“We will pray that he does,” she answered the princess firmly now, trying to keep the worry from her voice, lest the princesses fret more.
Because she wasn’t certain what would become of the handsome, scandalous rogue who had been flirting with her so easily a mere half hour before he’d been laid low by a bullet. There had been so much spilled blood.
His pleading voice came back to her along with the sharp spear of guilt.Don’t leave me.
She’d had to leave him. She hadn’t had a choice. She had her position to consider, and the return of the princesses had meant she’d needed to go. Besides, it hadn’t been proper. She was an unwed lady, and it was unseemly for her to remain in a bedchamber with the prince.
“We’ve been praying since we heard the news,” Princess Annalise said worriedly.
“We all have,” Eleanora agreed, feeling faint with concern and fear.
“Who do you think would have dared to attempt to assassinate a prince here in London?” Princess Emmaline asked, her fingers twisting in her pale muslin skirts.
At least she wore a gown today, Eleanora thought absently. The trousers the princesses had insisted upon wearing about society—including at balls—had left the ladies of thetonwhispering behind their fans in shocked horror.
“A great many people would dare,” said Princess Anastasia now, her tone grim. “There is danger everywhere, Emmaline dearest, and you’d do well to never forget it.”
“I thought it was safe here in London,” Princess Annalise said, moving to a window in the drawing room and peering out of it cautiously from the side, as if she feared the villain who had dared to shoot Prince Ferdinando yet lurked in the street below.
“It is as safe for you here as it is anywhere,” Princess Anastasia answered firmly. “And we have my husband to protect us. I assure you, there is no one more adept at facing and defeating enemies than he is.”
In a decision that had shocked society, Princess Anastasia had cried off on her arranged marriage to King Maximilian of Varros, a marriage that would have solidified an alliance between their troubled lands. Instead, she had married a commoner, Archer Tierney. Mr. Tierney was wealthy and had powerful connections, but he would never be a king. Theirs was a love match. Mr. Tierney and Princess Anastasia had settled into a life together in London, and they were the darlings of Society.
The princesses, however, had spent the last ten years beneath the tyrannical rule of their uncle. They desperately needed polish to be turned into diamonds of the first water. That was where Eleanora had come in.
“Thank heavens for Mr. Tierney,” Princess Emmaline said, still plucking fitfully at her gown.
It was another habit Eleanora would have to try to persuade the princess to control. She committed the reminder to her unwritten list of tasks for the month.
“Mr. Tierney has been a godsend,” Princess Anastasia agreed with a small, private smile that Eleanora recognized.
She tamped down the pang of envy at the princess’s obvious contentment and the love she had for her husband, because Eleanora had long ago accepted that her life would never be what she had once longed for it to be. Her secrets were too great. And at eight-and-twenty, she was a spinster firmly on the shelf. No man would wed her now.
It was for the best.
“You are so fortunate to have found him, Stasia,” Princess Emmaline agreed, speaking to her sister familiarly.
The family, though royal, was refreshingly honest and caring, quite without the artifice Eleanora had come to expect from the quality or those aspiring to join its ranks. She admired the St. George family, and she admired Mr. Tierney as well.
Still, she couldn’t help but to feel like an interloper in this cozy scene of sisterly intimacy.
“Perhaps I should leave Your Royal Highnesses,” she interrupted gently. “I had planned on some further lessons, but given the nature of the day, it may be more prudent to wait.”
“I couldn’t possibly think of learning dance steps when Prince Nando is so gravely ill,” Princess Annalise said.
Good, because neither could Eleanora. But she couldn’t say that, of course. Nor should she even be thinking it. She couldn’t afford to care about a man like him. Or any man, for that matter. But most especially not a scoundrel prince who was too handsome by far and who had all the women of London at his feet.
“Naturally not, Your Royal Highness,” Eleanora agreed. “It’s not my intent to cause further harm.”
“Miss Brett, perhaps I might have a word with you in the hall?” Princess Anastasia requested politely.
She was a striking brunette with icy blue eyes and a commanding presence, and together with the sinfully handsome Mr. Tierney, they made a lovely couple. Eleanora was accustomed to mingling with the cream of society, but she still found herself in awe of the regal Princess Anastasia, despite the princess’s agreeable nature.
“Whatever you wish, Your Royal Highness,” Eleanora concurred, not wanting to cause any additional upheaval.
It wasn’t her place. Her place was to be on the periphery. To play her role and never interfere. To be, in short, invisible. Unless it was required for her to appear and accede to the wishes of her employers.
Only Prince Ferdinando had seen her. Seen her in a way that had made a restless yearning burn deep inside her. In a way she couldn’t afford to indulge in.
