Princess Annie Read online

  Annie looked up at Rafael just then and saw Mr. Barrett turn abruptly and stride back into the study. The prince lingered and, although she told herself she was imagining it, it did seem to Annie that he was watching her, not his future brother-in-law or anyone else in the small throng.

  Quickly, she turned her attention back to Mr. Haslett and was startled to find that he had already crossed the distance between them and was now looking down into Phaedra’s pale, upturned face. There was something rapt in his expression, for just a moment, as though he were looking upon an angel instead of the most mischievous princess in Europe.

  He took Phaedra’s hand, raised it to his lips and brushed a gentle kiss across her knuckles. Standing at her friend’s side, Annie felt a shudder of vicarious delight. Phaedra executed a stiff, somewhat awkward half-curtsey and murmured, “Welcome to St. James Keep, sir.”

  “My pleasure,” Mr. Haslett responded. His voice was melodious, and his maple brown eyes danced with happiness. “I am honored to see you again, Your Highness.”

  Phaedra’s odd pallor was washed from her face by a flood of color. “You must be very weary of the road,” she said, after drawing a deep breath and letting it out slowly, “and I am sure you would like some refreshment. Please come inside.”

  Annie frowned. She’d expected Phaedra to be reassured by the visible proof that Mr. Haslett was a gentleman, and an attractive one at that, but instead the princess’ manner was rigidly formal. It took all Annie’s forbearance not to nudge her friend in the ribs and tell her to stop looking like a tragic queen, about to be marched onto a scaffold and hanged.

  “Thank you,” Mr. Haslett replied. If he was disappointed in Phaedra’s greeting, he showed no sign of it. “You will excuse me, I hope? I must see to my men and horses.” With that, he sketched a slight bow, turned and walked away.

  Phaedra fled into the keep, and Annie dashed after her, thinking what a sight they must make, skirts in hand, racing one behind the other across the broad expanse of the great hall.

  “Phaedra—” Annie protested breathlessly, when the princess set off at a fast walk through a maze of winding corridors, which were lit only by the occasional stray beam of sunlight sneaking in through some crack or crevice.

  The princess kept walking, finally reaching a plain door, rounded at the top, with a crude wooden cross pegged to its center. They had reached the rear pentrance of the chapel, Annie guessed, and when Phaedra worked the latch and opened the door, she saw that she’d been right.

  It was a serene place, large enough to accommodate not only the royal family, but the crofters and tradesmen, servants and grooms of St. James Keep as well. There was an altar, unadorned but hewn from the richest oak, and behind that six enormous stained glass windows loomed, showing several saints in varying poses of suffering or supplication. Even after hundreds of years, the colors were still vivid.

  Phaedra took a seat in a front pew, covered her face with both hands and began to sob.

  Annie sat next to the princess, putting an arm around her and wishing she’d stuffed a handkerchief into her sleeve or bodice, the way most ladies did. “Phaedra, what is it?” she asked, with gentle impatience. “Mr. Haslett is very handsome, and he did seem kind—”

  “If you think he’s so wonderful,” Phaedra flared, pulling away from Annie and sliding farther down the pew, “then you marry him, Annie Trevarren!”

  Annie sighed. “If you would only give the poor man a chance, I think—”

  “No!” Phaedra cried. “I know now that I could never love him! Never!”

  “What did he do to inspire such a violent reaction?” Annie asked, honestly puzzled. “You’re acting as though he has horns and cloven hooves.”

  Phaedra was nearly hysterical by that point and could offer no sensible response. Annie found a cup behind the altar, wiped it clean with the hem of her petticoat and went out into the courtyard seeking water. She found a fountain near the front entrance to the chapel, filled the cup and returned to the princess. Phaedra took the drink almost desperately, clasping the chalice with both hands, and when she’d emptied it, she was calmer.

  Annie sat beside her, waiting in silence.

  Finally, after considerable snuffling and a few pathetic whimpers of despair, Phaedra turned to her. “It isn’t that he’s horrible, or ugly, or bad,” she confided, in a small, stricken voice. “It’s just … well, I’ve been praying all these years”—she paused and glanced accusingly at the altar—“that I would feel something when Mr. Haslett and I finally met. It would have been a sort of sign from heaven that we’d be happy together.”

