Laird of Ballanclaire (30 page)

The last fellow in line bowed before Constant. She heard his name with half an ear, recognized that he was a knight of some order or the other, and saw that Kameron was moving toward her. She was breathless as he approached, and incapable of saying any of the fulsome words San Simeon put to voice in her name for the knight. She didn’t care, either.

Kameron reached the dais and stood where he had before, his chin lowered and his lips pursed. Constant had rarely seen anything as stirring. She knew it had something to do with how the candles in the chandeliers had dimmed, losing their light in the softening tallow. It also had something to do with the small group of musicians tuning their instruments from behind the curtained minstrel gallery. It had a bit to do with the activity taking place, as servants cleared away the banquet tables and arranged seating along the walls for those who preferred to watch the dancing. But it had the most to do with Kameron’s steady regard.

“I see you’ve returned, son. Saving face?” the duke asked.

“Doona’ fool yourself, sir. I dinna’ return to save anyone’s face, least of all, yours.”

“Well, at least you’re consistent. I’ll have to give you that much, lad. Always did hate me, dinna’ you?”

Kam shrugged. He didn’t take his eyes off Constant. There wasn’t a single indication that he recognized her. Not one.

“You worked to gain my hatred. You must have wanted it. I complied.”

“You’re verra blunt, especially for a man meeting his wife for the first time.”

“Oh . . . I’m verra blunt for any man, sir. That’s one of the things the ladies seem to appreciate about me.” He smirked. “At least, so they tell me.”

“Kameron Ballan!”

The duke’s exclamation almost hid hers. Kam lifted his brows.

“I am also in possession of my bairns. I would na’ have returned, otherwise.”

“I’m well aware of that. I expected nothing less.”

“Besides, I’ve been assured she does na’ speak our language. With the words you two spout, her ignorance is a decided blessing. So tell me, does my new wife speak anything besides Spanish?”

There was a bit of consternation between her new in-laws. Sir San Simeon answered, “Her Highness is well versed in the language of her father, my lord. King Philip was once the Dauphin of France before gaining sovereignty over Spain. His daughter speaks French. Fluently.”

“
Français?
” Kam repeated.

“
Oui
,” her interpreter replied.

“
Bien
.”

Then Kameron actually asked Constant if she knew the dance steps well enough to couple with him. She couldn’t believe her ears, although her heart did. It fell. And then it pounded with increasing fury from her belly. She was incapable of dancing. She was afraid she might be physically ill.

“I am . . . unwell,” she replied.

“I will take my place beside you, then. Your Grace, if you please? My chair?”

Kameron’s mother looked annoyed at being moved, but she stepped sideways and sank into the end chair. That was a relief. They could all sit. Constant silently prayed not to fall. She had to wait for her attendants to raise the back of her wire-stiffened underskirt. This made it possible to sit at the front edge of the seat, her skirts falling about her ankles, as was considered graceful and proper. She waited as her attendants knelt to each side of her and settled the back of her skirts on her chair, leaving white satin underskirts to cover her. The skirt was arranged to billow about her, and then she nodded, dismissing them. She kept her eyes downcast. She didn’t dare look at Kam until she had the blank expression back on her face.

Then he was beside her, although he didn’t deign to use the steps. He simply put a foot onto the platform and climbed up, sliding in one smooth motion into the chair beside her. Constant stared straight ahead, although every nerve was aware of him at her side.

“No one spoke of the beauty of my bride,” Kameron said in French. “I’m surprised. I had heard . . . uh . . . certain things of Spaniards. I was foolish to believe them, I see.”

“What . . . things?” Constant asked. Then frowned. Her voice was a croak. Not remotely lyrical and high-pitched. She had to correct it, but how? Wouldn’t heartbreak automatically transfer to one’s voice?

“Too horrid for your delicate ears, I’m afraid. And definitely too unflattering.”

“My . . . lord!” Constant managed to reply.

“You must call me Kam. Please. I will accept no other. We are going to be close, you understand. Verra close. That leads to intimacy. Marital intimacy. You and I. The idea has merit, I must admit.”

“You are even more blunt than I suspected, son,” the duke interrupted, speaking flawless French from Constant’s other side.

“And you are eavesdropping on a private conversation, sir.”

Kameron had answered in English. Constant stiffened further. This was going to get even more difficult if she had to remember which words she was supposed to have understood, and which she wasn’t.

The duke snorted. “Private?” he answered, again in English. “In a roomful of gossips and hangers-on? You do the duchess proud, although I find myself wondering at it, too. Earlier, you wouldn’t even look at her. Why the change of heart?”

“I dinna’ get a good enough look. Obviously. Also, my attention was elsewhere at the time. Now, it is na’.”

