Radiance and Revenge (The Diamond of the Ton Regency Mysteries #3)

Chapter 1

“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”

—Ariel, The Tempest

Lady Marian Fitzroy was many things—a mother, criminal, traitor. A murderer. She was a woman callous enough to attempt killing her own son.

And she was here.

The brush of heavy skirts across the throne room’s polished wooden floors was the only warning Charity got before the woman struck at Perry.

Marian Fitzroy leaned forward, embraced her son as he stood beside Charity, and pressed a kiss to his bloodless cheek.

“Peregrine, love, how well you’re looking! ”

She straightened, fixing him with a predatory gaze.

Lady Fitzroy possessed the same slatey irises as her son—but right now, hers circled reptilian voids, like those eyes belonged to something more dead than alive.

The mask had slipped, showing that whatever spark of soul Marian might have possessed was… lacking.

Lady Fitzroy was unhappy to see her son alive.

The blood crawled backwards in Charity’s veins. Never had she beheld anything so unnatural. And struck by his mother’s deadly basilisk stare, the man who held her heart became as still as stone and just as ashen.

“How fortunate we arrived in time to wish you a happy birthday,” his mother continued, radiating malevolence.

Not that the others nearby seemed to sense her uncanny wrongness.

All they saw was a handsome, older woman wearing a slight, supercilious smile.

She wore a silk dress overlaid with fine lace, and pearls dripped from her ears and neck.

It was an ostentatious display of wealth that spoke of no hardship or privation this past year.

The watching members of the ton were not near enough to notice that her stare did not rightfully appear to belong to any human thing. But their whispers about other things swirled thickly.

“Did they invite her, or did she simply tell them she was coming?”

“Russia collects Fabergé eggs and fallen Englishwomen, it seems.”

Peregrine had speculated his mother wouldn’t dare to return to English soil—not short of having an army at her back. How terrifyingly right his supposition had been. She arrived in the train of the Tsar of Russia, the leader of the most powerful country, besides England, in the world.

The moment had an unreal feeling, like a nightmare.

Charity might have thought she was trapped dreaming if the woman had not deliberately grazed her arm.

The contact was brief—barely a brush—but it sent a shock of memory through her.

The sensation of the silk binding her wrists skittered along her skin.

The thick fog of laudanum, and many lost days.

Strange voices that echoed in the cold chamber.

Charity held herself still, digging her nails into her palm to keep from reacting. And when she did nothing, Lady Fitzroy finally turned to regard Charity, narrowing her eyes in a direct challenge.

Peregrine’s mother bore no guilt over kidnapping Charity during her last season. Revenge against Lord and Lady Cresswell—Charity’s parents—had been the motive to ruin their daughter, and Marian had nursed this grudge against them for nearly thirty years.

Marian had gone unpunished. The woman had orchestrated her scheme so cleverly that charges would have cut both ways. She had been free to continue with her last intrigues until she had stolen from the Crown and escaped last year.

People continued to mutter. “I wonder what the Cresswells think of their daughter standing next to the traitor’s son now.”

Charity’s back stiffened, hearing the insult to Peregrine.

But Lady Fitzroy appeared unruffled. She smiled and patted Perry’s cheek with a cruel familiarity, looking to all the world like a mother and son having a loving reunion.

He stood stock-still beneath her hand, almost vibrating with tension as she whispered, “Smile, my dears. So many people are watching us.”

With her parting remark, Lady Fitzroy pulled away.

Hundreds of candles shone in the candelabras, but the world seemed dim and spotty at the edges. In desperation, Charity turned towards the royal family, wondering if they noticed the Russian delegation housed a traitor.

Only the Queen’s eyes met hers—the briefest, sternest flick—before Charlotte turned her attention back to a handful arriving from Saxony. The Queen knew. She saw. And she was ignoring Lady Fitzroy’s presence here among all the gathered Sovereign Allies as though nothing untoward had happened.

Why hadn’t they called the guards? Why weren’t they doing anything?

The world began to turn on its axis, and an echo of Perry’s voice snarled at her in her thoughts. Breathe, Sparkles!

Swooning. She was swooning. Her mouth opened in a gasp as her fingers shot out, looking for support and finding Peregrine’s hand. His steadiness helped anchor her as she recovered her senses. Unfortunately, the act cost them their dignity.

