G abriel looked so beautiful, waiting for them at the door to the chapel, that Kate actually felt her head spinning a little. But if there was one thing Katherine Daltry would never, ever do, it was lose her head over a man. Or swoon. Or throw herself on a funeral pyre.
So she held her head high and greeted him with a curtsy, introduced him to her sister, and generally behaved as if they were no more than passing acquaintances.
And since he did the same, there was no cause for the pain she felt. It was as bad as an arrow to her side, she thought glumly as she followed Gabriel’s brisk footsteps through the chapel to the back room, where a red door had been discovered behind a tapestry.
Wick was there as well, and of the two brothers, he was the only one who seemed to have a tongue to speak. “We had no idea the door was here,” he was explaining to Victoria, “until His Highness noticed it from the garden side.”
“I found the key,” Gabriel said, speaking for the first time since they exchanged greetings. He pulled out a huge rusty key and thrust it in the lock. It turned, but the door didn’t open.
He threw his weight against it in a surprisingly violent gesture that made Victoria squeak and jump back. Still, it didn’t move. Then Wick stepped up beside him. When they both put a shoulder to the door it opened with a terrible screeching noise.
“Rusted shut,” Gabriel said, his voice as cool and distant as if he were addressing a group of village drunkards.
Kate walked past him without comment. After a wet morning, the sun was shining fitfully on the drooping branches of the garden’s one oak tree.
“How messy,” Victoria said in dismay, as she picked her way through the door. “Dear me, Your Highness. Perhaps you should put some gardeners to work here.”
“They’re all busy in the village mending roofs,” Gabriel said. “This is not the weather to leave people without cover.”
“Here,” Kate said, catching Victoria’s hand. “I’ll show you the statue.”
“What statue?” Victoria said, trailing behind. “Drat, there’s my skirt caught on a rose bush. Wait for me, Kate!”
But Kate walked ahead, desperate to create space between herself and Gabriel. She stopped in front of Merry and then bent down to say hello, wiping a rain drop from her marble cheek.
“What a sweet baby,” Victoria crooned. “Oh, just look at her adorable plump fingers and her dimples.”
“Her name was Merry,” Kate said. “She was illegitimate, Victoria. Her mother’s name was Eglantine.”
“Oh.”
“There’s no record of her father . . . but there’s a record of one thing.”
“What?” Victoria reached down and pulled a leaf from Merry’s shoulder.
“She was loved, you see? She has her own garden, her own memorial.”
Victoria’s big blue eyes filled with tears. “Merry died ?”
“Merry lived in the 1500s,” Kate said, schooling her tone to patience. “Of course she died.”
“But—”
“My point is that her mother loved her just as much as she would have loved any child. And my father loved you that way as well. So the ugliness of that word illegitimacy doesn’t matter. Because my father loved you enough to marry Mariana, Victoria. He was the son of an earl, and he married his mistress, a woman who wasn’t a lady. For you.”
“Oh,” Victoria said softly. “I didn’t think of—are you sure, Kate?”
“I’m absolutely sure. He knew I was taken care of, and that my mother had left me a dowry. He made sure that you were taken care of by marrying your mother, and leaving your dowry in her hands.”
Victoria’s eyes overflowed, but the sky had started splattering tears as well. So Kate wound her arm around her sister’s shoulders and led her back into the chapel, past the men standing silently next to the large red door.
She gave Wick a smile, and Gabriel a nod, because one didn’t smile at princes as if they were common folk.
And definitely not if the only thing one wanted to do was kiss him until the haunted look was gone from his face.
“He’s so handsome,” Victoria whispered, on the way back up the stairs.
“Who, the prince?” Kate asked. “Yes, if you like the dark and brooding sort of man.”
“Well, he’s not Algie,” Victoria said, with perfect truth. “But Kate, did you see the way he looked at you? His eyes were positively burning!”
“He opens the ball tonight with his betrothed, Princess Tatiana,” Kate said flatly. “I would expect their marriage to be celebrated within the fortnight.”
“That’s so cruel,” her sister said. “I can’t like it. Would you like to leave now, Kate? My maid is packing already. We could be gone in an hour or two.”
“I will not run and hide. We shall attend the ball, and I mean to dance with every man who has two good legs, even though I can’t dance. And then we’ll leave for your wedding, and after that, London. The prince does not care for large cities. I shall forget about him.”
“I could never forget about Algie,” Victoria said doubtfully.
“But you and he are betrothed. It’s a different set of circumstances. You’re going to be parents together. I hardly know the prince,” Kate said, trying hard to give her voice an airy ring.
Victoria didn’t answer, but she slipped a hand in Kate’s and gave it a squeeze.