H enry watched them leave, and then turned to Kate. “I don’t suppose you know anything about the prince’s unlikely digression into knight-errantry?”
“I may have mentioned Effie’s plight,” Kate said cautiously.
“And he set off like a knight in shining armor to do your bidding. Curious, my dear. Very curious. If I were you, I’d be wary. When men start behaving like members of King Arthur’s court, they’re generally planning to shake the sheets, if you’ll excuse the phrase. Your sheets, in this case.”
“Oh no,” Kate said weakly. Her blood heated at the picture that presented, of Gabriel, tangled in her sheets, his hands pulling her to him, his . . .
“Oh yes,” Henry said. “Don’t bet your fortune on a card game, m’dear, because your sins are written on your face.”
“Sins? I haven’t—”
“Sins to come,” Henry said. But there was a smile in her eye. “Just don’t make a fool of yourself. Do you know how to prevent a babe?”
“Yes,” Kate said, a blush hot in her cheeks. “But I don’t need to know. I told him—” She shut her mouth.
“Fascinating,” Henry said. “Unfortunately, his wife-to-be will apparently arrive on the premises at any moment. Would you take her place, if you could?”
Kate shook her head, taking a dainty little teacup that Henry offered her. “No.”
“Why not? He’s personable, he’s got a fine leg, and he doesn’t smell. You could do much worse.”
“He’s my father all over again,” Kate said flatly, “down to the fact that he has to marry for money. It’s not his fault, exactly, nor was it my father’s. But I’m not going to lie in a darkened room while my husband is out wooing other women.”
Henry bit her lip. “I feel an unwelcome pang of guilt. I have to tell you that generally I never entertain the emotion.”
“I didn’t mean you,” Kate said. “Frankly, I’d much rather that my father had cavorted with you than with Mariana. My point is merely that he didn’t love my mother. He didn’t honor her, or even truly care for her. I want a real marriage, Henry.”
“A real marriage . . . It’s hard to know what you mean by that, love. Marriage is a complicated beast.”
“Surely it’s less complicated if one starts out with respect and affection,” Kate said.
“How do you know the prince doesn’t feel that for you?”
“He feels lust,” Kate said bluntly. “Which doesn’t mean much.”
“There’s nothing without lust,” Henry said. “Between men and women, I mean. Just think about your purported fiancé, Lord Dimsdale. If a woman was lucky enough to feel lust for him, affection might follow. Otherwise . . . I’m not so sure.”
“Gabriel doesn’t like the idea that he is, perforce, marrying for money. It doesn’t suit his character, and so he’s wooing me in his spare time, as it were. Toying with the idea of making me his mistress. Playing the prince enamored of the swine girl.”
There was a second of silence. “That’s a cold assessment of the man,” Henry said, finally. “I see him as a more passionate type, the kind who would throw his heart over a windmill if he met the woman for him.”
“No prince can do that,” Kate said. “His marriage is a matter of royal protocol and treaties and that sort of thing.”
“You can’t say he’s like your father in that regard,” Henry pointed out.
“My father should have married you.”
“Then you wouldn’t be here,” Henry said. “What’s more, I loved my first husband. And I love Leo, too. My second husband wasn’t terrible, though I can’t say I was quite as enthusiastic. I don’t want you to think that Juliet just keeps pining her whole life, because she doesn’t. Or rather, I didn’t.”
Kate laughed. “I can’t imagine you pining.”
“Precisely,” Henry said. “There’s no use to it.”
“I would simply like to marry without regard to money.”
“The more important point is not to fall in love with someone who is marrying with regard to money.”
“I won’t,” Kate promised.
“I wish I believed you,” Henry said, rather gloomily. “I would have fallen in love with the prince myself if I were your age.”
“I’ll find a man who loves me for myself, and then I’ll fall in love with him .”
“I’m trying to remember if I was ever as young as you are, but if so, the memory is lost in the mists of time.”
“I’m not young,” Kate said, grinning. “Practically an octogenarian, as you characterized Effie.”
Henry sighed. “I suppose that poor Dante is no longer in the running? I think he’s taken a great liking to you.”
“He’s a wonderful man,” Kate said.
“Too boring, the poor sweetheart, with all his talk of blackbirds and vicars. He’ll end up with Effie after all. Though I do like her considerably better than I did before.”
“He’d be lucky to end up with Effie,” Kate said. “She would keep him on his toes. She has a madly dramatic streak, you know.”
“Did you see the countess’s face when Effie described the prince as wielding the sword of heaven? She definitely has a way with words.” Henry rose. “This will be a very, very interesting evening. I hope that the Russian princess is beautiful indeed . . . for her own sake.”