Chapter 7
“Let such as say our sex is void of reason,
Know it is slander now but once was treason.”
—Anne Bradstreet
Peregrine wished Charity had come back to the estate, if only so he knew she was safe under his roof. But she had asked him to return her to Atholl House for that evening. She wanted to make preparations for the next two days, and they each had appointments to attend to.
The 9th of June dawned with the promise of good weather for an open-carriage drive.
Charity would be going to the Pulteney with Selina to try their luck, and he would be going on his outing with Lark, so they would not see each other today.
Later, he would begin his long trek towards Ascot, and tomorrow, the ton and the train of the Allied Sovereigns would arrive there.
They might be able to get close enough to the Tsar to pose a few questions.
The day after that, they would have their licence to wed. And then, whatever else happened, at least they would face it together. A man and his wife.
His wife.
Peregrine had never imagined he would be the sort of man prone to fits of foolish grinning at odd times for no reason whatsoever, but it seems he was learning new things about himself every day.
Perry elected to make a show of this outing with Lark.
They would take the sleek landau and both footmen.
For the ton, it would send a message that the Fitzroy family was still a wealthy and powerful force to be reckoned with.
To be seen with his sister, hopefully, would quiet the speculation about the extent of the family’s discord.
To his mother, this was a show of force.
He had spent the morning testing the competency of Jack and Owens with smaller coach pistols, of which four had been stowed on the landau.
It was enough to arm all of them, though Will Hodges kept his preferred carbine beside him.
Both footmen had been country boys in the militia before coming to London, so they got a sense for the little firearm’s aim quickly.
As Will Hodges pulled up the landau in front of the Pulteney, both of his footmen alighted.
The Graves brothers looked both sharp and intimidating in the livery he had tailored for their burly six-foot frames.
Owens headed inside to announce their arrival at the front desk.
Jack assisted Peregrine down, then stood ready, waiting.
Perry proceeded into the hotel to wait for Lark.
Lark—or his mother—had decided to make an unspoken statement also. Lark arrived alone.
His sister was not dressed in the usual pale palette of an unmarried young Englishwoman.
Lark’s gown was a shockingly deep, rich crimson that made her a vision of pale, ethereal beauty.
The silk carriage dress cut open at the front to reveal a gold-embroidered ivory underdress, long sleeves cuffed in sable and high collar lending regal formality.
Her pale blonde hair had been braided into an intricate coronet.
Had he not known who she was, he would have assumed her to be one of the Russians, or some other sophisticate of world travelling.
The portrait he had held in his thoughts of his younger sister dissipated completely.
After the past year, she was no longer who he remembered. But then again, neither was he.
“Lark.” Peregrine greeted her simply with the truth. “That colour is stunning on you.”
His sister blushed prettily—not immune, it seemed, to flattery. Then she silently took his arm and they made their way back to the carriage.
In silence, Perry watched her carefully as they rode for several minutes, considering and discarding the words he had thought he was going to say to her.
His sister did not try to study him as he studied her.
Her gaze was averted, only the tiniest wrinkle between her brows suggesting that the situation was… unpleasant.
“How does time feel to you, Lark?” he asked finally. “Does it feel like it has been a year? Or more like a lifetime?”
“A lifetime? More like a different life altogether.” Her eyes finally flicked to his. “Like I am some Selkie creature who has been trapped too long on land and forgotten what it’s like to return to the sea.”
“I am sorry you got caught in the middle of what transpired last year,” he said vaguely. “I’m not certain what you have been told.”
She didn’t enlighten him. Lark turned her head again. “I should not have come.”
“To see me?” His stomach twisted. “Why not?”
“I do not know who you are. You are a stranger wearing a familiar face.”
“Lark, I am still your brother. Still the person you’ve always known.”
“No,” she disagreed. “You are not. I haven’t known you since you came home from Oxford.
I adored you, Perry. You were so distant and untouchable but never cold.
Not before. But then you came home. I thought we would be happy, but it was as though when you finally stepped into the title, everything had changed. ”
The impressions of a thirteen-year-old girl, standing outside of the events of that year, would be very different from his.
