Chapter 3
“...men must either be caressed or else annihilated; they will revenge themselves for small injuries, but cannot do so for great ones; the injury therefore that we do to a man must be such that we need not fear his vengeance.”
—Niccolò Machiavelli, The Prince
Selina, the Marchioness of Normanby, and Sir Nathaniel Thorne were waiting for them. The marchioness marched forward, eyes steely with intent, and stopped in front of Charity.
“Perry, I know she’s precious, but must you hoard the duchess? Walk ahead with the men. The duchess and I need to chat.” She offered Charity her arm and then shooed the men on. Charity’s stomach churned; she had a good idea of what was on Lady Normanby’s mind.
“You needn’t chastise me. I am well aware of where I erred,” Charity told her.
“I hope so.” Selina gave Charity a fond pat on the arm. “It was a pleasure to see gossipmongers practically bursting at the seams when Perry took the space beside you. But was it necessary to take his hand before his mother, your parents, and half of London?”
“I was feeling faint.”
“Understandably, Your Grace. Now you are leaning on my arm, and I will tell them your illness was the reason you clutched at him. They will grumble, but they will let the matter drop… unless, of course, you keep sneaking off together. Who knows what they will presume then?”
Charity’s cheeks warmed.
“Much better,” Selina said, satisfied. “You were looking positively bloodless. I thought I might be able to coax some colour back into those cheeks. Though why I should have to do that when you were just in the garden with Perry—”
“Might we change the subject, Lady Normanby?” Charity asked warningly, wishing her face weren’t so traitorous.
“Are you vexed, darling? Irritation is good for the soul. Consider it polishing. Slough off what’s dull and unimportant so the quality can finally shine through,” Selina drawled.
Her attention wandered to the backs of Peregrine and Sir Nathaniel, walking side by side.
“There is great comfort in having the poise to be yourself.”
For a moment, she seemed… uncertain and thoughtful.
Perhaps sad. Charity wondered if she should ask the marchioness if she was all right.
Lady Normanby had spoken no word of what had transpired between her and Bellrose after Charity’s escape, and Lady Fitzroy’s return had upset all of them.
But she doubted the marchioness would answer such a direct question.
“Is it my turn to productively vex you?” Charity asked instead.
With a snap of her fan and a brief, enigmatic smile, Selina collected herself. “Do you see?” she evaded.
Charity did. At least, a little.
“I wish such tricks would work on my parents,” Charity admitted, surprised by the sense she could confide such a thing to the older widow. “My father threatened to drag me from London.”
“It will! Your father upset you, but do not forget the Queen no longer needs to intercede on your behalf. You are a widowed duchess, not a mewling debutante without a home or funds. Stand your ground. Imagine someone like your father trying to do that to me, and act accordingly.”
Charity tried to imagine someone making Selina do anything against her will and almost laughed. But— “Do you think I shall lose them from my life if I do?” she blurted out in a whisper.
Selina understood, and squeezed her arm. “Only if they are unwilling to avoid losing you.”
That was unexpectedly fortifying, and Charity felt a little better.
Queen Charlotte had laid claim to the velvet armchair in the centre of the room that had been appropriated for their meeting. Once the door was shut, she removed the heavy crown she had worn for the welcoming ceremony. The scowl she wore was terrifyingly regal even without it.
The room was disturbingly empty. Besides Charlotte and their little quintet, they had been joined only by the Home Secretary, Viscount Sidmouth.
Ravenscroft and Perry settled on a pair of silk-upholstered chairs near their sovereign, leaving the sofa for the women. Sir Nathaniel elected to remain standing out of the way, near the door.
“If anyone has an explanation as to how a traitor managed to return to Britain and gain entrance to the palace—under a Russian escort, no less—I suggest you provide it now.” Charlotte’s voice was iron, but her gaze was fixed on the Home Secretary.
Sidmouth flushed. Ultimately, he might be held responsible for this failure.
“Clearly, we miscalculated when we assumed she would stay in hiding,” Sidmouth said, his voice clipped. “But we should have noticed when she arrived in Dover. I will investigate how she managed to conceal her identity, ma’am.”
“A little late now,” Charlotte remarked stiffly.
“Not only did she flout the precautions and security of the palace, the Foreign Office, and the Home Office, she then had the audacity to parade the Prince Regent’s stolen property through my throne room!
