Never Court a Count Read online

  “Never the former and I’m not entirely sure of the latter,” her mother disagreed. She leaned back against the squabs, sturdy figure only partially hidden by her black velvet evening cloak. “You were found alone with Fritz in the dark. Did anything untoward happen?”

  “No! He was every bit the gentleman. He even tried to give me his coat when he thought I might be chilly.”

  “Quite the gentleman,” her mother allowed, folding her gloved hands in her lap. “But you know the expectations of being a lady out in Society. Why go with him in the first place?”

  Callie grimaced. “I wanted to escape the ball, and so did he.”

  Her mother raised a dark brow. “And you couldn’t go one way while he went the other?”

  “I didn’t think of it at the time,” she admitted.

  “All that gold braid goes to a lady’s head, doesn’t it,” her mother said with a smile.

  Callie smiled back. “It does.” She sobered and licked her lips. “Father asked him to call tomorrow. I think he expects Fritz to make me an offer.”

  Her mother shrugged. “He can make you an offer. Doesn’t mean you have to take it.”

  Callie drew in a deep breath. “Thank you, Mother.”

  “Just be very sure of what you want, my love,” her mother said. “Hiding away may seem comfortable now, but there’s a price to be paid later, in loneliness, if nothing else.”

  Callie nodded. She was just glad her mother said no more on the matter as they rode home.

  Her sisters and Petunia were another matter.

  Because Callie was home earlier than they were, she had Anna, the maid she shared with her sisters, all to herself in the bedchamber she and Belle used in town. Belle had insisted on roses for the décor. They were printed on the bed hangings and embroidered on the quilts. They were carved on the walnut headboard and four wardrobes. They twined around the oval of the pier glass mirror in one corner and the edge of the dressing table next to it. Callie hadn’t minded. She liked pink. It was soft, cheerful, and undemanding.

  She was in her nightgown and dressing gown, sitting in a chair by the warmth of the fire with Redgauntlet, one of the more recent Waverly adventure novels, when Belle all but skipped in after midnight.

  “Anna’s seeing to Larissa,” she said, tugging at the fingers on one of her long white evening gloves. “I called a meeting. As soon as everyone’s changed, we’ll all see what can be done about tonight. Will you help me with my pins?”

  Callie set her book aside and rose. “Of course, but a meeting isn’t necessary.”

  The look in Belle’s jade-colored eyes said she doubted that, but she turned with a flip of her golden curls to allow Callie access to the back of her blue ballgown. There were reasons her sister was everyone’s favorite in the family. Belle was bright, warm, and endlessly optimistic.

  “I won’t ask you what happened yet,” her sister said as Callie began unfastening her gown. “It’s better if we all hear at once. Just know that, whatever happened, I am on your side.”

  Callie smiled as she stepped back to allow Belle to slip the gown off her shoulders and down her curves. “I know. You are ever the optimist. The believer in dreams and unicorns.”

  Belle grinned as she bent to bundle the gown into her arms. “Well, they are on our family crest, so I can’t be the only Dryden to favor them.”

  They were spared further conversation as Anna bustled in. The dark-haired young maid finished helping Belle then hurried off to perform the same services for Petunia. Only when the maid had been dismissed for the night did Larissa and Petunia—Tuny to those who knew her best—pad into the room in their nightgowns.

  “So?” Belle asked from her bed across the room. “What happened?”

  “If someone was rude, we can take them down a peg,” Tuny offered, perching on Callie’s bed. Her straight blond hair hung in two plaits onto the blue flannel of her gown, and her brown eyes were warm. That was Tuny—a complex combination of wonder and practicality.

  “At the very least, commiserate,” Larissa said, joining Belle, the curls of her own dark blond hair brushed flat so the tresses could be braided down her back. The simple look was at odds with her queenly demeanor. Of course she’d fallen in love with a prince.

  “Does everyone at the ball know I left early?” Callie asked, glancing among them.

