With a grunt Prince George sat heavily and propped his enormous calves upon a matching footstool while red wine was poured for him into a golden goblet. Yet he waved it away when he appeared to spy Nigel in the crowd, beckoning to him with a huge fat hand.
“Arundale, old boy, didn’t know you’d be here tonight! Come forward—ah, and Lord Donovan, too! Is Lord Dovercourt here and his most fortunate of friends, Lord Summerlin?”
“Yes, Your Highness, all are here,” spoke up Donovan, who left Marguerite and Corie to move closer to Prince George. Now Donovan beckoned, too, and Jared came forward, while the gathered crowd parted to allow Walker, still standing with Sir Russell, to stride from the center of the room.
Glancing at Walker over her shoulder, Marguerite could see that his expression hadn’t lightened, though to her surprise when he passed her, he threw her the faintest of smiles.
Her heart beating faster at the sight of him, she watched breathlessly as he reached Donovan and Jared, and together they bowed as one to the future King of England. Prince George gestured almost at once for them to rise, his voice booming out across the room for all to hear.
“I welcome you home, Summerlin. Dovercourt. Lord Donovan is to be commended for his heroic efforts to restore both of you to our good graces. I trust your allegiance from this day forward will rest firmly with King and Country.”
Once again all three men bowed, which seemed answer enough for Prince George who beckoned to the footman holding the brimming goblet.
Now he did drink, emptying the goblet with gusto and wiping his mouth with a white lace handkerchief handed to him by one of his courtiers. A great belch followed, which was met by polite applause from onlookers, while Marguerite could not stop staring at Walker’s broad back.
Oddly, he looked stiff with tension, and he threw a dark glance at Jared, who stood rigidly beside him. Marguerite had only ever heard from Lindsay’s letters how close they were as friends, and of the grievous trials they had suffered together, so their stance seemed so strange.
Might it have something to do with the vexed exchange she’d heard moments ago between Jared and Lindsay? That was strange in itself, the two of them so much in love—though Lindsay was well known to be wildly romantic and impetuous. As the orchestra began to play and Prince George motioned for his goblet to be refilled, Marguerite turned to Corie to ask her if she knew the cause of their tension when a loud murmur went up from the crowd.
Once again, all eyes turned to the entranceway. There stood the most beautiful woman Marguerite had ever seen, resplendent in a blue silk gown that clung to her hourglass form, her blond upswept hair the color of spun gold.
“Ah, Lady Belinda, join us!” enthused Prince George. The woman nodded in gracious deference to him but her vivid blue eyes did not stray for an instant from Walker, who had appeared somewhat startled at the sound of her name.
Just as Marguerite had started at the sound of her name, a terrible sinking feeling gripping her heart that stunned her with its intensity.
Lady Belinda Cavendish. Marguerite had heard Corie and Donovan speak of her and how she’d been engaged to marry Andrew Scott, Walker’s twin brother, until his untimely death.
Oh, Lord…oh, Lord. Again Marguerite had to tell herself to breathe. From the way Lady Belinda stared so intently now at Walker, might she be hoping for a second chance at becoming a Summerlin bride?
Like breaking glass, any romantic notions Marguerite had harbored deep in her heart upon seeing Walker Burke again—yes, the man of her dreams!—shattered into a thousand glittering pieces.
Silly fool,notWalker Burke at all, but one day the Duke of Summerlin!
Too high and lofty for the likes of a vicar’s daughter…while the loveliest of women, who looked as if she’d been born to become a duchess, walked gracefully toward Walker.
