The Duke and Duchess of Tannymeade were not the only ones to receive attention at the ceremony. Some observers noted a very close kin of the duke invested his considerable attentions on a Weslorian heiress rather than the newlyweds.

—Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and


Domesticity for Ladies

THIS WEDDING WAS quite possibly the longest ceremony in the history of all mankind. Even a Greek bacchanal could not have lasted as long as this. The neckcloth around Prince Leopold’s neck felt too tight. The medals he wore as part of his formal attire seemed to be pulling oddly at the fabric, causing him to move his shoulder every so often to right his coat. What time had his guard, Kadro, rolled him into bed this morning? Four? It was all but a hazy memory now. It was not Leo’s fault, really. It had been a dare of some sort, to drink la fée verte, or the green fairy, as the Swedish ambassador had called it.

At the end of the newlyweds’ procession from the cathedral, they stepped into a small vestibule to sign the parish marriage registry. Leo, Mrs. Honeycutt and the archbishop followed them to witness. Leo watched his brother sign Sebastian Chartier with the familiar thick and sure stroke of his pen. He realized he was tapping his finger against his pant leg with impatience as Eliza took the pen and signed next. Her hand was shaking, and she managed to leave a smear of ink under the broad, flourishing strokes that formed Eliza Tricklebank Chartier. As soon as she put down the pen, she and Mrs. Honeycutt clung to each other and laughed as if they were mad, Mrs. Honeycutt’s dark head pressed to Eliza’s fair one.

Sebastian and Leopold exchanged a look. Or rather, Leo looked at Bas, and then at the clock just over his brother’s shoulder. He didn’t want to be impolite, but his head was pounding and his mouth dry. For a fortnight, there had been ceremony after celebration after official event after reception. He’d attended them all, dutifully fulfilling his obligations as prince and best man and whatever else they wanted him to be, all the while drinking to numb his tedium. He chafed to be done with this, to be with friends.

Leo preferred a life far from Alucia, in England, with friends. Not this princely one where he was no use to anyone, a prop at one ceremony after another.

“You are to witness, Mrs. Honeycutt,” Leo said, to hurry things along, and he picked up the gold pen and handed it to her in case she was unclear what witnessing meant.

“Yes, of course,” she said nervously, and let go her sister. Beneath Eliza’s smear, she deftly wrote her name.

Leo affixed his, as well—dashing it off in his haste to carry on—then stood with his hands clasped at his back as the archbishop offered one last blessing. How many blessings did one couple need?

But at last, they exited the cathedral, and Bas and Eliza stepped into an open carriage. On this beautiful sunlit day, the happy couple would be escorted by palace guards down the long avenue en route to the palace so that the throngs of people waiting for a glimpse of their new crown princess would have opportunity to wave. Eliza had become quite popular since arriving in Alucia. The people saw her as one of their own, a commoner who had charmed the crown prince through no particular effort, other than being just as she was. Leo understood their fascination—it was a tale of hope and fantasy. He understood that most people worked quite hard to provide the necessities of life, and that life in a palace was merely a dream. She was one who had broken through the thick walls of royalty and privilege, and they loved her for it.

It held no fascination for him, however. He did not like the gilded cage that surrounded him in Helenamar. He resented the many rules that governed his behavior, like to whom he spoke, where he sat and so forth. In England, people knew he was a prince, of course, but most of the common people did not, and moreover, no one expected him to be anything. Which suited him, as he wasn’t anything. He was nothing but a man with a fat purse and a pair of guards to protect him. In England, he moved about as he pleased, hunted when he liked, caroused with his many friends as the mood struck him, rode his horse, wooed women, sat wherever the hell he liked. All without bother.

Or rather, he had enjoyed his life without bother until his brother had come to London to negotiate a trade agreement, and his private secretary had been murdered, and then suddenly, everyone in England knew a pair of unmarried princes moved among them. His life had changed somewhat since then. More people in England were aware of him now. He sincerely hoped that when he returned to England, the excitement of an Englishwoman marrying an Alucian prince would have died down, and he could resume his dissolute life.