  “And you didn’t feel anything?” Annie prompted, full of sorrow. Her only experience with love—the star-crossed passion she felt for Rafael—had been rich with sensation.

  “That’s just it,” Phaedra confided earnestly. “I did. It was terrible—something dark and crushing. Annie, I think it was a warning.”

  Annie straightened her spine. “Well, then,” she said, resolute. “You’ll just have to go to Rafael and tell him the marriage is off. Perhaps he won’t welcome the news, but in time he’s certain to adjust.”

  The princess shook her head, the very vision of despondency. “You don’t understand. Rafael would rather die than break his word.”

  “But you said before that someone else made the original agreement. If that’s the case, Rafael wouldn’t be going back on his word—how could he, when he never gave it in the first place?”

  Phaedra looked smaller somehow, as though she were shrinking under the weight of her troubles. “I can’t bear it, Annie. I can’t bear it.”

  A feather-brush of fear touched Annie’s heart, for there was a note of true desperation in Phaedra’s tone, and people did rash and foolish things when they were desperate….

  Annie took both the princess’s hands in her own and gave them a reassuring squeeze. “If you won’t talk to Rafael,” she said, “then I will. Somehow, I’ll make him understand.”

  “He’ll never listen,” Phaedra insisted, but if Annie wasn’t mistaken, there was a faint glimmer of hope in her eyes.

  “I have to try,” Annie said. She knew how brusque and imperious Rafael could be, and the task ahead of her would not be an easy one. Should the effort fail, she and Phaedra could always run away to the Trevarren villa in Nice; Annie’s mother and father could be counted on to help.

  Phaedra nodded and wiped her ravaged eyes with the heel of one palm. “All right,” she said softly.

  As it happened, Annie had no opportunity to speak privately with Rafael for the rest of that day, for no sooner had the contents of Mr. Haslett’s carriage been unloaded and his men and horses assigned their proper and respective quarters, when another coach arrived. This one, too, Annie saw from an upstairs window, was surrounded by soldiers.

  She knew before the elegant, graceful woman stepped down from the carriage that Miss Felicia Covington had arrived, as commanded. Annie’s heart twisted in her bosom when she saw Rafael crossing the courtyard, his flashing white smile visible even from the second story, and for some perverse reason she could not look away when he kissed the woman on the mouth.

  Involuntarily, Annie raised the fingertips of her right hand to her lips and touched them, feeling Rafael’s kiss after the morning’s fencing match as if it were happening all over again.

  He and that woman, Miss Covington, were laughing together when Annie finally turned away.

  Dinner was an excruciating event for Annie. Phaedra, pleading a headache, did not appear at all, and Mr. Haslett accepted the news with admirable grace, murmuring that he hoped the ailment was not of a serious nature. Lucian was in a temper, and his annoyance seemed to be directed at Annie, rather than Rafael. Throughout the meal, he kept flinging sour glances in her direction.

  The worst of it, though, was seeing Miss Covington from close up. She sat at Rafael’s right, consuming all his attention, and in addition to being as beautiful as an angel, she was an engaging conversationalist
as well. Her laughter chimed like fine crystal, struck lightly with a sterling spoon, and her brown eyes were luminous in the light of the candles burning in the center of the table.

  Annie forced herself to choke down some of her food, knowing that she’d be prowling in the dark kitchen later on if she didn’t, and excused herself, fleeing the dining room, barely able to keep from breaking into a dead run. She saw only a few servants as she crossed the great hall.

  Attaining the second floor, she hurried toward her room, stopping first at Phaedra’s door. After taking a few moments to catch her breath, she knocked lightly and called the princess’s name.

  When there was no answer, Annie became concerned and let herself into the chamber. “Phaedra?” she called again, peering into the darkness. The room was lit only by the glow of the fire on the hearth.

  She climbed the steps beside the tester bed, but the covers had not been disturbed. Frowning, Annie left Phaedra’s room and went into her own.

  A maid was there, lighting the lamps. A low fire crackled in the grate, and Annie could see that the blankets had been turned back on her bed.

