I’m determined to enjoy tonight, though—really enjoy it. Olivia’s never seen a real ball, with more pomp and circumstance and grandeur than I doubt she can imagine. And I want to soak up her reaction—every smile and sparkle of wonder that lights in her eyes. I’ll hoard those moments, keep the memory of tonight close and safe, so I can pull it out and relive it after she’s gone.
I wait in the morning room of Guthrie House for Olivia to come down after she’s done getting primped and painted. Then I’ll escort her over to the main palace, where we’ll receive our final marching orders from the decorum police and the ball will begin.
I hear the swish of fabric at the top of the stairs, turn around—and get knocked on my arse.
Her gown is pale blue, satin and chiffon—low cut, with a taste of cleavage, framed by dips and swells that bare her shoulders but encircle her arms. It’s an old-fashioned style without being costumey. There’s a slash of rhinestone embellishment across the bodice, and the satin hugs her tiny waist, draping down to a skirt that’s hooped but not overly large. On one side, the satin pulls up, held with the same gemstone decoration, revealing pale blue chiffon beneath, dotted with jewels. Olivia’s hair is pinned up in ornate shiny black curls, with diamond combs winking out between them.
Fergus stands beside me, and the old dog practically sighs.
“The lass looks like an angel.”
“No,” I say as Olivia reaches the bottom step. “She looks like a queen.”
She stands in front of me and for a moment we just stare at each other.
“I’ve never seen you in your military uniform,” she says, eyes drifting over me hungrily from head to toe, before settling on my eyes. “It should be illegal.”
“I’m the one who’s supposed to be giving the compliments.” I swallow hard, wanting her so much. In every way. “You look breathtaking, love. I can’t decide if I want you to stay in that dress forever or if I want to rip it off you right now.”
She laughs.
Simple, elegant diamonds dangle from her tasty little earlobes, but her throat is bare—just like I asked the stylist to keep it. I reach into my pocket and pull out a small, square box.
“I have something for you.”
She blushes, before she even sees what’s inside. And then, when I lift the lid, she gasps.
It’s a snowflake, in an intricate, spin-wheel pattern, laden with a hundred small diamonds and sapphires. The diamonds are clear and flawless, like Olivia’s skin, and the sapphires are brilliant and deep, like her eyes.
Her mouth goes slack. “It’s…gorgeous.” She fingers the velvet bed, but doesn’t touch the necklace—almost as if she’s afraid to. “I can’t keep this, Nicholas.”
“Of course you can.” The words come out firm, almost harsh. “I designed it myself, had it made.” I slip it from the box and step behind her, tying the silk choker ribbon around her throat. “There’s only one in the whole world—just like you.”
I press a kiss to the back of her neck, then her shoulder.
Olivia turns to face me, takes my hand, and lowers her voice. “Nicholas, I’ve been thinking—”
“Let’s go, Googly Eyes One and Two. We’re late,” Henry, also decked out in full uniform, says as he walks into the room, tapping his wrist. “You’ll have time to drool all over each other later.”
I lean down and kiss Olivia’s cheek. “You can finish that sentence tonight.”
We assemble in an antechamber off the ballroom, while the sounds of the party, the chatter and music and the clinking of glasses, seep like smoke under the door. My cousins are here—Marcus and his brood. After the briefest of greetings they stay far away from me, and I do the same. I also stay away from any refreshments they’ve been near…just in case.
My secretary, Bridget claps her hands, giggling and vibrating like the head of a social committee in school. “One more time, just in case—the Queen will be announced first, followed by Prince Nicholas, then Prince Henry, who will escort Miss Hammond into the room.” She turns to my brother. “Everyone will be standing, so you will walk Miss Hammond to the marked spot near the wall, then return to your brother’s side for the receiving line. Everyone’s got it, yes?”
Trumpets blare from beyond the doors, and Bridget nearly bursts out of her skin.
“Oh, that’s the signal. Places, my lords and ladies, places!” She pauses next to Olivia, squeezing her arm and squeaking, “It’s just so exciting!”
After she steps away, Olivia laughs. “I really like her.”
Then she lines up beside my brother. We talked about it—about Henry escorting her in, the expectations, the traditions…but standing here now, it all just seems so meaningless.
Stupid.
I turn around and tap my brother on the shoulder. “Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“Trade with me.”
“Trade what?” Henry asks.
I motion with my finger. “Our spots.”
He leans over, looking at our grandmother’s back. “You’re supposed to follow Granny out. Be second in the receiving line.”
I shrug. “She won’t look behind her. She won’t know until you’re beside her—and then, she’ll roll with it. You can handle greeting the guests second—I have faith in you.”
“That goes against protocol,” Henry taunts, because I already know he’s going to say yes.