Chapter 8 #2
“Lark and your mother are ahead and slightly to our left,” Charity warned him.
Peregrine flicked his eyes lazily in that direction. Lark was looking down the field, holding onto her hat with one hand. But his mother—
Lady Fitzroy met his eyes squarely, making no attempt to be coy about it. Her lips widened slowly into a predatory smile.
Unconsciously, Perry’s hand came up to rest over his scar, and as he did so, his fingers grazed his watch, tucked inside his fob pocket. The steady ticking of the timepiece beat beneath his glove like the rapid tattoo of a pulse, and unnerved, he dropped his hand again.
“Are you all right?” Charity asked him, her voice low.
“Yes,” he ground out, his good mood from earlier all but spoiled. He pointedly looked away from his mother. “She will be trying to play games with our heads, Charity. Be on your guard, and be careful about what you drink here, especially if it has been unattended.”
“You don’t think she would try to poison everyone here, do you?”
“No. To do that would be suicide. But only you or me? I would not put it past her.”
Charity nodded. “Promise me you will be careful as well.”
She slipped away into the crowd. Peregrine glanced around again for the Tsar, spotting him where he least expected—outside of the fenced area and speaking to commoners.
Then again, Peregrine reflected, perhaps that was exactly where he should have expected to find the emperor.
Outside of Prinny’s carefully established boundaries, giving the Regent a headache.
Thwarted, Peregrine considered his options and began to walk in the direction of Nicholas, who was now standing at the fence to see the next race, his sister talking with one of the ladies from Prussia.
“Votre Altesse Impériale,” Peregrine greeted Nicholas courteously in the lingua franca of diplomacy.
“You may speak English, Lord Fitzroy,” the boy replied stiffly. “I wish to learn it better.”
Peregrine supposed that it couldn’t be helped; with the marked resemblance between him and his mother, of course it was likely the boy would know who he was. “Happily, sir. I hope you have been fortunate in picking winners.”
“I have not placed…” he paused, looking for the right word. “Wagers?”
Perry nodded to confirm he had it right. “Your brother would not approve?” he asked, giving the boy an easy, conspiratorial grin.
Nicholas finally warmed up to the subject despite his halting English. “Alexander does not mind some gambling. Constantine—he hates it.”
Constantine, Peregrine remembered, was the next eldest brother. He was also the Tsar’s heir, since Alexander had no children of his own. Constantine had remained behind in Russia for this visit.
Perry elected to make a bit of a gamble of his own.
“It is a shame your brother did not also make the trip. But perhaps since he is not here… you might be able to indulge the occasional wager. And if you wish to improve your English,” he said casually, “my mother or sister, Lark, may be willing to help you. They made quite a journey last year. When were they introduced at court?”
The young man darted a glance out of the corner of his eye. “October, I believe it was.”
That was some piece of information, at least. Depending on the route she and Lark had taken, there would not be little extra time to visit other courts.
The odds were good, given the time of their departure, that she had headed there directly.
She would have arrived with just enough time to situate herself.
The Russian court began to resume its activities in October, and most events transpired over those winter months.
“Excuse me, Lord Fitzroy,” Nicholas said suddenly, straightening to leave. “I enjoyed our talk.”
Stymied, Perry prowled around the enclosure.
Charity was still minding the princess. His mother alternated between watching the races and watching him, which made him twitchy.
And the Tsar was still speaking with everyone except for the people inside the enclosure.
He was almost beginning to sympathise with Prinny’s stance—that the Tsar’s behaviour was rude.
“Where do you suppose might real power best be kept?” interrupted an exotic, cultivated Prussian accent behind Peregrine.
Peregrine turned, coming practically nose to nose with an immaculately dressed man of fifty.
“Not in the armoury, for weapons may rust. Not in the purse,” Baron Friedrich von Gentz continued lightly, his face creasing in amusement, “for money is spent.”
The man’s eyes were shrewd, dancing with a trickster’s mischief and a dangerous intellect as he waited for Perry to answer his riddle. Perry pretended to give it consideration. “A good secret is always valuable.”
Von Gentz’s eyebrows lifted. “True. But only for as long a time as one might wield it over the person the secret is about. And… people do tend to die,” he said regretfully.
Peregrine considered the man carefully. He was the right hand of Austria’s prince. The Propagandist was, by all accounts, as erratic as he was brilliant. Very few people that Perry met gave him the urge to proceed with caution, but Gentz was one.
“Ah. Well, if we are looking for immortal power… I believe a man like yourself, von Gentz, would put uncommon value in ideas.”
The man grinned, pleased. “Not just ideas, clever friend.” He clapped Perry on the shoulder, turning them both back to observe the cluster of Englishmen around the Tsar. “Beliefs. They are so much longer-lived. And harder to kill, yes?”
He wondered if von Gentz was being madcap, or if he had knowingly approached Perry for some other reason. It was impossible to be sure.
Peregrine nodded. “Although you do run the risk of their taking on a life of their own.”
“Mmm,” the man agreed vaguely, his eyes on the Tsar. “Alexander… he is a man of belief. People will flock even to a foreigner’s banner if they see something in that belief that gives them power. So many of the rest only pretend.
“Treating with a man of beliefs might be difficult for England when they come to sit at the tables in Vienna. Sometimes it is harder to guess what they really want.” Gentz gave him a sidelong glance.
Peregrine had the oddest sense that this was a test. Austria was one of the four most powerful countries in the alliance, so he dared not treat this encounter lightly.
This fall, Austria was going to be the place the world sat down to divide Napoleon’s spoils.
Metternich—and this man, von Gentz—would be presiding.
