CHAPTER THREE

AFTER the duchess left, I returned to my task. Sometime later, an otherworldly echo rang through the house. Deciding this must be the gong, I pulled off my apron and extra sleeves and walked to the front hallway.

Various members of the household dashed past me to fill in lines on either side of the hall. From her mother’s painting, I recognized the young girl as the duchess’s daughter and stepped next to the young woman I guessed was her governess.

“Are you the new secretary?” she asked in a murmur.

“Yes,” I replied and looked down into her dark eyes. “Governess?”

“For the time being.” She smiled up at me, displaying a rosebud mouth and even, white teeth.

I sensed another person in the household who didn’t belong, and that made her someone I wanted to get to know better.

The butler called for our attention as the duchess arrived down the stairs. As soon as she was in place, we heard the sound of door chimes. The butler opened the door and the young, blond princess strolled in followed by a scowling, middle-aged dragon. There was so much bowing and curtsying going on I didn’t notice the portly man with the thinning fair hair walk in until I saw who was standing behind him.

The Duke of Blackford.

My heartbeat rapped harder in my chest when I saw him. His dark hair was ruler straight; his ever-vigilant eyes as black as his perfectly cut suit. His regal bearing and stern expression grabbed all of my attention.

The governess’s as well. I heard her purr like a cat when she saw him. I wanted to tell her he was spoken for, that he was mine, but that would be an obvious lie.

I would never be able to say he was mine. My heartbeat slowed and my stomach sank.

The aristocrats greeted each other while the household stood silently by in case someone was needed. The princess’s Russian lady’s maid stood just inside the door, holding several small packages and staring at the floor.

Finally, after several tedious minutes, they marched upstairs to the sitting room or boudoir and we were free to go back to our usual duties. I heard the princess speak in Russian to her maid and the young, dark-haired woman followed her up the stairs.

They had nearly reached the landing when one of the maids turned and ran into another. “Watch out,” the injured maid said.

Both the princess and her Russian lady’s maid swiveled around to look. I watched them, wondering if their attention was captured by the maid’s startled tone or the words she spoke. In English.

A commanding voice called me away from my thoughts. “I’m Amelia Whitten, the governess. And this is Lady Daisy.”

“Milady,” I said and gave an appropriately deep curtsy to a little girl who was studying the artwork on the ceiling. “I’m Georgia Peabody, Her Grace’s new secretary.”

“Milady, give Miss Peabody a curtsy.”

“Miss Peabody.” Reminded of her manners, the little girl spoke gravely as she curtsied. I guessed her age at six years, her blond hair flowing down her back in ringlets.

Amelia nodded to me and led Lady Daisy up the stairs. I walked down the hall and finished my work on the typewriter before eating my solitary luncheon and reorganizing the writing supplies.

At a loss for any other chores, I stood looking out the window at the greenery along the edge of the back garden, when I heard a tap at the door. I spun around as the duchess walked in, followed by the lovely young woman and the fierce middle-aged one. The princess and the chaperone avoided looking at each other or even letting their skirts brush each other’s as they walked in.

“Princess Kira, Lady Raminoff, this is my secretary, Miss Peabody,” the duchess said, in a far better French accent than mine.

I gave them a deep curtsy.

“She will act as your social secretary as well as mine, and will be your English tutor.”

“What?” Lady Raminoff squawked. Her French truly sounded as if an angry parrot were speaking. “Has this been approved by my government?”

“The tsar and the queen discussed Princess Kira’s need for English lessons and it was decided this was the best solution,” the duchess said. I was impressed with how smoothly she lied. “Princess, when would you like your lessons to begin?”

“Not for several days,” Lady Raminoff said. Every time the woman opened her mouth, I wanted to giggle.

“Now,” Princess Kira said. “You may leave us for half an hour.”

The older woman’s mouth worked but, thankfully, no sound came out. The duchess gracefully gestured for Lady Raminoff to lead her from the room.