  “No,” Belle assured her, leaning back against the headboard. “I didn’t hear a single rumor. We noticed you and Mother had gone, but I doubt anyone else did.”

  Perhaps invisibility had its benefits after all.

  “So what happened?” Tuny echoed Belle’s question.

  How many times had they sat like this to debate decisions and share secrets? Callie, Larissa, and Belle had been gathering since they were children, either at the family castle in Surrey or here at Weyfarer House, their town home. Tuny was staying with them this Season with the hope she would have more opportunities to find a presentable gentleman.

  Now Belle’s eyes were turned down at the corners, and she was clearly ready to offer sympathy. Larissa’s hazel eyes were soft; her sister always stood available to help shoulder any burden. Tuny’s wide brown eyes were narrowed; she’d be more likely to fight for Callie’s rights.

  Callie sighed. “I’m sorry, Belle. I know the ball was in your honor. And Tuny, your sister took such pains to make the event beautiful. I simply couldn’t endure another moment of company. I ducked behind a screen of potted palms.”

  Belle wrinkled her nose. “That’s it? The way Father was frowning on the way home, I thought you’d poured punch on some duchess.”

  Callie’s fingers tightened around each other in the lap of her pink nightgown. “Fritz joined me.”

  “Behind the potted palms?” Belle all but gasped.

  Callie nodded. “And he showed me a way out onto the terrace. We just talked.”

  “In the dark, alone,” Tuny surmised. She tsked.

  “Not unforgiveable,” Larissa insisted. “Leo can tell Fritz to say nothing. There is some good in being the crown prince.”

  Callie shot her a grateful smile. “Thank you, but Fritz isn’t my concern. Father is. He ordered Fritz to call on him tomorrow. I guess that’s today, now.”

  They all groaned.

  “I won’t marry him,” Callie hurried to assure them. “Mother said I didn’t have to. Besides, he doesn’t love me.”

  Tuny eyed her. “I don’t have your gift for hearing things, but I noticed you didn’t say you don’t love him.”

  Belle clasped her hands together. “Oh, Callie, do you love him? That would be perfect! You and Larissa would both be engaged. Then we need only find suitable husbands for me and Tuny to fulfill our vow.”

  Tuny and Larissa exchanged glances. Callie had never heard them say as much, but she suspected her friend and older sister didn’t entirely believe in the vow Belle had elicited either. Still, her younger sister was right. Larissa was well on her way to fulfilling her portion of the agreement.

  “I don’t love him, Belle,” Callie said, cringing inside as some of the light faded from her sister’s countenance. “But I will not deny I find him admirable.”

  “And handsome?” Tuny suggested with a smile.

  “Yes, and handsome,” Callie agreed with a laugh. “Still, as Larissa has pointed out in the past, he’s very full of himself, and he expects instant obedience to any order.”

  “Likely because he’s the Captain of the Imperial Guard,” Tuny said. “Still, no one wants to feel like saluting every few moments.”

  Callie certainly didn’t. And she already had too many people trying to tell her how to live her life.

  “So, you’ll refuse him?” Belle asked, voice turning plaintive.

  “Yes,” Callie said. A shame the word didn’t sound the least bit confident.

  ^^^

  Though Fritz noticed the Duchess of Wey spiriting Callie out of the ballroom, he didn’t have the option of leaving early. He’d come in the royal carriage with his brother, Leo, and his twin showed no signs of wishing to decamp. So, Fritz did what he generally did at diplomatic events.

  He held up a wall.

  At least it was a good vantage point. The duke’s untimely interruption had prevented him from asking questions about Callie’s statement that two men were plotting with Württemberg to harm the royal family. He didn’t doubt that she had heard something of the sort. The first time he’d met her, he’d overlooked her entirely, something he rarely did with anyone approaching his father or brother. He’d since learned his mistake. Of the three sisters, she was clearly the most insightful. Whatever she had heard was reason for concern.

  And then again, the leaders of Württemberg had been plotting against his family since the day they’d devoured his beloved Batavaria.

