Chapter Nineteen
“Florence, send word as soon as your audience with Her Royal Highness is over,” Durham said, scowling and tense as he faced down the royal guards. “If we do not hear from you by nightfall, we are storming the palace.”
The guard who had approached them heard the threat and his eyes widened. “Your Grace, I would reconsider—”
“They are not really going to do it,” Florence interjected. “He is merely expressing his desire for our wedding celebration to start. He is talking about parties, not rebellion. I am pleased to cooperate, as any good and loyal subject would be.”
Trajan placed her arm in his. “As she is newly married and now the Duchess of Weymouth, I am certain Her Royal Highness will expect to meet her new husband. I am coming with you.”
“But you were not summoned,” the guard said.
“Are you going to risk her wrath when she learns you have insulted me?”
The guard considered the matter and then nodded. “Follow me.”
Their barouche was escorted to Kensington Palace by a dozen horse guards. The crowds they passed gawked at their procession, as though they were people of importance.
Well, they were.
But perhaps not for long.
Was there more to these letters than she had realized?
In this moment, Florence was glad she was now a duchess. Trajan had insisted on it, no doubt thinking ahead to all the possibilities and concluding she needed his considerable power as the Duke of Weymouth.
Florence knew it would take some getting used to before she adjusted to being his duchess. The duties did not overwhelm her, for she was never one to shirk from work. It was the pomp and circumstance that often surrounded the title that she did not care for.
And the political maneuvering. This was her weakness. She had no sense of political posturing or strategies.
Trajan was very good at this, however. He could discern a person’s character almost on first impression.
But she had not been trained for this. How was she to spot the liars and manipulators? The last thing she needed was an entourage of false friends.
Instead of being led to the receiving hall, she and Trajan were taken to a back entrance and escorted up a flight of private stairs. He kept tight hold of her hand until the moment they were led into the parlor of the princess’s private apartments.
A man stood beside the princess, an older gentleman who appeared to be in his early fifties. He was tall, and had a full head of snow-white hair and a commanding bearing. This man had an unmistakable aura of power, and Florence sensed he could be ruthless and dangerous in his dealings.
She had no idea who he was.
But Trajan suddenly stiffened. He knew the man.
Who was he?
“Do you have the letters?” the princess asked Florence after polite introductions were made.
The man turned out to be one Lord Peregrine Althorpe, perhaps the most influential peer in all of England.
Florence had heard his name mentioned before, often in hushed tones, but had never met him until now.
He was a kingmaker, wielding power over noblemen of the highest ranks and government ministers all the way up to the prime minister. They all bowed to him.
Why was he here?
“The letters?” She did not want to admit she carried them on her person, but could not lie to the princess. “Yes, I do.”
“Give them over,” Trajan said with a surprising tone of confidence.
“All right. Um…they are tucked in a secret pocket of my gown and I will require a little privacy to slip them out.”
The princess smiled. “Gentlemen, turn your backs. That includes you, Weymouth. You may have your intimate moment with your wife tonight in your own bedchamber, but not here in front of me. Congratulations on your nuptials, by the way. However, I must rebuke you, for you are an important personage in the realm and ought to have sought our approval and done it up properly.”
Trajan maintained his composure as he said smoothly, “We shall have a grand party in celebration in the upcoming months. Rest assured, it shall be quite lavish, no expense spared. You will be the first invited.”
With that said, he and Althorpe turned their backs.
Florence lifted her gown and unfastened the fabric that covered the hidden pocket. She removed the packet, smoothed out her gown, and then held the letters out to the princess. “Here they are.”
The princess did not take them. “Turn around, Althorpe. You as well, Weymouth.” She then motioned for Althorpe to take possession of the letters. “You are to burn them, as my foolish friend ought to have done years ago.”
The princess cast this man an admonishing look, as though to blame him—
Dear heaven.
Had he been the one to write those torrid letters to Lady Simmons? No wonder the lady refused to burn them. This man could have been an original Silver Duke and must have been impossibly handsome in his younger days.
Yes, irresistible as sin.
