As they sat back to back, George could feel Drina’s quick, shuddering breaths, as if she were trying to hold in a sob or a hysterical laugh. He felt terrible; he’d gotten her into trouble again. And since they were no longer children, the consequences would be much greater … disastrous, even.
George couldn’t do anything to help her at the moment—except distract her.
“Remember the time we got locked out on the roof of your house?” he said.
“I told you not to shut the door.”
“You also told me that there was a female ghost on the roof that we could only see at midday.”
“Not a ghost, a Weiße Frauen,” she said with a laugh. “And she was supposed to be brushing her hair in the sunshine, but I think our howls scared her away.”
“How long do you think we were out there? One hour? Two?”
“It was not even half an hour before my father found us,” Drina scoffed. “He heard our yells for help.”
“I think half of the county must’ve heard our calls for help,” he said. “Then your father took us back to his library and gave us toffees. He asked us all about our adventure and he listened to each word you said as if it was as important as a pronouncement from the Queen … I was so jealous.”
“Papa is a good listener.”
“And when your mother found out, she scolded us in English and German and then kissed our cheeks and ruffled our hair … My mother was rarely home and even when she was, she never took the time to talk to me or hug me. I was so envious of you.”
“Your father was home.”
“Father never talked to me. He only yelled,” George said. “And he still won’t listen to me. He only threatens to send me to Austria if I don’t improve at the Foreign Office, and you know how bad my German is.”
“It is truly dreadful,” she agreed. “Why don’t you talk to your mother about becoming an engineer? Maybe she could help you—she has her own income and more political connections then even your father.”
“I barely even know her,” he said, letting his face fall into his hands. “She’s spent more time with the Queen than she has with me.”
Drina’s breath caught, followed by a sob. “If Queen Victoria finds out about my part in this escapade, any chance of her breaking the entail on my father’s estate will be gone. I will be practically penniless when my father dies, and Mama will try to pressure me into a marriage with some rich wretch like Lord Weatherby.”
Unbelievably, George felt his lips twitching upward into a smile; relieved to know that she didn’t return Weatherby’s obvious admiration. He lifted his head to look at her, but all he saw was her back, huddled in his overlarge coat. His slight smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. “Oh, Drina, I’m so, so sorry. This is all my fault.”
She turned to face him. “My cousin Friedrich should get a small share of the blame.”
“He wouldn’t have dragged you into this,” George said, taking her hand again through the bars and rubbing it between his hands to warm it. Her hand, like all of her, was beautifully shaped and so soft. He couldn’t help wishing that he was the eldest son or a prince—with a fortune and an estate. The sort of fellow whom she’d one day marry. The sort of man she deserved to marry; not a dependent younger son with few prospects. “I should’ve known better, but there’s no one I can trust as much as you. No one whom I’d rather be in a pickle with.”
Drina pulled her hand back. “Well, we’re certainly in a pretty pickle. Too bad the jail door isn’t … a jar.”
He smiled at her wit, instantly missing the warmth of her touch.
The door to the jail opened, and a rush of cold entered the already frigid room. George scrambled to his feet. He turned to offer his assistance to Drina, but she was already up, her delicate face peering through the bars.
The first person to walk through the door was none other than his elder brother, Edward, smiling like he’d found the silver sixpence in the Christmas pudding. He took off his tall, dark hat and gave the constable a sharp nod of recognition. Smythe followed behind him and closed the door.
“I am the Earl of Dinsmore. What do I need to do to set these two at liberty?” he asked in an authoritative voice that George almost didn’t recognize. Edward took a card from his coat and handed it to the constable.
The constable took the card and read it carefully.
“May I see the jewels in question?” Edward asked, but it sounded more like a demand.
Smythe took George’s coat off the table and pulled out the ruby necklace and the matching earrings, holding them out with his large, hairy hand. Edward accepted the jewels, pulled his quizzing glass out of his waistcoat pocket, and looked at them through its lens.
“Undoubtedly, these belong to the Princess Rothfield,” he said in the same aggrandized tone.
“My mother!” Drina chimed in and then hiccupped. She covered her mouth with her hands.
“Please release Lady Alexandrina Gailey, and my little brother, Lord George Worthington,” Edward said, and added in a soft, dangerous tone, “I should hate to have to report your overzealousness to your superiors.”
