Chapter Twenty-Two
G eorgina never thought she’d glimpse the inside of the famed St. James’s Palace. She certainly would never have pictured herself strolling through the state apartments wearing men’s clothing that hadn’t been changed in days while clutching a fluffy and extremely frightened rooster. She was fairly certain she smelled fouler than the bird. Alexander likely did, too, but he managed not to appear rumpled as they strolled behind the triptych carried by Mr. Belle and Lord Malbarry. Calliope had stayed outside of the palace to avoid recognition whilst in male clothing, but her relatives were at the front of their strange procession. Calliope’s uncle hadn’t wanted to help them enter the royal residence until he’d seen the panel depicting his gruesome death.
Their motley assembly bustled through richly appointed chambers so quickly that Georgina only caught glimpses of gilded woodwork, imposing tapestries, and expensive carpets. When they halted in front of the King’s Presence Chamber, Georgina started to turn her head to study her surroundings. But before she could, Alexander leaned close.
“If the king asks who discovered the helmet, you should name yourself,” Alexander whispered.
Georgina’s heart, which had already been beating abnormally fast, catapulted into her breastbone and then settled into a mad gallop. She inadvertently squeezed Crinitus Legatus a little too hard, and he clucked in dismay.
“Are you saying that I should claim that I, as George Harrington, made the find? I suppose I could continue using this male identity, but it would be a great scandal if anyone found ou—”
“No.” Alexander’s voice was still low, but he managed to inject it with urgency. “You should use your real identity—Miss Georgina Harrington.”
“Do you mean that I should reveal who I am? To the king?” Georgina wondered if it was even legal for a woman to appear before His Majesty in such attire. It certainly would result in her social demise.
“No. Just state that your female cousin—meaning you—unearthed the helmet,” Alexander said. “If the king champions your discovery, then no one at the Antiquarian Society of London can gainsay you.”
“Do… do you think he would?” Georgina asked, trying not to squish Crinitus Legatus again.
“We’re about to save His Majesty not just from death, but from his entire reign ending disastrously,” Alexander said. “He will support what we say.”
Before Georgina could question Alexander further, their entire group marched forward. Nervousness flooded her, and she could barely pay attention to her environs. Peering around Mr. Belle and Lord Malbarry, she caught a glimpse of George II. He was sitting on his throne holding a rather regal-looking rooster with green tail plumage.
Then she spied him. Lord Clifville. He was standing relaxed among the other courtiers already gathered around the monarch. When his gaze fell upon the folded triptych, the color leached from the scholar’s already pale face. His body swayed, and he had to stagger to stay upright. The king glanced at him curiously but then turned his attention back to the parade of people entering his chamber.
Georgina, though, kept her gaze on Clifville. His face was no longer devoid of color. It was aflame. His fists were clenched, and his body primed for violence.
“What!” King George bellowed as Calliope’s uncle explained the conspiracy. Mr. Belle and Lord Malbarry unfolded the wood panels. A collective gasp arose from the gathered courtiers. There was one strangled scream. Those who were depicted as maimed in the painting reached for their body parts as if to ensure they were still attached.
Everyone appeared frozen in horrified shock. But not Clifville. His lanky body sprang forward like a coiled spring. Before the guards could react, he grabbed a sword from a slack-jawed admiral.
“This will serve as my Excalibur!” Clifville shouted out the words as if leading a grand charge.
He rushed toward the sovereign, hefting the piece over his head like a battle axe. Even Georgina, who knew nothing about the handling of modern weaponry, was fairly certain that was not the way to attack. It was, however, still dangerous to anyone in Clifville’s path.
As the self-acclaimed heir to the Round Table rushed past Georgina, she simply stuck out her foot. Clifville tripped. He didn’t even have time to stop himself before he ingloriously toppled onto his nose. At impact, the purloined sword flew from his grasp. It clattered along the floor until it rested near the king’s feet.
For a beat, no one moved. Then the guards launched themselves at Clifville. They hauled the stunned academic to his feet and began dragging him from the room. About halfway to the exit, Clifville’s fight returned, and he struggled against his captors.
“I am the true heir to the English throne!” Clifville screamed. “My father’s ancestors can be traced back to before the Norman Invasion! His forebears hail from Colchester—built on the Roman Fort Camulodunum, which was named for Camelot! I am the divine ruler!”
“The fort was named after Camulus—the Celtic god of war! It had nothing to do with King Arthur, who was a mythical Welshman. My-thi-cal! ” Georgina shouted, thankfully remembering after the first word to deepen her voice. She really should have stayed quiet, but she could not allow such flagrant misinformation to stand. Her cries must have startled Crinitus Legatus, for he threw back his fluffy head and crowed. Emphatically.
