Eleven
The duke arrived before Gregory got the chance to show Monique and Lady Ursula around the gardens, which annoyed him even more than Mother’s treating him like an ungrateful son.
His mother knew why being at Canterbury Court was difficult for him. Yet she couldn’t accept it. Sometimes it frustrated him.
And now something else was frustrating him—the way Pontalba and Monique were flirting. He wanted her to himself, damn it. But only so he could delve more into why she was masquerading.
Not because he wanted to taste her mouth again or hear her laugh or see the wonder rise in her eyes when she viewed his gardens. No, indeed. Nothing so base as jealousy fueled his irritation.
God, he was such a liar.
It irritated him that Pontalba had offered Monique his arm for the stroll, leaving Lady Ursula to Gregory. He had to wonder if it was by design.
Had Monique planned it that way? If so, was she just currying the duke’s favor in hopes he would throw his vote toward her as queen? Or was there more to it? Was she hoping to hedge her bets in case she ended up a poor actress back in Dieppe? A woman could make much of being the mistress of a man like Pontalba.
The very idea made Gregory’s gut twist. That would happen over his dead body. If she was seeking a protector, he would be first in line.
So he had to grit his teeth when she batted her lush lashes at Pontalba. “Do you have gardens as beautiful as these at your estate, Your Grace?”
“With apologies to his lordship, I believe mine at Valcour are even more lovely.” The duke placed his hand over hers intimately. “You would much enjoy viewing them, I’m sure.”
Gregory had to fight the urge to knock the man’s hand from her arm. Instead, he said, in his most bored tone, “It’s a pity the princess will never get the chance. Given that she’ll probably become queen of Belgium, she’ll be much too busy ruling the infant country to visit one of France’s many provincial dukes.”
It was the first time Gregory had given any indication of his bias toward a candidate for ruler, but he’d done it deliberately to witness the duke’s reaction and figure out his true intentions. Did Pontalba merely mean to court the woman for his country’s sake, or was he playing a deeper game involving his own candidate?
Besides, Gregory was proud of his gardens, even though he was rarely here to enjoy them. His mother had worked hard to improve and expand them, and Gregory resented Pontalba’s disdain. Especially in front of Monique.
Unfortunately, Pontalba didn’t rise to the bait. “Pardonnez-moi, my lord, I did not mean to offend. And of course, you do not have the space on your estate for the extensive gardens I have at Valcour. But you do much with what you have.”
Gregory fought to keep an even keel. If not for the smug look in Pontalba’s eyes, he wouldn’t have managed it, but he was not going to let the duke know he’d drawn blood. That didn’t mean, however, that he would allow the arse to win the pissing match, which was all this was.
“Thank you, sir,” Gregory drawled. “Given my busy schedule, I prefer the amount of land I have. I can’t be here as often as I wish, since the cabinet and the prime minister depend upon me too heavily. Of course, you don’t have those constraints. I heard you were sent to the London Conference because the fellow who was supposed to come had other obligations.”
When Pontalba’s smugness vanished, Gregory congratulated himself on giving as good as he got.
But before the arse could retort, Lady Ursula surprised Gregory by jumping in. “I would hardly call an estate of two hundred acres ‘small,’ Your Grace.”
Pontalba visibly started. “No,” he said grudgingly. “I suppose not.”
“Oh,” Monique put in, “you were not here when Lady Fulkham told us of its size earlier.” Then, with a furtive glance at Gregory, she added, “But I’m sure yours is equally large, Your Grace.”
So she meant to placate everyone, did she? Gregory was still stewing over that when she said, “Lord Fulkham, I understand that you have a knot garden on the property. Do you think we could see that? I do so love knot gardens.”
Gregory doubted that the actress had ever seen a knot garden in her life, but no point in challenging her. “Of course. This way, Princess.”
Deliberately, he took them the long way around to the acres at the back of his home, so he could show them the terraced gardens, the stone bridge over the pond, and the view out over his extensive woodlands. By the time they’d reached the knot garden, the duke had grown silent about his precious Valcour.
As well he should. Since the revolution, few of the ducal titles in France had substantial property attached to them. Pontalba might be a duke, but Valcour was probably derelict and uninspiring.
Though that didn’t stop the man from leaning over to whisper in Monique’s ear from time to time, making her laugh or flirt or blush. It was the blushes that roused Gregory’s temper. He should be the only one making her blush.
Damn it, he must stop this obsession with her. He still needed answers, and he was squandering his opportunity to ask Lady Ursula the important questions.
Forcing himself to ignore Monique’s flirtations, he said, “So you are related to Prince Leopold, are you?”
The smile Lady Ursula had worn for most of their stroll faltered. “We are distant cousins, yes. When he was sixteen and I was seven, I used to trail after him everywhere. His family and mine were very close. We even came to see him a few times in England after he married Princess Charlotte.”
He narrowed his gaze on her as a thought occurred to him. “You would have been, what, fifteen then?”
“Yes.”
“So, not that much younger than the princess.”
“Pardon me, sir, but there is a vast difference between a fifteen-year-old and a twenty-year-old. One is essentially still a child, the other a woman.”
A fifteen-year-old was not a child, as she well knew. What if Lady Ursula had wanted Prince Leopold for herself? That would explain why she might try to eliminate Princess Aurore.
Though the lady-in-waiting didn’t strike him as the murdering sort. And it didn’t explain why she would attempt to kill Monique. Unless she was worried that Monique might charm the prince, too. If Lady Ursula had spoken to Danworth and heard of the prince’s interest in renewing the courtship, that might have been enough to do it.
Still, if the count were to be believed, the prince’s initial offer had been refused some time ago. So why would Lady Ursula try to kill Aurore if the woman was no longer a rival? It made no sense.
