Page 6 of The Prince’s Wallflower Wife (The Wallflower Academy #4)

‘You like him,’ said Sylvia with a laugh. ‘You’re blushing!’

‘Oh, that hardly signifies anything, Daphne is always blushing,’ chided Gwen. ‘Is he loud?’

‘Is he clever?’ Rilla wished to know. ‘Does he hunt? Does he have any brothers?’

‘Or sisters—I always thought having sisters improved a man to no end,’ said Sylvia firmly.

Daphne tried to smile. They meant well. No, it was kinder than that—they truly cared. They were the only three people in the world who had bothered to get to know her, to push gently through her shyness and allow her just to…be. Still, the interrogation was most unwelcome. And reminded her of his…

‘Look, let’s start with the basics,’ said Gwen calmly, cutting through the noise. Perhaps her panic had shown on her face, thought Daphne. ‘What is his name?’

‘Name?’ repeated Daphne in a whisper, her chest tightening.

Her three friends nodded, evidently spotting that further questions would undoubtedly overwhelm her.

As if she wasn’t totally at sea already.

Taking a deep breath, and knowing exactly what sort of response this was going to elicit, Daphne could not prevent her cheeks from burning as she said, ‘P-Prince… Prince Christoph of Niedernlein.’

The shrieks undoubtedly could have been heard from several miles away.

‘Prince Christoph of Niedernlein!’

‘You never said that he was a prince!’

‘Prince Christoph… Oh, what a name!’

‘I absolutely insist on you selecting a monogram. Oh, Daphne, a prince—’

‘Will you hush?’ Daphne said in a sharp whisper.

It was perhaps the most direct thing she had said all day.

Perhaps for several days. An inside thought had spilled from her lips and she flinched, the expectation of censure visceral.

Thankfully her friends heeded her words, though Sylvia still squeaked, hands over her mouth, and Rilla was shaking with laughter.

‘It’s just a Germanic prince,’ Daphne said, knowing full well that what she was saying was most ridiculous. ‘There is no need to get so—’

‘A prince!’ shrieked Sylvia, which set off both Gwen and Rilla in excited squeals.

Daphne tried to shake her head in disapproval, but she could not help but laugh with them.

It was all most strange. And wonderful. And ridiculous.

Her marry a prince? Three days ago she was just the illegitimate daughter of an earl who had attempted to keep her existence a secret from the ton —not particularly successfully, from what her friends had said—and now…

‘It sounds like someone is skinning cats in there,’ came an unexpected voice. ‘Surely the fashions of England cannot be so barbaric?’

All three of her friends gasped. Daphne gasped in turn, the memory of that deep, accented voice sending a jolt of panicked recognition down her spine. Rising hurriedly, fabric samples, bonnets, ribbons, parasols and goodness knew what else tumbling to her feet, she turned on the spot and saw…

Prince Christoph. Here. In the modiste’s shop.

He smiled, and the cordiality of that smile cascaded into her chest like hot tea. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Smith.’

‘Good…’ Oh why, oh why, was her voice completely giving up on her? ‘Good…good…’

‘It is pleasant to see you. Your father said I should endeavour to visit at some point,’ he said charmingly, stepping around a pile of shoes that had been deemed unworthy of Daphne Smith and inclining his head at her.

‘To ensure I selected a fabric for my wedding waistcoat and cravat that would complement your own choices.’

‘I… I see.’ Daphne stood there, hating her silence, hating that her cheeks were burning, hating that…

A squeak behind her reminded her that Sylvia had never been very good at controlling herself in public. Her smile softened immediately at the thought of her friend.

‘Would you be so good as to introduce me to your companions?’ asked Prince Christoph, charm itself.

He would be better off called Prince Charming, Daphne thought wryly as she glanced at her friends.

Sylvia’s eyes were wide, Gwen’s cheeks were pink—and she the longest married!—and Rilla had tilted her head, as she often did when encountering a new voice.

Well, there was nothing for it.

‘Her Grace, Gwendoline, Duchess of Knaresby,’ Daphne said weakly, retreating into the standard pleasantries of social introductions. ‘Her Grace, Sylvia, Duchess of Camrose. Her Ladyship, Marilla, Countess of Staromchor, who is also my stepsister-in-law. It’s…it’s complicated.’

There. That was the easy part done.

Daphne tried to smile and appear gracious at the same time—a challenge, for someone with her crippling shyness. ‘Ladies, this is…this is Prince Christoph of Niedernlein—my betrothed.’

Sylvia let out a strangled sound, but Gwen nudged her hard in the ribs, for which Daphne was very thankful.