  But, try as he might, he could spot no lurking danger among the happy attendees. Ladies smiled as they chatted. Gentlemen shook hands and clapped each other on the back. It was all terribly congenial.

  And not terribly useful to his purposes.

  Still, it gave him something to focus on until he and Leo could make their bows to their hostess and go.

  “There’s something you should know,” he told his brother as the carriage started away from the Marquess of Kendall’s home. “There may be a plot afoot to hinder our efforts to enlist King George’s support.”

  Leo, who had been looking out the window into the darkness, smile playing about his face as if he remembered the evening fondly, turned to Fritz with upraised brow. “Again?”

  “Rather say still,” Fritz said. “A friend overheard a conversation. I will look into the matter.”

  Leo nodded. He didn’t question Fritz’s rights or intentions. They both knew this was his role in the family.

  “Tell me what you need, and I’ll see it done,” he said.

  Fritz returned his nod in thanks, and conversation dwindled until they returned to the palace in Chelsea.

  Their father had leased the massive house from a family that had too many properties to care. Shaped like an H, it featured opulent public rooms on one side and more cozy private rooms on the other. A wide corridor connected the two wings. Their Lord Chamberlain, Lawrence, had placed all the statues and artwork they had brought with them along the corridor so that it looked more like a gallery in some museum. His company of seven guards was a woefully small number to protect the place, but Fritz was proud of their attention to duty.

  He sent Leo off to bed and made the rounds now, checking with each of the Imperial Guardsmen stationed at the various entrances as well as the one that was roaming the corridors. No one had seen anything unusual. He warned them that something more might be coming and encouraged vigilance.

  He was passing the salon on the private side of the palace, heading for his own bed, when a voice heralded him.

  “Count Montalban, a word.”

  Fritz gritted his teeth but stepped into the room. “Lord Chamberlain. How might I be of assistance?”

  Lawrence was seated at the desk in the corner of the room. As the person in charge of the day-to-day activities of the court—from housing to entertainments—he had his own offices at the front of the palace. But ever since the king had left to travel to Württemberg himself, taking three of the Imperial Guardsmen and the Royal Steward, their chamberlain had appropriated the salon as well. He held up a hand a moment as he sprinkled sand with the other on the letter he had been writing.

  Fritz was about ready to turn on his heel and leave the fellow to his mutterings when the chamberlain glanced up. Tall and gaunt, with white hair that barely covered his pate, he had a way of looking down his nose at Fritz, even when seated.

  “Did the ball afford any opportunities to advance our cause?” he asked.

  “I cannot recall the king requesting that I report to you,” Fritz pointed out.

  The chamberlain had the good grace to color as he rose. “Certainly not. But as his representative in his absence, it is my duty to see to the furtherance of his agenda and the wellbeing of his sons.”

  Fritz hadn’t needed anyone to see to his wellbeing since he’d turned fifteen and joined the Imperial Guards. But at least the fellow was willing to remember that Fritz was one of the king’s sons. Until his recent elevation to the position of Count and King’s Advisor, the chamberlain had tended to treat him no differently than one of the servants. It had never been easy being the second son in a country that recognized only the firstborn as prince.

  “I appreciate your zeal,” Fritz told him. “Be assured I will let you know anything that might be of concern to you.”

  Lawrence inclined his head. “Thank you. Good night.”

  Fritz clapped his fist to his chest in salute and left him.

  His valet, Pardue, was waiting for him in his bedchamber. The room wasn’t small, but he felt as if the walls were pushing closer as the dapper older man helped him out of his dress uniform.

  “Uniform or casual dress tomorrow, my lord?” he asked as he picked up the coat and trousers from the wide poster bed.

  If he was going to have to face the duke, he might as well go with authority. “The dress uniform again, Pardue. And see that my boots are polished enough to see your face in them.”

  Pardue stopped, dark brown eyes glinting. “An important meeting tomorrow, my lord?”

  Fritz cocked a smile. “You might say the meeting will determine the course of my life.”