  The woman nodded in shy acknowledgment of Annie’s presence.

  “Have you seen the princess this evening?” Annie asked, unfastening the broach at the throat of the high-necked brown silk gown she’d worn to dinner. She had wanted to offer a practical and mature image, should the opportunity to speak with Rafael about Phaedra’s marriage have presented itself. Regrettably, it hadn’t. “I thought she was suffering from a headache, but she’s not in her chamber.”

  The maid shook her head. “No, miss. But it’s Sally Jeeves, and not me, who gets the princess’s room ready at night. You might ask her about it.”

  “No,” Annie replied thoughtfully, “I’m sure it’s nothing.” She wasn’t sure at all, but she didn’t want to create an unnecessary stir among the servants. Was it possible that Phaedra had decided not to wait for Annie to talk with Rafael, but to run away instead?

  The thought made Annie shiver, despite her own adventuresome spirit. Bavia was a troubled country, on the verge of a bloody revolt, and certainly no place for a young woman to be abroad in the night, alone and helpless. Especially when that young woman was the beloved sister of the prince.

  When the maid had gone, Annie dropped her gown to the floor in a rustling heap and rifled through her wardrobe for the breeches and shirt she’d worn the night before when she had climbed out onto the parapet of the south tower. They’d been taken, probably for laundering, and Annie scowled at the discovery. She’d gone to a lot of trouble to acquire those clothes, for riding and other times when she didn’t want to be encumbered by skirts and petticoats, and she was going to be annoyed if they weren’t returned.

  She was wondering what to substitute for them when she heard an odd scrabbling sound from the terrace. She hurried out onto the balcony just in time to see Phaedra climb over the stone railing, wearing Annie’s trousers and shirt.

  The princess tossed her friend a look of mock chagrin, then bent over the rail to issue a whispered call. “You can take the ladder away now, George. Mind you don’t tell anyone!”

  Annie took Phaedra by the arm and pulled her into the privacy of her bedchamber. “Are you mad?” she demanded furiously. “You could have been killed, pulling a stunt like that!”

  Phaedra gave her friend a wry look. “You’re a fine one to talk, Annie Trevarren. Last night—at just about this time, I believe—you were dangling from a tower by a rope!”

  Temporarily stumped, Annie didn’t say anything, but she continued to glare at her friend in disapproval.

  “Sorry for the intrusion,” Phaedra said brightly, gesturing toward the terrace. “I wanted my own balcony, of course, but I got yours by accident.” With that, she waltzed over to the door that linked their two rooms, opened it and vanished, leaving Annie to bluster and pace.

  A few minutes later, Phaedra returned by the same door, wearing a nightgown and wrapper and carrying Annie’s breeches and shirt, now neatly folded. “I hope you don’t mind my borrowing them,” she said. “They’re quite handy for mounting ladders.”

  “Where were you tonight?” Annie demanded, unable to contain the question for another moment.

  Phaedra shrugged. “I was out riding, that’s all. I needed to think.”

  “Were you alone?”

  The slightest hesitation preceded Phaedra’s reply. “No,” she said. “Of course not. These are dangerous times, even when one stays within the walls of St. James Keep. I was accompanied by one of Rafael’s guards.”

  Annie was still troubled, although she wasn’t sure why. She reached out and snatched her clothes from Phaedra’s hands. “You lied to me,” she fussed. “You said you had a headache!”

  “I did have a headache” Phaedra replied smoothly. “It’s marvelous, isn’t it, what a little fresh air can do?” She gave a delicate yawn. “Well, good night,” she said, walking off again.

  “What about Mr. Haslett?” Annie called after her. “Sooner or later, you’ll have to face him and tell him you wish to be released from your betrothal.”

  Phaedra stood very still, and she did not turn to face her friend. “I’m hoping Rafael will do that for me, once you’ve spoken to him,” she said. There was nothing of her former blithe attitude in her tone or manner; instead, her shoulders slumped with despair and her head was bowed.

  Annie felt a keen stab of pity. “I’ll go to him tomorrow,” she assured her friend.

