Royal Blood - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,87

voice raised in anger and shrill. “What were you thinking?” she demanded in French. “How could you? It will be the end of everything.”

I didn’t hear the man’s reply. Interesting, I thought, and continued down the hall. At what I hoped was Belinda’s door I knocked, never knowing what might be going on in Belinda’s room. I waited, and I was about to go away when the door was opened by a bleary-eyed Belinda.

“Oh,” she said, eyeing me with disappointment. “I thought you might be Anton. Sorry. I was taking a much-needed nap before dinner. Is it time to dress?”

“Almost,” I said.

“Come on in, then,” she said and led me into a small square room. She flung herself back on the bed and closed her eyes again. I looked around. It was plain and simple by castle standards. No terrifying wardrobe or chest for her.

“So who dresses you?” I asked. “I take it you didn’t bring a spare maid along in your trunk, did you?”

“No, I left the faithful Florrie at home. She goes to pieces if I take her abroad. Luckily Matty is being sweet and sending her maid to take care of me when she’s finished dressing her mistress. Her room is right next door. As you can see, I’m in what was probably a dressing room originally. Dashed inconvenient actually, as I suspect that the walls aren’t exactly soundproof, and one does have the occasional nocturnal visitor.”

I perched on her bed. “Belinda, the way you carry on, don’t you ever worry about, you know, getting in the family way?”

Belinda chuckled. “You are so delightfully old-fashioned in your wording, my sweet. There are useful things called French letters and Dutch caps, you know. And if I were to get preggers, there is a wonderful little clinic on the coast near Bournemouth, and I’m sure the man in question would cough up the necessary funds to do the trick.” The smile faded. “Don’t look so horrified, darling. It’s done all the time. Of course it’s easier for married women—no need for clinics as long as the baby looks something like the official father. Accept the fact, Georgie—bed hopping is a major sport for our class. It whiles away the long hours between hunting, shooting and fishing.” And she laughed again.

“Do you ever think you’ll get married?” I asked.

“If I find someone rich and boring enough, and preferably old, and shortsighted.” She reached up and put her hands on my cheeks. “I enjoy it, darling. I love the thrill of the chase. I can’t picture myself ever tied down to one man.”

“You and my mother must come from another planet,” I said. “Settling down with one man sounds awfully nice to me.”

“The problem is with whom, darling,” Belinda said, dropping back to her pillows with a sigh. “Your beloved Darcy doesn’t have the means nor the temperament for domestic bliss. In fact I see him turning into one of these enigmatic men who flit around the globe, living by their wits into old age.”

I sighed. “You may be right. I wish I hadn’t fallen for him, but I have. Everyone is pushing me to marry sensibly—I could probably even have someone like Anton if I wanted. But I don’t want. And I certainly don’t want to live in a part of the world where I could be assassinated any day.”

“Don’t be silly, darling. I’m sure Anton and his family are quite safe. Who’d want to kill them?”

I realized then that she didn’t know anything. I got to my feet, before I spilled any beans. “Belinda, what I actually came for was to beg a favor. My maid Queenie has managed to put a huge scorch mark in my good evening dress. I can’t keep wearing the same thing at dinner every night so I wondered if I could possibly wear one of yours.”

“That maid of yours is a total disaster,” Belinda said. “What will she do next? Give you third-degree burns when she spills your morning tea all over you? It’s too bad we’re snowed in or you could send her home on the next train.”

“She’d never make it across Europe alone,” I said, laughing in spite of everything. “She’d wind up in Constantinople and find herself in a harem. I gather big, chubby women are the thing over there.”

Belinda got up and went across to a gilt-trimmed white wardrobe. “I suppose I can spare you a dress,” she said and opened it. There must have been at least ten