Lord Stanton's Last Mistress

It took two more days for Alex to be dispatched. She knew the King had visited him, a chessboard under his arm, and once he even took Princess Ariadne, who came back bouncing with delight at how funny Apollo was.

Though she held firm in her resolve not to see him again, she couldn’t prevent her disappointment that he never sent for her. His offer, offhand though it had been, burned like a lanced boil on her soul, but whether she hoped for it to be repeated or not, there was nothing but silence. Clearly he had had his fun, but now that he was to be on his way she was no longer instrumental. It was all for the better, she told herself, but it took every ounce of her resolve not to go and tell him precisely what she thought of his ingratitude and his stupidity and his insensitivity, just so she could see him one last time.

The day he was escorted down to the King’s own frigate to be transported to Venice, she and Ariadne watched the procession from the Princess’s rooms. The dismal winter weather had burst into a benediction of sunshine in a transition typical of the Mediterranean, transforming the bay into a crystalline sparkle of sapphires and emeralds. Even leaning on a cane he stood almost a head taller than the men around him, the sun striking his hair with silver and gold as he boarded the white-sailed vessel.

‘Apollo is taking the sun with him.’ Ariadne sighed, her chin propped on her arms.

Christina’s heart squeezed and shrivelled. Ariadne’s words were soppily sentimental, but that was precisely what it felt like. Ridiculous, she told herself. Just like the agony columns—absurd, mawkish, silly, stupid. Pathetic. Perhaps if she threw enough insults at this pain it would shrivel as well.

The next day the rainclouds returned and life went on.

Chapter One (#u27a96bdb-6347-5195-9026-b229e81fbf41)

London—1822

‘You cannot be serious!’ Alex, Lord Stanton, paused with his glass halfway to his lips.

‘I am always serious,’ Sir Oswald Sinclair replied.

‘That is the gospel truth.’ Lord Hunter raised his own glass with a complicit grin at Alex and Lord Ravenscar, but Alex was in no mood to appreciate his friend’s sense of humour.

‘Hell, Uncle. The man had me shot and imprisoned. I still have a nasty scar to show for it. I have no intention whatsoever of inviting them to Stanton Hall, negotiations or no negotiations.’

Sir Oswald’s expression rarely changed. Rather he used his quizzing glass as a way to communicate human emotion. It went up now, a faint but definite rebuke.

‘While you are indeed heir to the Marquessate and the Stanton estate, your father is still Marquess of Wentworth and as such he decides who is welcome at Stanton Hall and he and your delightful stepmother have expressed their willingness to allow me to bring guests to the hall for a few weeks while they are away.’

‘Don’t split hairs with me, Uncle. Why the devil can’t the discussions be held in London? And if not in London, why at Stanton?’

‘Because he asked. You might have put aside your past as agent for the War Office these five years for a more respectable post in the Foreign Office, but surely you are still aware how important it is that we secure Illiakos as a naval base in the Mediterranean.’

‘I am fully aware of its importance. The last thing we need is another bone of contention between the Turks and Greeks setting off the squabbling between Russia and Austria. I just spent a week with Razumov and Von Haas convincing them it is in everyone’s best interests to allow the English to take this particular piece off the board—for a price, of course. Just because I no longer run dubious errands for you around the world doesn’t mean I have become witless, Uncle.’

‘I am well aware of that, Alexander. But it might interest you to hear that Lucas sent word from Russia that though Count Nesselrode is on board and has convinced the Tsar of its wisdom, not all the powers in Russia are happy with this move since it might weaken the Greek position should they proceed with their resistance to Turkish rule. I prefer to have the King and his daughter where I...where we can control their surroundings and ensure they remain focused on the prize. We all want the same thing in the end.’

‘Not quite in the same way. So, my delightful Sinclair cousins still work for you?’

Oswald’s mouth almost bowed into a smile.

‘They haven’t yet wearied of me as you did.’

‘I don’t think “wearied” is the right choice of word. Grew up might be closer to the mark.’

‘Ah, but that had nothing to do with me,’ Oswald replied and Alex’s lungs constricted with remembered shame and self-contempt. Trust his uncle to go for the jugular without the slightest effort.

‘No. That had nothing to do with you,’ he admitted and his uncle had the grace to show a glimmer of remorse, but before he could speak, Lord Ravenscar intervened.

‘His daughter? There’s a princess in there, too?’

Hunter’s brow rose. ‘Shall I tell Lily you were asking?’

Ravenscar grinned and raised his glass. ‘I’d back Lily against any princess, or a queen for that matter. I was thinking of our stubbornly unwed friend here and his annoying tendency to look down upon us married mortals. It’s about time he fell off his high horse. Maybe a princess will do it. Have you met her, Sir Oswald? Is she pretty?’

‘I met her yesterday at their hotel. She is very pretty.’

‘There. It’s as good as done. Damned if I start calling you your Majesty, though.’

‘To Prince Alexander.’ Hunter raised a toast. ‘You will make a fine despot.’

Alex shook his head at his friends’ nonsense, but their attempt to dispel the tension Oswald’s comment introduced was welcome. There was no point in arguing, after all.

‘Why don’t you just tell me what is expected of me since it is apparently already arranged?’

‘Good. I will travel down with them from London to Berkshire tomorrow and see them settled. We will expect you the next day.’

‘Will you?’

‘Don’t scowl, Alexander. I am impervious to shows of temper. I am well aware you are otherwise occupied with Canning on the business of the Congress over the next couple of days, so I offered to escort the King and Princess to Stanton myself until you can join us. It will be an opportunity to keep our Russian and Austrian friends under my eye.’

The same eye was currently grotesquely magnified by the quizzing glass and Alex knew he had lost. It was damnable, but his uncle could always get his way without the slightest show of effort or emotion.

‘Lucky them. Very well, I will come as soon as Canning is done with me. But I draw the line at courting princesses.’

‘A pity. The island is most strategically located for our navy and a marriage would be more effective than a treaty. Never mind. I will bid you gentlemen good evening.’

Alex cursed and sat down in his armchair as the door closed.

‘One day I will walk out of a battle of wills with him the victor.’

‘I doubt it,’ Hunter said. ‘He’s a true cold fish, that man. You just act like one. Or at least you have for the past five years.’

‘Better a cold fish than a landed one like you two old married men.’

Ravenscar propped his boots on the grate and sighed.

‘Here we go again. Another smug lecture from the bachelor. We had best see him hitched soon, Hunter. Either that or take him round back and show him a thing or two.’

‘You could probably use the exercise, Raven,’ Alex taunted. ‘When was the last time you went to Jackson’s?’

‘Oh, we get plenty of exercise, Alex.’ Hunter grinned. ‘And not merely at Jackson’s.’

Ravenscar laughed. ‘Careful, Hunter, you’re embarrassing him.’

‘It’s a pity neither Nell nor Lily have sisters.’

‘Damn it, Hunter. If you dare take up matchmaking...’

Hunter raised his hands in surrender.