Illarion bent close to her ear. ‘Do you know why you can’t tell a joke while standing on ice?’ he murmured. ‘Because it might crack. But I see there’s no risk of that here.’
‘Am I supposed to be the ice in your juvenile metaphor?’ The music was winding down. This had turned out to be a most intriguing waltz. He’d not anticipated such an outcome. He had anticipated something very different; taking his hostess’s goddaughter out to the garden, for politeness’s sake, spending a little time with her, giving her a few moments of his attentions and then politely disengaging her. But not this.
‘If the shoe fits, Princess.’ He bowed as the dance ended.
‘Thank you for the dance, Prince Kutejnikov.’ She dipped a small curtsy, turned her back on him and did the unthinkable. She fled the floor. It took him a moment to realise what had happened. He’d been glass-slippered. It was not only intriguing, but inspiring. Word pictures rose in his mind, his hand itched to write and a spark of hope sputtered to life; perhaps she was the one to break the curse that had plagued him since he’d left Kuban. She had only disappeared a moment ago and he already wanted her back.
CHAPTER TWO
She wanted to see the Prince again. It was probably not a unique thought. Dove supposed that was how most women felt after meeting him. It was, however, an exceedingly incongruous thought to entertain over breakfast, especially when she’d made every effort last night to not see him again. She’d all but left him on the dance floor and her conversation had been designed to be off-putting. Apparently, her behaviour had been to no avail. He’d managed to spend the night in her mind and he was still there this morning. Not even her mother’s marital-expectations lecture had managed to drive him out of her head.
At the moment, those expectations were being drilled into her yet again over shirred eggs and kippers. ‘Drilled’ might be too harsh. ‘Politely laid out’ would be more apt. Her mother did not shout or raise her voice. Ever. Her mother did, however, tend to elucidate in the extreme. This must be the twentieth time since leaving Cornwall those expectations had been gone over.
Redruth’s daughter must comport herself with the utmost dignity, polite to all but never falsely encouraging those who are beneath her. Only marriage to another duke will do, that is how grand families are perpetuated. You, my dear, are from a grand family…
Dove was starting to feel less charitable towards those discussions. Fortunately, she had them down by memory so she could let her thoughts wander.
‘It will be interesting to see who comes to the at-home this afternoon.’ Her mother moved on to her second-favourite topic with a knowing smile. ‘Percivale will come, certainly, although I dare say if he’s smart, he’ll come late. I imagine Alfred-Ashby and Lord Fredericks will be here early. Lord Fredericks is a handsome fellow. It’s always nice to have a handsome man in one’s court even if he’s not a duke.’
Fredericks? Handsome? Perhaps if one liked a blank mind along with the golden hair. The combination wasn’t particularly to her taste. Dove’s own thoughts went straight to a man with a head less golden than Fredericks’, but with rather more going on inside. ‘What do we make of Prince Kutejnikov?’ Dove ventured with assumed nonchalance.
Her mother hesitated. ‘Well, now there’s a handsome man, to be sure.’ She cast an enquiring look at Dove’s father, who had managed to glance up from his newspapers. ‘He’s popular and on everyone’s guest list this Season. He’s the new novelty.’
‘No one knows much about his antecedents,’ her father said calmly, reaching for another slice of toast. ‘Olivia dear, I hear the Constable picture at the Academy art show this year is most impressive.’
Her mother smiled at her father, the Prince forgotten between them. ‘I am looking forward to it. I am told he’s made remarkable use of the light in how he depicts the weather.’ The Duke and Duchess of Redruth dismissed the Prince somewhere between the newspaper and the marmalade. It was so subtly done, one could not truly be offended. Indeed, Dove thought, if one didn’t know her parents well, one would hardly notice what had happened. But she did. The brevity of her father’s comment said it all. The Prince was not to be considered. By any of them. He was beneath them, an outsider and certainly not a contender for her hand.