Linda Jones - Capturing the Crown

That out of the way, Russell questioned the scenario that Lazlo was painting. “The wedding is canceled.”

“Check your scorecard. There’s been a substitution play. The wedding hasn’t been canceled, just recast. Playing the part of the prince will be Russell, Duke of Carrington. Don’t you pay attention to your traditions, Carrington?” When he received no response, there was a note of satisfaction in the older man’s voice as he continued. “You’re paying me to be informed. You’re also paying me to find the truth.” Again Lazlo paused, this time so that his words could sink in one at a time. “One could say that you had a great deal to gain from the prince’s death.”

Russell laughed to himself. Lazlo had no idea how absurd that idea was, he thought. “Feel free to investigate me.”

“Thank you.” His tone indicated that they would have done just that with or without permission. “We’ll be in touch, Carrington.”

With that, the conversation was terminated.

Russell replaced the receiver and stood for a moment, staring at the telephone, not seeing it. Not seeing anything at all in the study.

He was getting married. In less than a day if everything was held to the same schedule as before.

He had no idea how he felt about that. Other than numb.

Amelia adjusted her headpiece. The veil wasn’t falling the right way. She felt tears gathering in her eyes and knew that they had nothing to do with the veil.

Tension brought the tears.

Things were happening much too fast for her. She’d never been one to enjoy life in the slow lane, but this was far more than she had bargained for. Far more than she could assimilate.

Her head felt as if it were spinning.

Less than two weeks ago, she had been in her gardens, fervently wishing that time would somehow find a way to stand still, at least for a little while. Dreading the wedding that loomed before her on the horizon like some creature that had been resurrected in a mad scientist’s laboratory.

And now, despite all the changes, despite the royal tragedy of finding the prince dead in his bed, the wedding was still going to be on schedule. Only the groom had been changed.

She was marrying Russell.

Just the way, in a moment filled with passion and desire, she’d wanted to. Just the way she’d wished. Russell, who had introduced her to the world of lovemaking. Russell, who had grown into a man who was, at the core, kind and gentle and caring.

Russell, who now looked at her with distant eyes.

She knew it was because, in an unguarded moment, she’d allowed herself to tell him the truth. Tell him that, for less than a fragment of a second, she’d had doubts about him.

Dear lord, she had doubts about herself, as well. Doubts about everything right now.

But men didn’t understand the emotional distress that women sometimes found themselves laboring under. Men didn’t understand how women thought with their hearts as well as their heads.

Logic was the only thing that made sense to a man like Russell. And when confronted with what he thought to be the logic of her suspicions, he’d shut down. Shut her out. Grown distant.

In the last day and a half, when she’d tried to reach him, tried to get him alone just to talk to him, he had brushed her off by saying that he was too busy. He seemed to go out of his way to make himself unavailable to her.

If she didn’t know any better, she would have said that he was trying to avoid her.

She adjusted the headpiece for the dozenth time. She stared at her reflection, not seeing the elaborate beadwork that had taken seamstresses weeks to complete. Maybe, she thought, she did know better.

Maybe he was trying to avoid her because she’d committed the sin of suspecting him. Or was it because she was right, and avoiding her until the ceremony was the only way he could handle the problem?

Was Russell involved in the prince’s death?

The question kept haunting her, and every time she thought she’d put it to rest, it insisted on rising up again, like fabled ghosts on All Hallows’ Eve.

She sighed and stared blindly into the mirror, fervently wishing she could see into the future. Her future. Even if only into the next few weeks.

Amelia pressed her hand against her stomach. She hadn’t eaten anything all morning. It seemed to her, as each half hour passed, that the butterflies that had taken up residence there grew a little larger.

“You are gorgeous.” Amelia raised her eyes and focused. Madeline had entered the room, leaving the other bridesmaids in another room, and come up behind her. The woman paused to straighten out her train. “All except for the sad face, of course,” she observed matter-of-factly. “Looking at your expression, you’d think that you were still marrying Reginald, The Black Prince, instead of Bonnie Prince Russell.”

Amelia lifted her head, still keeping her face toward the mirror. Praying that Madeline couldn’t see the hint of tears. “He’s not a prince yet.”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to,” Madeline quipped. “Carrington is going to be king once the coronation takes place. Technically, that makes him a prince.” Madeline indulged her. “Or a prince-in-waiting, if you prefer. Besides, if I remember correctly, you thought of him as your Prince Charming not all that many days ago.” She shifted so that she could see Amelia’s face for herself, rather than just the reflection. “Trouble in paradise already?”

Amelia shook her head. The headpiece wobbled. Madeline made a disapproving, clucking sound as she straightened it again.

“It’s just too fast, that’s all.”

“Too fast,” Madeline echoed. “Did I miss something?” she wanted to know. “Switching your emotions from loathing and dread to whoopee shouldn’t be all that difficult.”

It was fine for Madeline to make jokes about it. Madeline wasn’t being served up on a tray named Diplomacy. “I can’t shake the feeling that I’m still being used as a pawn.”

Like Amelia, Madeline had grown up around politics all of her life and had made it a point to pay close heed. Unseduced by the glamour of a fairy-tale wedding, she knew exactly what was happening.

Slowly, she surveyed Amelia from all angles. The ceremony was set to begin in a few minutes. “By your father? Obviously. But since the king on the chessboard is Carrington instead of Reginald, being captured shouldn’t be something to drag your feet about.”

“No, I mean by Carrington. I feel, no, I mean I’m afraid,” Amelia amended, “that he might be using me as a pawn.”

“Carrington?” Surprise and amusement played along her face. “Amelia, think. Carrington doesn’t need you to become king. He doesn’t need an alliance with Gastonia to put him on the throne. But you need him to protect Gastonia from dreadful little countries like Naessa, remember?”

But the fear refused to go away. Because Russell had kept his distance, it had gotten a toehold on her and insisted on festering.

She drew Madeline close to her and lowered her voice. “What if, after our night together, Russell decided to have the prince killed?”

Madeline’s eyes met hers. Amelia couldn’t tell what she was thinking. And then she saw that quirky smile she was so familiar with that lifted only one corner of her friend’s mouth. The one that mocked her good-naturedly. “My, my, and don’t we have the swelled head? Just how good do you think you were in bed?”

Amelia sighed, waving a hand. Madeline was right. She was overthinking this. It was just that it all seemed so surreal to her. “I guess I’m just confused.”

Still looking at her in the mirror, Madeline placed her hands on her friend’s shoulders and gave her a little comforting squeeze. “Honey, Carrington is crazy about you. Anyone looking at him can see that. This is a good thing, I promise.” Releasing, her, Madeline stepped back. “Just this once, it looks as if your fairy godmother has really come through for you. Enjoy it. Enjoy him.” Madeline’s quirky smile made a return appearance. “Or if you don’t want to, I will gladly become your second string and you can send me in to take your place.”