Page 48 of The Secret of Flirting
He shot Lady Fulkham an exasperated look, which softened into a contrite smile. “Sorry about that, Mother. I don’t mean to be so cranky.”
Lady Fulkham beamed at him. After that she was all business, showing them inside, offering them refreshments, and directing servants. A very efficient woman, Gregory’s mother. One would think she’d been expecting them for weeks; she had everything under control.
At least now Monique knew where Gregory got his powers of restraint. She could have used some of those right now to keep from gawking at his lovely home. It was even grander than the London town house.
The central staircase was of Italian marble, for pity’s sake! The wallpaper was patterned silk, the curtains were brocade, and she would have sworn that the painting in the foyer was a genuine Van Dyck. Not that she would have known what it was if the count hadn’t remarked upon it—but judging from Lady Ursula’s reaction, the artist was important enough to impress the royal family.
Which begged the question—why was Gregory bothering with politics in London if he had expensive paintings lying about his home? Why not simply enjoy the life of a landed gentleman? It made no sense.
By the time she was led into her bedchamber, she wasn’t surprised to find it full of the finest Sheridan furniture, with silver fittings, embroidered bed hangings, and an ancient tapestry on one wall, which had probably been woven by some famous person as well. That was clearly why Lady Fulkham had called this the Tapestry Room.
Flora was already unpacking her trunks. “Oh, Your Highness, isn’t it wonderful? I know you are used to lovely houses like these, but this is the grandest one I’ve ever seen! And her ladyship seemssovery kind that I’m sure...” Flora prattled on in her usual way.
Lady Ursula had cautioned Monique that she was supposed to use a harsh word or two to put Flora in her place, as was the way of princesses, but she could never bear to do it. Too many times, she had been the recipient of lowering comments made by fine ladies at the theater who were jealous of the interest their husbands showed her. It had taken years for her to grow a skin thick enough to deflect such remarks.
While Flora might need to grow that sort of skin eventually, Monique wouldn’t be the one to toughen her up or destroy her view of the world as a place of wonders. Let the girl enjoy her brush with “greatness.”
Flora cast her a sly look. “Soareyou going walking in the garden with his lordship?” She held up a walking dress of cerulean-blue watered silk. “Because this would be perfect. Brings out the green in your eyes. His lordship will be falling all over himself at the sight of you in this.”
Monique tensed. Had Flora noticed the charged atmosphere between her and Gregory whenever they were in the same room? If the girl had, theneveryonemight notice. Oh God, she must take more care to hide her feelings.
“Why would I want that?” she asked, a little too sharply.
Flora blinked. “Because he can make you queen of Belgium. That’s what you’re hoping for, isn’t it?”
Stop being a fool, Monique. The girl isn’t talking about your mad infatuation with Gregory.“Oh. Of course.”
But only because of whatnotbecoming queen of Belgium would lose her.
Shemuststop thinking of Gregory as a man she desired, or she might find herself and Grand-maman dumped unceremoniously back in Dieppe, and this whole insane scheme would be for naught.
Eleven
The duke arrived before Gregory got the chance to show Monique and Lady Ursula around the gardens, which annoyed him even more than Mother’s treating him like an ungrateful son.
His motherknewwhy being at Canterbury Court was difficult for him. Yet she couldn’t accept it. Sometimes it frustrated him.
And now something else was frustrating him—the way Pontalba and Monique were flirting. He wanted her to himself, damn it. But only so he could delve more into why she was masquerading.
Not because he wanted to taste her mouth again or hear her laugh or see the wonder rise in her eyes when she viewed his gardens. No, indeed. Nothing so base as jealousy fueled his irritation.
God, he was such a liar.
It irritated him that Pontalba had offered Monique his arm for the stroll, leaving Lady Ursula to Gregory. He had to wonder if it was by design.
Had Monique planned it that way? If so, was she just currying the duke’s favor in hopes he would throw his vote toward her as queen? Or was there more to it? Was she hoping to hedge her bets in case she ended up a poor actress back in Dieppe? A woman could make much of being the mistress of a man like Pontalba.
The very idea made Gregory’s gut twist. That would happen over his dead body. If she was seeking a protector,hewould be first in line.
So he had to grit his teeth when she batted her lush lashes at Pontalba. “Do you have gardens as beautiful as these atyourestate, Your Grace?”
“With apologies to his lordship, I believe mine at Valcour are even more lovely.” The duke placed his hand over hers intimately. “You would much enjoy viewing them, I’m sure.”
Gregory had to fight the urge to knock the man’s hand from her arm. Instead, he said, in his most bored tone, “It’s a pity the princess will never get the chance. Given that she’ll probably become queen of Belgium, she’ll be much too busy ruling the infant country to visit one of France’s many provincial dukes.”
It was the first time Gregory had given any indication of his bias toward a candidate for ruler, but he’d done it deliberately to witness the duke’s reaction and figure out his true intentions. Did Pontalba merely mean to court the woman for his country’s sake, or was he playing a deeper game involving his own candidate?
Besides, Gregory was proud of his gardens, even though he was rarely here to enjoy them. His mother had worked hard to improve and expand them, and Gregory resented Pontalba’s disdain. Especially in front of Monique.