The constable stood still as a stock. The only sign that he’d heard what was said was that his eyes kept blinking.
“I’ll do it, sir,” Smythe said. He took the keys off a nail on the wall and unlocked first Drina’s cell and then George’s.
Drina rushed out of her cell. “Thank you so much, Edward,” she said, embracing him.
George involuntarily made a noise of disgust. Not that their hug was improper, or overly long. He wasn’t sure why it annoyed him so much. He walked more sedately out of his cell, with what was left of his dignity. There wasn’t much.
Edward held up his quizzing glass at George. “No embrace of gratitude for your big brother?”
George didn’t reply. His much taller brother loved to needle him about his lack of height. He picked up his coat and put it on. Edward handed the jewels to Drina without a word. She slipped the earrings into her ears and clasped the necklace around her throat. Mr. Smythe gave Drina her hat and she put it back on. She looked rather ridiculous wearing jewels and a top hat. Still, Edward offered Drina his arm and they walked out of the jail with their heads held high. George followed behind them with his head low.
The carriage was waiting outside the jail. Edward opened the door for Drina and assisted her inside; George sighed for not doing so himself as he climbed in after them.
As the carriage began to move, Edward yawned. “Am I assisting in an elopement?” he asked in a bored voice. “I’ve always wanted to, you know.”
“Of course not!” George said hotly.
“Oh no!” Drina cried at the same time. “I’m much too young to be getting married.”
“Then, Drina, may I be so vulgar as to inquire why you are dressed in men’s clothing and out with my little brother, without a chaperone in the middle of the night?” Edward asked.
“No,” she said flatly, before George could speak. “That’s why we asked for you, Edward. We don’t want anyone to ask awkward questions. Isn’t that right, George?”
“Yes,” was all he could manage.
“Ah,” Edward said, twiddling his quizzing glass. “So I did not leave the castle in the middle of the night to bail you two out of jail?”
“Perhaps you had a headache?” Drina suggested.
“You went into town for a drink,” George said. “There has to be some cause why he called for this carriage.”
“That’s reasonable,” she agreed, nodding.
“Very well, then,” Edward said, pocketing his quizzing glass. “But I’m going to tell Emily the truth. She’s dashed clever and wouldn’t believe anything else.”
George groaned. Of course Edward would tell his wife.
The carriage came to a stop, and Edward got out first. “Don’t dawdle getting back to your own rooms,” he said suggestively. He touched the brim of his hat and left without another word.
George and Drina stood up at the same time. They bumped together and lost their balance; he fell back on the carriage seat with Drina lying across his lap. She scooted off his legs immediately and they both said, “Sorry,” at the same time. Her hat was off again and he could see her beautiful long hair. It looked silver in the moonlight.
“After you,” he said in an attempt at chivalry.
Drina twirled up her hair and shoved the hat onto her head. She lopsidedly stepped out of the carriage and then stuffed her hands in her coat pockets as she walked toward the castle door. George followed and rushed to open the door for her.
“There you go,” he said, letting her walk through first.
She thanked him and George closed the door quietly behind them. But he saw two footmen.
Dash it all.
He reached into his coat pocket, relieved that his purse was still there. He took out two crowns and placed one in each of the footmen’s palms. Well-paid servants were silent servants. George turned to see that Drina had left down the corridor toward her own room. He jogged to catch up with her.
“You can’t go back to your room,” he whispered, touching her arm.
“Where else would I go?”
“My room.”
Drina’s eyes opened wide with shock.!
“You can’t leave your things in my room. What will the servants say in the morning?” he whispered.
“That you look dashing in crimson,” she said, giggling. “Or that you had a ladybird in company.” Her eyes opened wide again in innocent surprise and she placed her hand over her mouth.
“I’m not that sort of fellow,” he said indignantly.
Drina removed her hand and said seriously, “But perhaps my cousin Friedrich is.”
George felt himself blushing again. The possibility that Prince Friedrich was with a lady of the night had also crossed his mind. But he wasn’t about to take Drina to a brothel to find out. He took her by the arm and pulled her toward his room.
“Where did you even learn that term?”
“My mother,” Drina explained. “She is shockingly frank. Doesn’t at all agree with keeping young women ignorant of the facts of life. She says that ignorance and innocence are not at all the same thing.”
