Splendor by Brenda Joyce

Now she cringed somewhat. Had he seen it? Did he even read the Morning Chronicle'^ Eventually, she knew, someone would mention it to him. Thank God he did not know she was Copperville!
    "How has business been?" George asked, hanging up his coat.
    "Mrs. Henson came in to buy that novel that was written anonymously," Carolyn said. "Sense and Sensibility." She handed her father the note itemizing Sverayov's requests. He read it, his eyes narrowing.
    "Someone wants an Abelard original? That's impossible!" George exclaimed. But he was smiling now.
    "Impossible or unlikely?"

    "Both." He put the note down. "Bartholomew I can find. I saw a copy in Prague at the home of a private client. If this customer wishes to pay, and dearly, I can obtain it." He studied Carolyn. "Who has made these requests?"
    She smiled at him, not suspecting what his reaction would be. "You will never guess. None other than our illustrious Russian prince, Sverayov."
    George stiffened. "He was^ here?"
    "Papa." Carolyn was puzzled. "Is something amiss?"
    He stared at her. "Carolyn, you write about him as Cop-perville, the column was published this morning, and the man suddenly appears in our store. Is that not worrisome? Only your editor and myself are aware of your real identity."
    Carolyn became a bit uneasy. "We have a bookshop and he is looking for rare books," she said. "It's impossible that he has connected me to Copperville. He probably hasn't even read the column yet—or even learned of it." She hesitated. "But it's possible he followed me this morning," she confessed.
    "I don't like this," George exclaimed. "You have never gone this far before!"
    That was true. "Well, he did not expose me as a trespasser or worse," Carolyn said slowly. "So if he knows what I was up to, he is keeping closemouthed about it. But I cannot think of why he would do such a thing," Carolyn said, ' 'for surely if he knew it was I who was in his gardens this morning, he would accuse me outright."
    "He is here to negotiate an alliance between his country and ours, Carolyn. He is a Russian prince, a colonel, and a close personal friend of Tsar Alexander," George said quite grimly.
    Carolyn frowned. "What are you trying to tell me?" she asked.
    "I think you are going too far with Copperville. Until now, you have written about the wildly extravagant or illicit behavior of society—but never have you targeted such a public figure before. It is a mistake. You could get into

    trouble, Carolyn, for interfering with the conduct of official state business in this time of war."
    Carolyn was genuinely alarmed now as George turned and walked up the narrow staircase. It was certainly true that for several years now, the laws had become very strict about expressing one's opinions, whether written or not, especially if those opinions were at all political. But no one could accuse her of interfering in the treaty negotiations just because she had blasted Sverayov for his amoral behavior last night! Carolyn suddenly realized that George's concerns were natural—those of a worried father trying to protect his wayward daughter. Perhaps she should be a little bit more cautious in the future.
    Carolyn felt a tad guilty. George would be distraught if he knew just what she intended to do—even though he never forbade her anything. Carolyn was certain of it. Therefore, he must not know that she would still attend the Sheffield dinner affair.
    Nicholas paused on the third-floor landing of the town house, straining to hear. It was late afternoon. The nursery was on this floor, as was the schoolroom where Katya took her daily lessons with her Italian tutor, Raffaldi. Her governess had her room here, as did Leeza, but Nicholas knew for a fact that Leeza slept on a pallet in Katya's bedchamber, no matter which residence they might currently occupy.
    He strained to hear and heard nothing. Disappointment claimed him. No childish giggles or laughter or soft, happy singing, not even animated reading or the