Chapter 18 #2
But Serafina did not look terrified now.
She looked angry and cold with it, down to her bones.
“My cousin the duke,” she said, “has long plotted to remove me from the line of succession. His attempts on my life grow increasingly bold. Verdura is the reason I departed for Cornwall in the first place.”
There was another brief clamor as the assembled company demanded answers, explanations, but Ruby didn’t hear it.
She knew the Duca di Verdura—knew of him, at least. As ambassador to Monfalcone, her father had been in contact with Verdura on numerous occasions; the royal duke frequently traveled to England to represent the Monfalcone nation’s interests.
Once, like Liverpool, Verdura had dined at their house.
“This was not his first attack,” Princess Serafina said.
“But it was certainly the closest he has come to success.” Her jaw tightened, sharp as a stiletto, and she looked out at the company assembled in her chamber.
“Someone has schemed with him. Someone who knew my ship, the time and date of my travel. Someone who, perhaps, waited here in Cornwall and reported to the duke when I was meant to arrive.”
Ruby felt a sharp shock go through her as the import of the princess’s words registered. Serafina believed that one of them was a traitor—had played a role in this attempted assassination.
The dark shadow she and Malcolm had seen outside the kitchen window—could it have been someone looking for the princess in her home? Perhaps even preparing for this very attack?
Very likely it had been. And yet even if she told Princess Serafina what they’d seen, she did not know if the woman would trust her.
The very fact of their presence in the house, Ruby realized, was desperately suspicious.
None of them was meant to be here—no one except for Malcolm.
His crew’s presence in the house would never stand up to any sort of scrutiny. And neither would—
Ruby’s skin went cold. Her gaze flew to Alice, who had shrunk back into the shadows.
Betrayal. Treason.
It had been an accusation of treason, never proven, that had brought down Alice’s father. That had destroyed Alice’s life. If the princess’s suspicion were to fall on one of them, it would turn, first and quickest, to Alice.
“Let me make myself clear,” Princess Serafina said. “If one of you has put my people in harm’s way, there will be no end to the devastation I will wreak upon you and your house. I will have justice by my own hand. I will flay your skin from your body. I will—”
“We didn’t,” Ruby heard herself say.
The princess’s black-marble gaze swung to her.
Ruby swallowed. She remembered the fire, slowly creeping up the drapes behind the prime minister’s chair. She remembered this, too: the frantic, tearing knowledge that disaster loomed and that to stop it meant her own ruin.
She had leapt out of her seat and flung herself at the fire anyway. She could never have done anything differently.
“We didn’t scheme with Verdura. Lady Alice and Miss Drake—they don’t even know who that is. But . . . I do.”
Serafina’s gaze sharpened.
Ruby hurried on. “I know him because my father is Lord Hangleton, ambassador to Monfalcone. And he—I—” She broke off, hesitating on the words, then forced them out. “I can get in touch with my father. I can tell him everything that’s happened here. He will help you.”
“Ruby,” Alice said softly.
Ruby shook her head.
Her father had been furious with her, that day with Liverpool in the dining room.
The dinner had dissolved into chaos, and the wall coverings had smelled of smoke for months until she’d ordered replacements from the milliner.
After that, she’d vowed to make herself smaller, more polite, to speak nothing but pleasantries, to repeat only whatever she heard Cassandra say first. She’d done it for months until her father seemed to forget his ire.
But it was not in her nature to be silent. Not when something needed to be fixed. The princess needed their help, and Alice and Archer needed her protection, and perhaps—
It seemed to her that, here, in this moment, she could do some good. She refused to let herself be daunted by the cost.
“I can write to my father,” she said. “He will be able to investigate Verdura. He has the connections, the political acumen—he can determine with whom Verdura might have schemed.”
She left the rest unspoken: that to write to her father about the princess would be to reveal to him the fact that she, Ruby, was here at Pomeroy House.
If she told her father the truth, he would make her leave.
She had gone to Cornwall because she wished for a life of independence. She had wanted to make her own choices, free from the constraints of society and the disappointment of her father.
And here she was: choosing.
Despite her effort to keep her gaze on the princess, Ruby found her eyes flickering to Malcolm. Did he understand what she was about?
She thought he did. He was watching her, all tension in his angular jaw, his eyes blue and wrenching.
And if some part of her wanted to dissemble—wanted to disclaim any connection to her father, wanted to stay right here and pretend she could live like this, with him, as happy as she’d been the previous night in the tower—she couldn’t do it.
She had the power to protect him, and his crew, and Alice. And she would use it.
She looked back to the princess. “We can hide you here, keep your survival a secret until we hear back from my father.” Her voice dropped, vibrating with all her earnest hope.
“I know you do not know me. But we have lived here in your home for weeks, and we have taken care of it as best we can. We have not schemed to put you in danger, Your Highness. We will not let you down.”
And then, to her surprise, Neri nodded. “I have looked into their papers, maestá, and their correspondence. Nothing has come in or out from Verdura. I have seen nothing that would suggest a plot.”
It was Tamsin who spoke up then, her dark-blue eyes fixed on Neri. “That’s why you came to Pomeroy House unannounced, isn’t it? Not to make the house ready for a royal dog—but to ensure it was safe here for the princess.”
Neri gave Tamsin an unreadable glance through his spectacles.
“Do not be absurd,” the princess said sharply. “Zenobia is most discriminating in her tastes. Of course my Neri was here for her.”
Neri turned back to the princess. “They have been good to Zenobia these last days, maestá,” he said. “And not only because she belongs to you. But because they are good to all the dogs.”
Princess Serafina inclined her head in acknowledgment, then looked away from her majordomo and out at the rest of the room. The silence stretched as she eyed them each in turn: as she weighed and measured them. Her gaze lingered on Ruby, on Archer, on Tamsin.
“I do not trust a single person on this island,” she said finally.
Ruby’s heart sank.
But the princess was not finished. “Except you, Neri. If you say that they have not schemed with Verdura, I will take you at your word.” She looked back at Ruby and gave a single nod. “I will permit you to hide me here—only for now. Until we receive word from the ambassador.”