She remembered a conversation they’d had the night of the ball. They had stopped dancing, as Leo wanted to take a stroll through the Crystal Palace.
“Such a beautiful country,” he said to her that evening. “When we are married, we will travel the empire. In Paris they have erected the Tour Eiffel.”
“Yes, my lord.” Aelwyn nodded, thinking it would be wonderful to see the world, to see every part of it. This was what she had left Avalon for—to see and feel and experience everything.
“We must make certain to keep the empire safe and whole. The Iron Knights have reunited after their failed coup d’état. They are only biding their time. One hears that they have found a way to counter Avalon’s magic, and the protection that keeps us all sleeping soundly in our beds.”
“You will keep us safe, my prince?” she asked, her eyes bright.
“Yes, we will start here, in this city. Already there is too much theft, corruption, and danger. One cannot even travel the queen’s road without being set upon by bandits. It is a shame. They must learn to fear our strength again. I shall restore order and bring peace.”
“A nation needs a strong arm,” she said.
“And I will give it to them.” He smiled.
“Yes,” she said. “You will.”
“Ronan, it is simply not done. You cannot think you can come to the palace and call on the prince without an invitation,” Vera said, scandalized, as Ronan adjusted her hat in the mirror. She had suggested a few tweaks to the milliner, who complimented her on her good eye for design.
“Why not? It’s the twentieth century, Vera, and I am tired of waiting,” she said. It had been more than a week since the royal ball. Ronan had been very good and patient, going through the motions of the season: calling on great ladies, attending a few minor suppers and dances with Archie and Perry. But it appeared their circles did not overlap with Wolf’s; while Marcus had become a diligent suitor, and had taken to calling on her every other day, the one she was waiting for never showed.
She was a modern American girl, and Ronan was not one to wait around. She knew he was living at St. James with his brother, and what could it hurt? Why couldn’t she go to him? Perhaps he was busy, or he did not know where she was staying (doubtful). It appealed to her spirit of adventure—that same bravery, she thought, that he had so admired on the Saturnia.
He had admired and loved her once; he could do so again, she was certain. She was going to make him love her again, or die trying.
And hadn’t she already been presented to the queen? That meant she was part of society—didn’t it?
“You may call on him after he calls on you, but only then! A lady does not call on the gentleman first!” Vera admonished, wringing her hands.
“Relax, Vera. It will be fine. I bet he’ll like it.”
When she arrived at the black gates of St. James, her confidence wavered a little. Was she doing the right thing? Or was this foolishness? He was reckless and impulsive, and so was she; she wanted to show him that. Also, she wanted to see him again. The days of the season were ticking by; soon it would be over, and she would be back on a ship headed to New York. There was so little time. Every day she did not accept Viscount Lisle’s proposal was a day that her parents’ investment in her was unmet.
The lord steward of the house greeted her and showed her to a front reception hall. “Is Prince Wolfgang expecting you?” he asked.
“No, I think not,” she said. “I thought I would call on him, as I missed him at the vernissage the other day.” She handed him her card, and he bowed.
So far, so good, she thought, studying the portraits in the palace. Each ruler had a portr
ait next to the Merlin. It was amazing to see the Merlin so unchanged over the centuries. It was uncanny.
There were footsteps in the hallway. She turned to greet Wolf, but it was not him who appeared. It was the old man who was always at his side.
“Miss Astor?” he asked.
She nodded.
“I am Duncan Oswald, master-at-arms. I am sorry to say that the prince cannot see you this afternoon. He has a very full schedule.”
“Oh, it would only take a minute—I just wanted to say hello,” she said, disappointed.
“I am afraid he cannot see you.”
“Or he doesn’t want to,” she said, unwilling to apologize for her impudence.
“I am sorry, Miss Astor.”
She nodded, her pride burning. She began to walk out of the reception room when she saw him. He was rounding the corner with his brother. “Wolf!” she cried. “Wolf! It’s me—Ronan!”