Page 76 of The Princess Stakes
“That you would never have him,” she said triumphantly. “Not when you were already engaged. Gracious, you do get around, don’t you? Setting your sights on an earl, then a duke. Who’s next, Prince Alfred? I’m glad I took the initiative to write that letter.”
Her pretty face was marred with spite, but Sarani’s brain was spinning at the boast.Penelopehad written to Markham? How on earth had she made that connection? Or known about Rhystan’s locket? But as quickly as she asked the question, she knew the answer.
It had to have been Ravenna, not knowing what Penelope would do, of course. Sarani had learned about the locket’s existence from Ravenna as well, and come to think of it, she had mentioned saying something to Penelope herself. If one had the connections, which the Duke of Windmere, Penelope’s father, would have, as well as the stolen miniature, getting information about Rhystan’s former commission would have been easy.
Penelope let out an ugly laugh. “Such aspiration, Lady Sara, though one wonders whether you are even a lady at all.”
“What are you talking about?”
Penelope winked and whispered, “I heard you’re a bastard that poor Lady Lisbeth didn’t even know who your father was.”
Sarani truly didn’t want to sink to her level, but she saw red. Tears smarted at the backs of her eyes. She was sick of being treated with such scorn. She let a slow, cold smile form on her lips and lifted a brow. “Why, you should know all about that, shouldn’t you, Penelope?” The girl went pale, but Sarani didn’t relent despite the sourness pooling in her belly. “Being born on the wrong side of the blanket, I mean.”
“I…”
Sarani took a page from Rhystan’s book. “Walk away, Penelope, before we both say something regrettable.”
To Sarani’s surprise, the girl did, hurtling backward like she couldn’t get away fast enough. That was the thing about bullies—they did not like it much when the boot was on the other foot. Penelope might have been casting stones at Sarani’s origins, but she’d forgotten about her own.
Sarani retrieved her cloak and was about to leave when she was stopped again. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered. “How hard is it to leave this place?”
“Currying favor with your betters, I see,” a voice sneered.
Vice Admiral Markham’s bulk took up her vision in the foyer. Her eyes widened. Sarani would not have recognized him if not for the voice. Unlike Talbot, who had not changed in five years, Markham seemed rather worse for wear—he’d put on a stone or two and he looked like he had a rampant case of gout. He did not wear a uniform but was dressed in rumpled evening clothes that had seen better days. Her nose wrinkled. He also smelled like the inside of a chamber pot.
“Please excuse me,” she said, unwilling to trade greetings with a man who had treated her like filth on the sole of his shoe.
“Leaving so soon?” he asked. “I shall have to find your betrothed, then. One of them, at least.” He laughed as though he’d made the wittiest of jokes. “If Talbot had his preference, he would have swum here the minute I showed him that letter. Devil knows what he sees in you. But I’ll tell you what I see.” He swayed slightly. “Opportunity.”
Sarani had had enough of men seeing her as a piece to be played at their whims—whether it was for money or her fortune or her body. Gritting her teeth, she hiked her skirts, darted past him, and fled down the stairs to the crowded streets. It wasn’t that much of a walk to Huntley House—a few blocks at most. No one out here would harm her. The true danger was behind her in that ballroom, not on the streets of Mayfair.
Besides, she had her kukri and she had her wits. A brisk walk would clear her head. On her way past the line of stationary, luxurious coaches, she glimpsed a familiar face on the back of one of them, talking avidly to one of the coachmen.
“Tej!” she cried. “What are you doing here?”
Dressed in fancy livery, the boy smiled and sketched an elegant bow. “I was bored with my lessons so I’m pretending to be a tiger for His Grace this evening. Don’t I look dapper?”
“You do.” It was true. Tej looked happy and well fed, his small face glowing with health. The endearing plumpness of his cheeks made his young age even more apparent. “What kind of lessons?”
“Maths and reading.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I’m to start a fancy school soon as the duke’s ward.”
Sarani blinked her shock. “As the duke’swhat?”
“His ward. Like his charge. He says if I want to stay, I can. I just have to be willing to learn and make something of myself when I get older. He says I can apprentice to Mr. Longacre if I want.” He screwed up his face. “He adores maths.”
Unexpected warmth filtered through her chest. Rhystan was paying to send Tej to school? The boy was whip-smart, and Sarani had planned to do the same once she got settled, but things had been muddled of late. And now with Talbot and Markham in town, who knew what the future would entail?
Tej grinned. “May I offer you a ride, Princess?”
She could not deny him, not when he’d asked so prettily, his adorable face bright with childish enthusiasm. “Why, of course, gallant sir. Lead me to your chariot.”
* * *
Rhystan stared at the calling card presented to him by his butler. What the hell did the disgraced Vice Admiral Markham want with him? He’d been caught corralling private wealth and had faced a court-martial that had had him cashiered and dismissed with disgrace. The bit of business he’d gotten into with illegal shipments of opium had been his end. That the man expected an audience now was entirely laughable.
In any other circumstance, Rhystan would have set the bastard out on his heels with a few choice words, but with Sarani’s reputation hanging in the balance, he hesitated. A duke of his station was unassailable…but Markham knew exactly who Sarani was. As did Talbot.
The earl could be dealt with—Talbot was a coward at heart. Markham, however, was a political strategist who had gotten the maharaja’s ear and been the right arm of the British Crown in Joor for years. Rhystan frowned. What was he doing here?
