Chapter 20

TWENTY

I wasn’t going to go. I mean, I really wasn’t going to go.

The second Xavier left the room, all I wanted to do was pack up whatever random things had been brought to Parkvale, go back to Mayfair for as much of our other stuff as I could find, then get a couple of one-way tickets home to New York for Sofia and me and forget this summer of experimentation ever happened.

When I had finished crying, I yanked on a T-shirt and stormed into Xavier’s bedroom to tell him, too, only to find that he had already left. But what I saw on the nightstand stopped my emotions cold.

A small two-by-three picture, framed in unassuming silver, sat at the bedside table along with a book of classic Japanese poetry, a culinary magazine, and a notepad with my name scrawled across the top, under which he had written and crossed out three separate poems.

How desolate my former life,

Those dismal years, era yet

I chanced to see thee face to face

Just as I would beckon you, my love,

Heedless of stinging rumours…

With rudder lost, how can they reach

The port for which they long?

I picked it up and brushed my finger over each unfinished stanza that appeared to be copied from the book. It wouldn’t have been the first time he had used this sort of poetry to apologize. It was like he realized his own language wasn’t working, so he was trying to speak to me in mine.

I put down the poems and picked up the picture. In it was a photo I’d never seen before—a picture of me and Sofia, asleep together in her bed at Mayfair, when the afternoon sun was shining down on us. He must have snapped it sometime after we’d first arrived. I’d obviously fallen asleep while putting her down for a nap, and something about it had touched Xavier to the point where he’d felt the need to capture it and keep it close while he himself slept.

“Damn,” I whispered as I put the frame back on the table. “Oh, damn.”

More than anything I had seen in weeks, this collection exemplified Xavier. A reminder that even if he didn’t show it, he kept the things most important to him near and dear.

And that did, apparently, include Sofia and me.

I sighed then. I had to get ready for a polo match. And, apparently, a mea culpa.

Unlike the Ortham Ball, the Troop’s Polo Cup was a public event, so Elsie had made sure as soon as Xavier was invited to play that Sofia and I had tickets to get in along with Miriam. There would be no snooty hostesses to embarrass me at the gate. Nor would anyone look down at me for my inappropriate clothing. And I’d have company in the form of Elsie and Jagger, much to my relief.

“It’s hardly the Royal Ascot,” Elsie had told me. “But you must dress up a bit and wear a hat. And have some fun!”

I followed her advice, making use of one of the conservative outfits supplied to me by Regina. Today’s rendition of “Frankie Attempts Society” consisted of a sleeveless brown frock with cream polka dots, coordinating cream pumps, lacy kid gloves, and a matching wide-brimmed straw hat that would shade my face in the sun. Sofia, too, was dressed in a little blue sailor dress and patent-leather Mary Janes. We’d even gotten an outfit for Miriam so she wouldn’t feel out of place.

The polo cup, however, was more than an event. It was a spectacle. The crème de la crème of English society were all here to see and be seen by everyone else who’d procured a ticket—if the hats hadn’t told me, nothing else would.

Elsie shepherded Sofia, Miriam, and me onto the grounds, which contained a clubhouse, stables, restaurants, and several pitches corralled by a ring of white fences. On the far end, I could see the players warming up atop their horses (which everyone called ponies, for some reason), swinging the mallets around as if they wished they were lances for jousting, or perhaps swords, instead. Xavier was easy to spot in his red and white polo shirt, sitting at least a head above most of the other men on the field.

The Troop’s Polo Club was apparently one of the most prestigious clubs in the UK. It was sponsored directly by the crown and where many members of the royal family had learned their sport—so I was informed by at least three different people as we walked in. Royal sighting was at least as important as watching the actual game.

“Why was Xavier asked to play?” I asked Elsie as we found seats on one of the bleachers set up around the main pitch. “This seems like a professional sort of thing, or at least something where the players need to be very proficient.”

“It’s not professional, no,” she said. “More something you watch for fun, simply because it’s a chance to see the Royals, for a lot of the spectators. But Xavier is quite good. His father taught him to play, and he took it up at Eton, which, of course, practices here. It was the only thing he and Rupert Parker really had in common, actually.”

We watched him for a few minutes, practicing with some of the other players and occasionally flashing the broad smile I rarely saw anymore. Once, he even appeared to laugh. When he did that, he really was charisma incarnate. A born leader. I could understand why these people were attracted to him like flies. From what I could see, that kind of natural charisma was rare in any class. For a duke to have it and command of one of the largest fortunes in the country? He was the catch every mother in the country wanted for their daughter and what every man wished he could be.

