Prince for Yuletide: A Victorian Christmas Novella Page 8

  Her sister had been right—it was better to forgive the man she suspected she loved than clutch bitterness to her heart and watch him sail away from her, forever.

  “I believe the Ice Prince will be gone within the week,” Peony said. “And I won’t have to live with the fact that I… I mean, that he treated me so dreadfully.”

  Her words struck Eliana, pieces clattering together in her mind to make a picture she’d refused to see before. Yet she should have guessed.

  She halted in the middle of the walk and grabbed Peony’s arm.

  Her friend gave her a concerned look. “Eliana, are you well?”

  “No.” Eliana let out a brief, mirthless laugh. Her entire perspective had tilted, and she did not like it one bit. “I must ask you something, Peony. Do you promise to answer honestly?”

  “Of course.” Peony set her hand over Eliana’s. “We’re bosom beaus. There are no secrets between us.”

  Eliana took a deep breath. “Did Prince Sebastian actually say that he was going to ask you marry him the night of the Midwinter Masque?”

  Peony’s face paled, and she dropped her hand from Eliana’s arm. “How could you ask me such a thing, after everything I’ve endured?”

  “I know it pains you, and I’m sorry. But I must have an answer. Did the prince promise you a betrothal?”

  Peony darted a glance at their friends, who had paused at a chestnut seller’s stand. The nutty aroma drifted through the air, mixing with the scent of smoke.

  “We should catch up,” Peony said. “Wouldn’t a roast chestnut taste delicious?”

  “You must tell me.” Eliana dug her boots into the slushy snow.

  The clues had been there along, and she suddenly felt like a fool for accepting what she now suspected were nothing more than lies. The truth loomed like a wave, poised to crash over her.

  “He was going to ask me,” Peony said, her voice strained. “I know he was.”

  Eliana closed her eyes briefly as the wave broke, drenching her with the cold, unavoidable realization that everything she’d believed about Prince Sebastian was untrue. She didn’t need to forgive him—in fact, he should be the one to forgive her.

  She’d treated him most unfairly, and he’d said not a word in his own defense—because to do so would have damaged Peony’s reputation beyond repair. Instead, he’d taken the blame, withstood the barbed gossip, and endured being mocked as the Ice Prince.

  Eliana had thought him a man of questionable honor, when all along he’d acted with the highest of motives. He was a gentleman indeed, and she had disdained him. The knowledge twisted inside her like a knife.

  “So you lied?” she asked. “What did you hope to gain from it?”

  “An offer of marriage!” Spots of color bloomed on Peony’s cheeks. “And I did not lie, not precisely. I might have mentioned my expectation that the prince would soon ask for my hand, and wouldn’t the Midwinter Masque be a romantic place to do so?”

  “And who did you mention this to?” Eliana’s patience with Peony was beginning to shred.

  “Angelica Barrows.” Peony shot a look at the young lady in question, who was currently accepting a roast chestnut from the vendor.

  “She’s a notorious gossip! Oh, Peony, how could you? It was very wrong to try and force the prince’s hand.”

  “He led me to believe he was planning to propose.” Peony’s voice was thick with unshed tears. “It was not so very wrong of me. He could have seized the opportunity instead of leaving me to be the laughingstock of London.”

  Anger flared through Eliana. “He should have agreed to shackle himself to a woman who had just proved she was not above using lies and gossip in order to get her way? You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

  “The prince behaved dishonorably,” Peony shot back.

  “No. You did.” Eliana crossed her arms as the truth shook through her. “He could have denounced your lies and ruined your prospects forever. Instead he took the blame for ‘abandoning’ you, while refusing to give in to your manipulations.”

  Peony dropped her gaze to the dirty snow lining the street.

  “I thought it would work,” she said in a low voice. “Mother encouraged me to spread the rumor, so that I could call myself a princess sooner rather than later.”