  Annie didn’t sleep any better that night than she had the one before. She kept rehearsing what she would say to Rafael, and how she would say it, over and over again.

  Rising at dawn, she was at once wide-awake and exhausted. She groomed herself and then put on a black riding skirt, a white shirtwaist with ruffles on the bodice, and a dark blue fitted jacket. She forced her unruly hair into a loose knot at her nape and left her room, striding along the passageway with a confidence she didn’t feel, rehearsing again as she descended the staircase and crossed the great hall.

  After her talk with Rafael, Annie thought, she would reward herself with a horseback ride to Crystal Lake. It was still too cool for a swim, but she might be able to kick off her boots and wade comfortably.

  Lost in her varied and jumbled reflections, Annie was taken by surprise when she collided with the prince himself, just at the edge of the courtyard.

  He had been fencing again, and the front of his shirt was stained with sweat from the intensity of his exercise. He carried a rapier in his right hand, and behind him was Edmund Barrett, who had obviously been his opponent.

  With a circumspect nod, Barrett went on, disappearing into the great hall, but Rafael remained, gazing quizzically at Annie’s face, as though she’d come out of a lamp, like a genie.

  “Good morning, Your Highness,” she finally blurted out, awkward and flushed. Annie clung valiantly to her objective, afraid that if she let it out of her thoughts for a moment, she’d forget it entirely.

  The corner of his mouth rose in a slight smile. “I think we’ve known each other long enough for you to call me by my Christian name, Annie.”

  The sound of her name on his lips did something dangerous and profound to her, altering her universe in some subtle yet fundamental way, just as his kiss had done the day before.

  “All right then,” she said, mortified because her voice had suddenly turned hoarse. “Rafael. I must speak with you on a matter of the gravest importance.”

  There was a wry light in his gray eyes, or so it seemed to Annie, and in spite of the spell he’d cast over her, she felt her temper rise. “And what matter is that?” he inquired.

  She looked around, seeing only a few servants and soldiers moving about in the courtyard. Still, she was uncomfortable, discussing Phaedra’s most personal feelings in public.

  Rafael must have read her hesitation correctly, for he took her arm and started across the courtyard, handing off his rapier to a passing groom. “We’ll talk in the ch
apel,” he explained, belatedly, as he pulled open the door of the tranquil chamber.

  They sat together in a pew at the rear of the sanctuary, Annie looking down at her knotted hands, Rafael relaxed beside her, one arm resting on the back of the bench.

  “Well?” he urged, when she’d been silent for some time.

  Actually, she’d been asking God for help, asking for a persuasive and diplomatic tongue. At last, Annie forced herself to meet Rafael’s gaze.

  “It’s about Phaedra. She’s very unhappy.”

  Annie was heartened by the concern that was immediately visible in his face. “What is it? Is she ill?”

  Quickly, Annie shook her head. “No, not exactly. It’s just that—well, she’s having second thoughts about the marriage contract between the St. James family and Mr. Haslett’s.”

  Rafael’s wonderful pewter-colored eyes were narrow now, and Annie wondered what mistake she’d made. She’d taken such care to speak gently and reasonably, but she’d failed somewhere.

  “Every bride has doubts. So does every groom, for that matter. It’s entirely natural,” Rafael said. His tone was clipped, dismissive.

  Annie bit her lower lip. She had practiced her speech so carefully, but now the words had scattered and flown out of her brain like a flock of startled birds. There was nothing for it but to brave things through. “This is something different,” she countered softly, at long last. “Phaedra wishes to marry for love.”

  Rafael made a low, contemptuous sound, startling Annie out of her maidenly fascination and into a state of rising anger. “Love,” he muttered.

  Although the conversation had nothing to do with her, Annie nonetheless felt as though he’d stabbed her, speaking of a sacred sentiment with such disdain. “But you cared for Georgiana,” she protested, before she could stop herself. “Everyone knew it.”

  Rafael had not moved, but a distance had been established between them all the same. His expression was no longer indulgent; a muscle twitched in his cheek, and Annie could plainly see that his right temple was throbbing. She was reminded of Lucian’s insinuation, the day before, that his brother had not been a faithful husband.