He watched them drive away.
“Will you know which one is your aunt’s carriage?” Zoe said.
“Certainly. It’s my carriage. They’re all my carriages. If I let her have her own, I’d never be able to keep track of her. This way, I have at least a modicum of control over her doings. Some wonder why I have not put her in an asylum. But I’ve always maintained that every great, ancient family must have at least one mad relation living in a haunted house.”
Zoe smiled. “I didn’t know you owned a haunted house.”
“Baldwick Houselooksas though it’s haunted,” he said. “And appearances are everything. Ah, here comes her carriage.”
Very much as she’d done on the way here, Zoe watched the passing scene through the window. They left the palace along with a long parade of other vehicles. Crowds lined the way here, as well, and progress was slow, an endless series of stops and starts, but she didn’t seem to mind the snail’s pace.
“So much green,” she said. “In Egypt there’s only a narrow strip of green along the sides of the river. And it isn’t the same green at all. We had gardens, too, but nothing like this—so many trees and acres and acres of grass. And there’s the canal. I see it sparkling between the trees. I’m so glad to be home.”
Every word made the duke’s heart ache, but the last words most of all. Though he’d seen her smile and heard her laugh, he’d never seen her so happy as she was now, the lighthearted Zoe he’d known so long ago.
She turned from the window and smiled at him.
“I’m glad to see you so happy,” he said.
“It’s all your doing,” she said.
“Not very much needed doing,” he said.
“Ah, yes. ‘Nothing could be simpler,’ you said.”
He had the royal ear—several of them, in fact, and a scribbler like Beardsley wasn’t the only one who knew how to tell a story.
Still, it wasn’t all his doing.
All the royals had to do was look at her to be disposed in her favor.
Zoe had told him she wasn’t innocent, but she was, in ways that some might not understand. This innocence shone in her eyes and warmed her smile. It had made the Prince Regent teary-eyed. He’d said he wept because she reminded him of his daughter.
She didn’t resemble Princess Charlotte physically. What she reminded everyone of was the life and hope the princess had represented. And this was partly because Zoe wasn’t practiced in hiding her feelings. She had glowed, visibly, when the Queen made her welcome. Her joy had vibrated through the saloon. The Regent had felt the joy. He’d seen the glow.
What had she said, shocking everyone so, on the first day—was it only three weeks ago?—Marchmont had seen her?
I crossed seas,and it was like crossing years. To everyone it must seem as though I have come back from the dead.
That’s what they’d seen, those royals who’d seen and borne shame and disappointment and madness and the early deaths of loved ones: They’d seen life and courage and hope.
Zoe had glowed like the summer sun, and it was impossible to look at her and not feel the warmth and the optimism of her spirit.
That’s what the Regent had seen. That, combined with youth and good nature and beauty, had touched his sentimental heart.
Marchmont realized he’d been woolgathering and staring at her for rather a long time. He discovered that she hadn’t turned back to the window and the fascinating greenery outside. She was watching him.
“Are we done being proper?” she said.
“Oh, no,” he said. “That part’s only begun.”
“But isn’t this improper?” One gloved, braceleted hand took in the vehicle’s interior with a little sweep. “To be alone in a closed carriage? I wondered whether the court presentation changed the rules.”
“It doesn’t,” he said. “But others’ rules don’t apply to Aunt Sophronia. She makes her own.” He forced his mind away from the dangerous fact of being alone with Zoe in a closed carriage. He wrenched his attention from the warm bosom so generously displayed an arm’s length away, and changed the subject. “You swept all before you, too. That curtsey my aunt remarked upon was the most spectacular I’ve ever seen.”
Also the most arousing, but he wouldn’t let his mind dwell on that, either.
“Once I learned the way of it, I had no trouble,” she said. “I’ve prostrated myself wearing very complicated clothing. Everyone imagines we were always naked in the harem—or wearing a few veils—but that was not the case.”