“Mr. Harrington is right,” Alexander said, his tone a calm contrast to Crinitus Legatus’s avian battle cry.
Clifville, however, just kept yelling. “If only I’d successfully shot you in the Essex countryside! You two are the most annoying of my rightful subjects! I am the proper sovereign! I am…”
As Clifville’s protestations grew ever fainter, silence once again descended over the throne room. The king fixed Georgina with a penetrating look.
“Who are you?” George II asked, his voice carrying an accent tinged with both French and German and more than a little command.
Georgina felt the scrutiny of the entire room of high-ranking nobles, military men, and clergy. She was accustomed to living in obscurity. But the attention did not feel as heavy as she’d expected. After all, she and Alexander were the heroes of this adventure, and she’d more than earned her right to speak.
“I am Mr. George Harrington, the cousin of Miss Georgina Harrington.” Georgina could feel Alexander’s gaze on her, warm and supportive.
The king blinked. “And who is she?”
Georgina glanced over at Alexander, who was smiling brightly, the grin on his face entirely real. Not even needing to draw in her breath for fortitude, she turned back to George II.
“Miss Georgina Harrington discovered the ancient helmet that Lord Clifville is holding in the middle frame. It is not of Arthurian origin, but it is a remarkable part of English history. When the priceless antiquity and Miss Harrington’s other cousin, Lord Percy Pendergrast, went missing, Miss Harrington—along with Lord Heathford and myself—tracked them both down at Lord Clifville’s castle. That is how this whole conspiracy was uncovered.” Georgina felt like a trumpeter heralding not royalty but her own hard work. For the first time, she was not hiding behind a male relative. Even if she was speaking as Mr. George Harrington, she was still claiming her success under her real name. She would not be denied any longer. She was staking claim to everything. Not just her life’s work but her very existence.
She was Miss Georgina Harrington, the discoverer of the greatest find of antiquity on English soil.
“You put a cocked hat on Crinitus Legatus?” Georgina asked in mostly mock dismay as she climbed into Alexander’s curricle. The mud and dust from their wild dash to London had been cleaned off, and the sleek equipage shone in the summer sun. Georgina felt a bit like the vehicle herself—sparkling and ready for another adventure. Particularly one with Alexander.
“Of course.” Alexander wore one of the cheekiest smiles that she had witnessed on his face. “ Fluffus Legatus is off to see the king. He must be properly attired.”
“But Crinitus Legatus already has a pouf on his head!” Georgina complained.
“It wasn’t nearly dignified enough for His Majesty.” Alexander flicked the reins as he shot her a rather naughty wink.
“But our rooster has already been to court, and we’re just meeting King George in the gardens,” Georgina pointed out, refusing to concede this point. Really, clothing on chickens. It was getting absurd. She had no idea why Alexander had even brought the bird—although she supposed she should be grateful for the feathered companion.
After two nights of good sleep, she no longer had the frenzied, chaotic energy that had buoyed her during her first encounter with the sovereign. Nor was she meeting him in her male garb. He’d commanded a private audience with Miss Georgina Harrington and Lord Heathford—even going so far as to request that she not bring a chaperone. The king was doing his best to quell any rumors about the near-poisoning of his court, fearing it could bring undue unrest, especially with the current war against France and Spain.
“Our rooster,” Alexander repeated. “I like the sound of that.”
The joy that had been bubbling through Georgina collapsed into a puddle. Why—why had she uttered such a silly sentiment? Of course, she and Alexander did not have a chicken together. They would be parting soon and might already have said their goodbyes if not for His Majesty’s summons.
“We… we do need to talk about who will take custody of Crinitus Legatus when I leave for Essex. I know we said we would share, but that was when Anne and Algernon would not allow a pet. Hopefully, with my brother’s crimes being known, I can finally live on my own.” Georgina glanced down at her hands and rubbed the callus on her right thumb.
“I…” Alexander paused, and he sounded as nervous as Georgina felt. Shocked, she glanced up at him. Sure enough, he was visibly swallowing as he stared resolutely ahead. Although the London street was crowded as usual, it did not warrant that much strong attention.
“I have been giving that a great deal of thought.” Alexander finally completed his statement, his voice as rough and dry as a long-weathered wooden plank.
“Over whom shall retain ownership of the rooster?” Georgina asked, thoroughly befuddled.