The duke snorted again. Louder this time. Constant did her best to look ignorant of all of it.

“What of your first wife? Your grief? The overdramatic mourning at Pitcairn Tower? Your reclusive behavior? You see a bonny face and forget your first wife so easily?”

“It was time, I think. I’ve mourned long enough. Time to live again. And you’re mistaken. My new wife is na’ bonny. She is astoundingly beautiful.”

The duke chuckled. “You decided all this, in what? An hour?”

“I had a very good look throughout that hour. The king has seen fit to wed me to a beautiful woman . . . possessing amazing features and a ripe shape. I came to a decision. It has something to do with physical discomfort. I canna’ be celibate forever.”

“If I labeled you blunt, it was an understatement. You’re in luck she doesn’t speak the tongue. She’d probably be swooning.”

Constant was beyond swooning, although it sounded like a grand idea. The entire room before her felt as if it was reeling in a circular fashion. She just couldn’t fathom why she was still sitting upright and stiff beside the man she’d given everything for.

“So tell me,
chérie
,” Kameron whispered, leaning close to her ear. “What does the key unlock?”

Constant toyed with telling him a lie, but couldn’t think of one. She couldn’t think of anything. She swallowed, and blurted out the truth. “
Ma chambre
,” she said.

“
Bien
,” he replied. “
Très bien
.”

Constant watched the myriad of couples forming interlocking circles on the floor before them with eyes that were swimming in tears. She’d spent months preparing for this moment, changing her appearance and her demeanor. But now she was at a loss. What could she do?

She’d just replaced herself in Kameron Ballan’s life.

The musicians struck a chord. It didn’t match the one she was hearing. The one she heard was akin to glass breaking.

“That spawn of
el diablo
! I am a fool! An imbecile! And that man! I will never trust him . . . never. I swear it! I think I hate him!” Constant flung the mantilla at the floor. “And to think I have re-created myself for him!
Dios!
I am a fool! And there is nothing worse!”

“There is much that is worse, Your Highness.” It was Lucilla answering, and her even tone only made Constant angrier.

“How dare he?”

“You must calm yourself.”

“Calm myself? Why should I? No one will care. He doesn’t care!”

“He cares.”

“He does not! He doesn’t even know that it’s me!”

Lucilla sighed heavily. “Did you truly expect him to? Look at yourself. Go ahead, take a good look.”

Constant’s lips thinned, and then she did the same to her eyes. It didn’t change anything. She was still getting prepared to be bedded by her new husband, and there wasn’t anyone she could blame but herself. Lucilla lifted her hands and pointed.

“Go ahead. Look. I dare you.”

Constant swiveled, blinked, and still couldn’t believe her own eyes. Three oversized cheval mirrors were arrayed in one corner of her tower chamber, so it was easy to view herself from every angle. Without the mantilla veiling her, it was impossible to miss the tiny waist, the large bosom, and the wealth of blue-black hair that was enshrined in netting woven with strands of pure silver. Her nose had a slight upward tilt at the end of it, the outline of black around her eyes made them look like stones of vivid blue set in the center of a pristine, porcelain complexion, and what Kameron had once called large, luscious lips were just that, especially with the salve Lucilla had spread on them earlier. She’d described it when she’d been putting the finishing touches to Constant’s attire. Such a salve contained capsicum, a pepper that was sure to enlarge and redden sensitive tissues like lips.

Lucilla hadn’t lied. It had stung for a bit, too, but the result had seemed worth it . . . then. Now it was another unwanted indication she’d be giving the great Kameron Ballan when he attended her. She was displaying that she desired him. Constant watched her mirror image waver for a moment with tears she couldn’t cry, and then she sighed.

“Very well, Lucilla. I’m looking. I’m very desirable. I’m very lush. I’m very beautiful. You didn’t lie. I look nothing like myself. You have done wonders with your paints and your salves and your inks.”

Lucilla tossed her hands in the air. “But I used nothing! A bit of kohl, a dusting of powder and some lip salve. It is the foundation that matters! A beautiful woman will always be so. She will just be more so when enhanced.”

Constant turned away from her image. It didn’t help. The heartache wasn’t because of how she looked, but how well it had worked. She was beautiful now. So beautiful that it had taken about an hour to be replaced in his affections once Kameron had seen the new version of her.

An hour.

“He didn’t recognize me,” she whispered.

“It has been a long evening, fraught with turmoil. It will be an even longer night for you, I think. We have a filmy peignoir set aside—”

“Must you go on and on about it?” Constant spat, interrupting the recitation. She didn’t want to hear about the gossamer gown and robe. She already knew. She’d picked it out. She’d wanted a seductive atmosphere.