Once they were gone and the door shut, the princess sat on one of the armless, straight-backed chairs and nodded for me to sit on another. “Thank goodness she’s gone. She spies on me every hour of every day.”

Her French was rapid and precise. I took a moment to translate her words in my head before I answered, “Isn’t that the job of a chaperone?”

“She is extra vigilant. So, please, teach me some English. I want to carry on conversations the dragon doesn’t understand.” The princess sounded desperate, making me think her reaction to the maid’s words in the entrance hall was due only to the tone of voice.

“What do you want to discuss that Lady Raminoff mustn’t know about?” Did the princess have a Russian lover she needed to keep secret from the duke? She was certainly pretty enough and wore enough jewelry to interest any number of men.

She started at my words. “Nothing. I simply want a little privacy.”

I could understand that. I valued my solitude, too—and I hadn’t grown up in a palace where it might be in short supply.

Giving her a smile, I said in French, “The time is after luncheon and before dinner, so you would say”—here I switched to English—“Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon,” she repeated.

She had an accent, but her smile would make up for any lack in her pronunciation.

“Teach me more,” she commanded.

I could tell she was smart. And from the considering glances she gave me, I suspected she was judging whether she could trust me. She was learning English for more than a little privacy. I’d just have to wait and see what else she wanted to know.

When the dragon returned in exactly one-half hour, the princess had learned greetings and her numbers and a few basic nouns. I had no idea how many of these new words she’d remember by the next day.

“Lady Raminoff,” she said in French as she stood, “I’ve made good progress for today. I shall meet again tomorrow afternoon with Miss Peabody for another lesson.”

The chaperone said something in Russian that began a heated discussion. The older woman still sounded like a parrot; the younger one acted like no one had ever dared disagree with her before. This went on for a few minutes and all the time I cursed my lack of Russian. I heard the name “Lidijik” once. Were they giving clues to the murder of the imperial guard in front of me while I stood by in ignorance? I wanted to stomp my foot in frustration.

Finally, Princess Kira turned to me and said in French, “We will continue my lessons tomorrow afternoon. Alone.”

•   •   •

THE NEXT MORNING, I heard a tap on the morning room door and watched Princess Kira slip in, shutting the door behind her. “Miss Peabody, could we do our lesson in the National Gallery today? So I could learn the English names for painting techniques?”

“I’ll try. I’m afraid I’m not as versed in painting as you are,” I replied in French as I dipped a quick curtsy.

She either didn’t notice or didn’t care that my curtsy was not the deep reverential one she should expect from employees. “That is fine. The duke will come with us, and he’ll be able to help.”

“What about your chaperone?”

“We won’t tell her.”

“How will you leave the house without her knowing?”

“Leave that to me. Just don’t ask questions. Be ready to go as soon as we finish luncheon.” The eagerness in her voice told me how much she wanted to escape her chaperone. Then she looked me over. Her lower lip curled in scorn. “That is what you wore today?”

I was dressed in a peach blouse with a gray skirt. No ruffles, no silk, no jewels. I liked the outfit; the shirtwaist didn’t war with my auburn hair color. I held her gaze as I said, “Yes.”

There was a small sigh. “No matter.”

I was going to have a hard time putting up with the princess. “What time will you finish luncheon?” I asked in French.

A smile crossed her face. “Two,” she said in clear English.

After she left, I waited with mild impatience for my meal to arrive. I ate faster than usual, concentrating not on my food but on what Princess Kira had planned once she left the house. Did she have a flair for espionage and a dislike for her chaperone, or was something deeper going on? A Russian political feud? A plot to sabotage the princess’s wedding?

And where did the murder of her imperial guard, the only other member of her entourage besides her chaperone and her lady’s maid, fit into her plan?

I paced the room. Ideas bounced through my mind and were quickly discarded for lack of evidence. When the clock showed it was nearly time, I went into the back hall. I had my hat pinned firmly in place when Princess Kira appeared, her hat and gloves already on.

