An Unexpected Peril (Veronica Speedwell #6) -Deanna Raybourn Page 0,53
Not easy with such a lovely face. I mean, mademoiselle, that I shall accompany you to the opera tonight.”
“Out of the question,” the baroness stated in her best governess voice.
The teasing expression turned serious. “I think,” the duke said in a dangerously soft voice, “that you do not mean to be impertinent, Baroness.”
She flushed a little. “I meant no disrespect, Your Grace.”
The duke gave her a hearty kiss upon the cheek, smacking his lips loudly. “I am jesting with you, Margareta! You know your little Max better than that.”
Her smile was indulgent. “I spoilt you as a child, I fear.”
“Impossible!” he cried. “For I am perfect, just as I am.” The baroness’s distress had fled and I wondered how strange it must be to rule the nursery—no doubt with an iron fist—only to have one’s charge grow into manhood, poised to take the reins of power.
The duke turned his smiles to me, but there was something a little aloof in his manner, and I realized he was forcing himself to cordiality. “The baroness worries when she should not. Her princess is in very good hands with me, and so should you be,” he assured me.
“You are not betrothed to our princess yet,” the chancellor said, lifting his chin.
The duke’s eyes rested on him a moment too long for comfort. Then he nodded. “It is truth, what you say, Chancellor. I have asked and she has not yet accepted me. But I think we know that she will. In time.”
“Are you not concerned about her whereabouts?” Stoker asked bluntly. “Surely that is of greater importance than helping Miss Speedwell sustain this ludicrous masquerade.”
The duke gave a thoughtful nod. “You make an excellent point, sir. But this ‘ludicrous masquerade’ is more important than you perhaps understand. I have no doubt that Gisela is perfectly fine. She is always slipping away to avoid engagements she would rather not attend. She will turn up in a day or so, looking quite pleased with herself, I promise you. Besides,” he added smoothly, fluffing the plume on his shako, “if it were made public that I had arrived in London and was not permitted to escort my intended wife to the opera, what a scandal this would make!”
The baroness gave a little cry of distress. “You would speak to the newspapers—Max, no!”
The duke shuddered. “You wound me, Baroness. I, highest-ranking duke of the Alpenwald, lower myself to speak to a journalist? You insult me,” he said, shaking his head with a mournful downward pull of the lips. “But naturally as I am in London and it is Sophie Fribourg making her debut in the role of Atalanta, it is my duty to attend and to witness her triumph. I would not let it be said that I am slow to uphold the glory of my country,” he finished with a little bow.
The baroness made no further objections, giving her former charge another of her exasperated smiles. It was left to the chancellor to agree. “Of course, Your Grace,” he said quietly.
The duke, having got his way, rubbed his hands together and beamed a smile around the room. He put out his arm and I laid my hand on top of it. He leaned close enough so that I could smell his toilet water—something with sandalwood and herbs. “What fun we shall have together, my pretty,” he murmured.
Behind me, Stoker growled again.
“There is another person you ought to meet,” the chancellor said. He signaled to the baroness, who opened the outer door and beckoned to the guard outside. Captain Durand stood at attention, snapping his heels together as he reached the chancellor and giving a sharp bow.
No doubt for my benefit and Stoker’s, the chancellor spoke English. “Captain, you have been informed of the circumstances and what is at stake. This is Miss Speedwell, who is assuming the role of the princess for the evening. Miss Speedwell, the commander of the princess’s guard, Captain Durand.”
The etiquette of the little court in the Alpenwald was clearly one of formality, but there seemed no obvious protocol for greeting an ersatz princess. I nodded to him and he clicked his heels together, giving me not the deep bow that royalty would have demanded, but a cursory nod in return.
“The captain will naturally escort us this evening, but arrangements for the princess’s security have been made by the Special Branch of the Metropolitan Police,” the chancellor informed us. I resisted the urge to exchange glances with Stoker. There was an excellent