  Her poor, weak friend. The misery in Peony’s expression was unmistakable, and Eliana felt unwilling sympathy seep through her irritation. Peony’s mother was a harpy, and Peony had never been able to stand up to her, even when she clearly ought to have.

  Eliana unfolded her arms and caught Peony’s hand. “I do understand. I can see why you behaved as you did, though I can’t condone it. But you must stop playing the poor, victimized lady. You see that, don’t you?”

  “I do. I meant to months ago, but…”

  “It brings you too much sympathy.” Eliana let out a sigh. She was deeply disappointed in her friend. And in herself, for believing the worst of Prince Sebastian when the truth had been in front of her all along.

  It was little consolation that the gossips had not bothered to see past Peony’s lies, either. They loved a good scandal, and the Ice Prince had been an excellent personage to fasten upon. It was a wonder he hadn’t left London months ago.

  “They’re waving to us,” Peony said, looking up the street to where their companions waited. “Please, don’t say anything of this.”

  “I won’t. But you should consider it. At the very least you might apologize to Prince Sebastian.”

  “I can’t.” Peony dashed a gloved hand across her eyes, swiping at her incipient tears. “Though I’ll try to stop playing the wounded innocent.”

  “Good.” Eliana squeezed her friend’s hand. “Let’s rejoin the others.”

  She dearly wished she could beg off singing at their last stop, but it was her sister’s house. Despite the turmoil raging through her, she must make an appearance.

  “I’m sorry, Eliana.” Peony gave her a strained smile. “I felt terrible for lying to you for so long. And now I have a headache on top of everything.”

  “Do you wish to go home?” Eliana asked.

  Peony shook her head. “Not yet. You need my voice to keep Angelica in tune. Though I imagine I’ll leave the party early.”

  “Of course.”

  As they rejoined their friends and continued along the slushy Mayfair streets, Eliana couldn’t stop thinking of Prince Sebastian.

  He could not leave England! At least, not before she told him that she now knew the truth. If he wanted to depart after that, she would not blame him—but at least he would know that not every young lady in London held him in contempt.

  Rather the opposite, on her part, though she would not confess the true depth of her feelings to him. He’d already been manipulated enough by the ladies of London. She didn’t want him to feel as though she were attempting to entrap him into staying in England.

  She would inform him that, should he ever want to return, he would be welcome to call upon her. That would be sufficient. And though her heart cried out for so much more, she stifled the impulse. She would not hold Sebastian back from his course.

  These musings kept her occupied until they drew up in front of Ashford House. In counterpoint to the overcast afternoon, the candles on the tree were lit. It shone, magical and inviting, from the front parlor window.

  Eliana and her friends arranged themselves in a semi circle before the door. William hummed the starting note, and they began with “Here We Come a-Wassailing.” As they sang, she felt her spirits rise with the music. She could not remain wistful and melancholy while singing about love and joy.

  Whatever happened now with Prince Sebastian, she must trust it would be for the best.

  And so she sang, wholeheartedly, her clear soprano rising above the harmonies in the cool winter air.

  13

  Earlier that afternoon…

  * * *

  Once his mind was made up, Sebastian tried to distract himself from thoughts of Eliana
by throwing himself into his preparations to depart England. The prospect left him feeling half in sun, half in shadow, like a waning moon in the night sky.

  On the one hand, it was high time for a change, to take his future in his hands and move forward. On the other, his heart was heavy with the mistakes he’d made in London, the might-have-been that had shone briefly in Eliana Banning’s eyes.

  At least he would see her once more. He hoped she would not spurn his gift of the snowflake pendant, though it now seemed a foolish gesture. Still, the necklace was finished and delivered, and he could not leave without some acknowledgement of what he’d glimpsed between them.

  His first call of the afternoon, however, would be at Ashford House.

  “The Duke of Ashford’s greatcoat has been brushed out,” Reece said, presenting him with the garment folded into a bulky bundle. “You could return it by footman, of course.”

  “I’ll do it myself.” Sebastian finished pulling on his gloves, then donned his hat.