She waved frantically to me and hurried into the garden. I grabbed my gloves and followed.

Leading the way along a path past a fountain and then next to the kitchen garden, Princess Kira arrived at the coach house. She entered without knocking and walked along the far side of the Hereford coach. I could hear the grooms working in the stables but no one cried out an alarm.

The princess didn’t speak English, but she’d learned the secrets of the house in a day. “How did you know how to get off the Hereford property and into this back alley?” I asked as I exited the coach house.

She gave me a smile and walked over to the coach with the Sussex crest waiting in the alleyway. The footman lowered the steps and helped the princess in. I climbed in after her to find not only the Duke of Sussex waiting for us, but the Duke of Blackford.

Sussex tapped on the ceiling with his cane and we drove off. Just an everyday outing, with two dukes, a princess, and a middle-class shop owner. I was underdressed and under-titled for our excursion.

I wanted to question Blackford on what he knew about this trip, but the presence of the princess and Sussex stopped me. Blackford met my stare across the carriage with a tiny shake of his head before he glanced away. Apparently, we were not to act like we knew each other.

“Today I wish to go to the National Gallery,” Princess Kira said in French to Sussex. “I will improve my English by learning painting terms.”

“I’d be delighted to escort you, milady,” Sussex said, an infatuated grin on his pudgy face.

The princess continued, “You and Blackford will follow us. If Miss Peabody doesn’t know the English word, you may step in.”

“I’d be glad to.” He really did sound glad. For two social equals, the princess was leading the royal duke by his cravat.

“There are a lot of paintings there,” I said. “Where would you like to start?”

“Are there any French paintings of this century?”

“Several,” I guessed with feigned confidence. “Am I not right, gentlemen?”

“I hope you’ll be pleased with them,” Sussex said.

Blackford turned to look out the window, pursing his lips together.

The princess gave a regal nod. “When we arrive, please escort us there.”

“With pleasure.” Sussex reminded me of a loyal hound.

Sussex’s coach was well sprung in comparison to Blackford’s ancient vehicle. I looked out the window and enjoyed the rest of the ride.

When we arrived, the dukes handed us down and started toward the beautiful classical front of the gallery. Princess Kira stopped, transfixed by the sight. “What a perfect building.”

She studied it for so long, slowly turning from left to right, that Sussex finally said, “It’s even prettier inside.”

The princess finished her perusal and nodded to him. “We shall go inside.” She gave Sussex her arm and he escorted her up the steps and through the massive front doors.

Blackford held out his arm to me. “Miss?” he said in English.

“Thank you.”

“Are you her chaperone this afternoon?”

“I suppose I must be, since her chaperone doesn’t know she’s out of Hereford House.”

Blackford raised his eyebrows. “Whose idea was that?”

“Hers.”

He murmured so quietly I barely heard him say, “What is she up to?”

Once inside, blinking in the dark after the bright sunshine outdoors, we wandered a bit before we stumbled across recent French paintings. Apparently, that was Princess Kira’s cue to begin her lesson. She said words in French; I gave the English translations. When a painting term was too obscure for me, one of the dukes supplied the English equivalent.

She obviously loved the paintings. She’d gaze at them and sigh, pointing out the mix of colors and brushstrokes. While she stared at the canvases with admiration, Sussex gazed at her with adoration.

This continued for a half hour, until the men wandered at a distance out of boredom. The princess suddenly said the French word for bus.

“Bus, or omnibus,” I replied.

“Horse.”

I translated. “Why?”

“I must have a general knowledge of English.”

“When does a duchess need to know the word for bus?”

Her answer was “Bread.”

We went through several more common words until the men rejoined us. Then she switched to painting terms again.

Walking into the next room, the princess froze. Then she started talking about the painting to our left in rapid French. To me it was an ordinary painting in the impressionist style, but the princess and Sussex were not the only ones studying it carefully.

