The Return of the Duke - Grace Callaway Page 0,120
Footsteps sounded, and she whipped her head in that direction, a door opening…
“You are awake.” Princess Adelaide entered. “That took longer than I anticipated.”
Floorboards creaked as the princess, wearing a military-inspired dress, marched toward her.
“Your H-highness?” Fancy stammered. “What are you…wh-where am I?”
She tried to move; to her shock, she found that she was bound to a chair. Rope circled her arms and legs, securing her to the wooden frame. Her gaze flew to Princess Adelaide, who seated herself at a nearby table.
“You are my guest, Francesca,” she said silkily. “Or should I say Princess Francesca.”
Fancy stared at the princess’s hooded black eyes. Was the woman mad? Then the princess’s words touched a nerve of memory. Anna Smith had said, Your Highness…I must speak to you.
“I don’t understand.” Fancy shook her head, willing herself to wake up from this terrible dream. “None of this makes sense.”
“Since we are waiting for my final guest to arrive, I see no harm in elucidating you, my dear.” Princess Adelaide fixed a predatory gaze upon her. “You are my niece. The daughter of my brother, King Ernst III of Hessenstein.”
Shock saturated Fancy. “How is that possible?”
“Through betrayal.” Adelaide shook her head, looking disappointed. “I had a perfect plan, and it was foiled by a mere servant.”
“I don’t understand—”
“If you shut up and listen, you will.” Adelaide’s eyes slitted, her tone dripping with venom.
She’s mad…and she hates me. I shouldn’t rile her up more.
Tamping down her fear, Fancy nodded, playing along.
“It all began when my brother was seduced by a woman named Louisa. It is a custom of the Royal House of Hessenstein to give promising commoners our patronage, and Ernst chose Louisa, an apprentice dressmaker, out of the pool that year. The stupid fool lost his head and fell in love with her,” Adelaide said with disgust. “If he had just kept her as his mistress, then everything would have been fine, but he got it into his head that he wanted to marry her. Nothing I—or any of his court advisors—said could sway him. He was bound and determined to wed for love. Three hundred years of noble lineage destroyed because he had to wed that nobody. Mere months later, she was with child.”
Despite the danger, Fancy’s heart gave a small flutter at the romantic story.
“We were scheduled to visit London that summer,” Adelaide went on. “The goal was to strengthen ties with our distant cousin, the King of England. But Louisa managed to ruin that important political mission with her miserable pregnancy. She was constantly ill, unable to make any official appearances, and my milksop of a brother insisted on remaining by her side instead of paying court to the king as was his duty. I was beside myself, watching the fortunes of my beloved country disintegrate because of that whore. I knew I had to do something.”
Trepidation slithered through Fancy. “What did you do?”
“I obtained some herbs from the midwife and put them in Louisa’s tea.” Adelaide’s mouth took on a crafty curve. “That night, Louisa went into premature labor and gave birth to a stillborn boy. I thought my mission was accomplished. Imagine my shock when, as she lay there, her life draining out of her, she delivered yet another babe. Worst of all, this tiny, fragile creature was breathing…and the only thing standing between my son and the throne of Hessenstein. In my country, female descendants can inherit the throne, and you would precede my son in the line of succession. I knew what I had to do.
“I instructed the midwife to get rid of you. She was supposed to smother you, dispose of your body as if you never existed. In the meantime, I consoled my brother over his dead son and his dead wife. Little did I know that the midwife betrayed me.”
Fancy could barely speak through her horror. Adelaide showed no remorse as she spoke of her crimes, the blood stained upon her hands. Anger rose in a silent tide, clearing Fancy’s head. Adelaide had murdered her mother and twin brother; she would not be a third victim. She had to buy time, keep Adelaide talking, for surely Knight would be searching for her by now.
“The midwife…was she Anna Smith?” Fancy asked calmly.
“Very good,” Adelaide said. “Her real name is Rosamund Becker. She travelled with us from Hessenstein and was the one who gave me the herbs. I told her it was for one of my maids who’d found herself in an unfortunate way. When Rosamund