Page 32 of The Prince’s Wallflower Wife (The Wallflower Academy #4)

C hristoph knew who was knocking at the door in an instant. Only one person knocked like that. ‘It’s her!’

He dropped the book with a crash and rushed out of the library.

‘She’s not going to disappear in a puff of smoke, Christoph!’

This wife of his! She had a heart far larger than most people—certainly larger than his would have been, if he had been holed up in a place like that academy.

‘Where is that seal?’

‘In my desk!’ Christoph called down the corridor. ‘I’ll be straight back!’

Daphne laughed in his wake as he hurtled towards the door, where the knocking continued. Where was that butler of his?

Christoph almost skidded directly into Henderson. ‘There you are!’

‘I was getting there,’ muttered the butler as he reached out to open the front door. ‘I am sure it can be no one that important, or—’

‘Laura!’

Christoph opened his arms and groaned as his sister launched herself into his hug.

‘It has been too long,’ said Laura, gripping him tightly and making it difficult for him to breathe. ‘Too long.’

There was more of a Germanic accent to her words—her English was less practised than his own—and there was a desperate weariness in the way she spoke. But that did not matter. She was here now. She was safe.

‘But—but—Princess Laura!’ spluttered Henderson.

Christoph tried not to grimace as his sister pulled away to look at his butler. ‘Laura, let me introduce you to—’

‘Your Highness.’ The butler bowed.

When he rose, Christoph was surprised to see that there was a grim look on the servant’s face. Something harsh, something cruel. Something displeased. It was gone in an instant. Perhaps he had imagined it. He certainly did not like the man, but that was no reason to take completely against him.

Ah… Perhaps he should have mentioned to the servants that a guest would be coming to stay.

‘My sister will be staying with us for some time, Henderson,’ Christoph said. ‘Please prepare a room for her and help her servants with—’

‘I brought no servants, Christoph,’ Laura said quietly, her eyes suddenly downcast. ‘There was not…time.’

Not time . He knew well enough what that meant. There had been no time to ascertain just who she could trust and who would betray her plans. She had been forced to move fast, so she had travelled all this way without a lady’s maid—without an escort!

Christoph’s jaw tightened.

Well, that had most definitely not been the plan . If he had known she would be so unprotected, entirely unchaperoned… Perhaps it was a good thing he had not known.

‘Please help with her luggage,’ he continued, jerking his head at the door. ‘But wait—your arm, your wrist—how have you managed without servants?’

There was a pained look on his sister’s face. ‘I managed.’

Christoph searched Laura’s familiar face, saw pain, distress, and relief that it was over, and decided not to pry. ‘But you are healed?’

‘I think it will take time,’ Laura said quietly.

Time. Yes, it was something the two of them would both need. But here in England, with Daphne, he could heal. ‘I wish to introduce you to my wife.’

Taking Laura by the hand and completely ignoring Henderson, he pulled her across the hallway and into the main corridor. The instant they turned a corner, the door to the hall closing behind them, Laura halted. ‘It is safe?’

‘You’re safe here,’ Christoph said hastily.

He could well understand the fear. The panic. The uncertainty. After having lived a life looking over their shoulders, never quite sure who was telling the truth, who was repeating their words verbatim back to their brother, it was wise of Laura to ask. But she would never have to ask again.

‘This home is safe. It is ours, mine and Daphne’s, and I will never permit Anton to come here,’ Christoph assured her, seeing clearly that Laura was unconvinced by his words. ‘The servants are good sorts. I don’t particularly like Henderson; there’s something I can’t quite put my finger on.’

‘I was not immediately impressed myself.’

‘But being a foul-tempered person is not a crime. At least, not here in England,’ Christoph said, attempting some levity.

His sister did not smile. ‘And here you are, having made the greatest sacrifice for me,’ she said softly. ‘Marrying a stranger, someone you will be stuck with for the rest of your life, for me.’

It was difficult to know where to begin.

Yes, it had all started as a way to prevent this Miss Smith from marrying Anton and putting herself into harm’s way.

Then Christoph had seen the benefits he himself could draw from such a connection: wealth; riches that would give him true freedom.

Then he had seen the possibility of rescuing Laura, and a careful plan had been put together.

And it had worked. Had worked far better than he could have imagined. Laura was safe. She was here, in England.

