a face to her patchy and stained with tears. She nodded.
“That is not the truth,” Ravenna said. “But you needn’t tell me. You must, however, tell the prince and your father.”
Grace grasped her arm. “You mustn’t tell them.”
“I am obliged to. You were not screaming for him to stop, but I don’t believe that you wished him to . . . to do that. Your father must be told.”
“Tell Papa, if you must. But not the prince. I beg of you, Miss Caulfield. Do not tell his highness. Mama would—” Her voice broke and she released Ravenna and pressed her hand against her mouth.
“What will your mother do?”
Grace shook her head. Her eyes seemed oddly glassy as they welled with tears anew. “I beg of you.”
She nodded. She would tell Lord Vitor and he would undoubtedly tell the prince. In this case the partial lie was justified.
“Ladies?” Petti’s bright voice came from behind Ravenna. “What an interesting spot for two delightful girls to find amusement. All about us thrusting swords and spears, yet not a man in the place to employ them.” His eyes twinkled.
“Petti, Lady Grace is overset. She has just had an unpleasant encounter with a—a wild animal.”
“In the castle! What an adventuresome place this has turned out to be. And everybody said the Franche-Comté was the most civilized place in the world. Ah, well. What does everybody know anyway?” He came forward and took Grace’s hand between his palms. He patted her fondly. “Dear girl, allow me to see you to your room to rest. After that I will share with you my secret recipe for cucumber and rose tonic.” He drew her gently toward the door. “Oh, no, you never drink it, m’dear. You soak a warm cotton square in it and lay it over both eyes, and the nose, should that be required. Within a quarter hour you will be as lovely as you were before this unfortunate incident. But it must be cotton. Linen won’t do and wool will have the very opposite effect desired. Cotton is absolutely required.”