‘A pleasure to make your acquaintance,’ Rilla said graciously.

‘I am delighted to admit that the pleasure is all mine,’ Prince Christoph said with an amiable smile that slipped far too easily onto the man’s lips, in Daphne’s opinion.

How did he do it?

Before she knew what was happening, he was chattering happily to her friends, placing a befeathered bonnet on his head, with a twinkle in his eye asking their opinion and bringing a particularly soft shawl over to Rilla for her inspection.

Daphne sank slowly back onto her chair, ignored by the lot of them. He was speaking to her friends as though he had known them all his life. There was an easy manner to his attentions that did not cross any lines of propriety, but still, she could see that her friends were instantly taken with him.

How did he do it? How did anyone do it, these people who seemed to know instinctively how to speak to everyone they met?

Daphne had always tried not to feel envious of the talent; it appeared to be something one was born with, rather than something one could learn. She had certainly never managed it.

‘We thought green,’ Sylvia was saying, picking up a ribbon from the ‘yes’ pile. ‘With her golden hair…’

‘And I thought these slippers,’ Gwen said, picking them up eagerly and pushing them towards the gentleman. ‘Rilla was wondering about feathers.’

‘Feathers?’ Prince Christoph blinked curiously.

Oh, Daphne could have died of shame. Did the man truly believe she was the sort of bride to come down the aisle in feathers?

‘But then we thought, insects!’

‘Insects?’ Prince Christoph said blankly.

He glanced in her direction and Daphne swiftly looked away. She could not speak to him here—she was hardly sure how she was ever going to speak to him, which on reflection was going to make for a most interesting marriage.

Insects, honestly!

‘Not live ones, you understand, but their shells,’ Rilla was trying to explain. ‘It gives a pattern of…what did you call it, Gwen?’

‘Iridescence,’ Gwen supplied as Sylvia tugged one ribbon out of the Prince’s hand and replaced it with another. ‘What think you, Your Highness?’

‘My lord, please, and I think you are all choosing very well,’ Prince Christoph said sincerely. ‘Much as I, though I say so myself, have chosen well.’

His eyes flickered over to Daphne again. She knew they had, even though she was not looking at him. She could feel the weight and ferocity of his attention, the heat of his eyes. Her chest tightened and her whole body flamed.

‘But, as you ladies continue to consider the very best for my bride, may I borrow her for a moment?’

Daphne froze. Oh, no.

‘Of course. You may have ten uninterrupted minutes as long as you promise to be kind to our dear Daphne,’ Sylvia said, with almost a warning look across her brow.

If melting to the ground were possible, Daphne would have done so. Why couldn’t Sylvia just…?

‘Don’t be daft, Sylvia, the man can surely see what a treasure Daphne is,’ scolded Gwen, pushing Daphne forward, who was most unwilling. ‘Go off and look at buttons, you two.’

Buttons? Was she supposed to think of buttons?

Prince Christoph smiled and took Daphne’s arm before she could say a word. He strode purposefully towards the display of buttons and Daphne swallowed a great number of things she wanted to say, but couldn’t.

Why are you really here? The modiste would have informed you about the fabric. Do you think I’m pretty? Do you have brothers? All the things I should know about you, and I don’t know a single thing about you.

‘One of your friends—she is your stepsister?’

Daphne nodded. Well, at least all she had to do was focus on facts. ‘Technically, my stepsister-in-law. Her mother-in-law is my father’s wife. We decided stepsister was the least complicated description.’

‘Your friends speak highly of you.’

Daphne blinked. The Prince was still smiling, so it was not a veiled criticism, as she had come to expect from the Pike. ‘I… I am fortunate to have them.’

‘From what they say, they are fortunate to have you,’ he said blithely, picking up a gold button and examining it. ‘And I suppose, in turn, I am fortunate to be given you.’

Daphne swallowed down the retort that she knew would be unwelcome. Given? Given? She was not a possession, like a set of buttons, to be handed from one man to the next!

‘What are you doing here?’ she blurted out.

Well, it wasn’t as bad as the ‘possession’ thought, but honestly! When was she going to learn to curb her tongue?

Prince Christoph, however, did not appear concerned. ‘As I said, my cravat must—’

‘I am not stupid.’ Daphne’s cheeks were burning, and she knew she would regret these words, but here they came. ‘The modiste would have informed you of my choice. Why are you here?’

He put the button down and gave her a serious look. ‘Is it so strange that I would wish to see you?’

Daphne’s voice caught in her throat.