A blond woman in her early twenties was also looking wistfully at the canvas. Her mauve-colored dress, with dried mud imperfectly brushed from the hem, was out of style, at odds with her stylish hat with two large feathers and her pristine gloves. She was the same height as the princess and at a distance could pass for her. Up close, however, the two women wouldn’t be mistaken for each other for an instant.

I wondered if there was a plan to swap this woman for the princess. It would only work if the impersonator kept at a distance from all who knew her. I found myself looking over my shoulder for thugs to drag off Princess Kira and replace her with this woman.

Was this the reason her bodyguard needed to be killed?

“I need to get back before they miss me. Will you gentlemen please summon the carriage? We’ll meet you in front of the building,” the princess said in French.

“Of course.” Sussex bowed over her hand and then he and Blackford left to do her bidding.

I started looking for the threat I suspected was coming, my pulse rushing in my head and my muscles poised to spring. Then I heard a rapid exchange of what I’d begun to recognize as Russian.

I swung back to see the princess and the other blonde standing close together without touching, leaning toward each other, talking in their indecipherable tongue. The princess was getting teary eyed, and the young woman’s tone was soothing.

After a scant minute of talk, a well-dressed couple began to approach our alcove. Instinctively, I cleared my throat before I’d made a conscious decision to keep the princess’s secret.

With a few parting words, Princess Kira whipped around and marched over to me. “Shall we go?” she said, reverting to French.

I nodded and walked through the gallery toward the front entrance with her. “Who is she?”

“Who?”

“The woman you were talking to.”

“I wasn’t talking to anyone.”

“Nonsense.”

“If you say I was talking to anyone, I shall deny it. No one will believe you.” Her tone and her expression were haughty.

“This isn’t Russia. I will be believed. However, I’ll keep your secret if you’ll tell me what is going on.”

“She, uh, was a maid in my parents’ house. She packed up and left without a word. I was surprised to see her here. There was a man involved, of course. They came here, but life hasn’t been as easy as they expected.” She looked straight ahead as she spoke, moving rapidly through the gallery’s rooms without glancing at the paintings.

That was too easy. I didn’t believe her. Not because she didn’t look at me—I wasn’t of her class, after all—but because she couldn’t look at her beloved paintings while she lied.

I was going to have to keep a very close watch on her.

We walked back into the sunny afternoon, blinking at the change in light. As we descended the wide stairs, the Sussex carriage came into view circling Nelson’s Column. The princess was handed up into the carriage, I was next, and we rode back to Hereford House.

“Do you want me to go in and smooth things over with the duchess?” Sussex asked.

“No. We’ll go in the way we left. Perhaps tomorrow we can go to a park and Miss Peabody can teach me the English names for birds and flowers. Will you escort us, Arthur?” The princess favored him with a smile.

He took her hand and said, “I’d be delighted, Kira.” I thought for a moment he was going to go down on his knees to her in the carriage, but the lack of room, or perhaps the audience, dissuaded him.

“Shall we go out the front door tomorrow?” Blackford asked. I recognized the dry tone. He was finding the princess’s dramatic entrance and exit amusing.

“If Miss Peabody can help me persuade my chaperone and the duchess that she is adequate security for my honor. We’ll discuss this at luncheon tomorrow.” She patted Sussex’s hand with her free one.

“I’ll do my best.” I couldn’t look at Blackford, afraid my expression would give away our mutual interest in Princess Kira’s excursions.

The princess had Sussex stop the carriage before we reached the Hereford coach house. The footman gave me his hand to help me descend, and I waited in the dust while the engaged couple said their good-byes. Then the princess was helped down and we hurried through the side door into the carriage house.

A gardener stood before us, as surprised to see us as we were to see him. Finally, he gave us a nod and said, “Is everything all right?”

