Read Online The Accidental Princess by Michelle Willingham - Free Book Online

to wait.
     
    After purchasing a bucket of coal for her, he returned to her dwelling and soon had a fire burning.
    Mrs Turner huddled close to it, still wearing her bright red bonnet. He’d given it to her this Christmas, both from her love of the outrageous colour, and because it made it easier to locate her within a crowd of people.
    ‘Why, Michael,’ she said suddenly, her mouth curving in a warm smile. ‘I didn’t realise you’d come to visit. Make a pot of tea for us, won’t you?’
    He exhaled, glad to see that she was starting to remember him. When he brought out the kettle, he saw that she had hardly any water remaining. There was enough to make a pot of tea, though, and he put the kettle on to boil.
    ‘You’re looking devilishly handsome, I must say.’ She beamed. ‘Where did you get those clothes?’
    He didn’t tell her that she’d loaned them to him last night, from her son’s clothing. Bringing up the memory of Henry’s death would only make her cry again.
    ‘A good friend let me borrow them,’ was all he said. Whenher tea was ready, he brought her the cup, lacing it heavily with whisky.
    She drank heartily, smacking her lips. ‘Ah, now you’re a fine lad, Michael. Tell me about the ball last night. Did you meet any young ladies to marry?’
    ‘I might have.’ The vision of Lady Hannah’s lovely face came to mind. ‘But they tossed me out on my ear.’
    She gave a loud laugh. ‘Oh, they did no such thing, you wretch.’ She drained the mug, and he refilled it with more tea. ‘I’m certain you made all the women swoon. Now, tell me what they were wearing.’ She wrapped the blanket around herself, moving the rocking chair closer to the fire.
    While he answered her questions about the Marquess and his vague memory of the women’s gowns, he tried to locate food for her. Scouring her cupboards, he found only a stale loaf of bread. Beside it, he saw a candle, a glove and all of the spoons.
    He searched everywhere for marmalade, finally locating it among her undergarments in a drawer. He was afraid to look any further, for fear of what else he might find. Ever since she’d begun having the spells, he’d found all manner of disorganisation in her home.
    He cut her a thick slice of bread and slathered it with marmalade. God only knew when she’d eaten last.
    Mrs Turner bit into it, sighing happily. ‘Now, then. Who else did you meet at the ball, Michael?’ She lifted her tea up and took another hearty swallow.
    ‘A foreign gentleman was there,’ he added. ‘Someone from Lohenberg.’
    The cup slid from Mrs Turner’s hand, shattering on the floor. Tea spilled everywhere, and her face had gone white.
    Michael grabbed a rag and soaked up the spill, cleaning up the broken pieces. ‘It’s all right. I’ll take care of it.’
    But when he looked into Mrs Turner’s grey eyes, he saw consummate fear. ‘Who—who was he?’
    ‘Graf von Reischor,’ he said. ‘The ambassador, I believe. It was nothing.’
    He said not a word about the man’s impossible claim, that he looked like their king. But Mrs Turner gripped his hand, her face bone white. ‘No. Oh, no.’
    ‘What is the matter?’ He stared into her silver eyes, wondering why the mention of Lohenberg would frighten her so. Neither of them had ever left England before.
    A few minutes later, Mrs Turner’s face turned distant. She whispered to herself about her son Henry, as though he were a young child toddling toward her.
    It was useless to ask her anything now. The madness had descended once more.
     
    Hannah wasn’t entirely certain what a ruined woman should wear, but she felt confident that it wouldn’t be a gown the colour of cream. This morning, Christine Chesterfield had inspected every inch of her attire, fussing over her as if she were about to meet the Queen.
    ‘Now remember,’ her mother warned, ‘be on your very best behaviour. Pretend that nothing happened the other night.’
    Nothing did happen , she wanted to