Chapter 32
“Know thyself.”
—Inscription at the Temple of Apollo at Delphi
They had two days’ grace before the summons from Sidmouth came. Two days of retreat from the social scene, and the sovereigns. And everything that would have to come before the Russians departed England’s shores.
Peregrine had little interest in facing the ton, knowing that his mother was in the Tower, waiting while two nations argued about her fate.
The first morning, when Lark had yet to return from Carlton House, he retreated even from Charity so he could brood.
She found him anyway, sitting beneath a tree in his mother’s poisonous garden, staring at the greenery and shredding blades of grass between his fingers.
His wife joined him, letting him have his silence until he shifted restlessly, self-conscious.
Charity turned to him. “It is all right, I think,” she said, pressing her shoulder to his. “You do not have to don sackcloth and ashes.”
“Oh?” he asked her, faintly amused. “What do you suppose I would don those for, Sparkles?”
She gave him a knowing look. “For feeling what you do. Everything is complicated. This last year… how well have I learned, life is not always so simple. I have been thinking a great deal about my own complications. My parents.”
She plucked her own blade of grass, peeling it as he did. “What is simple is knowing that we will work through what is complicated together.”
Peregrine let the grass fall and reached over to take her hand, shifting closer to her. He spun the ring on her finger absently, dropping a kiss on the span of bare flesh between her neck and the edge of the dress. “Who might have guessed that loving you would be the simplest part?”
Charity met his eyes, and her lips curved slowly into that radiant smile just for him. But she said nothing more, content to curl up with him and simply… be for a little while. She took his hand and rested it on her lower belly, and he knew she was letting go of the darker thoughts.
Looking towards their future.
Even though things were still convoluted now, he had faith they would be all right. Someday soon.
Over the rest of that day, and into the next, the others gravitated back to the house, and found a reason to stay awhile.
Perry was not alone in needing the solace of family.
The kind of family one named by choice, not necessarily only from blood.
Lark returned first. Then, Antoine and Ravenscroft brought back the injured Thorne.
Thorne likely wouldn’t lose his hand or the use of fingers, but the bruising and fractures were severe and uncomfortable.
Laudanum was helping him sleep that pain away.
And finally, Selina crept in, saying her house was too empty.
When Sidmouth’s summons finally came, the day before the Russians were scheduled to depart, only Lark and Peregrine were invited to attend. Charity offered to come with them, but Peregrine shook his head, and she acquiesced.
Brother and sister entered the outer walls through the gate in the middle tower, making their way to the Tower Green together. Lark leaned heavily on Peregrine’s arm, shivering slightly with fear and dismay at the thought of facing the Tsar now he had learned everything.
The grassy space of Tower Green had seen several women’s executions. Today, it would see another. Peregrine led his sister through the gap in the closed scaffolding that would keep the affair private.
Behind the scaffold stood the Home Secretary, the Tsar, and Nicholas.
The Tsar looked weary, but he approached Peregrine and clasped his hand.
“Fitzroy,” Alexander said honestly. “Saying merely ‘thank you’ for what you have done for all of us feels like an insult. And yet, no more can be said without everyone knowing what so very nearly happened.”
Peregrine gripped the Tsar’s hand firmly in return. “Thanks is enough, Your Imperial Highness. If I had any wish beyond that, I would ask for mercy on behalf of my sister. For her part in my mother’s schemes.”
“You have certainly earned that much.” Alexander looked at him keenly, but then he released Perry’s hand and turned to Lark, tilting his head as he considered the young woman.
Lark’s lower lip trembled briefly, but she stood tall under the Tsar’s fierce appraisal.
“Tell me, Lady Lark. Your brother says you were unaware. Is it true? Do you swear you intended no harm to me?”
Lark dropped her chin briefly, but she did not shy away from meeting the Tsar’s curious gaze again.
“I swear it. I knew nothing of the plans to assassinate you, Your Highness. I thought—I thought being married to a prince was enough to satisfy my mother’s ambition.
” Lark’s lashes fell, her eyes dulling. “It was foolish of me not to have grasped she would crave more.”
“And what of Nicholas?” he asked her next. “What do you feel for my brother?”