“I imagine Alexander wants what everyone at Vienna will want,” Peregrine finally replied. “Russia will want to think they got the best of any bargain.”
Gentz tapped his fingers to his lips. “I am not certain Alexander seeks anything so straightforward. But then again, one who ascends by conspiring against his father probably rarely sits easily on the throne.”
Alexander had become emperor after his father, Paul, had been assassinated in a coup. “I do not hold the view that the Tsar ordered the death of his father, von Gentz,” Perry said. “As you said yourself, he is a man of belief.”
The Propagandist’s eyes crinkled with mirth. “And beliefs sometimes take on a life of their own,” he added, echoing Perry’s words.
This felt like playing chess against himself. Metternich’s right hand might be almost as dangerous as his mother, if he were so inclined.
“You are prodding me about the Tsar,” Perry finally hazarded, “because you are a clever man, and you know exactly who I am, even though you’ve yet to say my name. I suspect you are trying to determine my loyalties and capabilities. Perhaps you wish to guess at what I am about.”
Von Gentz smiled broadly, and Peregrine knew he had guessed right.
“Well thought, Lord Fitzroy, but you are not the only one I’ve prodded.
We are all here to play a role. Some are sheep, others are wolves of intrigue and statecraft.
All of us are jockeying to ensure that our ‘horse’ wins the race,” he murmured, indicating the line forming at the post.
“Determining the capabilities of your opponents seems like the only intelligent thing to do. And a woman who I have never seen standing upon this field before seems to have gotten quite close to the Russians. Without any commonly accepted diplomatic pathway,” he observed, lifting his chin in Lady Fitzroy’s direction.
“Her son plays for Russia’s opponent. Or he appears to, at any rate.
It is a most intriguing development when some of us are still deciding which horse to place our bets upon.
Russia—” a flick in the direction of the Tsar— “or England.”
“And?” Perry asked, curious. “Have you decided what to make of me?”
Von Gentz’s smile was wicked, but he didn’t answer the question. “When is a spy not a spy, Fitzroy?” he asked instead, and paused for a moment. Then leaned over to whisper in Perry’s ear. “When he is a diplomat. Or she.”
Perry’s eyes narrowed, and Gentz straightened to leave. “Give my regards to Lady Normanby. She will be missed by some of us.”
With a wink, the man strode away, leaving him bemused.
Peregrine marked Charity’s position again—something he had been doing over and over. The princess was chatting politely with the Dutch prince and other people near her age. Charity had stepped a few lengths from her to give the princess a bit of privacy without abandoning her duties as chaperone.
A good time to reconnoiter. Perhaps Charity discovered what his mother had spoken to the princess about.
“Did I see you speaking with Metternich’s man?” she asked him, and Peregrine nodded. “He seemed a popular figure in the thick of the Pulteney’s intrigue.”
“I believe he was trying to determine whether my mother and I were in league with one another,” Perry told her.
“At least that makes it sound as though he is not in league with her. Perhaps he could be an ally?”
Perry shook his head, uncertain. “Gentz is most certainly playing for stakes of his own. Did you discover why my mother visited the princess?”
“No.” Charity’s shoulders sagged. “The princess met the Grand Duchess in the parlour, and Lady Fitzroy came upon them in the hallway outside the coffee room.”
He sighed inwardly. Suspicious timing would be hard to prove. “Perhaps she was attempting to sway Charlotte against you. But look—” He pointed with his chin, because the Count and Countess von Lieven had come to a halt only about ten feet away. They moved in that direction.
“Count von Lieven, Countess von Lieven,” Charity greeted the Russian diplomat and his wife. “It is good to see you again.”
“I do hope that petty rumours haven’t troubled you overmuch since your visit to the Pulteney, Duchess,” the countess said with a polite moue of regret.
“Not so far,” Charity agreed obliquely. “My involvement seems to be thought an unhappy coincidence.”
“I greatly hope that continues to be the case,” said the count calmly.
“We consider what happened to be a private altercation between Englishmen. My foremost duty is to maintain the friendship between our sovereigns, and that must be kept separate from what belongs only to society pages. You understand… yes?”
The count held Peregrine’s gaze, and Perry inclined his head, taking the man’s meaning.
The count was speaking to any who might be listening in on their conversation.
By labelling it as an English affair, the diplomat was warning them that they would deny Russia’s involvement in it and take no public position on the matter.
“Of course, Your Excellency.” Peregrine opted for careful formality. “I laud your attitude. Not every man would find it within themselves to maintain such a fair perspective, especially if countrymen were involved.”
“When one is given such a sacred charge, the interests of the state must come first, before my personal feelings, Lord Fitzroy.”
At those words, Peregrine noticed Charity had shifted into the telltale posture that suggested she was thinking particularly hard—and troubled by the subject. It wasn’t hard to guess what that subject was when she lifted her eyes, seeking the location of Princess Charlotte.
Sensing he was about to lose the Lievens, Peregrine decided to take the risk on a last question. “It must be interesting to see how someone from our society is received in yours. Has my mother made herself popular?”
They looked uneasy. “Unfortunately, I do not know the answer, Lord Fitzroy,” the countess answered for her husband. “We made her acquaintance only once, when the entourage visited for a tour of our home.”
“I understand. I was curious, that is all. Thank you,” Perry said with a wide smile, and the von Lievens gave their farewells.
When he was alone with Charity, Peregrine followed the angle of her head to see where the princess was.
Princess Charlotte, it seemed, had found new male companionship among the princes the moment both Charity and William had stepped away. And she looked entirely too happy about being the centre of their attention.
“A problem?” he asked Charity softly, and the duchess nodded, touching his arm with regret.
“Perry, I must go. I will see you back in London tomorrow.”