Page 33 of The Secret of Flirting
The words seemed to give Lord Fulkham pause, as they were obviously meant to do. “I should hope not. That would be most unwise.”
She fought the urge to shiver at the veiled threat. Was this the world of diplomacy? If so, she wanted none of it. Thank God it would be Aurore enduring these games and not she.
Time to end it. “Lord Fulkham, I thought you had come to take me for a drive, not trade words with my great-uncle.” She held out her hand. “Shall we go? I am most eager to see this Hyde Park you spoke of.”
He forced a smile. “Certainly, Your Highness. I would be honored.”
“The princess’s maid will, of course, be attending her,” the count said.
That gave Monique pause. “I expected Lady Ursula to join me.”
The count’s hard smile answered that. “She is feeling unwell, so Flora will go.”
Sacrebleu. The sympathies of her English maid would not be with her, but with the very handsome Lord Fulkham. “Of course.”
Oddly enough, Lord Fulkham looked as if he disapproved. “Such a shame that Lady Ursula is ill. Do give her my sympathies.”
Count de Beaumonde nodded, and Lord Fulkham left with her. Before they even reached the foyer downstairs where her maid stood waiting with her cloak, the undersecretary said in a low voice, “You see how he throws you to the wolves? Why do you let him?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she retorted. “Are you a wolf, sir?”
He stiffened. “I could be. That is the point.”
“But you and my uncle know each other well, do you not? So he’s aware that you can be entrusted with a princess.”
“Hmm,” was all he would say.
But his remark made her wonder. Was he truly concerned about her? Or simply trying to drive a wedge between her and the count?
If so, he was succeeding. It unnerved her how easily her champion Lady Ursula was whisked away and a foreigner put in her place.
They set out beneath a steady drizzle. At least his curricle had a hood that protected them, although poor Flora was left to sit on the back with nothing but a bonnet and a cloak to shield her from the weather.
“It appears I picked a bad day for a drive.” Lord Fulkham handled his horses exceedingly well, maneuvering them onto the street with ease. The beasts were probably as afraid to cross him as everyone else seemed to be. “I hope it isn’t too uncomfortable for you.”
“It is fine, although England seems very rainy. Is it always so?”
“Yes. That’s what makes it so very green.”
“My country is green, but it does not have constant rain.”
He turned pensive. “True. France manages to have the best of both worlds.”
“As does Chanay.” When his lips curved cynically, she added, out of spite, “We have wonderful summers, full of sunshine and golden blooms. Can you say the same for England?”
“I can say the same formypart of England. My estate, Canterbury Court, is in Kent. We suffer some of the rain, but we have more sunny days than the north and even than London. That’s why we’re called the garden of England.”
“It sounds beautiful,” she said, and meant it. “Why do you spend so much time in town if you have such loveliness at your estate?”
His shoulders tensed. “I have duties.”
“But must your duties to England be your first concern? If you have sufficient property to live comfortably in the country, why do you and your fellow statesmen toil in the city for much of the year?”
He flashed her a rueful smile. “You sound like my mother. She wishes I would stay in the country all the time.”
“I can understand why. In my opinion, large cities are too restless. So many people, so much noise, so much dirt. I prefer the green.” And the wonderful, turbulent sea. Though if she mentioned that, he would pounce on it as evidence of her true identity, since Chanay was landlocked. “The country provides a solitude that is soothing.”
“And tedious. Not to mention silent.”