Florence would not have been surprised to learn he had been born with that aura of confidence and ruthless authority, a child able to stare down a nanny or governess by the age of four.
She now expected she would be dismissed and the princess would carry on with her next bit of business.
But there was the detail of her brother’s fate that also needed to be resolved.
She had risked so much, and placed Trajan’s life in danger for that worthless scoundrel.
Would the princess live up to her part of the bargain? “Your Royal Highness…my brother…”
Althorpe stepped forward. “He will be cleared of all debts and charges against him, given a clean slate. But he will not be protected from any new misdeeds that may arise.”
Florence nodded. “Understood, my lord. Nor will my husband allow me to take on such risks to save his unworthy hide again. It is up to my brother to make what he will of his opportunities.”
Instead of dismissing them, the princess rang for tea. “Stay, Florence. You too, Weymouth. The four of us have more to say to each other.”
Trajan nodded. “It will be our pleasure.”
Florence could not imagine why the princess would ever want to share an afternoon tea with them, but here they were.
On the one hand, she was honored for her notice. On the other, she was quite confused as to the reason and dreaded another assignment in the offing.
Trajan’s expression revealed nothing. She needed to learn this trick of hiding one’s thoughts. A wealth of feelings had to be showing on her face, ranging from dread to hope, one extreme to the other like the swing of a pendulum.
Althorpe surprised her by smiling as they all sat down to tea. “How did you manage to retrieve those letters from Frampton?”
With Trajan’s encouragement, she told them everything. The fake bird watching, falling out of the tree onto Trajan, even their kiss on the beach.
Her face was crimson as she told them that part.
“Dear girl,” the princess said, stunning Florence with her friendly informality, “Weymouth was right to kiss you and keep on kissing you. You are one of those rare people, genuine and honest to a fault. You could never have talked your way out of trouble, so he had to keep you quiet.”
Florence was aghast, but Trajan was grinning at her.
She acknowledged his courage and quick thinking. “He saved my life that day, and then again just before we left Gull Hall.”
She told them the last of it, of the search for duplicate parchment and ribbons, of Hermia’s grand acting abilities, and Lady Frampton’s assistance that was vital to the success of their plan.
Florence then spoke of Trajan’s injury. Both Althorpe and the princess took the news with sincere concern.
Of course, Florence dared not make mention of their sharing a bed in Bournemouth, since that was nobody’s business.
As she related the details of her retrieval of those letters, she sensed something was going on beyond their mere curiosity in her plan and how it was carried out.
However, she was not politically savvy enough to understand these undercurrents, so she merely told the truth and hoped it would be enough.
Althorpe and the princess remained silent a long moment once she had finished.
“Had I been aware of Frampton’s taking possession of my letters,” Althorpe spoke up, confirming Florence’s suspicions that he was the writer, “I would never have allowed you to undertake this task. He is an extremely dangerous character and has been under watch by the Home Office for several months now.”
“Those letters should have been burned years ago,” the princess confided.
“But my dear friend simply could not bring herself to part with a single one. They were her treasures. Please believe me when I say we had no idea the dangers you were facing, or we would never have considered asking you to get those letters back.”
“But you were quite brilliant and brave,” Althorpe added. “We are all very much relieved to see you safely back in London.”
The princess turned to him. “Lady Simmons was afraid to tell you. She ought to have gone to you first and admitted all, but she was so terrified you would be angry with her. Of course, we had no idea what a fiend Frampton was, or she would have swallowed her pride and told you at once.”
“Weymouth, I am very much in your debt,” Althorpe said, “for I think the result would have been tragic had you not protected your wife so ably. Frampton will be dealt with now, and quite severely.”
“And what of Lady Frampton?” Florence asked, concerned for her friend.
Althorpe handled this response as well. “No charges will be brought against her. Obviously, she had to do her husband’s bidding for fear of the dire consequences to herself.
But she showed bravery in helping you get them back.
I hope she will continue to cooperate with us, for I know he is holding similar damaging information on others. ”
“He is,” Florence said. “I considered grabbing everything I could, but that would have given us all away, and I could not risk our plan failing.”