The Ring and the Crown (The Ring and the Crown 1)

The light in his eyes faded as he turned away from her. “Perhaps, but perhaps some things would still be the same. There would still be the London Season. There would still be the Debrett’s rankings.”

“I think you might be right on that,” she allowed. Later she would wonder how a boy from steerage had known about the social calendar, or the name of the social bible. Or, for that matter, how a boy like him would know to order the best types of champagne. Perhaps he read tabloids. Perhaps it was another hobby of his.

“So, that’s your answer, then,” he said lightly, but his face was pained, hurt. Ronan wanted nothing more than to take that hurt away, but she steeled her heart against him.

“Yes,” she said. “Maybe we’ll see each other in London,” she offered, even though she knew it was insincere.

“Maybe if we’re lucky,” he said with a sad smile. “So this is good-bye, then, is it?”

“Good-bye, Heath,” she whispered, watching as he gathered his things, put his socks and shoes and coat back on.

“Good-bye, Cathy,” he said. When he walked out of the room, he didn’t look back.

She didn’t see him for the rest of the journey. She found that she was more devastated than she’d expected. One lonely afternoon she contemplated looking for him in every corner of the boat, but Vera came back from tea early for once, and the chance passed. Perhaps it was just as well. If she’d spoken to him any longer, if she had let him kiss her again, if they had shared another steamy afternoon, she had a feeling he would have succeeded in talking her into eloping somehow. Ronan had been so close to saying yes that afternoon, to risking the unknown…perhaps it was for the best that she’d never see him again. She had done the right thing. She was certain.

Everyone’s here and frightfully gay;

Nobody cares what people say.

—NOEL COWARD,

“I WENT TO A MARVELLOUS PARTY”

When the Saturnia docked in the Port of London, Wolf felt a heaviness in his step at having returned to Europe. He had enjoyed the Americas; had liked the broad open spaces of the Midwest plains, the awkward and aggressive confidence of the cities, the fact that no one cared who his father was, that no one recognized him. But back in the empire, he was back to being the prince again—back to being his father’s son and his brother’s wayward problem.

Unlike Leo, he was ushered into the palace with hardly any pomp or fuss when he arrived. Oswald and his loyal valet were his only entourage, and aside from a few giggling ladies of court, no one else seemed to pay him much attention. Perhaps they were all too busy, as the “small season” had already started with the opening of Parliament, and the hectic festivities would build from Easter until the official opening of the season at the royal ball. Wolf tried not to feel too offended that there were no high-ranking representatives from the queen’s circle to greet him. While he hadn’t expected Her Majesty or the Merlin to make an appearance, a minister or two would have been nice. The suite of apartments he had been given was adequate, but after traveling for months and then spending the sea voyage in second class, he was itching to just go home to the family schloss in Brandenburg. The homefront was indeed plagued with the aforementioned sheep, but did boast a very comfortable bed.

That morning dawned bright and early, and at first Wolf was disoriented, unsure of where he was. It was strange to be back on land; he had gotten used to the gentle rolling of the waves on the ship. He blinked open one eye to see a shining apparition at the door.

“So, the prodigal son has returned,” the apparition said, stepping into the room and out of the sunlight, so that Wolf could see his brother clearly. Leo walked in with a broad grin and clapped his hands loudly. “Wake up! Wake up!”

“Hello to you too,” Wolf grumbled, forcing himself awake and upright. “You’re awful cheerful this morning.”

“Am I?”

“Isabelle here?” Wolf said pointedly.

“I wouldn’t know,” Leo said, but his eyes were smirking. “Is she?”

Wolf shook his head. His brother was a pig. Poor Isabelle. She should have known better than to give her heart to Leo. His brother took after their father, with an eye for every pretty girl in his path. And yet, for all of Leo’s indiscretions, there was hardly a whiff of scandal about him. He was the golden boy: nothing tarnished his sheen. If anything, it made him more lovable. Wolf didn’t know how his brother got away with everything, but he always did.

“How were the provinces?” Leo asked.

“Provincial,” Wolf grumbled, even though he had enjoyed his time there. He looked at Leo, dressed in a proper British cricket suit. “Settled in, have you?”

“Fancy a game?”

“Not today, thanks.”

“Right, then. Well, see you later. Dress for dinner, will you? And get the doctor to give you something better for that eye. You look like a burglar.”

Wolf nodded.

He didn’t want to admit it, but he hadn’t felt like doing much of anything since the American girl had rejected him. Of course it had been a foolish offer—what was he thinking, going around proposing with his mother’s diamond ring? What made her so different from all the other girls he had romanced and left behind? From all the other girls he had played strip billiards with, for that matter? But there was something about her honesty, her brave determination, that had touched his heart. She was trying so hard to be the grand lady, but she was a kindred spirit, wild and uninhibited. He had been drawn to her fire, and to the impulsiveness of marrying her without knowing her real name—the daringness of it. It was a story they could tell their children, something out of a fairy tale. How their mother had not known who he was when she accepted him, and the frog turned out to be a prince. But the princess had been unwilling to kiss the frog, the prince remained warty and unloved, and now there was no adventure to be had. Perhaps the world was right about him after all—without his title, he wasn’t much use to anybody.

Wolf thought that maybe he should have been honest with her. Not about his name—he was too careful for that after the latest paternity accusation—not that she would do something like that, but it was safer to remain anonymous. No, he wished he had spilled the dark secrets of his own heart and admitted that, like her, he was not free to live life on his terms—not at all—but instead was as much a prisoner to duty and family as she was. Which was why she should have accepted his proposal, because together they could have forged a new life that was unconstrained by tradition, a new and uncharted adventure. He would have married her then and there if she had said yes. He had never met a girl who didn’t know who he was, who his family was, and who only liked him for himself. And she had liked him, had liked him fine, but not enough…not enough to risk it. Alas.

If only she had said yes.…