Bemused, she accepted the flower. It was at the perfect moment of expectant bloom, just beginning to open, a faint blush of pink at the heart of the ivory petals. Impressive how he managed to make every gesture extravagant and romantic. She really must convince him to restrain himself, or every female he met would think she was being courted.
Sara inhaled the delicate scent of the rose and sighed. It would be a crime to constrain such charm. Perhaps she should be training Englishmen to emulate the Kafir rather than vice versa.
Before she could decide where to start her lecture on propriety, her father entered the drawing room. In his early sixties, the Duke of Haddonfield was only average height, but he carried his spare frame with such dignity that he commanded attention anywhere.
Sara made the introductions as the two men regarded each other speculatively. Peregrine's manners blended ease with deference to the other man's greater age, and after a few minutes of conversation her father's reserved expression thawed to affability. From there, it was a short step to the duke encouraging Sara to take advantage of the fine weather to go driving with the prince in Hyde Park.
As Peregrine assisted Sara into his curricle, she remarked, "I am beginning to believe that you are a fraud, Your Highness."
Surprised by his sudden sharp glance, she explained, "You may be a stranger to London, but you must have moved in European circles in India and the cities of the Middle East. Obviously you know perfectly well how to behave yourself when you choose to. You did an excellent job of turning my father up sweet."
He grinned. "Turned up sweet? I do not recognize that expression."
"It means to charm someone into viewing you favorably, a practice at which you excel," she explained. "It is all right to do it—in fact, it's the essence of social success—but don't use the phrase in polite society. It's a little vulgar."
"Noted," he said agreeably. "You are right, I am not without experience of Western customs, but still, London can be rather overpowering to a first-time visitor."
Sara doubted that the prince found anything overpowering, but didn't pursue the point. They traveled in amiable silence as the prince deftly threaded through the heavy commercial traffic. Eventually she said, "You drive very well. Is that a skill you learned in your mountains?"
"No, there are neither roads nor carriages in Kafiristan. In fact, the average trail would make a goat think twice about attempting it. That is why the tribes have kept their independence—the land is very nearly impossible to invade." Without changing his tone, Peregrine continued, "When I met you, I thought your countenance had been shaped by pain. Did you suffer some serious accident, or a long illness?''
Lady Sara gasped. "One of the things you must learn is that personal questions are considered rude," she said in a suffocated voice. "If people wish you to know more about their lives, they will volunteer the information."
"Also noted." A quick glance sideways showed that her face was pale. He pulled the horses to a stop to allow cross traffic to go through an intersection. "Is that slight hesitation in your step a result of whatever happened to you?"
"You're incorrigible," Sara snapped. Then she exhaled with a faint sigh. "Very well, if you must know. There's no great mystery about it. I had a riding accident when I was eighteen, just after my first London Season. I had made that jump before, but this time I wasn't paying proper attention. My horse hit the wall, then fell on top of me. She had to be destroyed. It would have made sense to do the same to me, but of course they couldn't. At first the doctors thought I'd die, then they said I would never walk again."
"It was a long recovery?''
"Years. I'd still be in a wheelchair if Ross hadn't come back to England and said he would not allow me to loll about and pretend to be an invalid. With his teasing and encouragement, I regained the knack of walking." Her voice caught before she added almost inaudibly, "Then my mother began to die."
"And you, honorable daughter, would have nursed her to the end. Now I understand why you did not have the time to marry before now." Some quality in her silence caused him to glance over and see how rigid her mouth was, and he guessed that there was more to her story. "Was there a man before the accident?"
Her brown eyes raw and vulnerable in her stark face, Lady Sara turned to glare at him. "Do you read thoughts, or have you been asking about me?" Then her gaze faltered and dropped. "Though almost no one knew about that part of it."
Guessing how much it must hurt her to reveal so much of her inner emotions, he looked away and concentrated on guiding the curricle around a dray filled with kegs. "I did not read your mind or spy on you. I am merely good at conjecture. If you had had a Season in London, you would have had many suitors, and at seventeen or eighteen it is natural to fall in love."