Callie glanced down at the list she’d made. “Tuny, Mr. Canady, Larissa, and Leo.” The castle shuddered. So did Callie.

  Belle couldn’t stand it another moment. She strode to the window behind the desk, pushed back a drape, and cracked a shutter. The sight made her suck in her breath.

  The narrow window looked east, toward the bridge over the Thames. Trees stretched limbs across the water, as if trying to flee. Leaves and debris flew through the air. The dry dust of the road rose to obscure the main stables.

  “How bad is it?” Callie asked, coming up behind her.

  “Bad,” Belle said. “And I fear it will grow worse.”

  Callie put a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll get through. We always do. Father says parts of the castle have stood since 1360.”

  “A few of the cottages might be nearly as old,” Belle said, letting the drape fall. “Which I don’t think is a good thing in this instance.”

  “Come on,” Callie said, turning for the desk. “I’ll let you have your pick of scenes.”

  They returned to her list, and Belle glanced down the names, trying to ignore the sounds of the storm outside. She frowned. “Tuny and Mr. Canady are not in the same scene. Can we change that?”

  “I suppose,” Callie allowed. “Shall I put them both in your scene?”

  Belle grinned at her as she straightened. “Perfect!”

  “What else are sisters for but to further romance?” Callie asked, and she bent to rearrange the names. “Mr. Canady was already part of your group. I’ll ask you to explain to Tuny why she’s on a different team than the one she expected.”

  “Count on it,” Belle promised. She glanced down at the list again. “The Judgment of Paris?”

  “Father suggested it,” Callie admitted. “Too much?”

  “A mortal choosing which of three goddesses are the most beautiful and setting off the Trojan War?” Belle asked. “Hmm, I suppose I can work with that. Very well. You may tell the others on my team that our first practice will be tonight after dinner.”

  Callie glanced toward the window. “Assuming we have dinner.”

  Belle refused to think on it. She left to find Tuny, only to locate her in the schoolroom with Larissa, Leo, Mr. Huber, and Miss Winchester, the governess who was supervising the children during the house party. Fritz must have sent up the Dolph, for the big Sennenhund lay by the fire, wise eyes watchful.

  “Thank you for being willing to help, Lady Abelona,” the governess said with a quick dip of a curtsey that bowed her practical grey skirts. With her honey-colored hair and soft smile, she exuded a warmth likely to put any child in an instant good humor. “We were about to have a geography lesson. Prince Otto Leopold was going to tell us about his country.”

  “Then I’m just in time, for I love learning about other countries,” Belle said. She slipped in behind Tuny, who was sitting on the rug next to her nieces. Peter had aligned himself closer to the Imperial Guardsman, casting him covert glances out of the corners of his green eyes. Thal was sitting on a hard-backed chair near Leo and Larissa.

  “Now, then,” Miss Winchester said, perching on her own chair at the front of the group. “Who can tell me where Batavaria lies?”

  Peter’s hand shot up, but Daphne spoke first.

  “Why does Batavaria lie? Mother says it’s not nice to tell false stories.”

  Miss Winchester’s cheeks turned pink. “What I meant was who knows where the country is on the Continent.”

  Peter waved his hand over his head.

  “Yes, Lord Peter?” the governess asked.

  “It’s a mountainous country between France, Germany, and Switzerland,” he said, arm falling.

  “Very good,” she said approvingly. “Your Highness, perhaps you could tell us more?”

  All the children and most of the adults swiveled to look at Leo, who favored them with a gallant smile. “I’d be delighted. Batavaria is a rugged country, bordered by mountains that reach to the sky and rivers that run cold and fast.”

  “Who are they running away from?” Daphne asked.

  “She reminds me of you,” Belle whispered to Tuny. “You took things literally when we first met.”

  “I’ve grown a bit wiser since then,” Tuny whispered back.

  “Some,” Belle allowed, and her friend pressed her fingers to her lips to hide a laugh as Leo attempted to explain why rivers ran.