And, despite having expected to find Daphne merely a tolerable enough presence in his life that he could bring himself to consummate the marriage, he had fallen in love with her.

Christoph found he was smiling. ‘Daphne is no stranger. She’s my wife.’

Laura nodded seriously. ‘Yes, I know, but—’

‘She is my wife, Laura, and I… I love her,’ he said quietly.

His sister’s expression was one of utter confusion. ‘You…you do?’

‘I do,’ Christoph said, finding it strange to say aloud to another person. It was, after all, the first time he had done so. ‘I love her so much, Laura. I cannot wait for you to meet her. She’s kind and quiet, yet strong-willed.’

‘It sounds like I should meet this woman of yours,’ Laura said with a laugh, slipping her hand through his arm. ‘Who would have thought it? You, falling in love—and with your wife!’

It was certainly far beyond the confines of the plan he had carefully constructed, but then Christoph had finally learned to let go of those expectations. Something far better had come from it. Something he could never have hoped to plan.

It was therefore with great excitement that he walked towards the library with Laura on his arm. By now Daphne would have found the seal in his desk, and perhaps the three of them could discuss the last few weeks over hot tea and cakes. Oh, these English knew how to do afternoon tea.

Christoph opened the door to the library and beamed at the two most important women in his life. ‘Daphne, may I present to you—?’

‘What is this?’ Daphne said quietly, straightening up from the desk with a passive expression.

Most strangely, Laura removed her hand from his arm and took a step back. He did not understand it—but then, neither did he understand why his wife looked so serious.

Daphne was not a serious woman, not in that way. It appeared the two letters she held had something to do with it.

‘Nothing,’ he said instinctively.

What could she possibly have found? Though swiftly racking his memory, Christoph could not recall anything too untoward. So what was the problem?

‘I cannot believe you,’ Daphne said quietly.

He heard the click of a door. Christoph turned to see Laura had disappeared. Her dislike for confrontation, or anything verging close to it, had clearly frightened her from the room. But this was just a misunderstanding. The moment it was cleared up between them, it would be simple enough.

‘“So you’ve got the harlot yourself. I hope she’s keeping you occupied.

I can’t imagine she’s particularly good in bed, wallflower as she is, and of illegitimate birth”,’ Daphne read out, her voice a level, cutting edge.

‘“I expected better of you, you coward. Unwilling to face me? Sneaking out of the palace like a thief in the night to steal my bride?”.’

Christoph’s stomach turned.

‘That was from my brother—you know what he is like. I told you he was cruel,’ he said desperately.

Perhaps he had not told her enough. There was a dark look in Daphne’s eyes that seemed to suggest it was him she was angry with, not Anton. Which made no sense. He had not written such harsh things about her.

‘And here’s one from my father,’ Daphne said, swapping the letters in her hands so she could read from the second.

‘And most illuminating it is too. “Dear Sir, thank you for your letter dated fourth of this month. I can confirm my daughter is a virgin, and though not pleasant to look at, I presume rather biddable”.’

Christoph winced. He had been a little surprised at the way the Earl of Norbury had written about his daughter at the time, but had assumed there was some sort of reason for it.

Assumed they were estranged. Believed that the daughter the man had written of was truly as awful as he had said.

Not that the man was utterly clueless about the value of his daughter.

‘“I am willing to place my wealth into her name as her inheritance as I haven’t been able to find a better option”,’ Daphne continued to read, her voice astonishingly calm. ‘“I do not doubt you will find her dull”—’

‘Daphne,’ Christoph said hastily. ‘Don’t.’

‘“But as you have indicated your requirement for an obedient wife who will give you no trouble, I suppose my daughter is best placed to suit your purposes”,’ Daphne read aloud, eyes filling with tears now. ‘“Besides, when you tire of her, you can always take a mistress”.’

Christoph swore under his breath.

He should have burned those letters. He should have burnt anything that spoke of Daphne in such a dismissive way. How could he have believed the Earl of Norbury? How could he have thought that Daphne was anything but perfection?

‘I cannot believe you—’

‘It does not mean I agree with them,’ he said firmly. ‘It just means—’

‘I thought… Yes, ours was a marriage of convenience, but at least I thought we came to it as equals,’ Daphne said, tears sparkling in her eyes. ‘I thought we came to it openly, honestly. But you—you have lied to me.’

‘No,’ Christoph said firmly. ‘No, that is—’