“He is a man,
señora
. You are very much a woman . . . his woman. He hasn’t had a woman since his first wife’s death. I know these things. They gossip about him. They will gossip about you. They already do. I have heard them, and understood with what English I know. It will be a long night. If I was unwed still, I’d envy you. They all do.”

“Get them out.” Constant eyed each of the other three maids, all wide-eyed and openmouthed as they watched her, uncomprehending looks on their faces.

“I cannot handle your gown on my own, Your Highness. It’s worth a king’s ransom, and weighs as much. Sir San Simeon waits in the hall to take it under his control. At least give me their assist until we have it taken away.”

“Not a moment longer, then. You may proceed.”

Constant turned her back to them, facing her reflections in the trio of mirrors again, and watched Lucilla’s set chin.

“They can cease looking at me with such envy, too. Tell them to cease. I refuse to allow it.”

“You cannot command looks,” Lucilla answered.

“Why not? I’m a princess, am I not? I command. Others obey. What use is royalty if no one obeys?”

“They’re envious of you. Any woman would be. His Lordship is known for his . . . uh . . . how shall I say it? Abilities? Yes, that is it. The man had a reputation, although he is a changed man since wedding you in the colonies. He turns away from every woman. It doesn’t change what he is, or how he appears. He still is most handsome. Manly. You know. He takes the breath away. He is a muscled, massive, virile-looking male . . . without equal. Any woman would envy you.”

“Let them take my place then.
Dios!
I can’t believe my own stupidity. I even gave him a key!”

“It was ever so romantic, too. The servants have whispered of little else since.”

“I will not be the subject of gossip! I will not! Tell them to stop!”

Lucilla sighed again. “You are a member of the peerage now. They are servants. I am a servant. We gossip. But do not fret. It is not hateful gossip, such as that duchess woman spouts. The staff is very pleased about the turn of events. Very. His Lordship is well liked by the staff. I don’t think his
padre
and
madre
are aware of that. It is contrary to how they themselves are regarded.”

“I can imagine,” Constant replied.

“Besides which, everyone hears of love at first sight. They just never got to watch it unfold before. It is such a romantic story. A forced meeting, a gift of a blue ribbon attached to a key, a bedroom assignation to consummate a union. The story will be repeated for years if I do not miss my guess.”

“Must you take so long unhooking my gown?” Constant asked it between clenched teeth that contrasted with the reddened, bee-stung look of her lips.

“You were sewn into it,
señora
, as you well know. That leaves me little room to slip the hooks. Perhaps if you let some breath out it would help.”

“It is out,” Constant replied. The diamanté bodice took longer to shed than it took to put on, which was hard to believe. It had been sewn on twice, once on the outside and again from the inside. That way none of her corset-inspired shape would be disguised. Everything had been done to enhance her beauty for her new husband, and bring about exactly what had transpired. The Princess Althea was supposed to get her new husband to fall in love at first sight, especially since he’d been so difficult to coax into a position where he could see her. No wonder the other maids had been giggling and giving her wide-eyed looks.

They actually believe in love at first sight?
Well, if there were such a thing, it was on one side only—his.

“There! It’s off, and not as easy as it looked. I will hand this to Sir San Simeon. I’m certain he hovers at your door for such a thing. I will return. Try not to frighten your castle maids until then.”

Constant whirled and glared at the little Spanish woman. There were audible gasps about them. It probably had to do with her clenched fists and heaving bosom barely shielded by the chemise she was wearing.

“I will not sit and await my fate like a puppet! I’ve ceased being so pliable! I cannot believe I was so naïve, so gullible . . . so stupid! I will not be so again. Ever. I will find a way to live through this, but I will not sit calmly like a sacrificial lamb while I prepare for it!”

“A sacrificial lamb?” Lucilla chuckled.

Constant’s eyes flared. “You dare to laugh at me? With what I’m facing?”

“Oh,
señora
, please. He is so handsome. On that, he hasn’t changed, has he? And he looks to be so very strong, still . . . with the same strength that saw him rowing through the sea to your side. That will be yours again. Tonight. You are so lucky.”

“I’m so angered I want to break something, and you call it luck? Ah!” Constant finished by slamming her hands onto the top of one of her dressing tables, making bottles and jars dance.

“Your husband is a very virile man. He will not take such anger as easily as I do. He will probably make you pay for such words. You forget, I have prior knowledge.”

“That’s another huge part of this! Huge! Gigantic! How am I supposed to pretend otherwise? Well? Have you considered that? Of course not. You, the barristers, and the Count de la Garza-Montagna. None of you considered this, did you? I’m supposed to be a maiden!”