  “You were on another team for tableaus vivant,” Belle whispered. “I asked Callie to put you on my team instead.”

  Tuny nodded her thanks before lowering her hand and listening dutifully to the rest of the lesson.

  “Mr. Huber is also from Batavaria,” Leo said as he was barraged by more questions. His look to the guardsman bordered on panic.

  Brown-haired and sun-bronzed, Mr. Huber sat taller in his black uniform. “I would be happy to talk about my country, to those who will listen.”

  The children quieted, Rose and Daphne settling back in their seats. Peter’s look was worshipful.

  He lowered his voice and leaned closer to them, as if imparting a secret. “We have mountains, yes, and rivers, but Batavaria is more than that. It is the cool wind on your face as you climb, the taste of creamy cheese from cows raised on mountain pastures, the sound of church bells calling everyone to worship.”

  “We have wind,” Rose told him solemnly.

  “You can hear it outside,” Daphne agreed.

  “I hear your wind outside,” he promised them. He patted the chest of his uniform. “But I hear the wind of Batavaria here, in my heart.”

  “Beautifully said, Mr. Huber,” Miss Winchester murmured, and now Peter wasn’t the only one to look worshipful.

  He inclined his head to her.

  They spent the next little while telling stories and then playing some games with the children. Thal remained aloof, as if trying to make it clear to everyone he was too old for such pastimes, but the others entered in with a will. When Fritz and Callie came to take over, Tuny expressed her desire to stay.

  Belle excused herself. She wanted to see what sorts of clothing might be had for their costumes. Her family had staged the tableaus every so often as she’d been growing up. Generally a group attempted to dress and arrange the scene, for the benefit of the others. No speaking was allowed. The players simply had to stand, in character, as the others marveled. But her brothers in particular were very good at saying things that made it terribly hard for her to remember her role, and Daphne would likely be equally difficult to ignore. Belle wanted her tableau to be so good everyone stood in awe.

  But as she started down the corridor, she felt the shudder of the house again, harder here near the top floor. It had been easy enough to put away the thought of the storm when she’d been with the children. Now, it seemed to be lying in wait for her, ready to snatch away her very breath.

  A gust must have found its way down a chimney, for the lamps on the corridor stuttered and went out, plunging the space into twilight.

  Owen stepped out onto the landing just as she rounded the corner, and she all but ran to him. She threw herself into his arms and hung on tight.

  “Oh, Owen, I’m so glad to see you! This storm is terrible.”

  ^^^

  One moment, Owen had been trying to decide his next move, and the next he was holding Belle in his arms. The silk of her golden curls brushed his lips before she pressed her face into his waistcoat.

  “There now,” he said, surprised he could even find his voice. “It’s all right. You’re safe.”

  And he would make sure she remained safe.

  The ferocity of the thought amazed him. He had fought for Jasper, fought for himself. But, in that moment, he would gladly have defeated a dragon if it meant protecting Belle.

  “Thank you,” she said, drawing back with a tremulous smile that tugged at his heart. “It’s this wind.” She rubbed both hands up and down her arms and visibly swallowed.

  Owen had heard the sounds too. More, he’d felt the tension in everyone in the house. The duke had invited him and Sir Matthew for turns at the billiard table, and Owen hadn’t been about to pass up the offer to spend some time with Belle’s father. Alas, even in the relaxed setting of the billiards room, His Grace had been reticent to speak. And he too kept glancing toward the closed shutters on the windows.

  Owen had been almost glad for the storm. It might mean that no one could safely leave the house, but it also meant that no one could enter. Mercutio would have a hard time sending his spy out in this weather.

  “It’s quite the gale,” he said, leaning a hip against the landing’s handrail. “But I have a feeling your father’s castle has withstood worse.”

  “So Callie reminded me,” she said, tucking a curl back behind one ear. “Still, it isn’t easy sitting here listening to the wind howl and wondering what damage it must be doing elsewhere on the island and in the village.”

