It was not until a fortnight had passed that he sought her out.

“Good heavens, my dear,” he said, coming toward her across the rose garden green, hat in hand and hair glimmering in the sunshine. “Are you still wearing your governess uniform? I thought you promised to purchase a new gown. And shoes, if I recall correctly.”

“I see that three weeks of mourning has not cured you of inappropriate raillery, my lord.” She turned away from him to the basket into which she was placing roses that she cut.

“As it has not cured your propensity for doing the work of servants. Hasn’t Reiner gardeners for this sort of thing?” He gestured to her basket.

“I enjoy it. And I am a servant.”

For a moment the silence was punctuated only by the merriment of birds in the hedgerow nearby and the snap of her clippers.

“I am here to make good on my promise to my cousin.” His voice did not tease now.

“To purchase for me a new gown and shoes? That is as ridiculous as any other part of it all.”

“Not to purchase a gown.” His face was quite sober.

“You bear no responsibility toward me, my lord.”

“Indeed I do.” His gaze slipped down to where she held her hands tightly together at her waist, and then she understood. He would remain with her until she knew whether she carried Luc’s child.

“I could lie to you,” she said, a strange, sorrowful desperation building in her. “I could bear another man’s child and claim it was your cousin’s in order to take advantage of my connection to you, a lord. How do you know I would not do that in the hopes of securing my future so that I will never again have to be a servant?”

“Because I know my cousin. A great deal better than you, it seems.”

Her lungs stung. “I came here to marry a prince,” she said nonsensically.

“My dear, in all things but title you already have.”

It could not be. She was not meant to have wed him. He had not been a prince and he had not recognized the ring. And he was gone.

He was gone. The finality of it swept down upon her.

The earl stepped forward and drew her into his arms. She pressed her face against the exquisite lapel of his coat and wept.

ARABELLA RETURNED TO the gardens the next day and the next, and for the sennight following. Grand yet tranquil, the labyrinthine pathways allowed her hours of solitude in which she was not obliged to suffer the earl’s scrutiny. She strolled between manicured flower beds then wandered a wooded path to a fountain fashioned of stone caryatids elevating a shell. As she walked she composed letters to her sisters which she never wrote.

When a carriage drawn by four matching gray horses rumbled up the drive, she paused and from a distance watched its passengers disembark. Four servants in the black and silver livery of the house came forth and flanked a gentleman, walking protectively around him up the stairs.

Arabella returned to the house and sought out Jacqueline.

“Has your mother’s retinue returned?”

“Oh, no, not yet, thank heaven.” Jacqueline dipped her pen into an ink pot. “The comte has come home at last.”

“Is he an elderly man?”

“He is Lord Bedwyr’s age, only a few years younger than Reiner, I believe. Why do you ask?”

“He walked slowly into the house, attended by hovering servants.” Arabella drew the curtain aside and looked at the opulent coach disappearing into the carriage house.

“He has been ill, apparently,” the princess said, “and is only now convalescing. We are unlikely to enjoy his company for several days. But how lovely when he is fully recovered it will be to augment our little party by a gentleman. It almost makes one wish my mother will never return with the rest of the court. Oh, but I wished that already, didn’t I?” Her hazel eyes twinkled.

AS THE FOLLOWING afternoon was fine and warm, Arabella suggested that Jacqueline practice the English art of taking high tea. The servants set out the repast on the terrace that jutted out from the castle on the bank of the river overlooking the formal gardens.

Jacqueline accepted a cup from Arabella and turned her head to Prince Reiner sitting over a chessboard with Lord Bedwyr.

“Tell us about the comte, brother. Is he handsome?”

“How should I be able to say one way or the other, Jackie?” He leaned over the game. “I am not a lady.”

Two of Jacqueline’s waiting ladies giggled. They had taken the lesson in tea as cause for dressing in their smartest frocks, no doubt for the earl’s benefit.

Arabella poured a cup for herself and walked to the balustrade. The queen’s chosen companions for her daughter had not accepted her in their circle, and after three weeks still looked at her with mildly veiled suspicion. She did not begrudge them. After years on the edge of society, she was accustomed to it.

“Is the comte handsome, Lord Bedwyr?” Jacqueline had finally managed to leave off stammering and blushing in the earl’s presence. It seemed to have no effect whatsoever on him. He treated her and her waiting ladies with the same easy amusement.

Lord Bedwyr leaned back in his chair, awaiting his opponent’s next move. “I regret to report, your highness, that he is a great beast of a man. Not a’tall to ladies’ tastes.”

Jacqueline’s lips twisted. “He owns this chateau and the vineyards, and a house in England, I understand. He must at least be very rich.”

“What sort of a thing is that to say, Jackie?” her brother said. “Miss Caulfield, you are remiss. You must take your charge in hand and teach her manners.” He smiled.

“I beg your highness’s pardon.” Arabella’s fingers tapped on her teacup, paper thin porcelain with gold ribs. It was a cup fit for a princess, like her sumptuous bedchamber and the gardens she stared out at now without a scrap of feeling. “I shall endeavor to improve my methods of instruction.”

“I expect you to.” Prince Reiner grinned and returned his attention to the chessboard. He was a kind man, pleasant to all, and generous and affectionate with his sister. He stirred in Arabella no interest whatsoever.

“Well, is he rich, my lord?” Jacqueline said.

“If I had half of the comte’s funds, Princess,” Lord Bedwyr replied, “I should be swimming in horses, carriages, houses, and jewels.”

“You know, brother,” Jacqueline said, “you should not fault me for wondering about a gentleman’s worldly characteristics. It is what Maman has taught me to consider most important in all men since I was six.”

“How tragic that in ladies’ estimation a man’s courage, heart, and nobility of character should fall behind his fortune and appearance.” The earl sighed theatrically and moved his white knight.

“You needn’t worry over that, my lord,” the princess said, looking directly at him, her gaze perfectly clear.

He lifted a brow. “Ah, but my fortune is far from enviable, Princess.”

A smile tweaked the corner of her mouth. “Lord Bedwyr, you are outrageously conceited.”

“Jackie!”

“Princess!”

The earl cast the princess an oddly knowing sideways glance then returned his attention to the board. “Your sister is frightfully honest, Reiner. You ought not to have sent her to a convent for schooling. Girls learn all the worst sorts of morals from nuns, you know.”

Jacqueline’s cheeks were pink but her eyes were serene. Perhaps she had taken the earl’s measure after all.

The door onto the terrace opened and a footman announced, “His lordship, le comte de Rallis.”

A gentleman stepped into the sun—a tall, broad-shouldered man with impeccably tailored clothes, gleaming top boots, and a black slash of a kerchief about his brow that covered his right eye and part of a horrible scar.

The teacup slipped from Arabella’s fingers and shattered on the stones at her feet.