“No, not that—or maybe, yes, indirectly. I suppose it would resolve that matter as well. I mean if you are amenable. Which you don’t need to be. Amenable, I mean.”
She really did not know what he meant. “I am hopelessly confused.”
“You’re not just a scholar, Georgina. You’re an adventurer, too.”
“Pardon? What does that have to do with Crinitus Legatus? I suppose I did rescue him, but—”
“Ignore that.” Alexander squeezed his eyes shut.
“Should you be doing that? We are proceeding down one of the busiest thoroughfares in the city.” Georgina wondered if she should grab the reins—either the physical or metaphorical ones. Unfortunately, she didn’t know the direction they were headed in either sphere.
Alexander’s eyes popped back open. “It was unfair of me to make it about you. This is about me—or rather you accepting me. So it does involve you, but not that you need to change. Well, I mean I don’t need to, either. Or rather I can’t. But I don’t think it’s necessary for either of us to alter our innate characteristics. I believe we fit—as is.”
“Alexander, I really have no earthly idea of what you’re getting on at.” Georgina felt hopelessly adrift. Yet at the same time, an undercurrent of excitement began to hum through her. It was as if part of her comprehended his garbled explanations.
“I am a sportsman,” Alexander announced, as if this signified something.
“Yes. I am aware.”
“And I shall probably be a sportsman even when I am old and tottering and the reins shake in my hands. I shall still want to race and feel the wind against my balding head, because that is part of who I am.”
“Yes?” Georgina asked, trying not to laugh at the image that he so emphatically painted even as she tried to decipher his deeper meaning.
“You will still climb down into mud pits even after your hair has turned a beautiful shade of silvery white.”
“Why are we both aging so dramatically in this discussion?”
“Because I want us to do it together,” Alexander blurted out.
Georgina was beginning to understand exactly what he meant, and a wonderful, wonderful joy spread through her. But still, she could not help but tease Alexander a bit more. After all, he was always the one making quips. It was only fair she managed her share, too. And now that she realized his intent, he seemed adorably flustered.
“Accomplish what, precisely? Losing our hair together?” She lightly bumped his arm.
He glanced at her and must have detected her impishness. He chuckled. “No. Mine is falling out. Yours will remain in a glorious mane.”
“Then what are you saying?” Georgina asked as her every fiber strained to hear his answer.
Alexander inhaled so deeply that his chest visibly inflated. For a moment, Georgina thought he might pop a button on his waistcoat. She knew that she felt ready to burst.
When Alexander did speak, all of his words came out in one heart-stopping jumble. “I know you imagined yourself wed to a scholar and that you associate curricle-racing men with your brother. But I promise that, if you agree to marry me, I will always support your work as an antiquarian. You can dig up every single barrow on your land. When I inherit, you can scour my estates for more. And I will listen. Every night, we will sit by the fire as you describe in impressive detail how ancient peoples likely used the objects that you’ve dug up. I’ll read all your treatises, and I won’t think them dry because you wrote them. I may not be a perfect academic, but I swear I can become the ideal helpmate of a very capable scholar.”
And Georgina had thought herself ready to explode with bliss before. A wonderful headiness filled her, and she wanted to allow the sheer ecstasy to send her floating. But her ever-present logic weighed her down.
“But—but wouldn’t that destroy the vow that you made to yourself—that you would no longer try to please your parents? Your father doesn’t just find me a suitable bride. He selected me himself.”
“To hell with living to spite the duke and duchess. I want to be happy, Georgina, and I am discovering that you are a very essential component to my joy. Nay, not merely joy, but something imminently more lasting. You make me feel comfortable, Georgina. With who I am. Even though you make me smile, I don’t feel obligated to grin in your presence. I can frown with you, Georgina.”
How could Georgina argue against those wonderful words? Emotion swamped her, and tears sprang to her eyes. “I never thought I could be so moved by someone saying that I make them frown.”
“I didn’t say that you make me frown!” Alexander said, clearly aghast. “I mean that I am able to show my real feelings around you, even those that I’ve kept hidden for years. Maybe especially those.”
Georgina took pity and squeezed his biceps again. What she really wanted to do was throw her arms about Alexander and kiss him passionately. However, lustful embraces were probably more at odds with driving a carriage than simply closing one’s eyes.
“I understand. And yes.” She couldn’t resist bussing him on the cheek. That, at least, should not cause an accident.
Alexander started to pull on the reins. Then he shook his head and relaxed his grip. Maybe even a press of the lips against his temple was too much.
“A yes to what?” His voice was even more hoarse than before.
