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The carriage swayed and tilted as it tackled a steep hill, shifting the velvet curtains. Aria moved them aside and peeked out. Sheep and cows dotted the dark green slopes surrounding her, the color striking against the gray sky. True love was the most marvelous thing. She never would have ventured into this most picturesque section of England otherwise.
“Cows!” Lucy Banks exclaimed, and her freckled nose crinkled. “Look at their spots!”
Aria smiled at her bridesmaid-to-be.
“Incredible!” Lucy’s mother cooed, clapping her hands with a vigor normally seen when a new tenor was introduced at the Royal Opera House.
Lucy’s father didn’t clap and didn’t coo. He kept his face resolutely on his ledger, as if he were sitting in his office in New York City. Lucy and her parents had agreed to come to Staffordshire for the wedding, though Lucy’s younger sister had elected to visit London with a friend. Perhaps Aria hadn’t been here for long, but it was a comfort to learn she had made friends. Lucy was also a foreigner, and Aria and she had soon bonded.
“The area is beautiful,” Aria’s father agreed, holding Galileo in his arms. Aria beamed. Galileo wagged his tail, and he panted happily.
Father understood. It would all be fine.
Lucy scooted to the window and poked her head out. The second coach, filled with servants, was visible as the road curved. Lucy’s auburn curls fluttered in the wind, the force amplified by the carriage’s speed.
“I assume they don’t have cows like this in New York City?” Father inquired politely.
“They don’t have much of anything in New York City,” Lucy said miserably and sat back. She shrugged. “Well, some cows, I suppose. But not this kind.”
Aria’s bodyguard sniffed. This entire journey he’d been consumed with sniffing, as if he were practicing to be a British butler.
He seemed convinced that Americans were intent on waging war. He must have read too many newspaper stories at an impressionable age about the War of 1812. She was certain Americans weren’t waging battles.
No, her bodyguard had nothing to fear. Father might be rich, but rural England exuded safety.
“It is lovely,” Aria mused.
They must be nearly there. A tall gray castle stood on a hilltop that jutted over the valley, as if it were intent on conquering it.
“Do you suppose that’s Laventhorpe Castle?” Aria asked.
“Ah.” Mr. Banks removed his reading spectacles and gazed out for the first time. “Yes, that is indeed Laventhorpe Castle. I saw an illustration of it in one of the books I read on the way to England.”
Mrs. Banks rolled her eyes. “He read many books.”
“But this illustration was memorable,” Mr. Banks said.
“Well done, my dear,” Father said. “They don’t have hills like this near Stockholm.”
Aria smiled. “I would have married him even if his house had been much less grand, and the landscape less magnificent.”
“But it is intelligent of you that it did not come to that.” Mr. Banks shot a glance at his daughter. “Lucy, there is much for you to learn from the princess.”
“We’ll be fortunate if Lucy marries anyone,” Mrs. Banks huffed. “No proposals yet. Not a single one, despite our money. It’s mortifying. I don’t know how we’ll show our face again in North America if she doesn’t have a man on her arm soon.”
Lucy didn’t reply. No doubt she knew her parents had been expecting her to marry an Englishman of high rank. Unfortunately, most Englishmen of high rank seemed nervous around her.
Demon nodded approvingly at the castle. “That looks very well protected. No one will be able to climb up that cliff easily.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” Aria told her bodyguard.
“You’re a princess,” Demon reminded her. “There are always assassins.”
“Well, I doubt any of the people who live here will be very interested in the political situation in either Sweden or India.”
Her bodyguard frowned, and she sighed.
“Though, of course, I’m very grateful you’ve kept me alive so far.”
Demon’s disgruntled look vanished. “You’re very welcome. I have done a good job protecting you.”
“Most excellent,” she said, still focused on the castle.
The building was absolutely magnificent. It loomed over the countryside in a majestic manner she immediately adored. Her darling duke had already told her that it had been built centuries before, but she still hadn’t prepared herself for the glorious medieval architecture.
