Chapter 6
“Careful! There is war in women too, as you know by experience, I think.”
― Sophocles, Electra
The door had barely shut behind Charity when the Prince Regent sprawled further, as if Perry’s very presence exhausted him. “Really, Fitzroy,” he exclaimed, waving a hand in the door’s direction, “a special licence? For a widow?”
Peregrine blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“Come on! We are speaking as one man to another. I will grant that the duchess is a lovely figure to get familiar with. But you cannot threaten to abandon London! Not now. Not when she’s already been unwrapped, and you need no special permission to tup her.”
That was why he didn’t immediately say yes? Colour rose on his cheekbones. “There is rather more to it than that, Your Highness,” he said stiffly.
The Prince Regent stared at him for a long moment. “Oh? Is there? I thought you and I both understood that there are enough problems in our lives without lighting a keg of powder under our mothers’ arses. I suppose you cannot be persuaded to wait for things to settle down?”
“With my mother here in London?” Perry shifted on his feet. “No, sir. I do not wish to wait. And I will not offer her anything less than all that I am, freely and without condition.”
It was the bare truth. If the Regent wasn’t likely to grant his assistance, it did not matter how many flowery speeches or excuses Peregrine gave him. Prinny would either help him, or he would not.
“Less?” This time it was the Regent who blinked owlishly at him, even more confused.
“Not one of my mistresses has ever complained about what I offered. And my methods have never threatened to take anything away from those I consorted with. But I imagine your pretty little duchess is smart enough to make the decision for herself.”
She was. Even though it smarted to be reminded of the title Charity would give up to marry him.
“Then you will do it?” he asked the Regent.
“As long as you do not plan on disappearing for a honeymoon if I say yes, then who am I to say no?” he drawled, and waved his hand in dismissal. “But for the love of God—perhaps don’t rush to rub it in either of our mothers’ faces.”
Outside the room, Peregrine shared only the good news with Charity, leaving out the more insulting parts of the discussion.
Together they walked deeper into the palace, heading toward the state rooms where the Queen’s Drawing Room was already underway.
Anyone with power, wealth, or distinction who could gain admittance had come, but all Peregrine could think of was leaving.
“Surely no one will notice if I decide to spend an evening instead with the woman who is going to be my wife,” grumbled Peregrine quietly.
Charity bit her lip, though the corner turned up. “You are incorrigible. I still have a duty to the Queen and Princess Charlotte. And unfortunately, there will be no better chance to find a discreet word with your sister than tonight.”
He exhaled, disgruntled.
“We have survived the past month. Three days will be nothing.” Charity gave his arm a pat. “I should go; I am only being a distraction to you.”
It was true. But still he watched as Charity slipped away into the crowd, missing her as soon as she had departed. Missing the way her buttercup yellow gown had appeared splendidly next to his black tailcoat and breeches. Like day and night, paired together.
He had barely stepped into the next room when another woman’s gloved hand slipped around his forearm.
“Lord Fitzroy,” Selina purred. “You seem better than yesterday. I trust the duchess’s ministrations were effective?”
“You’ve got the look of a woman ready to dine out on my confidences, Sina,” he said with a smirk. “We have tasks to accomplish besides gossip.”
The marchioness gave him a wisp of a pout, but her attention was already elsewhere. “I do care about the two of you, you realise. At least be a gentleman and take me for a turn.”
They manoeuvred through the crowd, Peregrine using their stroll to try to spot his sister’s hair in the throng. “I appreciate the concern. Thank you for advising the duchess about her parents, as well; it seems to have helped settle her some,” he ventured.
“She would have handled it herself if she had not been in a pother from Marian’s unexpected arrival. The two of you needed a moment to recover your equilibrium after the shock, that is all.”
“And how are you and the others?”
The marchioness paused before replying. “We are ready to rise to the challenge, Perry. Do we really have any other choice? Although speaking of challenges…”
Peregrine whipped his head up at the change in her voice.
Lady Normanby’s attention was on one of the far walls of the room where buttercup yellow skirts were hemmed in by an older couple.
He resisted the urge to sigh. “The Cresswells have found her already? It has barely been a quarter of an hour since I left her.”
The marchioness turned a sharp grin towards him. “Perhaps we might say good day?”
