Daughter of the God-King
Daughter of the God-King
Anne Cleeland
Chapter 1
Hattie Blackhouse was aware that she had—regrettably—something of a temper, and that this trait often led to impetuous decisions that were not always thought out in a rational manner. Fortunately, because she had lived a solitary life in the Cornish countryside, few had experienced either her temper or her impetuosity, and she had thus far avoided embarrassing herself in public. Until now, of course.
“Have you a card of invitation?” asked the respectful under-footman. He asked in English, which meant he had taken one look at their clothes and concluded they were either impoverished refugees or English, as the Parisian ladies around them were very much à la mode.
“We do not,” she replied evenly, and lifted her chin. Now that she saw how grand it all was she conceded that it had been—perhaps—not the best idea to show up here at such a place uninvited and that she may indeed wind up as a public spectacle, but she had no one to blame but herself. Her old governess—the traitorous Swansea—had been a gentle, indulgent woman who had only interfered that one time when Hattie had taken a crop to the gardener’s boy after he tied a can to the Tremaine dog’s tail, and even then the distraught governess had apologized for curbing Hattie’s impulse to beat the boy soundly, but the gardener was a good one and good gardeners were apparently few and far between. I must remind Robbie that I did a good deed for Sophie, Hattie thought as she squared her shoulders on the threshold of the Prussian embassy. I have a feeling he may not be best pleased when I make my appearance; but truly, coming here seemed such a good idea at the time, and I was sick to death of being exiled in Cornwall.
“Perhaps we should have sent a card ’round to your fiancé, first.” Bing’s tone was dry and deferential, but Hattie was given the uneasy feeling that Bing was well aware this was all a hoax. Even more reason not to tell her freshly minted companion that she had shoved an intruder down the back stairs of their Parisian townhouse less than an hour ago. Although the jury was still out, Bing seemed the sort of person who may have felt it necessary to notify the gendarmes, and Hattie didn’t have the time, just now; she was going to confront Robbie—another traitor in what seemed to be an unending list.
“I’m afraid we haven’t any calling cards, Bing; and we are gate-crashers of the first order.”
“Very well,” said Bing, unruffled. “It is a good thing I am armed, then.”
Hattie hid a smile as they stepped forward in the line to be announced at the ambassador’s soirée—fortunately it hadn’t been a ball, as Hattie didn’t own a ball gown. Truth to tell, she didn’t own anything suitable for a Parisian soirée, either, but this was the least of her concerns; as she was preparing for this outing at her parents’ townhouse, she had heard a noise coming from the back stairwell and after flinging open the door, had been astonished to confront an intruder, equally astonished in beholding her before him. On instinct, she had shoved him as hard as she was able and he had tumbled backward down the stairs as she slammed the door shut and bolted the lock. A burglar, she assured herself; someone who thought the place was still empty and who was unaware that they had lately taken up residence. Although he hadn’t seemed like a burglar and had stared at her in such an odd way, as though he was seeing a ghost.
She moved forward another step, frowning in distraction. She hoped Robbie was here at the embassy, as she may have need of reinforcements—there was the other man lurking on the corner of the street yesterday, also. For pity’s sake, it was as though no one had ever seen a girl from Cornwall before, and her clothes were not that bad, surely.
“Hathor,” Bing prompted under her breath, and Hattie brightened to bestow a smile on the footman at the door, resplendent in his livery. The man looked over her head for parents or presenters—no hard task as she was rather short in stature—and then seemed surprised to behold no one there. But Hattie had successfully shoved the intruder down the stairs, and buoyed by this thought, she announced with confidence, “I am Miss Blackhouse; I am here with my companion, Miss Bing.”
Understandably nonplussed, the footman inquired in a discreet tone, “You have no card of invitation, mademoiselle?”
At this juncture, Bing, who was tall and spare and very correct, offered in a shocked tone, “Perhaps you do not recognize the name, my good man. This is Miss Blackhouse, the daughter of the famous Blackhouses; the ambassador will be thrilled she has chosen his soirée over all the others.”