“Happy to hear it,” he lied. “But it’s not at all the thing for a proper young lady to talk about.”
“But it’s fine for a proper young man to purchase their services?” she pressed, walking toward him until his back was against the wall.
“I already told you,” George protested. “I don’t associate with women of that ilk.”
“But you associate with men who d-do, like Lord Weatherby,” Drina said, leaning slightly to one side. She really couldn’t hold her beer. “Don’t you think that it’s ridiculous to hold women to a different moral standard then men?”
He’d never really given the matter much thought, but he couldn’t help but see the justice of her words. He knew several men from the best families who openly kept mistresses. Such men, like Weatherby, were still considered to be great catches on the matrimonial market. But a young woman was supposed to be innocent and virginal; even the smallest rumor could damage her fair name.
He blushed at the duplicity of society, embarrassed at his own part in unwittingly supporting it.
“It is dashed unfair,” he agreed at last. “Men and women should be held to the same standards.”
“Then you agree with me that women deserve the same rights and privileges of the opposite sex?” she asked. “The right to inherit property and titles? To their own financial freedom under the law?”
George gulped. He’d never given women’s rights much thought, but he wanted Drina to have everything that she wanted. She deserved all the rights that he so often took for granted being a man.
“Yes,” he said.
Drina stepped crookedly to the side and looked up at him in a mixture of disbelief and joy. “You really mean it—hic?”
“Of course I do—”
But George’s sentence was cut off, because she suddenly threw her arms around his neck and attempted to kiss his cheek—though it was closer to his ear. Instinctively he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. Drina’s body molded against his perfectly without all those ridiculous female clothes and crinoline cages.
“I always knew you were—hic—wonderful, George,” she said.
She really is foxed, he thought as he stepped back from her.
“That’s nice, Drina,” he said slowly. “Let’s get your things and take you to your room.”
She giggled. “I would be quite compromised if anyone found me in yours. They would think I was a ladybird—tweet tweet tweet!”
“Shush!”
He scanned the corridor. Not a soul was in sight. He took Drina by the arm—she couldn’t walk straight without him—and led her to his door. It creaked loudly when he opened.
Drina sat on the floor to untie the boots and put on her crimson dancing slippers. Then she went to the bed and picked up her dress and gloves, draping them over her arm. All that remained was the enormous metal-framed skirt on the floor.
“Will you marry—hic—carry my crinoline, George?” she asked, giggling again.
He didn’t bother to respond, but went and picked the crinoline up. It wasn’t very heavy, less than ten pounds. But the metal underskirt was large, round, and awkward. It kept falling open every time he picked it up. Drina easily walked back through the door, but it took George two attempts to get the infernal contraption through the opening.
“How do you get through doors when you wear this thing?” he asked indignantly.
“Carefully,” Drina said with a lopsided smile. “And sometimes you have to go sideways.”
“Ridiculous contraption,” George muttered.
“I couldn’t agree more,” she said with another giggle. “Beastly thing.”
He carried it in front of him sideways, but it was awkward. He tried to hold it with one hand, but then it would expand on one side or the other. It ballooned open again and George cursed.
Drina laughed so loudly he felt obliged to shush her again. They wouldn’t be out of trouble until she was in her own room and he in his.
When they reached Drina’s room, she opened the door and easily walked inside. There were no candles lit, but there was a fire dancing in the fireplace, casting a dim light over the room. She set down her dress and gloves on the bed, while George tried three different times to bring the large crinoline through the narrow doorway. He tried walking with it in front of him. He tried pushing it through sideways. He tried flipping it upside down and walking through with it like a large bouquet of iron flowers.
“It doesn’t fit!”
Instead of assisting him, Drina collapsed on her bed in a fit of ill-timed giggles. George huffed in annoyance. He turned the crinoline cage to a 90-degree angle and gave it one more hard push.
The metal skirt slid through the doorway and he fell forward on his face as it collapsed beneath him. Drina let out a loud shout of hysterical laughter. George stood up to see her curled up on her side, tears running down her cheeks as she continued to laugh so hard that no noise was coming out of her mouth. With a reluctant grin, he bowed formally and left the room, closing the door behind him.
He wondered how much she’d remember in the morning. He wasn’t sure if he wanted her to remember the embrace or not. But one thing he did know for certain: He wouldn’t be forgetting it any time soon.