Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(12)

“Put them upstairs, of course,” Lady Trask said. “We have plenty of room. And prepare chambers for the prince.” She looked Damien up and down with great curiosity “Are you truly a prince?”

Damien inclined his head. “I have that unfortunate honor. Prince Damien of Nvengaria. You are Lady Trask?”

“Yes, indeed. Are we not introduced? Good heavens, Penelope, where are your manners? Make your curtsy, darling. He is a prince.”

Penelope bent her knees in a model curtsy that would bring pride to any governess. Her expression, however, remained fixed, her eyes troubled.

“And Mr. Michael Tavistock, a—er—friend of the family. And his daughter, Miss Meagan Tavistock.”

Tavistock bowed, as wary as Penelope. When he came up, he took a step closer to Lady Trask so that he stood at her shoulder. Ah.

Tavistock was her lover. A man shared a certain close space with a woman only after he’d bedded her. Tavistock betrayed, by that slight possessive movement, what Lady Trask was to him.

The entourage was making much noise in the hallway. Over it rose the voice of the butler. “No, no, don’t put that there. Bring it this way, man. This way—don’t you understand English?”

Mr. Tavistock said quietly, “I think you had better explain yourself, sir.”

Damien met his gaze. Here was the person who would oppose him if he could. This man was no fool.

“It is very simple,” Damien answered. He snapped his fingers. “Sasha.”

Sasha lifted a rosewood box he’d set on the table in preparation. Turning to the four watchers, Sasha reverently opened the lid. “From his Highness Prince Damien, to the most beautiful Simone Bradshaw, now Lady Trask, Princess of Nvengaria.”

Inside the box, on a lining of black velvet, lay a necklace of old, square-cut rubies. The center of the setting held a ruby the size of a robin’s egg, polished and glinting dull red.

Lady Trask gasped, her hand going to her bosom. “That is for me?”

“Lud,” Meagan breathed.

Penelope took a step back, putting herself behind the others, her eyes overly bright.

“Why did you call her a princess of Nvengaria?” Michael Tavistock asked, brows lowering.

Sasha answered before Damien could. “Because she is descended from his most divine majesty, Prince Augustus Adolphus Aurelius Laurent of Nvengaria.”

Lady Trask blinked. “Who? Am I?”

“Did you not know?” Sasha asked in surprise.

Tavistock broke in, his voice hard. “This is nonsense.”

“Oh, Michael, be a pet. I am enjoying myself.” Lady Trask turned sparkling eyes to Sasha. “How do you know I am descended from this Prince Augustus Aur— whoever he is?”

“Because the lineage has been most carefully traced for eight hundred years,” Sasha explained. “You are descended from the princess bound so fortunately in marriage to Prince Augustus of old. Your line is traced through the ladies of that house, while his Imperial Highness Prince Damien’s is traced through the male line.”

“Are we cousins then?” Lady Trask asked. “Two hundred times removed? Fancy.”

“No, not cousins,” Sasha said quickly. “It all began in the year 1000, or the Year One of the most splendid reign of the two princes—”

“Sasha,” Damien said sternly. “Later.”

Sasha did not deflate. “Yes, there will be plenty of time to tutor you in the glorious past of Nvengaria. For now, do you have the ring?”

Lady Trask stared. “Ring?”

“The one you wear on your middle finger,” Damien said. He came forward, lifted Lady Trask’s hand, and touched his thumb to the band encircling her finger. “There.”

It was the ring all right. Lady Trask gazed at it in wonder. The ring was silver, heavy, and old, a thick band with a flat top. The setting had once held the crest of Prince Augustus the First, but time had worn down the etching.

Damien tugged off his glove to show a twin of Lady Trask’s ring on the forefinger of his right hand. Silversmiths had restored this ring every fifty years or so, so that the crest of Damien’s family was still quite plain.

He brought his hand up to rest alongside Lady Trask’s. Lady Trask said excitedly, “Look, Michael. They’re the same.”

“They were forged at the same time,” Damien said. “Eight hundred years ago. They were a pledge, a bond of friendship. It is said that when the rings are brought together again, Nvengaria will prosper as it did of old.”

“Oh,” Lady Trask said, eyes wide. “My mother gave me this ring when she was dying. She said something about it being my destiny. I thought she had gone senile.”

“No, dear lady,” Sasha said. “She was a most honored princess from the line of Prince Augustus. As are you. It is prophesied that when you marry Prince Damien, you will bring together the lines of two dear friends to unite the kingdom.”

Lady Trask jumped. “Marry? Me? Penny, dear, did you hear that? A prince wants to marry your mama.” She smiled at Sasha. “Do I get the rubies too?”

“Of course,” Sasha said. “They are the prince’s betrothal gift to you.”

“Fancy that, Penny. You’d be a princess too, wouldn’t you? I wager Prince Damien will find a handsome duke for you.”