If the Slipper Fits (37 page)

Now, Simon brought Annabelle a glass of brandy, but she waved it away with a shudder. “Just tea, please. I don’t want anything to cloud my senses. Mr. Tremayne put a smelly rag over my mouth, and I don’t remember anything until I awakened on that altar.”

“Ether,” Clarissa said in distaste. “It is a drug taken by certain aristocrats at parties known as ether frolics. In small amounts it can induce euphoria. Of course, a larger dosage will put one to sleep.”

Simon’s face tightened as he poured a cup of tea and added a lump of sugar. “Would to God I’d known that devil was lying in wait! I’d like to know how he learned about the secret passageways.”

Annabelle took the cup from him. “He was very cunning, the sort who snoops at keyholes. I expect Mrs. Wickett somehow discovered the tunnels and told Mr. Bunting. Mr. Tremayne likely overheard them.”

“In regard to Bunting, he will have to be tracked down and informed that he truly
is
a free man.”

“You won’t prosecute him for digging at the Celtic site, then?” Annabelle asked.

“In light of what’s happened, no.” Simon sat down beside her on the chaise and gently rubbed her hand. “Darling, you look exhausted. We needn’t talk about all this right now. It can wait until morning.”

They shared a tender smile; then she briefly laid her head on his shoulder. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I keep remembering something odd that Mr. Tremayne said to me.”

“What was that?”

“He said … that he’d been
sent
here to seduce me. By someone at court. It was only later that he decided to kill me instead.”

Simon slipped his arm around her and pressed a kiss to her brow. “The ravings of a madman. He’s best forgotten.”

Watching them, Clarissa felt a bittersweet joy. How fondly she remembered her own youth when she had loved with such intensity. Now, it was marvelous to see her plan for Annabelle and Simon come to fruition. The bond between them was clearly powerful. But would it be strong enough to withstand what she was about to tell them?

Clarissa took a fortifying breath. “I know what Tremayne meant. It’s the reason I came here. But first, Simon, I’ll have that brandy.”

Frowning, he handed the untouched glass to her. “I wondered why you arrived in the middle of the night.”

“It was Annabelle’s letter that brought me. When she wrote to me a few days ago that Mr. Bunting had made two attempts on her life, I feared at once that the wrong man had been arrested.” Clarissa took a bracing sip of brandy. “But I am jumping ahead of myself. First, Annabelle, I must tell you something of my own background.”

Annabelle gave her a perceptive look. “At the dinner party, Mr. Tremayne gossiped about you, my lady. He told me that you were once the mistress of a royal prince, a son of King George the Third.”

“Yes.” As always, Clarissa felt a trace of sadness at the loss of her one true love, but now was not the time for those memories. “I fear I must reveal a secret known only to certain members of the royal family. I myself discovered it only earlier this year in a deathbed confession from a servant. I don’t know quite how to word this, my dear girl, except to say it straight out. You are not the child of some nameless commoner. Your father was the late Prince Edward, Duke of Kent, and the fourth son of King George.”

Annabelle said nothing. She only stared with wide blue eyes. She shook her head slightly as if disbelieving her own ears.

Simon was not so silent. “The devil you say! The royals always look after their illegitimate children. How could he abandon her like that?”

“He didn’t know she was alive,” Clarissa said softly. “Let me explain the events. Prince Edward was wed in secret to a French lady—”

“The marriage was legitimate?” Simon broke in incredulously. “But that would mean—”

“Enough! You will allow me to speak without interruption.” As he scowled and settled back to listen, she continued, “Mad King George sanctioned the union, but only days later, when he was declared unfit to rule any longer, the Privy Council revoked the approval. You see, the year was 1811 and a half-French child in line to the throne during the Napoleonic wars would have caused chaos. Then Annabelle’s mother died in childbirth, as did her infant daughter—or so people thought.” Clarissa leaned forward and addressed Annabelle. “I must add, I have never seen a man more grief-stricken than was Prince Edward. He would have welcomed a daughter, legitimate or otherwise.”

Annabelle took a shuddery breath and closed her eyes, turning her face toward the fire.