  Pardue’s eyes widened. He waited a moment, as if hoping Fritz would enlighten him further, then slumped a bit and bowed himself out.

  He wasn’t sure why the man thought he would offer confidences. Pardue had joined them when they had been living in Italy. He didn’t know what it meant to be driven from the only home he had ever known, to be confined to the shadows as his father and brother struggled to come to terms with their new reality. And he certainly didn’t know everything about what Fritz had been through.

  Once more the walls moved closer. He strode to the double doors that let out into the garden. Danger might be waiting in the shadows, but meeting it face on was preferable to sitting in this cell.

  No, not a cell. Never a cell again.

  He threw open the doors and took a deep breath. In Batavaria, the air had been scented with pine and the warmth of growing things, living things. In Italy, where they had spent the first five years in exile, the air had been spicier, colored by the heat of the climate and the breeze from the Mediterranean. The palace in Germany had always smelled like baking bread to him. He wasn’t entirely sure why.

  Though he’d been told to expect rain and cool in England, this summer had been unusually hot, so that the brine from the Thames, which flowed past the foot of the garden, was all the more noticeable.

  Perhaps it was his encounter with Pardue. Perhaps it was the damp air and the dark night, but he was too easily transported to a rank cell under a fortress in France. He rubbed his wrists, but he couldn’t escape the weight of the shackles.

  “Where are the rest of your troops positioned?” the interrogator had demanded in French. “How does Batavaria plan to protect itself?”

  Fritz had spat blood from a split lip. “I know nothing. I am only a soldier.”

  “Liar!” the interrogator shouted before cuffing him again. “You are the crown prince. We have your likeness. Tell us what we want to know, and we will see you delivered to the diplomatic corps.”

  Fritz smiled, though his battered mouth and cheeks protested. “I know nothing. I am only a soldier.”

  The interrogator nodded to the other guard to bring the whip.

  He stepped out onto the terrace now, drew in another deep breath. On occasion, his brother still liked to play the game of trading places. Leo had been masquerading as the Captain of the Imperial Guard when he’d met Lady Larissa. If Fritz understood his brother’s story correctly, it had been Callie who had noticed the difference between them. Though Fritz was a little more muscular, and Leo a little taller, only close friends and family could generally tell them apart.

  But even Leo didn’t know about the one time being taken for his brother had saved Fritz’s life. The memories of that dark day came less often now, but Fritz still didn’t like being confined. Not physically, and certainly not in his choice of bride.

  And so he would tell the duke tomorrow.

  Chapter Three

  Callie had the hardest time sitting still on Sunday. She barely listened to the banter between her sisters and Tuny around the breakfast table. She couldn’t attend to services at St. George’s Hanover Square. Even the thought of curling up with a good book in the library did not calm her. Every moment she was home, she waited for the sound of the knocker.

  When it came, she bolted from the withdrawing room, where she’d been playing charades with little success with most of the family, including her twelve-year-old brother Thal and eight-year-old brother Peter. She skidded to a stop in the entry hall just as Fritz was handing his tall, black-fur dress helmet to their butler, Underhill.

  “His Grace is expecting you, my lord,” the dark-haired butler was saying, nose decidedly out of joint. “This way.”

  Head high, chest up in his dress uniform, Fritz marched after him. As Fritz passed Callie, he favored her with a wink.

  A wink! As if she’d been the only one up half the night worrying and wondering.

  “Don’t do it,” Callie whispered.

  He nodded, sandy curls glinting in the lamplight, but he kept walking.

  “He’s not off to the guillotine,” her mother said, slipping an arm about her shoulders as she came to join her.

  “It feels like it,” Callie murmured.

  Her mother squeezed her shoulder. “Come on. Thal’s hoping you’ll guess his riddle.”

  She very much doubted she was capable of guessing anything at the moment, including her own future, but she suffered herself to be led back to her family and Tuny, most of whom were smiling in commiseration. Only Peter, dark haired like his mother and green eyed like their father, looked confused, glancing from one to the other until Belle’s enthusiasm pulled him back into the game.