Chapter 13 #2
Gentz leaned back against the squab, stretching out his legs comfortably.
“We could talk about the wants of vain men. It is a nice afternoon, however, and I have the thought that if Castlereagh needs my help to find out the details anybody would know, perhaps you should replace him with a smarter politician? Or a few more spies.”
“Does that mean you have no interest in potentially sharing details for concessions?” Ravenscroft asked, mirroring Gentz’s posture. “I understand Austria would like to keep Italy.”
Von Gentz inclined his head. “Metternich is always interested in discussions with powerful friends. But friends should be honest, and so it should probably also be mentioned that Nesslerode has also been willing to support our claims in Italy.”
No surprise in that. Nesslerode was the most senior diplomat in Russia’s foreign ministry.
“I do not mind trading such minor details for concessions, Lord Ravenscroft. But I would rather talk about the future of empires, my friends.” Gentz leaned forward then, putting his elbows on his knees. “Lord Fitzroy will likely find that kind of discussion far more edifying.”
Ravenscroft hesitated, thinking carefully and trying not to betray much. Perry felt some sympathy for him. The magpie was good, but he had always been more of a collector of gossip than an active participant in politics. The Propagandist had years of experience in this arena.
Finally, Ravenscroft glanced up at Perry, yielding the conversation to him.
Peregrine shifted, and the horse danced beneath him. “Again, you know I have no authority to negotiate things on behalf of England.”
“Yes, I know,” the baron nodded. “But when I see you, Lord Fitzroy, I see a man whose paramour is highly placed with the Queen. You possess the ear and the possible friendship of Prinny’s court spy, a strange connection with Sidmouth, and—perhaps most interesting of all—there seems to be some naked aggression between this cohort of yours and a woman who was absolved of treason.
So it makes little sense to pretend you have no influence over the Crown. ”
“Having an ear isn’t at all the same as having influence,” Perry said dismissively. “But put your offer on the table, such as it is, and we will pass it along.”
Gentz quoted another riddle instead. “What is a banquet to which all come hungry, yet few will sample the fare? A place where a new map is drawn with old ink in a way where the final shape will please none, yet must satisfy all? What am I?”
“The talks in Vienna, I assume.”
“Good. Your mother’s route to Russia,” Gentz told him, “if Britain promises to reject Russia and Prussia’s demands for Poland and Saxony at the table.”
Perry’s eyes flickered as he considered what Gentz was really asking for.
“You want an ally who will oppose the combined might of Russia and the Prussian armies on your doorstep. Especially now that Prussia has one of the most dangerous armies in all of Europe. In exchange for information on one woman.” He let his voice take on a tinge of scorn.
The Propagandist grinned at him. “You have the price. Now we will find out how badly you want to know the answer.”
As the waiting crowd of eager watchers came into view, a line of sweat snaked down Charity’s back. She told herself that it was the heat of the summer sun baking down on her, and not nerves about her assignment. We have planned every step of this, she reminded herself.
Charity twined her fingers together to keep her hands from trembling. Glancing at the people walking along the path, she was delighted to see a face she recognised.
“Well met, Lady Barbour,” Charity said, offering her hands in greeting. “Have you been well? I wanted to tell you again how very much I appreciated the salon you held for Perry and me.”
Lady Barbour beamed. “It was my pleasure. I would love to have you both again—that is, assuming all is proceeding well between you two?” She cocked her chin genially in Charity’s direction. “If it is not going well enough, let me know; I will throw another salon.”
“Quite well, thank you,” Charity said blushing as she tried to repress a smile. “Where is your dear husband, my lady? Is he here today?”
“Oh, somewhere,” she replied, waving her hand. “As much as I would like to be, we cannot always be in one another’s pockets. Come, tell me how you have been. Did you attend Ascot?”
Charity linked arms with the older woman and they strolled together, exchanging tidbits of gossip. A flash of pale blonde hair marked the presence of Marian Fitzroy standing near a group of diplomat wives, but Charity ignored her.
Right now, Marian Fitzroy induced less fear than the looming spectre of Queen Charlotte. Her Majesty sat under a canopy, glass of lemonade in hand, allowing her subjects to pay their respects. Lady Barbour’s steps brought them closer to the line of aristocrats waiting.
Her stomach fluttered. What if the Queen cut her dead?
Charity stepped forward beside Lady Barbour, dropping into a curtsy, keeping her head bowed in a display of deference. Underneath the skirts of her walking dress, her legs shook.
“Your Grace, my lady,” the Queen said, bidding them to rise. She inclined her head in a single regal nod and then waved them on.
It seemed the Queen had found a middle ground. The terse acknowledgement was not a slight but a far cry from welcoming. Perhaps the Queen’s anger would diminish in time. Even if it did not, however, it was a comfort to know she wouldn’t be banished to the country.
The princess was a few feet away, speaking with a group of young British ladies. She glowed with such happiness that everyone around her hung on her every word. Men tipped their hats as they passed and the society dowagers seemed charmed.
She was so different from how she had been at Frogmore that could only be one explanation for her cheer. The Queen had heeded Charity’s words.
The princess spotted Charity, and she excused herself from the others. After greeting Lady Barbour, she asked Charity to accompany her on a turn around the nearby fountain.
“Your highness, you are looking well,” Charity said as they moved away from the crowd.
“I believe I have you to thank for that.” The princess flicked a glance at Charity. “Who else would dare to tell Her Majesty that she was making a mistake? I am in your debt, Your Grace.”
“You owe me nothing, Your Highness. Instead, I owe you an apology.” Charity faced the princess. “You recognised he was unworthy, and you were right to resist. All I did was find the courage to insist on what you already told your father.”
She dismissed that. “That may be, but you helped me be heard,” the princess replied. “I was told my only duty was to provide heirs, to ensure the line. You helped me see that my duty is also to protect our people. I must find someone who shares those values.”
It was far too soon to guess what kind of queen the young princess would eventually make, but Charity suspected England’s future monarch would not be anyone’s pawn. Never again.
“It is my honour to serve you in that,” Charity vowed. If she could defy the Queen to protect Charlotte, she could defy Marian too. Whatever the cost.
Charlotte clasped her hands briefly, sealing the promise. “Come. We begin the search for a new suitor today. I will not get a better opportunity to speak with Europe’s heirs and see what they are truly like.”
They debated the merits of each visiting prince as they resumed their walk. Charity cast her gaze over the faces of the crowd around while they talked, searching for one specific face. Hyde Park was as crowded as Almack’s ballroom.
Finally, Charity spotted a glimpse of hair the same colour as Peregrine’s blonde locks, peeking out amid a sea of darker heads. There, deep in conversation with the Grand Duchess of Oldenburg was Lark Fitzroy.