“He doesn’t play much now,” Elsie said, catching my gaze, “but the family always kept its membership at Troop’s. When the team discovered Xavier was available, naturally, they asked him if he could step in. Look, dearie, there’s Daddy.”

She pointed out Xavier to Sofia, who briefly looked up from the coloring book she was working on, then dove back into making sure Elsa’s dress was pink instead of blue.

Considering the prestige that obviously went into membership at Troop’s, I had a feeling the invitation had more to do with the sort of networking Xavier was trying to accomplish with these fellow equestrians (and they with him) than any sort of legitimate skill he might have.

That was until I saw him play.

I knew nothing about polo, but even I could see Xavier had some talent. He was obviously at ease on the horse, and it was a treat to watch the way the muscles moved in his thighs as he squeezed the saddle or the way his biceps and back rippled whenever he struck the ball with his mallet.

I could have watched him for hours.

“Did I miss anything?”

We all sidled over when Jagger appeared dressed neatly in slacks and a sports jacket that had to be hot on this August day. It was reasonably cool out here under the trees but still warm enough to make everyone glow a bit.

“Hello, love,” he said, leaning over to deliver a kiss to my cheek before taking a seat on Elsie’s other side. “You look a treat. Oh, God, she’s here?”

We all followed his gaze to the far end of the pitch, where Imogene Douglas was stepping onto the grass. She looked tall and willowy in a pale blue summer dress, her blonde hair dangling down her back, tied back on one side with a fascinator that barely passed as a hat but complemented a pair of large white sunglasses. She was as bright as I was dark, tall and chic while I was homely and small. Kid gloves or not, I simply couldn’t compete.

“I bet she doesn’t get hangovers,” I mumbled to myself. My head wasn’t pounding so badly as this morning, but sunglasses were still a necessity.

“Well, of course, she’s here,” Elsie chided Jagger. “The Douglases are members too, aren’t they? Frederick played for Eton, same as the boy. They never miss the Troop’s Cup. Now, don’t be salty because she turned you down years ago.”

“Aw, you had a thing for Imogene?” I teased Jagger lightly. “What happened, didn’t quite add up to a Cinderella story for you, Jag?”

He did not seem to find it funny. “Never did. Past tense.” He shrugged. “It was ages ago, but it wouldn’t have worked anyway. Hard to have a relationship with someone who’s in love with your best mate—oof, Els, what the fu?—”

Sofia jerked up with her foxlike hearing for profanity.

“Christ, Els,” Jagger gasped, doubled over upon receiving a hard elbow from Elsie. “What was that for?”

“For not thinking before you speak,” she said primly. “There are children present.”

“It’s all right,” I said, although Jagger’s statement had sent butterflies whizzing around my belly. He only had one best friend, right? “I assume you mean Xavi. I didn’t know he and Imogene were ever involved.”

For some reason, that almost hurt more than discovering he was a duke.

“It was a little crush,” Elsie assured me. “On her part, not his. Lasted only a second or two, after her sister died.”

“If by a second you mean twelve bloody years,” Jagger joked, even as he dodged another smack from Elsie. “Come on, she’s bound to know. She was up there in Kendal with them.” He looked at me knowingly. “Rupert and Henry wanted them to get married, so Xavier promised Lucy he would to spite them and make sure Lucy inherited her share even though she was sick.”

I nodded. That didn’t sound so bad. Typical Xavier, if I was being honest. And it was so long ago, I likely didn’t have to be concerned.

“Imogene, though, never gave up,” Jagger continued, checking to make sure Sofia was focused on her coloring. “She pops into the restaurants sometimes, looking for us. Waits for hours for him to show up. I don’t mind telling you, she wasn’t very happy when he stayed in New York all that time for you and Sofia.” He leaned back to look at me. “You telling me you didn’t notice the way she follows him around? Calls him ‘Kip?’ Drapes herself all over him like he’s a piece of furniture?”

He was trying to make light of it, like Imogene was no more intimidating than a silly schoolgirl with a crush on a football player. I continued to smile like nothing about that bothered me, but the effect was starting to become painful.

“So…did anything ever happen?” I couldn’t help but wonder.

“Never,” Elsie assured me with a dirty look Jagger’s way. “Their families have always been close, and she’s fond of him. But there’s nothing more to it than that. This one’s only got a grudge because she threw him over.”

“I’m no one’s second choice,” Jagger said evenly. “And when a girl uses me to get to my mate, you could say it’s a deal breaker.”