Her heart pounded. Soon, she would be at the castle. Soon, she would be reacquainted with the duke. Soon, she would be engaged.
“One day, I want to be as happy as you,” Lucy mused, turning her freckled face to Aria.
Aria smiled. “It is a feat I did not even expect for myself.”
When a matchmaker had contacted her a few months ago to see if she might be interested in being a potential match for the Duke of Hammett, she’d agreed half-heartedly. An uncomfortable boat ride ended with her plunged in the River Avon, a thankfully narrow, albeit still wet, section. It had made her doubtful of the prospect of marriage at all.
And yet, her dearest darling Duke of Framingham had changed all her misconceptions. He’d pushed away her misgivings. She hadn’t realized she would love him when she first met him, but by the time he’d sent Aria a letter asking her to marry him, she’d been certain.
Finally, the carriage stopped before a line of servants bedecked in wigs and breeches. They stood rigidly, as if their presence were as old and established as that of Laventhorpe Castle’s pillars.
Aria knew she should feel nervous, but only a wave of happiness moved through her. The castle’s exterior was more wonderful than she’d imagined, and she eyed the old-fashioned battlements with glee. A stone chapel stood near the castle. Tomorrow, Dudley and she would marry there. She forced herself not to leap from the carriage before the other passengers had descended.
Finally, she exited the carriage and stared at darling Dudley. His hair might be speckled with gray, and his chin might be on the verge of growing an unnecessary addition, but it didn’t matter. His eyes didn’t crinkle or shimmer, but that wasn’t in his nature. He was solemn and serious, but she knew the passion and curiosity inside him.
Happiness flitted through Aria. Life was soon going to become very wonderful.
“Sweetheart,” she murmured and fell into a deep curtsy.
*
RUPERT STOOD WITH THE servants and watched two glossy black coaches rumble over the gravel road, turn past the fountain, and finally stop. His heartbeat quickened. He glanced at his cousin, but Dudley’s expression was calm; apparently, he was confident in their love.
The driver of the first coach, clothed in blue-and-yellow livery that matched the feathers on the horses’ headpieces, stepped from the carriage. He nodded to them, then opened the door to the carriage. A tall, blond-haired man in his forties stepped from the carriage, followed by a young red-haired woman, and an older couple. Finally, a tall, dark-haired woman descended the steps, and Rupert’s heart stopped.
This must be the princess. She was beautiful. There was no other manner in which to describe her. She was tall and slender. Her golden skin glowed against her yellow afternoon dress. Coils of thick dark hair peaked from her bonnet. Her face was exquisite: full lips, a perfectly straight nose, and an oval face. Artists would be upset when they saw her, realizing their masterpieces were ineffective displays of beauty. What was a Venus stepping from seashells in comparison?
Rupert’s chest tightened, and an odd longing surged through him.
In the moment after that, Dudley marched forward. He swept into a bow. It was not a terribly deep bow, and Rupert sighed that his cousin’s arthritis would plague him at this moment.
“Welcome to Laventhorpe Castle. I’m certain the princess and her father are most tired,” the duke said sternly. “I shall send food to your rooms tonight.”
A flicker of confusion ran in the princess’s eyes, but then she smiled. “It is kind of you to want us to rest.”
“Bleary-eyed people make imperfect guests,” the duke said, before howling into laughter.
The others joined him after a startled moment, and Rupert slinked away.
Perhaps he was wrong to be worried. He didn’t know the princess. She would become the new Duchess of Framingham. She might find it amusing that he considered his role so important in her husband’s courtship of her.
Rupert didn’t want to be subjected to thousands of awkward dinners and picnics whenever he saw the duke again. His cottage was on the duke’s estate. He didn’t want to attract more of his cousin’s anger than usual. Not when his cousin controlled so much of Rupert’s debt. Not when his cousin had met the princess before and had formed an understanding. Not when his cousin was suffering from arthritis and had simply been overwhelmed at the thought of writing the princess.
Rupert returned to his cottage. Being anything but happy for his cousin would be ridiculous.