Lucilla smiled and shook her head. “What you whisper of in your bed is no business of mine, Your Highness. It will not be so difficult. You’ll see. No man, as in love as that man was, will be difficult to persuade. He may not have recognized you yet, but he hasn’t seen the unclothed version. For a woman who has birthed three babes, you have changed little, too. He will be appreciative of that, I’m certain.”

“Out! The lot of you! Out!” Constant swung her arms wide as she announced it and ended up shrieking it to the ceiling since nobody but Lucilla understood her Spanish commands.

“You’ve become a very convincing princess, Your Highness. I am certain word will get to Esmerelda, the Countess de la Garza-Montagna, and her new husband.”

Constant gasped. She put her head down, set her lips, and looked across at the maid. The princess had chosen to be known by her second name, Esmerelda, once she was wed. She lost every claim to royalty, although from what Constant had seen of it so far, it resembled a luxurious cage. Princess Althea hadn’t cared. She was in love. She had been for nearly twenty years.

Constant had seven months of friendship with Althea to thank for that knowledge, before the princess was assured that the plan would work. She’d helped Constant with every mannerism, every movement, every bit of intrigue. Constant learned the entire litany of the royal house of Anjou—every descendant, every claimant, every member of court—just in case Constant met up with any of them. Princess Althea had been so secluded, however, that most of her descriptions were from her childhood memories. Constant knew that part was in her favor; few knew what the real Princess Althea looked like as an adult. So Althea had been free to wed her possessive count and live out life amid the comfort of Casa de la Montagna, far from the prying eyes of the court and the demands of a royal life. It was what she’d told Constant she’d dreamed of all those lonely years.

It was what she’d lose, if any hint of what they’d done ever surfaced—on any level; even a whisper.

Constant closed her eyes, counted to ten, and then she reopened them. She couldn’t change the fate set in motion over a year ago; to do so would harm too many. She didn’t dare look at the image in the mirror. She’d lost. She didn’t want to see what the loss looked like. She looked across at the maid instead. “Go, Lucilla. Give my treasure to San Simeon. I will not betray anyone with my lack of control, least of all my friend, the Countess Esmerelda.”

Lucilla nodded and turned, crossing the bare floor to an antechamber and out the door. This tower was an immense affair, the size of the entire house at the Ridgely farm. There were three chambers within this level. On one side was the room known as the boudoir. It was lined with light blue tapestries, the chaise and two chairs were in the same light blue shade, while the carpets covering the floor were thick and white. The boudoir had been designed to hold a woman’s wardrobe on long poles along the walls, just as Kam had described a lifetime ago. Since Princess Althea commanded a huge wardrobe, there were more than fifty dresses hanging there, although her stay at BalClaire wasn’t expected to be longer than two days.

The wardrobe Constant owned hadn’t been an added expense to the crown, although King Charles had sent a thousand silver pieces to pay for his sister’s trousseau. That silver had done exactly what it was supposed to, and the count thanked them for it. Count de la Garza-Montagna had wealth, but nothing near the extent necessary to keep a princess from the ruling house of Spain. It was probably still taking all of Althea’s persuasive abilities to convince him he was worth it. Men had such a fragile constitution about some things. Constant remembered that much from Kameron’s reaction to his being shaved.

She tossed the memory aside before it destroyed Lucilla’s handiwork around her eyes. She had enough experience of that already. The burn from tear-imbued kohl wasn’t pleasant and just led to more tears.

No. She wasn’t going to cry. She was going to get clothed in the expensive, gossamer netting of loosely woven linen she’d selected for the occasion, and she was going to be put on display for when her new husband arrived to claim her. He wasn’t going to regret it until later, when he found out how much he’d destroyed in one hour.

Constant watched as one of the servant girls pointed to the silver-blue sheen of her chosen peignoir and whispered. Then all the girls sighed. Constant knew why. It wasn’t going to conceal much. Constant and Althea were a like height and weight, but there had been differences, and they were notable. Constant possessed a much larger bosom and a smaller waist. Almost all the clothing had to be altered. And they’d had to wait until her child was born.

Princess Althea had been quite amused over that, but she was the only one. Both barristers were ready to pack Constant back to the colonies once they found out. It was Althea who had come up with the solution and the move to the Ballanclaire estate. It was also her idea to invent the story of a godchild to explain Geoffrey’s presence in her life.

Constant shut her eyes again. She owed a lot to Countess Esmerelda de la Garza-Montagna, but the princess owed her, too. Althea owed her happiness to Constant. She’d been so happy, it had brought tears to everyone’s eyes when she’d wed her count. Constant had attended the wedding as the princess, swathed head to toe in heavy brocaded fabrics, carried into the chapel on a litter. She hadn’t minded. She’d been too large and unwieldy with her baby’s size to walk easily, anyway.