After receiving another death glare from Elsie, he didn’t offer any more details. But I didn’t need them anyway. I was too busy watching Imogene lean over the fencing as Xavier rode up and greeted her. They did nothing more than chat, but there was something in the way Imogene was laughing, the way she tittered like a bird whenever he spoke, or how she tossed her head back, giving him a view down the front of her dress. Elegant, always. Never suspect. But it reminded me very much of the cheerleaders in high school who would flirt with the football players during practice. Pressing their limits just because they could. And because they wanted to show them other things under the bleachers later.

“You see?” Elsie said, following my gaze as Xavier rejoined his team on the pitch. “Just family friends.”

“Yes,” I said as I watched Imogene’s gaze, which hadn’t moved from Xavier, no matter how far he rode. “Yes, I see.”

It was an exciting match to watch, particularly with Jagger in my ear, explaining the game as they went. Xavier was rotated in and out depending on the stamina of the other players, but he was clearly an asset to the team, playing what Jagger called the Number Two position.

Other than in the kitchen, I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen him so at ease. Despite his proclamations that he hated the aristocracy and everything about that part of his life, Xavier seemed to fit right in here, even smiling when the crowd cheered at a particularly good play.

But by the end of the second period—or, as Elsie informed me, a chukker—I couldn’t watch him any longer. Miriam had long since taken Sofia to peek at the ponies, and I decided now was a good time to find some refreshment and stretch my legs too. While many in the stands tottered out onto the field to replace the divots with their shoes (apparently a longstanding tradition), I made my way toward a tent where drinks were being served and got in line behind two women about my age who seemed to have already had a few, if the volume of their conversation was any indication.

“The Prince of Wales seemed out of order, don’t you think?” said the one on the right, who was wearing a large hat with roughly half an ostrich affixed to the crown.

Her friend, a curly-haired brunette outfitted in a bright pink dress and matching hat, clicked her tongue. “He’s only mad because the duke showed up and stole his thunder. Gorgeous as ever, though, isn’t he? Did you see those thighs?”

“And his chest. And that tattoo…golly. And he swore he’d never come back. Lucky us.”

“They all say that. And they all do in the end.”

The two of them tittered as they stepped up behind the rest of the line.

Maybe it wasn’t Xavier, I told myself as they chatted. There were plenty of other dukes in England. Maybe not so many that two flighty socialites would be interested in. Maybe not so many that would be termed gorgeous. With muscular thighs and shoulders for days and a tattoo that made nice English girls blush.

No, there had to be others.

“She’s here, you know. Did you see her?” asked Pink Dress.

“No, but I’m dying to have a look after what Imogene said. Total barbarian, apparently.”

It could be another Imogene too, I tried to convince myself.

Yeah, who was I kidding?

They took another step but continued to gossip just as loudly. I kept my head pointed down and my face as still as possible, too ashamed to listen but too embarrassed to move away.

“Not that it matters,” Ostrich Feathers continued. “You don’t really think he’s going to end up with an American, do you? Now that he’s back, I can’t imagine it.”

“Well, they do have a child together, even if it is rather unorthodox. And he did bring her all the way here. For the Season, no less. That’s got to mean something.”

Ostrich Feathers just gave a rather unladylike snort. “Please, obviously, the child is a trap. They say she’s not even his, and until there’s a DNA test, I wouldn’t trust a thing.”

“Oh, come on, Beth. Didn’t you see her picture in the papers? She looks just like him. Even you must admit that.”

Ostrich Feathers—or Beth, apparently—stood her ground. “At this age, they all look alike. She could be anyone’s. Not that it matters. He didn’t marry her then, and the girl can’t inherit anyway, even if she is his daughter. Yes, I’d like an Aperol spritz, please.”

“Pimm’s for me,” added Pink Dress to the bartender.

Ostrich Feathers turned to her while the bartender mixed their drinks. “So, really, there’s no point, and if the American thinks there’s a real future for them, she’s a fool. He’ll get it out of his system and find someone who’s good for him. Imogene will be first in line, of course, but who’s to say it couldn’t be any of us?” She shrugged. “After all, why would he go through the motions now for a sad little girl who can’t inherit and her brutish American mother?”

“Probably because she’s fantastic, and any man would be lucky to have her.”

The women, shocked, whirled around, followed by me, and found another American right next to me—close enough to hear every word the women were saying. And close enough to know I’d been listening.

Adam Klein smiled through his glasses, though the rest of him was looking as dapper as he had at the ball in a bright white suit and red tie.

He was the absolutely wrong person to show up right now.

His presence would make Xavier absolutely furious.

And at that moment, I had never been so happy to see anyone in my life.