  “Very good, your highness.” Reece’s face was impassive, but his clipped words were disapproving. “Your carriage is waiting.”

  His valet was of the firm opinion that they ought to remain in London, and that Sebastian should court Eliana Banning until she agreed to be his wife. Sebastian had tried to explain why that was impossible. She’d made it abundantly clear she did not want to see him again. And when she did, he didn’t expect her opinion of him to alter one bit.

  “You ought to tell her the truth,” Reece said. “Tell her you never promised to ask that other lady to marry you.”

  Ever since the debacle at last year’s Midwinter Masque, Reece had refused to say Lady Peony’s name aloud. It was both tragic and amusing to Sebastian.

  “That other woman is Eliana’s friend,” he said. “Eliana would think I was defaming Lady Peony, and her mind would remain unchanged. The scene would be quite ugly, I assure you. It’s better to say nothing of what transpired last year.”

  Under his valet’s stony gaze, Sebastian pocketed the box holding the snowflake necklace, scooped up Ashford’s coat, and headed out the door.

  The sky was overcast, matching his gray mood as he stepped into his carriage. The driver set off for Ashford House, and Sebastian watched the streets of Mayfair pass outside the window. Now that he was leaving, he had to admit to a grudging fondness for the city. Where would he end up? Vienna, perhaps, or Paris? Or—he laughed bitterly to himself—Kiev?

  He disembarked in front of the Duke of Ashford’s town house. The tree in the window was lit, the candles glowing with warmth against the wan afternoon light.

  The butler admitted him with a bow, accepted the return of the coat, and directed Sebastian to wait in the parlor while he summoned Lord and Lady Ashford, who, it seemed, were both at home that afternoon.

  The parlor was newly decorated with evergreen boughs and holly branches twined together with gold ribbons. A fire blazed in the hearth, and the air was suffused with the scent of cinnamon. A long table against the far wall held a warming bowl filled with mulled wine, and trays of sweets and candied fruits were set out to either side.

  It appeared Lord and Lady Ashford were about to host a party of some kind. Well, Sebastian would give them his thanks and farewell, and be on his way.

  While he waited, he inspected the tree. In addition to the beaded ornaments and gilded nuts, a few trinkets were tucked here and there among the branches. He spotted a tiny porcelain teapot, a miniature stuffed bear, and a carved globe, before his hosts made their entrance.

  “Prince Sebastian,” Lady Ashford said with a warm smile. “What a pleasant surprise. You’re just in time for our party.”

  “I don’t mean to intrude,” he replied. “I only came to thank you both for your assistance the other day. And to tell you I’m leaving England.”

  “You are?” Lady Ashford’s smile faded. “But what about Eliana?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Sebastian blinked at her.

  “You must forgive my wife,” the duke said, slipping his arm around her shoulders. “She simply wants to see her sister happy, and somehow got the notion that the two of you would suit.”

  “I’m afraid we would not.” Despite himself, Sebastian’s fingers went to the small box in his pocket containing the diamond-set snowflake.

  “Are you certain?” The duchess gave him a serious look. “I truly don’t think you ought to leave London just yet.”

  “Darling, don’t pester the man,” Lord Ashford said. “If he feels he must depart, it’s not for us to argue otherwise.”

  “Well.” She gave her husband a look that Sebastian could not interpret, then turned back to him. “At least stay for a bit, your highness. We’re expecting some carolers—it’s one of our family holiday traditions. In fact, they should be arriving at any moment.”

  She moved to the window and looked out.

  “I should take my leave,” Sebastian said.

  “Lord Ashford.” His wife shot the duke a sharp glance. “Please presume upon our guest to remain a short while longer.”

  “Do stay,” Ashford said with a wry smile. “Have a glass of mulled wine, at least. If I must endure the singing, then you should, too.”

  Sebastian let out a low breath. He was nervous about his next call, though he didn’t like to admit it. But surely it would do no harm to tarry a little longer in Ashford’s warm and cheerful parlor.

  “Very well,” he said.