We were forced to accept her ridiculous claim of innocence and thank that woman for its return! ”
Sidmouth said nothing, weathering the Queen’s ire.
“How did she end up in the Russian court, Lord Fitzroy?” Charlotte asked with narrowed eyes. “Were you aware that she was acquainted with Tsar Alexander?”
Peregrine shook his head. “No, Your Majesty. The Fitzroy family has no distant relations or acquaintances in Russia who could aid her. At least, not as far as I am aware.”
“Well, it certainly was not the British diplomat to Russia,” Sidmouth snarled. “She hardly would have sauntered right into the Russian court. Someone would have had to introduce her.”
Selina’s lips pressed tightly together. “Given her connections with the Order, she may have found someone to introduce her through us. I am sure Xavier would not have aided her deliberately, but his web of informants would stretch into the Ministry and the Tsar’s court.”
“Where is the princess?” Charity asked suddenly, concerned. Princess Charlotte had been a target of Lady Fitzroy’s schemes, and it did not seem wise to leave her without supervision.
“At her father’s side, with the suggestion she should not wander from him or the guards under any circumstances,” the Queen said, rubbing a finger against her temple.
Charity slowed her breathing. Her worries did not disappear, but her nerves eased enough to focus.
“Lord Sidmouth,” Queen Charlotte said, her words edged, “I trust you will have a word with the guards about the importance of tracking her movements.”
“Yes, of course, Your Highness. I have confirmed already that she took rooms at the Pulteney, along with the rest of the Russian delegation.”
Perry met her quick glance. He seemed to be relieved as she was to learn that his mother had no grand homecoming plans in store for them.
“So she is taking shelter in their midst,” the Queen grumbled. “And doubtless there will be an outcry from the Russians if she is taken from their bosom as part of an inquiry.”
Lord Sidmouth sighed. “Yes. But there is no point to an inquiry now. We could not prove her guilt even before she brought back the dagger. This was why we did not try her in absentia for her crimes.”
“And what of the… other solution we previously discussed?” the Queen asked delicately, glancing at Perry out of the corner of her eye. “Elimination?”
Peregrine’s hands tightened into fists again, but he betrayed no other sign that he had feelings about the matter. Charity felt badly about the fact that they were so casually discussing the murder of his mother in front of him. Again.
“No. She is too well protected at the Pulteney, in their midst.” Sidmouth shook his head. “While she is under their hospitality, anything that happens to Lady Fitzroy will be as problematic as an arrest.”
Lady Normanby scrubbed absently at her gloves. “Sidmouth is correct. Assassination will not be an option. We will have to figure out a way to remove her from the protection of the Russians.”
“Prinny is furious,” Ravenscroft muttered. “He believes the Tsar knowingly aided a traitor just to embarrass him at this gathering of the sovereigns.”
Selina looked annoyed. “I beg Your Majesty’s pardon, but not everything is about making the Prince Regent look the fool. If the Tsar had any sense, he would see Lady Fitzroy as one of three things: a spy, an informant for the taking, or a weapon.”
For the first time, Sir Nathaniel cleared his throat, looking apologetic.
“Lady Normanby is right. It would not be wise to forget the fact that another ruler could employ Lady Fitzroy as a kind of weapon. Someone may have brought her to England for a purpose, and it may not even be the Russians. Or she has come back to do something she can only accomplish here.”
“That counterfeiting ploy was focused on toppling the government,” mused Sidmouth. “It would have weakened us for certain at the conferences in Vienna, as well as being a public disgrace. Another country would have stood to gain.”
“But Vienna is far off.” The Queen steepled her fingers together. “And the sovereigns will be gone by month’s end. So it seems we must discover what tasks would require Lady Fitzroy’s presence here—and now. Lord Fitzroy? Do you have any idea?”
Perry, grim-faced, shook his head. “At the moment, ma’am, I can hardly guess. Access to banks I did not find? Other resources? Just because Chandros and Goldbourne destroyed so much does not mean they did not move her funds elsewhere.”
Poor Peregrine, Charity thought. For the entirety of the past month, he had been steps behind his mother’s plans.
Even though he successfully figured out every clue, they were often slightly too late.
And he was likely blaming himself for not being clever or fast enough to prevent Chandros from destroying the evidence they needed.
“You stopped the counterfeiting scheme in time. You saved the government,” Charity reminded him gently. “We will be able to figure out what she is up to again.”