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

“To get it over with. His mummy is threatening to cut him off if he doesn’t settle down. Lady Julia’s worried they’ll lose the pile if he doesn’t marry soon. Worried he’ll fall down, bonk his head and die—then what’ll she and her five daughters do?”

“Good for Ronan for turning him down, then.”

“Yes, she’s quite available,” Archie smiled. “Why? Interested, are you?”

Wolf drained the rest of his glass and winked at the boys. “Maybe.”

Perry gave him a fatherly nod. “She’s supposed to meet us here—she should be along shortly. I’ll tell her to find you. Come on, Arch, let’s see what atrocities they’ve put in the condemned cell.” He nodded toward the back of the gallery, where it was so dark and narrow it was hard to get a good look at the paintings.

“Hey, that’s where they put my pieces!” Archie said, affronted.

“I know, darling,” Perry said. “Maybe now you won’t waste so much of your time in your studio?”

Wolf left them bickering fondly with each other, and walked the length of the exhibition by himself. Royal portraiture was always well-represented, and Wolf stood in front of one that depicted the Prussian court with his family in the middle. The resemblances were passable enough. King Frederick was seated on his throne, with one son to each side of him. Duncan Oswald, master-at-arms, stood next to Wolf, and Lord Edmund Hartwig next to Leo. The queen was next to Altmann von Vilswert, the Bavarian knight who was supposed to have been a favorite of his mother’s. Wolf squinted at the painting, wondering. Was that truly what his nose looked like?

“Monstrosity, isn’t it?” his brother’s voice asked.

Wolf laughed. “Oh, it’s not so bad, is it?” He turned to see Leo exchanging a word with the seller, who was writing down a receipt.

“It’s appalling. I’m taking it off the market so I can put it out of its misery. There are so many here, and I aim to buy every one.” Leo sniffed. “I’m uncertain why a portrait of the royal family should include these three courtiers. It looks like a bad Nativity scene.”

“Ah, well.” Wolf smiled. “When did you get here? Is Marie with you?”

“She’s coming with the queen,” Leo said. “I thought I’d check it out beforehand. Having a good season so far?”

“Fine,” Wolf replied. “You and Marie seem to be finally hitting it off,” he said to his brother as they moved down the hall, turning heads and drawing appreciative glances along the way.

Leo’s forehead crinkled. “Blasted wedding preparations are taking up all her time. But she is supposed to meet me here tonight.”

“Well, Marie does love art.”

“Yes. I thought I’d get her a painting as a wedding gift. Not any of these ugly family portraits, of course. The only place they’re going is the fire.”

Wolf smirked. Leo was entirely too vain; his brother often argued that only the royal court painter should be allowed to paint their family. “Good choice.”

“Speaking of wedding gifts, have you seen the loot? Real drakon eggs, and all sorts of magical exotica. Burgundy sent all of their Burgundy, apparently. There can’t be a bottle left in France,” said Leo.

“Hopefully his wine is as good as they say. Else, your wedding will be a sour one.” Wolf shrugged.

“By the way, when you get a chance, will you show me around those passages of yours? I want to know more about this castle.”

“Sure,” Wolf agreed. “So, you and Marie, eh?”

They hadn’t talked about the royal ball yet. Leo was not forthcoming with his emotions, and Wolf was not one to bring the subject up. Until now, they had hardly talked about the wedding, or the fact that Marie was to be Leo’s wife. It seemed disloyal somehow to speak of it. Marie was his friend and Leo was his brother, and Wolf decided they each deserved their privacy. But now that things had changed—for the better, it seemed—Wolf felt confident he could ask about it. “Things are good?”

Leo stopped and grinned at Wolf. “I have to say, I am besotted. It’s a whole new world. She is a dazzling creature. I only wish she had more time to see me.”

Wolf smiled indulgently. “I told you she was a remarkable girl.”

“Remarkable is only the tip of the iceberg. I’ve never met anyone quite like her.”

“There are not many like her in this world, brother,” Wolf said, happy that the two were getting along so well after their rocky beginning. “Now, come—perhaps we will find a gift for your remarkable bride.”

Following her relative success at the Bal du Drap d’Or (after all, the name on everyone’s lips was not Ronan Astor but Princess Marie-Victoria, and of course no one could compete with a real princess), Ronan felt quite confident in her showing. She felt she had done quite well—enough to sit back, relax, and enjoy the mountain of missives and invitations for the season. So it came as an awful shock to realize that there were none.

“I’m so sorry, my dear, it appears the claws have come out. The hostesses are afraid you will upstage their own daughters,” Lady Constance said that afternoon during their usual tea at Hotel Claridge. “They have closed ranks and decided to keep you out of the party.”

“Can they do that?” Ronan asked, horrified. She also couldn’t help but notice that Lady Constance never picked up the check, and it was beginning to smart. Although, for some reason, the hotel seemed happy to place it all on the Van Owens’s bill. Ronan had not corrected their error.