  “Or the stable,” Owen said. The thought of Jasper in danger suddenly made his coat feel several sizes too small.

  She must have noticed the change in him, for she raised her chin. “If you’re concerned about the stable, I know a way in from the castle.” Before he could thank her, she seized his hand. “Let’s go see.”

  He didn’t resist as she led him down the stairs.

  He had already noticed the duke’s country seat had far too many corridors turning in far too many directions to find his way easily, but Belle rounded this corner and that until they came up against a thick oak door. Even it seemed to pulse with the wind like a beating heart. She pulled up short and glanced at him, as if unsure whether she wanted to go any farther.

  Owen eased his fingers out of hers. “It’s all right, Belle. I can take it from here.”

  He started forward, and she grabbed his arm. “No, I’m coming with you.”

  He doubted there could be too much danger in the duke’s private stable, or someone would have come running to alert the castle at large. So he nodded and pulled wide the door with his free hand.

  It opened into a tack room, saddles and bridles hanging in easy reach and wood floor scrubbed clean. The crate directly in front of them proved that few ever used this route. Beyond lay another door, this one open. Through it, Owen could see grooms moving from stall to stall as horses whinnied and shuffled about.

  “They’re more scared than we are,” Belle said, compassion in her voice.

  Owen shoved the crate aside, and she followed him out into the stable.

  The grooms had closed the big doors to the courtyard and the shutters on the windows, but the wind still managed to punch through, rustling straw and setting lanterns and leather bits to swinging. Owen went straight to Jasper’s stall.

  The pale grey had backed himself into the corner, head up and breath coming hard. White showed around his eyes. Owen slipped into the stall and approached, hands held easily in front of him.

  “I’m here, old fellow,” he said. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  He reached up and stroked the long nose. Jasper pressed himself against Owen’s palm and gave him a snort.

  “Unicorn has been the best of the bunch, your ladyship,” he heard one of the grooms saying to Belle. “But it’s all we can do to keep them calm.”

  “Let me help,” Belle said.

  Owen turned to warn her against that. Though she may have known many of the horses her whole life, surely some were more newly purchased and some, like Jasper, were strangers to her. But she didn’t approach any individual horse. Instead, she went to stand in the center of the stable and took a stance.

  “Sleep my dears and peace attend thee, all through the night,” she sang in a sweet soprano.

  “Guardian angels God will send thee, all through the night.

  Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,

  Hill and dale in slumber sleeping.

  I my loved ones’ watch am keeping, all through the night.”

  The clear tones of the old lullaby dipped into every corner of the stable, masking the sounds of the storm. The horses stilled, ears twitching as if to catch every note.

  “Angels watching ever around thee, all through the night.

  Midnight slumber close surround thee, all through the night.

  Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,

  Hill and dale in slumber sleeping.

  I my loved ones’ watch am keeping, all through the night.”

  Now the grooms had stilled their movements, watching her. Owen felt the pull as well. She was light, she was peace. She was every good thing they all dreamed of attaining one day. She was inspiration in a small, curvy package.

  How could he ever do as he’d promised and betray her father?

  Yet what would become of Jasper if he didn’t?

  Chapter Eleven

  Belle sang all six verses of the lullaby, more than once. Her mother had first sung it over her and her sisters when Belle was a girl, but she hadn’t learned the true melody until she’d heard it being sung by the Marchioness of Kendall over her little girl, Sophia. It had taken an Italian singing master to gently point out to Belle and her sisters that the Duchess of Wey was tone deaf.

  By the time her throat started to tire, Mr. Walters came to her rescue.

  “The storm’s waning, your ladyship,” he said. “We can take it from here. And thank you for your kindness.”

  Belle smiled at him and nodded. Drawing a breath, she looked to Owen. The awe on his face pulled her up short. She had seen admiration any number of times from a gentleman—when she rode well, when she danced well, even when she sang well at a musicale. This was more. This was deeper. She wanted to strut right out into the wind and dare it to harm those she loved.