“My word, she is holding Fitzroy’s hand! Here!” Titters followed, and another susurrus of voices.

In a room with some of the highest-ranking titles in the world, the only name on everyone’s lips was Fitzroy. She let him go the moment she heard the whisper, but the damage was already done.

Charity’s chest tightened as the gossip battered them. In the short span of a few minutes, Lady Fitzroy had not only destroyed the progress Perry had made in separating his affairs from his mother’s, she had shaken Charity enough to shame the both of them in front of the ton.

What couldn’t this woman do, given a day? A week? Or a month?

And Lady Fitzroy was not even the limit of their problems, as she was abruptly reminded when Lord Ravenscroft, near Princess Charlotte, barked a sharp cough into his fist to draw Charity’s attention. That tone demanded she compose herself.

She took in the room. Sir Nathaniel and Lady Normanby were waiting warily in their positions. But her eyes travelled past them to where her parents stood, side by side, glowering at her and Peregrine.

They had friends here, but they were beset by their worst enemies. Every single one of them was here in this room.

A despondent feeling began to crush Charity’s chest. Had she and Peregrine been fools to dare to dream they might envision a future together?

Then, the Royal Chamberlain strode forward and banged his staff thrice, bringing order to the shuffling crowd. “Lady Fitzroy, Dowager Countess of Fitzroy, and her daughter Lady Lark,” he announced to the throne. “They have a gift to present, if you will allow it.”

There. There was the Crown’s chance to notice the viper in their midst. To send her away. Cool logic fought to halt Charity’s descent into despair, offering a thread of hope. But it was about to be dashed again.

“Lady Fitzroy,” the Queen murmured, her mien giving away nothing of her thoughts. “We were not expecting your return.” Beside her, Prinny’s eyes were hooded.

Peregrine’s mother executed a facile, perfect curtsy. She was as graceful as one might expect from a season’s Incomparable. Demure, almost pious in her guise, her shining eyes were upon her sovereign.

It was a flawless performance.

“My apologies, Your Majesty. What I brought, I hope, will make up for the messages that went astray,” Lady Fitzroy replied, looking the Queen right in the eye as she rose up.

“The Tsar was kind enough to offer us safe passage. Given the near priceless value of what I have brought, I dared not travel alone.”

Lady Fitzroy turned around and motioned a footman to come forward, his arms holding a small wooden trunk.

All around Charity, people leaned forward to get a closer look at what might be inside. Charity braced herself, half fearing something dangerous might be inside. But surely even Marian Fitzroy was not brazen enough to commit regicide in front of an audience.

“Your Highness,” Lady Fitzroy said, directing her words in Prinny’s direction. “This is yours.” She released the latch and opened the lid, revealing a weapon encrusted with blood-red rubies.

The British lords and ladies in the crowd gasped, hushed speculation flying along the receiving line yet again as people recognised the item in question.

It was the ruby dagger that had been gifted by the Swedish ambassador last year.

The one Lady Fitzroy had blackmailed Sir David Green, a former soldier, into taking from this very room before she had fled with Lark to the continent.

Peregrine gritted his teeth beside her, his hands balling into fists.

Charity darted a look at him, wondering if he was all right. Lady Fitzroy had intended for her son to take the fall for the crime. It had been one of Perry’s weapons that had been left stabbed into the dead guard.

Now, here she was, presenting it back to the Crown as though it was a gift, and not the proof of her guilt.

“You dare arrive with that weapon!” Prinny looked thunderous.

“With respect, Your Highness, I only dare to restore your stolen property and clear my name.” Lady Fitzroy’s voice was steady and deferential.

“I am afraid my dear son and I may be as much victims of Sir David as you have been. I found this dagger hidden in my trunks a while after I had been on the continent.”

Lies rolled off her tongue with practised ease.

“I dared not send so precious an item with someone else, and I was unsure when it would be safe for me to return. Then I heard my son performed such valiant services for England and was allowed to come home, a war hero. I beg you to accept my apology for the delay, and I wish you to understand how dear a friend Russia has been to England in this effort to bring it home.”

“Indeed,” Queen Charlotte murmured noncommittally as she glanced at the Tsar, who inclined his head. “It seems we owe you thanks for this small service.”

Lady Fitzroy clasped her hands together, looking pleased. “I am so pleased to be of service to the Crown. I hope I might be able to reclaim my place in society if you are satisfied with my innocence?”