“If I clarify, you’re not going to yank on the reins and cause the team to rear, right?” Georgina queried.
“I won’t,” Alexander promised.
“I would be extremely happy to marry you, Alexander.” Georgina could barely form the words because her mouth was stretched in such a wide grin.
Alexander whooped loudly. People on the street and those passing in wagons turned to stare at them. But Georgina didn’t care. They were getting married and could stir up all the scandals they wanted. So she joined him, which of course caused even more looks. Crinitus Legatus—who had fallen asleep in her arms—arose with a surprising strident bock .
“We’d better stop,” Alexander said. “We’re nearing the gardens, and we don’t want to cause a scene before our clandestine meeting.”
Georgina smiled. “I thought I was supposed to be the logical one and you the carefree one.”
“Perhaps we’re influencing each other for the better.”
“You have brought brightness into my life, Alexander.” Georgina leaned briefly against his shoulder, but not long enough to attract notice.
“Can I refer to you as my affianced?” Alexander asked as they turned into St. James’s Park.
“It is hardly something to keep a secret if we are to be married,” Georgina laughed.
“Maybe we should elope like my sister did. This new requirement of banns is a nuisance,” Alexander said.
“I have heard that Scotland is lovely this time of year,” Georgina said just as the curricle pulled up to a rather secluded dock.
A man dressed in plain, unremarkable clothes was waiting in a punt to ferry them over to Duck Island. The trip across the canal was quick—although Georgina did spy two of the park’s famed pelicans bobbing along in the still water. As the three of them—well, four, counting Crinitus Legatus—approached the other bank, a raft of mallards took flight, quacking their anger at being disturbed.
Instead of going to the cottage built by William III, Georgina and Alexander were led to the back of the building, where a silk pavilion had been set up. The king lounged on a chair in the shade, a veritable feast of sweet delicacies set out before him. His green-tailed rooster was happily pecking through the grass for insects.
Although Georgina had been nervous about the formalities of meeting the king again, Calliope and Charlotte’s emergency training that morning had prepared her. The introductions went smoothly… at least until Alexander identified Georgina as his fiancée. The relaxed stance of George II immediately stiffened into a more regal one.
“That is a happy development. It shall make my request and other plans much easier,” the king said rather cryptically.
What request? The question burned through Georgina, but she didn’t dare voice it. The anxiety that she’d been keeping at bay seeped out.
“Sit.” King George waved toward the seats across from him. As Georgina and Alexander started to obey his instruction, the sovereign fixed Georgina with a penetrating gaze. “You look very much like your cousin, Mr. Harrington.”
Georgina froze, her rump hovering midair. It was not the most dignified position and most likely against all sorts of protocol. But she was too startled to move.
His Majesty knew her secret. She was certain. If her masquerade as a man became public, the gossip would destroy not just her reputation but now Alexander’s, too. Although she would suffer more, she didn’t want Alexander to face any more ostracization than he already did.
Then King George winked. Actually winked.
Georgina plopped into the chair with a resounding thud. She was not cajoled into thinking that the sovereign was a soft, kind-hearted soul. After all, he had not only banished his late heir from the palace but had a horribly contentious relationship with him until the previous Prince of Wales’s untimely death. King George was also bellicose, eager to enter into fights in the European theater and to expand the empire, no matter the cost to the peoples living on the lands England conquered.
But it appeared that His Majesty would not reveal her identity as Mr. Harrington. Momentary relief flooded Georgina.
“I do hope you marry quickly,” the king said. “I was concerned about your status as an unmarried miss for propriety’s sake, but I was still going to make my request.”
Alexander was already sitting straight, but he seemed to grow a few extra inches at the rather alarming words. “What is your meaning, Your Majesty?”
“As you are aware, I have lost my informal advisor who assisted me in the acquisition of antiquities. I would like Miss Harrington to take his place.” King George paused to turn to Georgina. “I generally find history and book learning dull, but I am convinced you will have a rather intriguing way of conveying it—much like how Mr. Harrington lambasted Lord Clifville for his poor understanding of the origin of Fort Camulodunum.”
“You want me… to advise you… on the provenance of antiquities?” Georgina asked, almost forgetting to keep her voice loud as Calliope had instructed. Evidently, the elderly man was hard of hearing. In her arms, Crinitus Legatus emitted low bock ing noises.
The monarch pulled a face—almost like a young child’s. “The king of Naples has been exceedingly smug about the treasures his men are finding in Herculaneum, and I want to increase my own collection. The Prince of Wales has expressed his interest as well.”
