The Return of the Duke - Grace Callaway Page 0,105

had.

The necklace had, however, been accompanied by a note:

A small token of my regard. I know you will outshine these jewels tonight.

* * *

Your proud husband,

-K.

She knew Knight: he wasn’t good at discussing his feelings, particularly those of a private nature. The note conveyed his affection, and the fact that he found her worthy of the magnificent necklace meant something. Once, his regard and approval might have been enough.

But not now. Not after the weeks of talking, teasing, and working together, the promise of what their relationship could be. Bleakly, Fancy knew that she needed to talk to Knight—to tell him that she could no longer accept the original terms of their marriage and to ask him outright if he could ever love her.

But what if he says no? What if he says he’ll love Imogen and only Imogen forever?

“Why are you hiding back here?” an imperious voice demanded.

Fancy jumped up as Princess Adelaide glided into the alcove in a stately blue gown, her pale blue ostrich feathers adding to her vertical consequence.

With a curtsy, Fancy said, “I was, um, enjoying some punch, Your Highness.”

Princess Adelaide waved her back to the bench and sat down beside her. “Well, what do you think of my salon?”

“It’s lovely.” Fancy summoned a smile. “I enjoyed the opera singer very much.”

“I should hope so, given the cost of importing her from Venice.” The princess snorted. “I am glad you are enjoying yourself. I can see that you have made changes since we last met,”—hawkish eyes swept over her—“and they are improvements. As I suspected, you have backbone, and that should get you far in Society.”

Not long ago, Fancy would have been ecstatic to win the princess’s approval. Now she wasn’t certain it mattered. The reason she had wanted to be a lady was to win Knight’s love; the irony of winning the battle but losing the war was almost too much to bear.

Fancy managed a wan smile. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“You have received the royal stamp of approval.” The princess’s dark brows inched toward her steel-grey hair. “One would think that should warrant some expression of happiness.”

“I am happy…” To Fancy’s horror, her voice wobbled.

“Goodness, gel. What is the matter?”

She bit her lip, trying to prevent herself from bursting into tears.

“Here, take this.” Princess Adelaide passed her a handkerchief. “If anyone asks, we shall tell them you got something in your eye.”

Fancy dabbed discreetly at her tears.

“Let me guess,” the princess said. “Husband problems?”

“H-how did you know?”

“Because men are the source of most problems, my dear. And husbands are the worst of the lot.” The princess folded her veined hands in her lap. “I may be old, but I remember being a newlywed. In those early days, my husband Franz and I fought like cats and dogs.”

“But things improved with time?” Fancy asked hopefully.

“Only because Franz had the decency to depart this earth five years into the marriage.”

“Oh. I’m, um, sorry.”

“As he was in his mistress’s bed at the time, I saw no reason to mourn him,” Princess Adelaide said bluntly. “The marriage was not without its merits, however. Franz gave me Ruprecht, my son and the heir to the throne of Hessenstein.”

“You must be very proud,” Fancy said uncertainly.

“Of Ruprecht, yes. Of my marriage…” The princess shrugged. “I tell you this because life has its peaks and valleys, and I sense that you, Your Grace, are in a valley. Because of Knighton, I presume?”

“He and I had a disagreement,” Fancy admitted.

“That is not surprising. Men are often disagreeable.”

“Knight isn’t.” Fancy nibbled on her lip, not wanting to divulge too much. “We just, um, don’t see eye to eye on a certain matter.”

“Have you told him your feelings on said matter?”

Fancy squirmed beneath the princess’s stare. “Not entirely.”

“Then why are you sitting in an alcove talking to me?” Princess Adelaide scolded. “Go find your husband and talk to him.”

“What if…what if I don’t want to know how he feels?” Fancy said in a whisper.

“I did not take you for a wilting hothouse flower,” the princess said. “In my country, we value hardiness and strength of will. The royal flower of Hessenstein is the alpine rose. It is not a rarefied species, but one that blooms year after year, in the harshest of climes. Your roots may be common, gel, but I sense your backbone is not.”

Princess Adelaide’s words bolstered Fancy’s resolve. She had been hiding from the truth, and it wasn’t getting her anywhere. One way or another, she had to find out what