Careful, now. He had not said that he did wish to see her, just that it would not have been strange if he wanted to. It wasn’t the same thing.

The last thing she needed was to get carried away, to start dreaming that this was a fairy tale. It wasn’t. He wanted her dowry. She wanted an escape.

‘I… I wanted to see you,’ Prince Christoph said, his voice becoming curt. ‘I thought it would be pleasant.’

And was it? That was the question Daphne wanted to ask, but her rigid control managed to prevent it. Instead, she tried not to notice how his gaze swept over her, lingering on parts of her that grew hot at his attention. Her lips. Her breasts. Her hips…

‘But I make you uncomfortable.’

‘Wait—no!’ Daphne said hurriedly as Prince Christoph stepped away.

Regret pooled in her chest. The first time a gentleman had ever looked at her, properly looked at her, as a woman, and she had frightened him off! Perhaps her evident embarrassment was unattractive. Did he think her a prude?

‘No, this was a mistake. I wanted to… I thought we could…’ Prince Christoph’s words trailed away and a slight tinge appeared in his cheeks.

Daphne could not help but stare. Was he…was it possible that this tall, physically powerful man was just as shy as she was?

‘It does not matter. It was foolish. I should not have come. I apologise.’ His words were stiff and there was an inflexibility about him now that drew him away.

Daphne wet her lips, desperate to say something to stem the change of this tide.

No, stay, I want to talk—I want to know you. I want to understand you. I want…

‘And I hope you will all be at the wedding,’ Prince Christoph was saying genially as he bowed to each of her friends. ‘And your husbands, naturally. I must away, I am afraid—a prior appointment. Such a shame I cannot stay longer. Miss Smith, your health.’

Daphne moved hastily and managed to bob a quick curtsey as Prince Christoph gave a flourishing bow and took his leave of them.

The instant the doorbell clanged as Prince Christoph departed, the three women turned on Daphne.

‘Daphne!’ said Rilla, in a berating tone.

‘What?’ Daphne said defensively.

‘Daphne Smith!’ Gwen said, shaking her head and laughing.

‘How could you not tell us?’ Sylvia said accusingly.

Once again, Daphne was completely at a loss. ‘Tell—tell you what?’

‘Just how handsome your future husband is, you dolt!’ Gwen said sternly.

‘Handsome?’ Goodness, this was the last thing she wanted to talk about. There he’d been, a picture of masculinity and charm, and she was already nervous as it was. That apology, his confusion—what had that been about? She needed time and quiet to think. The last thing she needed was…

‘Handsome?’ Rilla scoffed. ‘Oh, who cares about that?’

‘Easy for you to say,’ muttered Sylvia with a grin.

Daphne could not help but smile as Rilla frowned, though with a look of mischief in her unseeing eyes.

‘I merely meant,’ Rilla said haughtily, ‘That looks will fade, no matter how impressive they are in the moment. No, I meant to berate you for withholding from us just how genial and pleasant he is!’

‘That Prince Christoph is a very agreeable man,’ said Gwen sagely, nodding. ‘He will make a fine companion for you.’

‘Companion? Genial?’ Sylvia scoffed and pushed Daphne down in her seat. ‘Forget all that. Daphne Smith, he is very handsome. Handsome and charming. Are you not attracted to him? Are you not looking forward to the wedding night and a good bedding?’

‘Sylvia!’

Three voices rang out in censure, but Sylvia merely shrugged. ‘Well. The three of us all…well…had a taste before the wedding, if you take my meaning. You might not have the chance—the wedding is only in a few weeks. Are you truly telling me you have not thought about it?’

The day had gone from bad to worse. Desperately wringing her hands and trying not to think about slowly removing Prince Christoph’s shirt from his delectable shoulders, Daphne only managed to stammer, ‘N-no, I have never—’

‘Not at all? The man is devilishly attractive, Daphne,’ Sylvia persisted. ‘Don’t you think so?’

Daphne tried to prevent her shoulders from shaking. It was all too much. Three days ago she had been…well, not happy, but relatively resolved to accept the life that fate had dealt her. A sedentary, solitary one at the Wallflower Academy.

Now she was about to enter an arranged marriage with a prince, and her friends were quizzing her on…on… that .

‘I had not noticed his appearance,’ she lied, cheeks flushing at both the topic of conversation and the deception. ‘I… Let us consider the “yes” pile. Please.’

It was difficult to ignore her friends’ exasperated glances, but Daphne almost managed it.

This was an arranged marriage, not one to be filled with laughter, love and lust. That was just the way it had to be.