Lark clearly didn’t understand what had happened the year he had turned twenty-one, and he could not tell her.
Though he had spent the next six years hiding the truth about Grenville’s death, it seemed she hated him anyway.
Peregrine’s lashes fell over his cheeks. “I am sorry you felt slighted by that. It is not your fault.”
“No? And of the events that happened last year?”
“Those are not your fault either, Sister.”
“That much,” she said slowly, her voice cutting, “I already know. But what I don’t understand is why you would so openly consort with Lady Cresswell and her daughter after everything they did to me and Mama!”
Peregrine lifted his chin defiantly. “What do you think they did to you, Lark? What do you believe happened? Go ahead. You can talk in front of my men. They won’t say a word.”
Lark’s eyes flickered, her posture less certain. She did not know much; he could tell by her expression. There was only what she would have heard. Fragments of the truth and baseless speculation.
“Sir David Green, the man who put the dagger in our luggage, was a friend and the commanding officer once of the new Duke of Northumberland,” she said suspiciously. “And Charity ended up engaged to the same duke.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “Is that all? Half the ton knew Sir David Green well. And all of it knew about Percy’s wager to marry the season’s Diamond of the First Water.”
“Your wager, Perry, not Percy’s,” she hissed. “They hate us. The Cresswells and the Percys. They blame us for what happened last year. And you are somehow involved in the why of all of it. Sir David Green killed that man with your knife. What you did is the reason we had to leave.”
Peregrine exhaled softly. “The truth is more complicated than that.”
“Is it, Perry? You were standing beside Charity Cresswell.” Her voice snapped like the crack of a whip. “After what they did to our mother!”
“Her Grace, the Duchess of Atholl,” he said with a warning rattle, “is as innocent of what has happened as you are. And if you don’t suspect our mother has contributed to this feud, you certainly don’t have the first idea about what happened last year.
Edmunds can confirm Charity’s drink was laced to sabotage her debut. ”
Lark blinked at him, stunned. “Edmunds would say such a thing about mother?”
The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted it.
He had to be careful, lest his sister begin asking his mother dangerous questions.
If Lark proved not biddable and ignorant enough to accept her mother’s lies at face value, her mother would—at the least—bind Lark the way she had bound Perry’s loyalties.
That would be the best-case scenario. At worst, she might decide her daughter’s life was as dispensable as his.
“To make her clumsy. You have seen our mother do such things before.”
When Lark’s shoulders dropped, he knew that she learned that much already. But he could tell—she still did not believe her mother was capable of the evil he experienced. He had to get Lark away from the perilous position she was in.
“Come home to me,” he said impulsively. “Come back to the estate.”
“No,” Lark repeated. “I am still furious with you.”
“Why did you decide to come ride with me, then?”
“Because you asked. And it will look bad if we do not show a united front to society,” Lark said stiffly. But these words clearly were more of an echo of Marian Fitzroy than Lark’s personal feelings. “I do not want to be a pariah forever. I want to marry, to have a life of my own.”
“Then I’ll help you settle back into society and we will find you a husband.”
“No, Perry,” his sister said evenly. “I do not want to put my future in your hands. You barely even notice who I am. You will marry me off quietly and get me out of the way. But Mama reaches for greater things, and I have seen a year of proof that she is more than capable of taking care of us. I want more than a quiet life.”
Peregrine stared at her silently. Separating her from his mother was going to be harder than he thought.
Selina greeted Charity with a warm smile and a pat on the seat beside her. “Good afternoon, Your Grace. I do like the colour of your dress.”
Charity had chosen a gown of deep rose madder silk with a narrow band of gold embroidery that defined the high waist. The sleeves—cut just below the elbow—were finished with froths of sheer net and tiny, embroidered roses.
Selina had dressed in crimson taffeta. The bodice was sharply tailored, its squared neckline trimmed with a narrow ruffle of black Chantilly lace that echoed the jet beads threaded through her earrings.
“Your colours make you look ready for battle. Did you come armed as well?” Charity asked.
“With the rapier of my wit,” Selina assured her. “And between the two of us, we are certainly dressed to launch a salvo at every man’s heart.”