“I don’t wish to be a princess, of course.” Only pretty.
“That is a shame,” Sir Beverley said, coming to her side and producing a small leather case from behind his back. He flipped open the lid and Ravenna gasped. “I suppose we will have to give this to some other young lady, Francis.”
Upon a bed of sapphire velvet the color of Lord Vitor’s eyes rested a circlet of gleaming silver decorated with diamonds.
“That is not for me,” she stated. Her hand crept to her mouth. “That is for me?” she whispered.
“Our princess,” Petti said fondly.
She kissed them both, first Sir Beverley on the cheek, then Petti upon the brow. Then she threw her arms about Petti and squeezed him. “Thank you. Thank you. I never wanted such a thing in my life. But thank you for thinking I should have it.”
“Now, now, m’dear, my valet will disapprove of this wanton destruction of my neck cloth.”
“Oh!” She released him and tweaked the starched cloth with her fingertips. “Oh, no. I’m sorry, Petti dear.”
He caught her hands and kissed her knuckles gallantly. “For you, princess, I would suffer a crushed cravat. At least until I can return to my room and require Archer to fold a new one.”
“That was the most inelegant thanks I have ever heard,” Sir Beverley said. “You are an impertinent girl.”
She curtsied, grabbed the box from him, and went to the mirror. Drawing the glittering circlet from its bed, she set it atop the curls that Ann’s efforts had partially tamed. It sparkled brilliantly. “Oh, my,” she sighed.
“She is happy with our little gift, Bev.”
“Mm. I daresay.”
On Petti’s arm, she floated to the drawing room. Nearly everybody was there, gorgeous and giddy to begin the prince’s party in earnest. Except Lord Vitor. Ravenna tried to enjoy Iona’s whispered commentary on the gentlemen’s finery. But each time the door opened to admit another of the prince’s guests, her stomach climbed to her throat, then fell to her toes when the newcomer was not the only man she wanted to see. Finally the prince arrived wearing a military-styled coat sparkling with the medals he claimed were merely decorative nonsense but nevertheless rendered him elegantly regal. Moving directly to Ann, he lifted her hand and kissed her gloved knuckles, then teased her for the blush that rose to her round cheeks.
“Shall we go in to dinner?” he said to everyone.
“Whit o’ Lord Case, yer highness,” the duchess said, looking about. “An’ Lord Vitor?”
A footman was sent to fetch them. But the Courtenay men were not to be found in their bedchambers. The prince dispersed more footmen to search the battlements and below stairs. Everybody chatted gaily as they waited and Ravenna’s heart beat quicker.
The towers and servants’ realm did not produce the missing gentlemen. Brow puckered, the prince greeted Monsieur Brazil’s appearance at the drawing room door with evident relief.
The butler bowed. “Your highness, the dinner is served.”
“Excellent. Come, everybody. Our friends are no doubt occupied with some important task and will find their way to dinner when they are able. Monsieur Brazil, enquire of their manservants when the earl and Lord Vitor are expected back, then send one of my guards to the village to hasten their return,” he said in a quiet aside as the guests moved toward the door. “Ten to one they’re drunk as emperors in that wretched wine shop, relieved that the murderer is found at last.” He winked and took the duchess’s hand upon his arm.
Dread sped through Ravenna’s belly. The murderer was not found and Lord Vitor was not drunk on wine or anything else, not after last night, and not with the promise he had made to her today. She could not believe it.
Mr. Anders approached her and extended his arm. “Miss Caulfield, I am delighted to learn that you are to be my dinner companion tonight. May I walk you in?”
“I— Yes.” She took his arm, but before they reached the corridor she released him. He turned to her, the swatch of hair swinging across one eye.
“I beg your forgiveness, Miss Caulfield,” he said swiftly and quietly. “Will you ever forgive me for the insult I offered you the other night at your door—”
“No. Yes,” she said. “I don’t care about that.”
“But—”
“Yes. Yes, I forgive you.”
His face fell into relief. “I am grateful beyond—”
“Oh, hush.” She gripped his arm. “Mr. Anders, I must beg a favor of you.”
“Anything,” he said fervently. “I am yours to command. Yours, that is,” he added with light chagrin, “until after dinner when my dearest Miss Abraccia must claim all my attention.”
“Yes, yes, fine. Please go now to the stables and ask the grooms if Lord Vitor returned with his horse this afternoon.”
“The stables? Across the drive? Now?”
“Yes. Now. As quickly as you can.”
“But I am wearing evening slippers.” He pointed his toe upward to illustrate.
Her patience snapped. “Mr. Anders, the man that protected you from Monsieur Sepic’s ridiculous accusations not to mention his fetid jail could be in great danger at this moment. The least you can do is dampen your slippers to help him.”
“Danger? But the murderer is apprehended and incarcerated in that very jail.”
“Monsieur Paul is not the murderer. You inspired no one to murder. We don’t yet know who did kill Mr. Walsh, but it was not the mayor’s nephew. Now, I beg of you, go.”
He went. When she reached the dining room she made an excuse for him and endured a moment of Juliana Abraccia’s hotly jealous stare. Conversation remained general while the removes were served, but Ravenna could do nothing but watch the door and wait for Martin Anders’s return. When he finally came, his brow was drawn and cheeks flushed from the cold.
“I fear I have no good tidings,” he said quietly as he slipped into his seat beside her. “Earlier today Lord Vitor’s horse returned riderless.”
Panic sped through her. “What of Lord Case?”
“He had not taken out his horse, and none of the grooms reported seeing him today.”
“Why did they not report the peculiar return of Lord Vitor’s horse to his highness?”
“The groom I spoke with gave the news to one of the prince’s guards, who assured him that he would inform his master.” He shook his head. “He must not have.”
“I must know which guard,” she said, pushing back from her seat.
“Miss Caulfield, you cannot leave the table before the prince does.”
“Make my excuses. I am ill,” she uttered, and hurried from the room. She went straight to the stable. The groom Mr. Anders had spoken with described the guard to her, explaining that he was one of the newer men among the prince’s guard that had not before visited the castle. He matched the description of the guard she had seen with Lady Grace.
She went to Ashdod’s stall and ran her hands over the horse’s withers and powerful neck, the panic beating at her like waves. “Tell me.” She pressed her lips to the gray’s coat and whispered. “Tell me what has befallen him and where he is.” The horse hung its head for a moment, then tossed it back.
As she crossed the drive toward the house beneath a sky heavy with clouds, Iona and Sir Beverley met her.