Chapter 17
“All the darkness in the world cannot extinguish the light of a single candle.”
― St Francis Of Assisi
Trouble came addressed, officially, to Peregrine late that evening, as the gloaming began to turn into full dark.
He had taken refuge in his study with a glass of brandy, when Quinn appeared with a sealed packet balanced on a silver salver.
Peregrine rose and took the folded letter from Quinn.
The red wax bore the heavy impression of the royal arms in it, and Perry cracked it open, reading the two lines quickly.
Earl Fitzroy is required to attend upon His Royal Highness the Prince Regent at Carlton House, at noon tomorrow, in the matter of representations made by the Russian Minister. — By command of Viscount Sidmouth.
After Charity’s letter to him earlier about his mother’s visit to the Queen, this wasn’t too much of a surprise, but it was still unwelcome. Folding the page again, Perry let it fall to the desk, meeting Quinn’s inquiring gaze.
“The messenger-at-arms is waiting in the front hall for your reply, my lord,” his butler said without fuss. Quinn may as well have been describing the weather.
Perry gave him a slight smile and walked down the stairs to where the man waited, dressed in the dark blues of his government uniform. His bicorne was tucked beneath his arm, and he stood rigidly upright, waiting expectantly.
“Tell Lord Sidmouth I shall attend at the appointed hour,” Peregrine informed him, and the man nodded, issuing a sharp military bow to Perry before placing his hat back on his head.
“Were you expecting this outcome?” Quinn asked him after closing the door, his curiosity apparently getting the best of him. Or perhaps he was only asking so that he could begin forming a strategy to deal with this predicament.
“I was, but not nearly this soon,” Perry admitted, rubbing his hand absently over the scar tissue on his side. The wound was still itching, only just finally closed over. “And certainly not with this level of formality.”
They had presumed a day or two would pass before a formal complaint might be lodged, but no moss was growing on Marian’s stone.
“Shall I tell Hodges you will need the carriage tomorrow?”
Peregrine considered the options. “No. I think perhaps I will go alone on horseback. I can answer this one for myself, and tomorrow will be about maintaining the posture of someone confidently within his rights.”
His thoughts wandered towards Charity, who had stayed in London after she and Selina met with the Queen. Her note ended with I miss you.
He missed her too, desperately. Perry sensed it was weighing in the back of her mind that today would have been the day they should have been getting married. What could one write about that in a letter?
The words I write can’t seem to say what I want them to. But I will come find you tomorrow, he wrote back.
He would find some excuse to be near her after dealing with Sidmouth.
Stabling his horse at Carlton House the next day, he was escorted quickly to the audience chamber. There, he was greeted by the stony expressions of the Regent, Sidmouth, Castlereagh, Count von Lieven, and another official-looking Russian, plus a smattering of secretaries of both countries.
“Your Royal Highness,” Lieven lifted his voice slightly, “may I introduce Pyotr Andreyevich Malenkov, Attaché of the Imperial Russian Mission? It is by his hand that a representation has been placed before us on behalf of Lady Fitzroy, who has for some time enjoyed the protection and hospitality of this embassy. The indignity she claims to have suffered touches not only her person but the honour of the mission itself, and Pyotr Andreyevich is therefore charged to speak in the matter.”
Perry examined Malenkov. The Russian had the polish of a courtier, but not the air of one born to command.
He was in his early thirties, smooth-faced, and his uniform was impeccably cut.
Though he carried himself with the deference of a man used to opening doors for others, there was something watchful and tense about him.
Fully in his role as Russian diplomat, Lieven gave Peregrine a hard, meaningful look before bowing slightly to the Regent.
“Your Royal Highness, it is my unhappy duty to convey a most serious concern. Lady Lark Fitzroy, who has for some time moved within the suite of His Imperial Majesty’s household, was seized in a most public manner by Lord Fitzroy. ”
Lieven paused for effect. “Whatever claims of guardianship he may advance, the affront is plain. A British nobleman has torn Lark Fitzroy, a young lady who had been received by the Russian court, from our protection at an occasion convened in peace.”
“With Your Royal Highness’s leave,” Malenkov nodded, looking down his nose at Perry, “Lady Fitzroy’s grievance is an injury to the dignity of Russia’s mission. The lady’s abduction, without recourse to His Majesty’s ministers, cannot but be viewed as a slight to the Imperial household itself.”
