Echoes in the Mist (Kingsleys in Love 1)

Taking with him only an odd sense of relief …

“Help me! Help!”

Trenton’s eyes flew open, as it struck him that the scream he was hearing was no haunting voice of the past but a very real and fearful cry from somewhere in Osborne Bay.

He leapt to his feet, scanning the choppy waters, which had grown significantly rougher during the hour he’d been lost in thought. The yachts had long since disappeared from view, and the sky looked menacing, the clouds low.

“Help!”

He heard it again, and this time his keen gaze located its source. Far out in the bay was a small rowboat, bobbing idly on the waves, devoid of occupants. Splashing frantically near the boat, yet not close enough to grab on, was a woman, whose head appeared intermittently, then sank beneath the water.

Trenton wasted not a second. Simultaneously he kicked off his boots and tore off his shirt, flinging them to the sand. In three long strides he was deep enough to dive, then took hard, powerful strokes that carried him swiftly to the speck of color he recognized as the drowning woman.

His arm locked about her waist, dragging her head above water along with his own. Ignoring the boat entirely, he swam forcefully for shore, uncertain of the woman’s state of consciousness, decidedly uneasy about her lack of coughing or movement.

Her face was ashen when he lay her on the sand, blood trickling from an ugly gash on her forehead. Trenton paled as he recognized her. Not allowing himself to dwell on the devastating possibilities should his efforts fail, he proceeded to force the water from her lungs until her first shallow breaths evolved into a fit of gasping coughs.

“Your Highness!” Hurried footsteps accompanied the shrill voice. “Oh, Lord!” The maid watched helplessly as Trenton soothed the young woman’s coughs, assisting her until her breathing was erratic but normal.

“The Princess will be fine,” he assured the shaking servant, using his discarded shirt to wipe the blood from the princess’s forehead. “None the worse for her ambitious adventure.”

“I must summon Her Majesty at once.” The slight, knock-kneed girl turned, then stopped. “Oh, thank you, Your Grace,” she breathed, well aware that Trenton was a frequent guest of the Queen’s. “Thank you ever so much.”

Trenton glanced down at Princess Beatrice, who was now calming her gasps, shivering uncontrollably while attempting to still her nerves.

“Do not alarm the Queen,” Trenton cautioned the servant. “I shall assist Princess Beatrice to the house. Then Her Majesty can see for herself that all is well.”

“Yes, of course, Your Grace.” The grateful maid wrung her hands, simultaneously bobbing her head up and down.

“Can you walk, Your Highness?” Trenton asked Beatrice gently.

Slowly, the Princess nodded, allowing Trenton to draw her to her feet. “I never imagined the weather would turn so dreadfully,” she rasped. “Nor so quickly. When I went out rowing …” she inhaled sharply, shakily, “the sky was light, the day lovely. I assumed I had hours before the storm hit. … I’m normally a strong swimmer. But when I struck my head on the boat …” She choked in more air, touching the gash on her forehead. “You saved my life, Your Grace. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You can thank me by saving your strength. You can also thank me by walking into that house on your own two legs and assuring your poor mother that you are well.” He offered her his arm.

Beatrice smiled faintly. “Done.”

Queen Victoria abandoned her watercolor sketch of the upcoming storm the instant she saw Beatrice and Trenton approach Osborne House’s lower terrace. She rushed forward, the color draining from her face as her child hobbled in unsteadily on Trenton’s arm.

“What has happened?” the Queen demanded.

Trenton helped Beatrice into a chair beside the fountain, then moved forward, leaning over to brush the Queen’s hand with his lips. “Everything is fine, Your Majesty,” he soothed.

Victoria waved him off, bending over to anxiously inspect her daughter’s condition.

“The Princess merely fell in the bay,” Trenton assured her.

Satisfied that Beatrice would recover, Victoria turned to address Trenton. “Don’t take me for a fool, Kingsley,” she shot back, as regal in carriage at fifty-four as she’d been as a girl. “I’ve lived through far too much for you to patronize me. Beatrice did not merely fall in the bay. She is bleeding, not to mention totally saturated and white as a sheet!”

“The duke saved the Princess’s life, Your Majesty,” the maid piped up, scurrying onto the terrace. Quickly and respectfully, she relayed the incident to the Queen. “I saw the whole thing,” she concluded, nodding vigorously for emphasis.

Victoria turned to Trenton, her lips quivering with emotion. “You’ve given me back my child, Trenton. For that, I am forever in your debt. Anything you ask of me is yours.”

A corner of Trenton’s mouth rose in amusement. “I am in need of nothing, I assure you, Your Majesty.”

“That’s preposterous!” she snapped. “Everyone is in need of something!”

“I beg to differ with you, Your Majesty. I’ve acquired all I can possibly take … at least for now.” Trenton thrust aside the dark reflection, flashing Victoria one of his rare, infectious smiles. He had to restore the Queen’s humor, so she would forget this nonsense of fulfilling some nonexistent need of his. “As a matter of fact,” he continued, “it is I who have been needed these past few days … twice, in fact. Both times I was called upon to rescue damsels in distress.”