  Lady Ashford gave her husband a reproving look. “And really, my lord, the singers are not so terrible as that. It’s the holidays! Where is your sense of cheer in the season?”

  The duke went to his wife and kissed her on the forehead. “Standing right before me,” he said. “I need nothing else.”

  She raised one hand and cupped his cheek. The raw emotion in the gesture made Sebastian’s chest tighten, and he looked away.

  “You’ve discomfited our guest, my dear,” Lady Ashford said. “Give him that cup of wine.”

  “I’m afraid you’re planning to discomfit him even further,” the duke said, moving to the refreshment table.

  Foreboding settled coldly on Sebastian’s shoulders.

  “Lady Ashford,” he said. “Am I correct in thinking that your sister Eliana will be among the carolers?”

  She cleared her throat. “Well, yes. And there they are now!”

  The sound of singing rose in the air, and Sebastian glimpsed a half-dozen people gathered on the walk. Eliana Banning stood in the middle, her fair hair shining despite the clouds covering the sun. She wore her red pelisse, and Sebastian’s heart thudded loudly in his chest.

  “I promised Eliana I’d never see her again,” he said tightly. Yes, he’d meant to break that promise, but not like this. “I would not want to upset her in front of friends and family.”

  “Selene,” the duke said to his wife, a note of warning in his voice.

  She firmed her lips, seemingly about to argue, then relented.

  “Very well. Prince Sebastian, you may wait in the library until they are gone.”

  “Quickly.” The duke inclined his head and led Sebastian out of the parlor and a short distance down the hall.

  The front door opened and song echoed through the entryway. Love and joy come to you, and to you your wassail too…

  Unlikely, Sebastian thought, his pulse spiking as he ducked into the library just in time.

  “I apologize for putting you in this situation,” Ashford said. “I didn’t realize you’d given your word.”

  “No matter. The entire thing is rather tangled.”

  The duke nodded. “Once everyone’s safely in the parlor, I can send a footman to take you out the back, if you’d like.”

  It was a reasonable plan, and yet…

  “Ashford,” Sebastian said. “Might I speak plainly?”

  The duke raised an eyebrow, but waved to a cluster of armchairs in front of the tall bookcases lining the room.

  “Certainly,” he said. “Pleas
e, sit.”

  Sebastian did so, and the duke sat across from him, his expression curious but not condemning.

  “I have to confess,” Sebastian said, “my next stop was to pay a call on Miss Eliana. And I’m afraid your wife is correct. Under other circumstances, her sister and I may have suited rather well.”

  Once again, regret twisted through him. If only he hadn’t dismissed Miss Eliana Banning so quickly…

  “What do you intend to do about it?” The duke steepled his fingers under his chin.

  “Tell Eliana how I feel.” The admission was difficult to make, yet it was also a relief to unburden himself to someone other than his valet.

  “And then leave the country? What if she returns your feelings?”

  Sebastian let out a short, bitter laugh. “She does not, I assure you.”

  “Hmm.” The duke gave him a thoughtful look. “Even so, perhaps we ought to save you a visit to Banning House.”

  “That was my thought as well.” Sebastian’s heart could be wrung out in the Duke of Ashford’s house just as easily as Lord Blake’s. “Would you allow me to meet with Miss Eliana here for a few moments, when the singing is over?”

  “I believe we might accommodate you.” Ashford rose. “I’ll have a word with my wife. Until then, make yourself comfortable.”

  “Thank you.”

  Chest tight, Sebastian watched the duke leave the room. Had he made a mistake, confiding in Lord Ashford? Perhaps he ought to quietly take his leave now, before it was too late.

  No.

  He was a prince and a man of honor. And, though it was like a knife to his heart to admit it, a man in love. It might make him the worst fool in creation, but he could not leave London without seeing Eliana Banning one last time.

  14

  Eliana’s toes were growing cold before Lord and Lady Ashford appeared in the doorway, and when they finally did, Selene thought her sister looked a trifle discomfited.