Calmly following protocol, Perry remained silent, observing the men. Prinny looked flushed. With wine or high emotion, it wasn’t clear which. But all of the British men were grim.
Lord Castlereagh, the Foreign Minister, looked especially harassed.
Clearly, he was angry at Peregrine for causing this trouble right now, catching him between the hammer and anvil when he had other things worrying his mind.
“Your Royal Highness, Count von Lieven, the difficulty is this… Lady Lark Fitzroy is an English subject. However ill-judged the scene, Lord Fitzroy is her legal guardian within English law.”
“Then the insult to Russia is allowed to stand?” Lieven asked, his voice tight.
“No. No,” Castlereagh repeated quickly and firmly. “The complaint remains before us. When His Imperial Majesty departs, Lady Lark’s wishes shall be ascertained. If she elects to remain under Russian protection and return with you, we will not oppose it.”
“Malenkov,” the Prince Regent declared, with a spread of jeweled fingers, “let us not allow a trifling domestic matter to cast a shadow upon the harmony of sovereigns. Let the young lady remain with her brother—just for the moment. She’s in no danger with him, after all.
Everything else shall be examined with the utmost gravity before His Imperial Majesty and his Court take their leave of us. ”
Von Lieven was masking his expressions stiffly, but he bowed fluidly. “As Your Royal Highness commands.” He glanced over his shoulder at Peregrine again. “Russia places its confidence in your word, and awaits what you have promised.”
“Your Royal Highness is most gracious.” Malenkov’s tone, as he stood a half step behind Count Lieven, clearly implied the opposite. “I shall convey to Lady Fitzroy that her complaint has been received. Hopefully, with due seriousness.”
Von Lieven bowed again, withdrawing with Pyotr Andreyevich and their clerks.
Castlereagh turned to Peregrine. “What in the nine circles of hell were you thinking?” he hissed, his voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry to the others. “Do we not have enough problems without embroiling two courts in a spat over your sister?”
“I have my reasons,” Perry retorted loudly, flickering his eyes over the British secretaries and leveling a look at the Regent himself. “And as you pointed out, I was within my lawful rights.”
“You may go. We will confer further in private.” Prinny waved his hand carelessly at the secretaries along the wall, and they filed out.
“By all means, enlighten me on those reasons, Fitzroy. Especially since I am the person who has to look like a fool in front of the Russians,” Castlereagh barked.
Sidmouth held up a hand in front of the angry Foreign Minister, cutting him off.
“She is very likely a pawn in whatever games her traitorous mother is up to. This cuts her off at the pass, if so. Fitzroy did not act without warning, Castlereagh. I had wind of his intent—but only barely. I didn’t even have a chance to warn you. ”
Castlereagh raked a hand through his hair, annoyed. Then he made his excuses to the Regent and left abruptly.
To Perry, the Home Secretary gave an unhappy look.
“Neither I nor Lord Castlereagh will be able to shield you from further storms. If you would not see your sister carried back to St Petersburg, you had best convince her to stay or make your case before they depart. You have only a week, Fitzroy, maybe less. Don’t dawdle. Do you understand me?”
Sidmouth didn’t mean that there was only one week to sort the situation with his sister.
He expected Lady Fitzroy to be taken in hand by then, too.
Perry already knew that time was running out.
He didn’t believe—not for a single second—that Lark’s marital prospects were the crowning achievement of his mother’s scheme.
Perry’s reply was clipped. “Perfectly, Lord Sidmouth.”
Perry briefly considered looking for Ravenscroft. The magpie was likely a guest of the Regent here someplace, but there was nothing to tell Ravenscroft that the man wouldn’t have already heard.
Besides, his thoughts had moved on to St James’s. To his wife. He left Carlton House with long strides, eager to get into the saddle and be out of there. The forecourt was swarming with carriages and idling footmen, but a groom stepped forward at once.
“We had to move your lordship’s horse to a quieter part of the yard. The noise was making him skittish,” the groom told him, pointing with his arm to the side.
Perry gave a nod and followed the groom. But as the man led him past the open stable doors and through a narrow arch, they ran into another groom in the passageway, just before it opened into a small yard.
“I’ll see to his lordship. You get back out front,” the second groom offered.