Simon clenched his fists on his knees. “So what you’re saying is that someone substituted a dead baby for Annabelle.”

“Yes, that is precisely what happened,” Clarissa said, sympathy welling in her as she watched Annabelle. What a shock this must be to the girl. “She was smuggled away and placed in the school in Yorkshire.”

Simon sprang to his feet. “Who did this? Give me their names.”

“Those responsible have since died. And I would not identify them to you, anyway.”

“Well, clearly someone at court still knows about it. Who?”

“Do sit down, Simon, and allow me to finish.”

Clarissa glared at him until he resumed his seat. She was glad to see him slide a protective arm around Annabelle, because he might very well resent what Clarissa had to say next, male pride being what it was.

“When I discovered what had happened all those years ago,” Clarissa went on, “I could
not
leave a girl of royal blood to toil away at a rustic school. At the very least, Annabelle deserved to make a good marriage. So I arranged for her to come here to Castle Kevern. I did it in the hopes that the two of you would fall in love.”

A disgruntled look came over Simon’s face, but to his credit, it lasted for only a moment. Then he shook his head and laughed. “Well, at least
something
good has come out of all this intrigue and scheming.”

Clarissa took another sip of her brandy. “I never meant to unleash mayhem with my actions. I thought no one would ever even know what I’d done. However, I have since learned that Mrs. Baxter at the academy had been sending regular reports about Annabelle to an address in London.”

Annabelle spoke for the first time. “Mrs. Baxter
knew
?”

“No, my dear, she knew absolutely nothing except that she was paid a small sum in exchange for submitting a brief report now and then on your activities—and for making certain that you never left the school. When you
did
go, Mrs. Baxter immediately sent word to her contact, who then arranged for Tremayne to become the assistant curate here.”

“I want the name of this contact,” Simon demanded.

Clarissa gave him a stern look. “It is best that no one but I know. Do not ask me again. However, what Tremayne told Annabelle is true. He
was
sent here on orders to seduce her. He was to ruin her so that she would never again be hired by any decent family. Then there would be no possibility of her coming into contact with any of the nobility.”

“But why?” Annabelle asked, shaking her head in bewilderment. “If the marriage of my … my parents wasn’t valid, then what threat could I pose to the royal family? Did they think I would beg for money?”

“I suspect it has to do with the fact that you’re the half sister of Crown Princess Victoria,” Simon stated. “The
elder
half sister.”

Annabelle uttered a small moan. She sat with both hands raised to her mouth.

“Indeed,” Clarissa confirmed softly. “May I say, there were some anomalies in the Privy Council ruling all those years ago, and there may be a case to prove the validity of your parents’ marriage in a court of law. That would make you, Annabelle, the true heir to the throne of England. It would mean that
you,
not Victoria, are the crown princess.”

Annabelle said nothing. She sat as still as a statue. A statue with the same lovely blue eyes as seventeen-year-old Crown Princess Victoria.

Clarissa wondered what Annabelle was thinking. She had been raised in a hard life of servitude, and now she was being handed the ultimate prize on a golden platter. Would she seize the opportunity?

Simon looked dumbstruck as well. He surged to his feet and paced to the fireplace to watch Annabelle. The gravity of his features revealed his own dilemma. Her decision could alter their relationship irrevocably. He had planned to devote his life to the study of antiquities; the collection of Celtic artifacts on his desk was proof of that. Would he even
want
to be tied down as consort to a queen?

But the choice had to be made, so Clarissa addressed Annabelle. “Do you wish to pursue the matter of your right to the throne? You must think on that question, my dear. Perhaps in the morning you will give me your decision.”

Annabelle looked starkly at her, then lifted her gaze to Simon and regarded him for one long, eloquent moment. She sprang to her feet and went straight to him, sliding her arms around his waist.

Then she returned her attention to Clarissa. “I need no time to consider, my lady. I assure you, I do
not
wish to be Queen of England.”

A vast relief poured through Clarissa. She wanted justice to be done for Annabelle’s sake. Yet she would have been loath to see such a fine woman become drawn into the spider’s web of court intrigues.