“The Russians don’t believe in wholesome afternoon outings, even with chaperones, for young ladies. Being English, we think an engaged couple can enjoy a walk around an art gallery or a park. Properly escorted, of course. We’re not so feudal here in England. Agreed?” I handed him a shilling.

“Agreed, ma’am,” he said, nodding his thanks. “You might want to slip in quiet-like. The Russian witch has been shouting the house down.”

I smiled at him. “Thanks.” Then in French, “Lady Raminoff knows you’re missing.”

“Well, then, we’ll need to be very persuasive.”

We had almost reached the door to the morning room when Lady Raminoff came squawking down the main staircase at full volume in the same strange tongue the princess had spoken in the art gallery. Princess Kira kept her voice lower when she responded, but her tone was no less forceful.

The Duchess of Hereford appeared from upstairs, a dab of paint on one hand and a lock of hair falling loose. “Miss Peabody, what has happened? Where were you?”

“Princess Kira arranged for the dukes of Sussex and Blackford to pick us up by the coach house and take us to the National Gallery. We conducted our language lesson there and then returned. She has been properly chaperoned and escorted every step of the way.”

The duchess raised an eyebrow. “Nothing untoward has happened to either of you?”

“No, ma’am.” At least nothing I’d share with her until I had to.

“Good. This hysteria has to stop.” Switching to French, the duchess said, “Lady Raminoff, the princess is unharmed and unsullied. Please calm yourself.”

“If anything had happened to her, I would have held you and this English tutor responsible. The tsar will not be pleased when I report this to him.”

“Go ahead. He won’t care. Nicholas is very reasonable,” the princess snapped at her chaperone. At least they were now speaking French and no longer yelling.

“And your father?” Lady Raminoff’s voice was still grating on my ears.

“My father wants this marriage. He will not object as long as we follow the rules of British society. He knows things are not the same as in Russia.”

Lady Raminoff replied in what I assumed was Russian. I suspected what she said was not flattering to England.

“That is your opinion. I like Britain,” the princess said in regal tones.

“That is fortunate, because your future is here,” the duchess said, staring at Lady Raminoff. “So, how did your English lesson go?”

“Well. I plan to go to the park tomorrow for new words,” the princess said.

I wondered if she’d arranged to meet the Russian girl there. Hiding my unease, I said in English, “She’s trying very hard. So far, we’ve worked mainly on nouns. Perhaps in the park we’ll try a few verbs as well. I believe the Duke of Sussex will come over tomorrow to see if he can escort us to the park for our lesson. If that’s all right with Your Grace?”

“Of course, Miss Peabody. You seem to have the situation well in hand.”

I wished.

“What are you saying?” Lady Raminoff demanded in French.

The duchess gave her a smooth reply, one that sounded frosty to my ears.

“I must, of course, accompany them to the park,” the chaperone said.

“There’s no ‘of course’ about it,” Princess Kira snapped at her.

Why was she so against her chaperone coming with us? Was it some personal dislike, which I could understand, or was there a deeper motive?

“I will not interfere with your lesson,” Lady Raminoff huffed out in haughty French.

“There is much to see and do in Hyde Park this time of year. Lady Raminoff could sit on a bench and enjoy our lovely weather while Princess Kira and Miss Peabody take a stroll and practice speaking English,” the Duchess of Hereford said. She spoke with such reasonableness that I might have been the only one who heard the undertone of annoyance at her quarreling houseguests.

“That sounds like an excellent compromise,” I said and earned a quick glance of thanks from the duchess.

“No.” Princess Kira tapped her foot.

“Don’t be difficult,” Lady Raminoff said before barking some Russian.

The princess paled and said, “Very well. I will tell the duke our plans at luncheon tomorrow.” She flounced up the stairs.

The duchess gave a small sigh and followed her at a dignified pace.

Lady Raminoff pointed at me and said, “Your office. Now.”

Just what I needed. An argument in French.