Unfortunately, there were miles to go before he could board that ship and sail away. But today, after the private reception for family and what he supposed would be hundreds of their closest friends, Leo was to meet friends from his youth for a little respite before the final royal ball this evening. More drinking would be a hard go after last night’s debauchery, but if Leo was accomplished at anything, it was revelry.

Leo and Mrs. Honeycutt joined his parents in the gold carriage and followed behind the newly married couple. Mrs. Honeycutt seemed genuinely intimidated by it all—she sat stiffly, her hands clasped so tightly together that he worried she might break a finger. He wished he could assure her that she needn’t have worried—his parents ignored her for the most part and, aside from a few pleasantries exchanged about the wedding, turned their attention to the crowds. Leo knew how his parents viewed Mrs. Honeycutt. She was a foreigner, a commoner. She would return to England soon. There was nothing to be gained by knowing her.

But Leo felt sorry for her and her nerves and smiled at her. He could imagine this day had been as overwhelming for her as it had been for her sister. Frankly, there were times the massive crowds still overwhelmed him. What it must be like to be a man simply standing in the crowd, watching a royal carriage roll by. What it must be like to go to the pub afterward and drink to the prince’s marriage, then home to his wife and his children and his bed.

He’d warned Bas that Eliza might experience difficulties in adjusting to this life. “Take care of your bride,” he’d said yesterday in a rare moment they’d found themselves alone. “This is a new world for her.”

“I will,” Bas had said, and though he’d said it casually, there was fierceness in his eyes that suggested he loved Eliza more than anything else in this world.

Thank goodness for it, because she would need his protection. The Alucian nobility looked down on her. The English nobility who had come for the wedding seemed appalled by her. Eliza herself was at turns both unnerved and then charmingly joyous. Her sister seemed ill at ease more often than not.

The only person on the side of Eliza who appeared completely unaffected by the trappings of royalty was Lord Hawke’s sister. That woman would take no notice of her nerves even if they rose up and wrapped themselves around her throat. Oh, quite the contrary—she seemed emboldened by unfamiliar and formal situations. She sailed through them with a wide, warm smile and rosy cheeks and spectacularly blond hair. She did not go unnoticed—she was exceedingly attractive and taller than average. It was impossible not to see her. She was that rare social butterfly who thought nothing of chatting with anyone and everyone in her path. She delighted in being heard, and all were fair game to her—be one a duke or a butler, a queen or a chambermaid. She particularly seemed to enjoy butting into any conversation to offer an opinion, and she didn’t care who was on hand to hear it.

The attention she received seemed to invigorate her and compel her to step out of her bounds. She’d certainly thought nothing of approaching him at the royal banquet two nights ago as if it were a trifling thing. Either she didn’t understand that one did not approach a royal prince without proper introduction at a formal event or she didn’t care—all he knew was that he was in the midst of a conversation, feeling pleasantly inebriated, when he suddenly realized she was at his side, smiling as if there were only the few of them in this room. “Good evening!” she’d said brightly, her green eyes shining. “Is this not a glorious event? I am so very impressed with the reception Eliza has received in Helenamar, aren’t you?”

“She is well liked,” Leo confirmed blandly. He was not surprised by the lady’s approach, but his companions, all of them hailing from the highest reaches of Alucian society, had stared at her as if she were a curiosity from a circus, and her breach of proper royal etiquette was to be examined and discussed. In particular, Lady Brunella Fortengau’s eyes had gone wide with shock, and she’d looked at Leo as if she thought they were being invaded by a plague and he ought to do something about it.

Well, there was nothing to be done about it, that much Leo had deduced long before this evening. As Lady Brunella had looked on disapprovingly, Hawke’s sister had taken a glass of champagne from a servant’s tray and said to the poor man, “Oh dear, should I?” as if she expected him to answer. “I had a glass of champagne at the bridal luncheon, and much to my dismay it had gone off. Have you tasted this?” she’d asked, putting the glass up to her nose.

The servant flushed. “No, madam.”

She’d sipped, narrowed her eyes and stared upward as she assessed the champagne, then smiled brightly at the servant and declared it divine. Then she’d offered to hand Lady Brunella a glass, encouraging her to sample a most excellent vintage.