But something was still afoot with Lady Ursula. She’d been too eager to have the prince come here. Gregory just hadn’t figured out why yet.
He pressed her further. “Those differences in age between men and women aren’t so bothersome in later years, are they? For example, a man of forty, like Prince Leopold, must not seem that old to a woman of thirty-one.” Like you.
She merely turned his implication back on him. “And a woman in her twenties, like Princess Aurore, must not seem that young to a man of thirty-five, like yourself.”
He stifled an oath. “Do you honestly think I have designs on the princess?”
“Don’t you?” She nodded to where Pontalba had just straightened the princess’s shawl. “Every time he whispers to her, you go rigid as a pike.”
“Only because of her political importance,” he lied. “That sly weasel is up to no good with her. Either he’s trying to ruin her chances to become queen so he can put his own candidate in . . . or he’s hoping to dazzle her with a courtship so he can rule with her himself. I don’t trust him.”
Lady Ursula regarded the couple thoughtfully. “I don’t particularly like him, but I’m not sure he’s as villainous as you think.” She cast Gregory an enigmatic glance. “Still, if you want, I can get him away from her.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “And what do you require in exchange?”
“Nothing. Just your promise that you won’t . . . press her into anything untoward.”
“Like a mésalliance with me, you mean?”
“Like a compromising situation.”
He stiffened. “I could certainly promise you that.” But he was playing with words. He could promise her that, but he didn’t intend to.
All the same, he would say almost anything to get Monique away from that arse Pontalba. Because he honestly didn’t trust the smarmy fellow.
As soon as they reached the knot garden, he moved away from Lady Ursula to approach Monique. “What do you think, Your Highness? Is it what you expected?”
She surveyed the garden with an odd concentration. “It’s . . . different.”
“From ones you’ve seen before? Probably. Some use box hedges to form the strands of the knot, but my mother uses rosemary. I think she hopes that the old saying ‘Where rosemary flourishes the lady rules’ will prove to be true if she plants enough of it.”
“Well, rosemary’s hardy stems make it a good choice. And the addition of purple lavender is delightful. I only wish I could see it when it’s blooming.” Monique sniffed the air. “Even so, it smells heavenly, as do the wild marjoram and sage. What a fine selection of plants. Your mother has a good eye for what belongs in a knot garden. Not to mention a good nose.”
Gregory cocked his head. She’d managed to startle him. Again. “You do know your knot gardens.”
“My grandmother always dragged me to see them.” A wistful note entered her voice. “She loves—” Monique caught herself. “Used to love them.”
He knew that Princess Aurore’s grandmother was dead. But not Monique’s, perhaps? He suddenly remembered the discussions at the theater three years ago about her aging grandmother. Damn, he wished he could reach Hart to have him pursue that line of questioning.
Although there really was no need. Hart would be sharp enough to cover it. He’d become quite adept at spying.
Apparently noticing Monique’s slip, Lady Ursula said, “You miss your grandmother terribly, don’t you, Your Highness?” She glanced at Gregory. “The princess still speaks of her as if she is with us, though she’s been gone ten years.”
Her “Highness” said nothing, merely gave him a sad smile. It twisted something inside his chest.
He must talk to her alone. He offered her his arm. “Since you like knot gardens, Princess, I have something special to show you if you will come with me.”
She eyed him warily and didn’t take his arm.
Lady Ursula said, “Why don’t you two go on? I’m rather tired after our long trip today.” She turned to Pontalba. “Your Grace, would you accompany me back to the house? I’m afraid I might get lost.”
His lips thinning, the duke glanced from her to Gregory, but the Frenchman could hardly refuse. “Of course, madam. I’d be happy to.”
As soon as they’d gone, Monique stared him down. “What are you up to, Gregory?”
“How would you like to see a knot garden in process?”
Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“Mother has laid out a scheme for a new one by our garden pavilion. She just hasn’t planted it yet.”
“Oh, that sounds wonderful!” Tucking her hand in the arm he offered again, she let him lead her on.
Now what? Asking her point-blank about her masquerade hadn’t worked heretofore, but Lady Ursula’s remarks had given him more ammunition for tricking her. Yet some small part of him was loath to do it. She looked so very pleased with the idea of seeing Mother’s newest garden project.
And she looked so fetching in that blue walking dress that made her eyes appear almost azure beneath the shade of the trees. He just wanted to stroll with her and pretend that they were not at odds, that she wasn’t an impostor whom it was his duty to expose.
As if she, too, was reluctant to discuss the elephant between them, she said, “I don’t understand why you never come here. It is so very . . .” She uttered a sigh. “Lovely. If I had these gardens—”
“Have you no gardens in Chanay?”
She shot him a veiled look. “We’re not talking about me. For once, can’t you just answer a simple question without turning it back on me?”
“I don’t like to talk about myself,” he said honestly.
They skirted a patch of calla lilies as she said, “If you told me more, I might be willing to tell you more.”
That started an uneasy roiling in his gut. “Spilling one’s secrets is dangerous for a man like me, Princess.”
“I’m not asking for your secrets. Just something to help me understand you. What has caused an ambition so powerful that it makes you spend all your time in the city, when you could live a life of ease here amid all this glorious green?”
“For a woman who spends her time in theaters far from the countryside,” he snapped, “you have an astonishing affinity for green.”
Blanching, she halted in her tracks. “I’m sorry. I thought you would take my request seriously. It appears I was wrong.”
The hurt in her voice surprised him. And when she turned on her heel as if to go, he said in a low voice, “Princess, please.”
That made her pause.
A frustrated breath rushed from his lips. “Fine,” he bit out. God, he would surely regret this in the end, but he couldn’t have her running from him. Not anymore. “What do you wish to know?”