“Would my assistance be publicly acknowledged, or are you asking me to do this discreetly, Your Majesty?” Georgina asked as her heart stuttered in her chest. Like her, it didn’t seem to know precisely how to react.
Alexander shifted. His expression mirrored the eager hopefulness burgeoning inside Georgina.
“The point of such objects is to boast about them. In order to increase your standing as a scholar—and thus to secure the reputation of my collection—I shall lend my support toward your publication of a series of treatises. I would also like to purchase that helmet of yours.”
Georgina’s dreams were shimmering within reach. She just needed to reach out and grab them. But could she sacrifice her greatest find?
“Would you put my helmet on public display?” Georgina asked. If the piece would be hidden away, she didn’t think she could part with it—not even to secure royal patronage.
“I shall add it to the Royal Armouries Museum in the Tower. It will make a spectacular centerpiece, don’t you think? And I shall be the king who acquired something so ancient.”
“It wasn’t Arthur’s, your majesty,” Georgina said, once more hoping that her scholarly integrity would not jeopardize this opportunity.
The king chuckled. “Mr. Harrington made that exceedingly obvious when he burst into the Presence Chamber. However, the helmet was the property of some heroic English leader, correct?”
Georgina tamped down on the excitement thundering through her. Although she had not been schooled on how to properly respond to a request like this, she was fairly certain that loud squealing would be frowned upon.
“I cannot identify the man, but given the grave goods that accompanied his body, he was of high status and a warrior.” Georgina couldn’t prevent her voice from rising at the end, but the king didn’t appear to mind.
Alexander stayed silent, but he was not hiding his reaction. His face beamed with pride, and Georgina basked in his silent support. Alexander had been right. He was perfect for her, and much better than any partner she could have imagined.
The king waved his fingers nonchalantly, obviously already bored with the topic of conversation and ready to move onto another. “Yes. Yes. Write a book about the warrior-king’s burial, a piece that scholars will love and I won’t read. You can summarize it for me and the Prince of Wales so we can sound knowledgeable. It is settled then—you will help me improve my antiquities collection?”
“I would be honored, Your Majesty.” Georgina dipped her head. She was very proud of the fact that she didn’t start visibly vibrating with joy. The bubbly feeling was certainly fizzing merrily inside her.
“Are you tolerant of your future wife performing such duties?” King George asked Alexander.
The fact that Georgina did not fear Alexander’s answer was telling of her trust.
“Nothing would make me more pleased. My fiancée’s brilliance has long been overlooked, and I am honored that Your Majesty has recognized her intelligence.” Alexander employed his full charm, and a wry smile crossed the king’s countenance.
“I have heard you are in possession of both flattery and wit.” King George now turned his attention to Alexander. “It seems that your father made a grievous mistake in aligning his fortunes with a scoundrel like Lord Clifville rather than with his own son.”
Alexander’s expression faltered a fraction, and Georgina had to squeeze her hands together to prevent herself from reaching out to comfort him. But it turned out that the king was surprisingly the one to demonstrate empathy.
“I, myself, am no stranger to the strain between a father and son,” King George said. “In your case, the estrangement proves fortunate. After all, had you been part of the smuggling conspiracy, you would be headed to exile, too.”
“Exile?” Alexander echoed the question ringing in Georgina’s head.
The monarch smiled. This one was not kind. “Yes. The duke and Lord Craie both.”
Lord Craie? Algernon was being forced to leave England! What would happen to his lands, his title? A storm of emotions swelled inside Georgina. She wanted to see her brother punished, but she had not imagined something so extreme. A trickle of guilt slid through her, along with a sense of satisfaction that he could no longer easily steal from her.
“My advisers inform me that we should seek the execution of the Earl of Clifville under charges for both his murder of the exciseman and his involvement in the smuggling ring,” King George continued. He did not mention the obvious cover-up. “It would make little sense not to punish the other two co-conspirators of the smuggling ring, so we are planning to strip them of their titles and confiscate their properties. I am assured that we have the appropriate support from both the Whigs and the Tories in Parliament.”
Georgina spun toward Alexander. If his father was no longer duke, that meant that Alexander would become a mere mister. She did not care a fig. She had enough income from her father’s estate to provide a simple but comfortable living for the two of them. There was also the financial support that she would receive from the king for her publications and work as an antiquarian. Yet would Alexander be content, especially after all that he’d suffered for the alleged sake of the dukedom? Or would he feel freed?
No matter Alexander’s reaction, Georgina knew her own decision. She would remain by his side and help him grapple with the consequences of his father’s misdeeds.