Chapter 23
The weather was so improbably perfect over the next few days that Marby insisted the party spend a day by the sea.
Wolfgang couldn’t resist and even Charlotte managed to tear herself away from whatever occupied her in her brother’s study to join them.
The party rode over to the coast, laden with picnic hampers, blankets, and wide parasols.
Miss Alexandra brought a bat and ball and dashed around with Miss Marby and Lysander, playing a three-man game of rounders, while Georgiana and Miss Helena tromped off to explore the rock pools, and Marby and Charlotte kicked off their riding boots and stockings and ran toward the water to play catch-me-if-you-can with the waves.
Only Wolfgang sat like a rock on the sand, brooding and munching methodically through his peppermints before they melted.
But mostly, he had to admit, brooding.
Charlotte was wearing another of her enormous straw hats, tied firmly under her chin with a blue-and-white-striped ribbon.
The wind blew back the brim as she ran, giving Wolfgang flashes of her face, lit with laughter and challenge as she and Marby dared each other closer to the water, until inevitably a wave caught them and Marby howled and Charlotte staggered around with her skirt wet to her knees, laughing with delight.
Once the sight would have made him grin.
Wolfgang unwrapped the last of his peppermints, the paper sticky and already rough with sand, and shoved it moodily into his mouth.
When, exactly, had he become such a miserable shit? Was it Waterloo? Was it when John died and he lived? Was it his disappointment with Charlotte, or was it all three blows coming so close together that he’d never managed to stagger to his feet?
Whatever the answer, Wolfgang had to face the fact that he didn’t like himself very much, not anymore.
What he liked—God help him—was Charlotte.
The party clip-clopped home late that afternoon, wind-blown and sun-dazed. The horses ambled along as if they were half asleep and even the boughs of the trees along the road seemed to hang low, as if resting.
Only Georgiana’s sheepdog had any energy left, and he used it to scamper around and nip at the heels of Marby’s horse.
Marby shouted, “You blighted cur!” and “Away, you mangy fool!” while swatting at him, but judging from the constant wagging of Rupert’s tail and the way his tongue lolled out, the dog considered dodging Marby all part of the fun.
It was Rupert who was first to spot the hired carriage, lumbering up the road ahead of them. His ears went up, his tail straightened, and he dashed ahead, barking joyously to harass a fresh set of horses.
“Rupert, no! Please, Rupert!” Georgiana called frantically, but the sheepdog paid no attention. She turned her face up to Wolfgang. “He’ll be crushed by the carriage wheels, Your Grace!”
Wolfgang had his doubts—in his experience the most abominable pets always lived the longest. But he summoned his captain’s voice and shouted, “Rupert, halt!”
The sheepdog stopped in his tracks and gave a startled, rather guilty look over his shoulder. Marby stopped instinctively, too, which made him go crimson in the face and his sisters erupt with laughter.
The occupant of the carriage must have heard the commotion because the door opened and Prince Belozersky stepped out onto the running board and waved, a breeze feathering through his thick brown hair.
“Ah, my friends! What luck to meet you on the road!”
“Hullo, your highness!” called Marby.
“Belozersky, you scoundrel! Hullo,” said Lysander.
The women, Wolfgang noted, stared in awestruck silence, broken only by Miss Helena’s gasp as Belozersky’s carriage passed a gap in the trees and sunshine poured down on his head, lighting him up in gold.
Even Miss Marby, by far the most sensible of the sisters, looked as if she’d been whacked with a mallet.
Bile rose in Wolfgang’s throat, but he lifted his chin to acknowledge Belozersky.
What the devil was it about the Russian that made women fall to pieces?
Belozersky was tall, one of only a few gentlemen who could look Wolfgang in the eye, but Wolfgang was the same height and he’d never reduced a woman to stupefied silence.
The prince seemed healthy enough, with good muscles, a thick head of hair, and strong, white teeth—a fact everyone noticed because of how often he flashed them.
His jaw was also strong, or at least it looked as if it could take the punch that Wolfgang was suddenly itching to throw.
Still, there was nothing special about the man.
Fucking princes, thought Wolfgang. He snuck a glance at Charlotte to catch her reaction, but she was already cantering up toward the Russian.
“Welcome, Your Highness! How glad I am you’ve arrived.”
The Prince flashed his blinding teeth again. “And now will you marry me?”
Charlotte laughed. “Without leading you even a bit of a dance? Where’s the pleasure in that?”
Belozersky smiled, slow and crooked. “We can make the pleasure, you and I.”
Miss Alexandra sighed and whispered to Miss Helena, “Good Lord, have you ever seen such a man? Even I’d marry him.”
Helena nodded emphatically.
Only Georgiana seemed the slightest bit skeptical, until a little wet nose poked out from the carriage and a lean, thin-faced dog leaped down to the road and began to cavort with Rupert.
“A borzoi!” Georgiana cried ecstatically. “Oh look! He and Rupert like each other!”
“Of course they do,” muttered Wolfgang.
Lysander’s horse fell into step next to his brother’s. “Wolfgang, there’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you. I had another letter from Stewart about the ironworks, and—”
“Not now, Lysander.”
Lysander flicked his eyes to the carriage ahead. “I see. Too busy brooding to discuss estate affairs?”
Wolfgang didn’t reply. Instead, he leaned over and smacked the rump of Lysander’s horse, sending his brother spurting ahead to join the others.