Selina had remembered that Lady Cresswell had interfered with her attempts to save Perry from the Home Office. “The duchess doesn’t know,” he told her softly. “Let sleeping dogs lie.”
She huffed, but she subsided as they angled in that direction. Lady Cresswell was angry enough that even from ten feet away they could hear her fan snap shut like a pistol shot. “Really, Charity! I do not think your title entitles you to speak to me as if I were a servant in your household.”
“It does,” Lady Normanby muttered, for Peregrine’s ears only.
“This is not the time nor the place,” said Lord Cresswell cautiously to the both of them.
Because their backs were to the room, the Cresswells did not see Perry approaching.
But Charity did, and relief clearly warred with the desire to warn them away.
Before she could decide, Charity’s mother saw her daughter’s attention flicker, and she spun around, her mouth making an unsightly little pucker when she beheld Perry.
Really, Lady Cresswell should practice avoiding that face, Perry thought. It had the most unfortunate tendency to make her mouth resemble a dog’s anus. That particular thought cheered him enough that it was easy to summon a mask of gaiety.
Otherwise, she said nothing to him. And after a delay long enough it could be considered rude, Lady Cresswell looked at Selina and dipped her head, acknowledging the marchioness properly. “Lady Normanby.”
“Lady Cresswell! Dearest, I haven’t seen you in ages.” Selina’s smile was all teeth. “Not since sometime after that unfortunate incident with the Swedish gift of state, if I recall correctly.”
Peregrine pinched the wrist of the marchioness discreetly as he dropped her arm, warning her to avoid antagonising yet another person who wanted him dead.
Without reacting, Selina turned to the earl and Charity. “Lord Cresswell. Your Grace, that is a rather fetching colour on you!”
Lady Normanby nattered on, but rather than have to converse with her and Peregrine, the Cresswells quickly decided there was somewhere else they urgently had to be. They made mumbled excuses and departed.
Lady Normanby watched their backs. “You seem to have the worst luck with mothers, darling,” she said in an undertone to Perry. “No slight intended to you, of course, Charity.”
Charity deflated slightly in fatigue, but quickly, she composed herself. “I believe my mother means well,” she said without conviction.
Perry ignored the way Selina’s glance swung to him at that. He also noted the way she neglected to mention her father’s opinions at all. “I am sure she is only being protective of you after last year,” he agreed neutrally.
Charity’s eyes narrowed, and Peregrine wondered if perhaps he was starting to lose his touch with her, if even a polite half-truth had the sound of a lie. But before he could say anything further, Ravenscroft and Thorne descended upon them.
“Oh good, we found you,” said the magpie. “Where have you been? It is almost as if you are under the impression that this is a party.”
Charity began to look cross. “I was trying to find the princess.” Making room in their circle for the new arrivals, Perry let his arm discreetly brush against Charity’s, soothing her.
Sir Nathaniel was perspiring lightly due to the stuffy atmosphere.
“If you are searching for the princess, we just left her vicinity. She and Prince William of Orange are surrounded five deep in a circle of well-wishers who are offering congratulations to their faces and contempt to the prince’s back. ”
“Mmm,” agreed Ravenscroft, producing a handkerchief with a flourish and indicating to Thorne he should blot his forehead. “I was rather hoping Prinny would reconsider Prince William. Obviously, public sentiment is not the foremost reason this match is a terrible idea.”
Lady Normanby tilted her head. “How many of those well-wishers are from the Russian delegation, I wonder?”
“Some few—largely the ones who have no other choice.” Ravenscroft gave her a knowing look. “But the Tsar has not been one of them. Nor his sister, the Grand Duchess.”
Thorne made a noise into the handkerchief that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
“What happened?” Charity asked him, frowning.
“Both the Grand Duchess and the Tsar seem to be playing the gadflies,” Ravenscroft answered, his voice dry.
“He is talking to people out of turn, mostly to the lower ranks. All the courtiers’ noses are out of joint.
And she is engaged in her favourite sport, which is trying to give Prinny an apoplexy. In short—chaos.”
Which might be the worst of what they had planned, but Peregrine doubted it. Prince William was likely incompetent, but Russia didn’t want England to strengthen its ties to the Dutch. And simply making the Prince Regent appear weak could help Russia’s agenda in Vienna.
“And what is my mother doing?” Peregrine asked softly.