She jerked her head in Prince Nicholas’s direction, shaking her head slightly.
Nicholas looked heartbroken—in the way only such a young man who had barely tasted adulthood could.
“I am so sorry, Nicholas,” she whispered.
“I could have been happy with you. I wish—I wish things had been different,” she finally said in defeat, extending her hand to him with his locket in it.
“But what begins with a lie is not meant to be.”
Nicholas took the token, looked at his brother, and then down at his shoes.
“Nikolai, do you also swear the same? You did not conspire to see me dead?” Alexander asked him bluntly, and Nicholas’s shocked look was almost answer enough.
He rattled out his response in rapid French, his English not up to the task. “Brother, how could you even ask me that?” he asked brokenly. “I love you as I love—as I loved her.”
Ashamed, he turned away.
Alexander rested his hand upon his brother’s turned back, but he glanced at Lark, and then he looked at Peregrine.
“The priest who performed the marriage without permission, and Countess Orlova, who served as your sister’s godmother, are being dealt with.
When I am through, it will be as though your marriage never was.
“I believe you did not want my death,” he continued to Lark and Nicholas. “Because of Lord Fitzroy, I am content to let the rest be forgotten.”
Sidmouth, who had been watching this exchange, nodded his head. “Lady Marian Fitzroy has been determined guilty of the charges of High Treason against both our Crown and the person of His Imperial Majesty. The penalty is death.
“Given the gravity of the charges, and in the interest of maintaining peaceful relations, she is conveyed forthwith into the charge of the Russian delegation, to suffer the penalty in the manner her treachery towards them demands. We have asked for the execution to be done here, where her death may be witnessed by the agents of the Crown and Parliament.” He touched his hand to his chest.
Then he lifted his voice. “Bring forward the prisoner.”
Two guards escorted his mother into the enclosure, in chains. Her head was unbowed. Unrepentant. And she almost appeared bored.
She looked from the Tsar to Sidmouth, and then to her children. Her expression barely flickered as she looked over Lark. But the basilisk flared briefly in her eyes when they settled on Peregrine.
“Do you have any final words for your mother?” Sidmouth asked them, not unkindly.
Peregrine had spent enough time as the traitor’s son. He searched his heart for what he was feeling, unable to come up with anything more than pity for his sister, and a desire to go home to his wife. For his mother… he had nothing left to give. He had said everything he needed to say.
He shook his head and looked at his sister. She, at least, might want to say something.
Lark’s face was a study, every bit as complicated as Charity had said such feelings could be. Though Marian was waiting for her words, she did not look at her daughter.
“I hope everyone forgets your very name,” Lark finally told her. “You do not deserve to be remembered, even in such infamy.”
And then his sister turned on her heel, marching out of the enclosure.
The guards pushed his mother down to her knees, and Peregrine closed his eyes briefly, waiting for the deed to be done as Russia’s chosen executioner strode into the enclosure, holding a heavy axe.
But Sidmouth held up a hand, staying the man’s movements for a moment. “Fitzroy,” the Home Secretary told him, “you are excused.”
The Tsar nodded his agreement.
And grateful for that small mercy, Peregrine followed his sister out.
“The House was informed this morning that Lady Marian Fitzroy has been tried and convicted of High Treason. Sentence was carried into effect. The House declines to publish particulars.”
—House of Lords, 23 June 1814
The notice went out in the papers the morning after the allied sovereigns departed.
Sparse in details, the proclamation left the members of high society to fill the gaps about Marian’s crimes with their best guesses.
Selina, having some insight into the matter, went from persona non grata to the top of everyone’s guest list.
Charity and Perry ignored it all, choosing to focus on the next day, when Prinny and the Queen would announce their marriage to the ton. Before that happened, Charity had one thing she had to do.
It seemed strange to find herself there, in front of her parents’ London home, for the first time in nearly a year.
Somehow, it felt like both forever and yesterday since she had arrived in London for her debut.
She could still recall the nights spent curled in her bed, with Grace at her side, the two of them considering her list of candidates for husband.
She squeezed Perry’s hand, and he responded by raising it to his mouth and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
“Everything we endured was all worth it. You are worth it,” she told him.