Simon tilted up her chin. “Annabelle, are you sure? Think of what you’re giving up. You would be rich beyond compare, monarch over millions of subjects. Even I would have to bow to you.”

“No,
no,
a thousand times no! My only wish is to be your wife.”

Chuckling, he wrapped her in his arms and pressed a kiss to her brow. “Giving up the throne to marry me, are you? Now there’s the proof of true love.”

They shared a smile of mutual adoration. Watching them, Clarissa felt misty-eyed. How well she had assessed them both as perfect for one another. Until this moment, she’d had no inkling that matchmaking could be so satisfying to the soul.

She set aside her brandy glass and rose from the chair. Despite the lateness of the hour, she now felt refreshed and content. Her purpose here was happily complete.

“What
is
this—” All of a sudden, Annabelle reached inside Simon’s coat and brought out a sparkly garnet slipper. “Oh! It’s my missing shoe!”

“I picked it up in the nursery,” Simon said with a slight frown. “It seemed important that I take it with me.”

Clarissa smiled, for she understood his compulsion even if he did not. The shoes had been a gift to her a very long time ago from a wise old woman. “Do you have its match?” she asked.

“I slipped it off under the tea table.” Annabelle went to fetch the shoe. Upon returning, she looked down at the pair in her hands and then at Clarissa. “These were to be a loan, my lady, remember? Perhaps it’s time to return them to you.”

“A most excellent notion,” Clarissa said as she gave Annabelle a warm hug in exchange for the shoes. “Heaven willing, I shall find another deserving young lady who needs them.”

As she left the study, Clarissa took one last satisfied look at the couple embracing by the fireplace. Yes, indeed, she had done well.

Epilogue

June 28, 1838

At the coronation ceremony for young Queen Victoria in Westminster Abbey, Annabelle sat in the gallery beside her husband. Ahead of them were rows of noblemen in ermine-collared robes, the ladies in elaborate court dress. Nicholas, the Duke of Kevern, stood at attention near the throne. The boy was so proud to be chosen to serve as a page.

Seated on the dais, the Queen accepted the golden orb from the Archbishop of Canterbury and then the two scepters, each presented with great pomp and circumstance. Annabelle could not take her eyes from Victoria. Her half sister. How incredible it still seemed.

There had been one brief meeting in secret the previous year, when Annabelle had signed a legal document renouncing all claim to the throne. Victoria had been cool and reserved. Yet as Annabelle had made a deep curtsy at her departure, Victoria’s gaze had settled on the gentle rounding of Annabelle’s belly.
When is your child due?
she had asked. They had chatted amiably for a few minutes, and, much to Annabelle’s surprise, Victoria had stepped forward to give her a kiss on the cheek. There had been no communication since, but Annabelle hadn’t expected any. They were strangers, after all, linked only by their royal blood.

Annabelle had her own family now.

She reached surreptitiously for Simon’s hand. As his strong fingers closed around hers, he gave her a smile so full of love that her heart overflowed. No crown could ever be as glorious as the past year and a half had been. They had left nine-month-old Pippa in the nursery at Kevern House, the duke’s London mansion. Simon did not yet know that their lively, precious daughter would soon be joined by a brother or sister. Tonight, Annabelle would tell him that wonderful secret.

On the dais, the great moment had arrived.

The Archbishop picked up the golden crown of Saint Edward and placed it on Victoria’s dark hair. There was a moment of hushed silence as the Queen looked over the vast gathering of her subjects. Her head held high, she let her gaze make a slow sweep of the congregation.

Was it Annabelle’s imagination, or did the Queen’s eyes linger on her for just a moment?

Simon squeezed her hand. She looked at him, and from the glimmer in his warm gray eyes, she knew he’d noticed Victoria’s glance, too.

Then everyone rose to their feet, Simon and Annabelle along with them. A great cry roared out in unison, “God save the Queen!”

In the festive aftermath, as the cheering died down, Simon leaned close to murmur in her ear, “No regrets, Cinderella?”

She gave him a serene smile. “None. You, my darling, are a far finer prize than any crown.”

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