  Well, maybe not that.

  “Is Jasper all right?” she asked instead, going to join him and his horse. The pale grey stallion eyed her, mouth working, as if he too thought to thank her for her singing.

  Owen ran a hand down the horse’s withers. “He is now. I think he liked your singing, as did everyone else in the stable.”

  Jasper bobbed his head as if agreeing. Belle laughed. She started to raise her hand, then paused. Owen hadn’t wanted her to touch his horse earlier.

  “May I?” she asked.

  He glanced between Jasper and her, then took her hand. “Allow me.”

  He pressed her hand gently against the warm flesh of the horse, then moved it slowly from shoulder to flank. Jasper sighed as if he enjoyed her touch, but he quickly shuffled away from her to reposition himself in the box.

  Where he could keep a wary eye on her.

  Owen released her, and Belle let her hand fall.

  “It’s a beginning,” Owen said.

  He sounded far more satisfied than she felt.

  “Did he have a harsh trainer?” she asked as Owen turned for the door to the tack room and the castle. She fell into step beside him.

  “An incompetent trainer, more like,” he said, stride lengthening until she had to scurry to keep up. He must have realized he was outpacing her, for he slowed his steps.

  “I think I mentioned that my great-uncle was careful in how he spent his money,” he explained as they reached the door to the castle. He held it open for her.

  “Looking for bargains,” Belle remembered as she crossed in front of him.

  The last moan of the wind shut off as he closed the door behind them. “To the point of being a pinchpenny,” he confessed. “Apparently, Jasper had stymied the efforts of horsemen at two other estates before my uncle decided he would be the making of the stallion. Unfortunately, our stablemaster had no better luck. I was the only one Jasper ever tolerated, and I’m still not sure why.”

  Belle patted his arm. “Jasper knows quality when he sees it.”

  He chuckled. “Jasper knows his like, I suspect. Stubborn, determined. But I best say no more, or you will want to warn away Miss Bateman.”

  She had entirely forgotten about Petunia!

  “Not at all!” Belle protested. “I’m sure she’d find the story as delightful as I do. There is something to be said for a man who is so devoted to his horse.”

  He raised a dark brow.

  “There is!” she insisted. “But I will say no more on the matter at the moment either. I understand you are on my team for tableaus vivant.”

  He did not blink at the change in subject as they rounded a corner and headed toward the main entry hall. “I did not realize it was your team, but if you are leading the tableau for the Judgment of Paris, then I’m your man.”

  She beamed at him. “You will make a marvelous Paris.”

  He groaned. “Oh, I was so hoping to be Zeus.”

  “I will not be going so far back in the story,” Belle informed him primly, tugging on his arm just the slightest to direct him toward the library, where she knew her mother had installed the trunks of costumes. “Besides, as far as I know, you are the only gentleman on our team. You must play Paris. Charlotte, Tuny, and I will play the three goddesses.”

  “Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite, respectively,” he mused.

  She would not tell him she intended Tuny to play the goddess of love, not until she had to. She had a feeling Tuny would be no more amused. But Aphrodite was who Paris had chosen as the most beautiful. Therefore, Tuny must be the one Owen chose.

  Even if a tiny part of her wanted him to choose her instead.

  ^^^

  Owen followed Belle to the library and dutifully exclaimed over the various costumes she pulled from trunks that lay open on the floor. He would have liked far better to disappear among the many books, just the two of them, and talk of more substantive things. But talking might lead to confessing.

  She wrinkled her nose at a particular set of leggings, and he couldn’t stop his smile. Yes, he had a feeling spending time with Belle was a danger. How did she so easily slip past his defenses? Why did a few moments in her company set him to dreaming of a different future than the one he’d so carefully planned?

  He had to think of a way out of this predicament, something that kept Jasper safe and did not harm her family. At the moment, his best option might be to keep the duke and the Batavarians at a distance. That way, Owen couldn’t be tempted to do something he was already regretting agreeing to do.