by Randol, Anna
Ian wanted to brain himself with the chamber pot. Glaves hadn’t been sarcastic when he’d asked about Lenoria earlier; he’d had no clue what Ian was speaking of.
Ian braced his fist against the wall.
Sweet mercy, what had he done? He wasn’t one to believe in higher powers but he was tempted to pray now. Juliana had forgiven him his role because he’d been following orders. How would she feel knowing he’d been tricked?
He had saved Lenoria from falling to the French, but what the devil did that matter?
He slammed his fist hard against the wall, relishing the pain that seared up his arm.
Gregory had agreed to kill the Trio for what they’d done to his country. Ian had thought Sommet had simply used Gregory because he was a convenient enemy to take the blame.
But what if Sommet wanted to kill the Trio not just because they were a general liability but because they knew—even if they didn’t realize it—his interest in Lenoria? What if Sommet’s conspiracy was tidier than Ian had thought?
But what the devil did he think they knew? The Trio had been too green to gain anything useful. They had followed their orders, then left. There had been no time for additional reconnaissance.
“So what is the plan?” Abington asked.
“The plan’s simple. I go exactly where everyone can see me. And no one will.”
Chapter Thirty
Her aunt’s cheeks were flushed a rosy pink as Juliana entered her brother’s room. She couldn’t remember ever seeing her aunt’s cheeks rosy with anything other than outrage, and Eustace didn’t look at all outraged now.
Eustace was focused on Gregory’s valet. “And the entire group was saved thanks to the liberal application of the salve.”
Was her aunt boasting?
“Amazing, Your Highness,” Canterbury said. He stood on the other side of the room, brushing stains from one of Gregory’s coats. He was intent on his task, but Juliana didn’t miss the quick glances he cast in her aunt’s direction.
“How is Gregory?” Juliana asked.
Both of the other occupants started and her aunt’s cheeks darkened further.
But her tone was as brisk and businesslike as always. “He appears well. I gave him some of my sleeping draught to help with pain.”
“Are his injuries that severe then?”
Her aunt smiled slightly. “He is sore, no doubt. But you must remember even a simple headache sends your brother to bed for days.”
Clearly wanting to give them privacy, Canterbury bowed and left the room with the jacket over his arm.
Eustace’s eyes followed the servant, then she hurriedly glanced away when she noticed Juliana watching. “He reminds me of my Albert. They have the same sense of fashion.”
Juliana had only ever seen the small portrait Eustace wore about her neck. Albert had always seemed like such a stern man, but now that Juliana thought about it, he was wearing a bright yellow cravat in the painting.
Some of her surprise must have showed on her face because Eustace smiled. “Did you picture him dour and dressed in black?”
Juliana searched for the right words.
Eustace laughed, staring down at her black dress almost in surprise. “I can see why you would think that. But this was my reaction to his death not a reflection of him. Leucretia always called him something of popinjay.”
If she hadn’t been so well-trained, her jaw would have been hanging open. Her aunt had never spoken of Albert with anything but hushed reverence.
And, Juliana realized with a prick of guilt, she’d never bothered to inquire.
“How did you know you loved him?” Juliana asked, the words tumbling out of her mouth too quickly.
But Eustace was too lost in her memories of Albert—or perhaps a certain valet—to take note.
“I shouldn’t have been. He was too old for me. And even before we married, we had suspicions he might be ill. But I knew any moment I had with him was worth the pain that would come.”
That was the conclusion that Juliana faced. “Was it?”
Eustace smiled sadly. “Yes. I think one of the reasons I had trouble moving on was that I was content with my memories, and I feared diluting them.”
She’d spoken of her trouble in past tense. That had to be a good thing.
Eustace sighed. “I should have spent more time with you rather than leaving you to Leucretia and Constantina and heaven knows how many governesses and tutors. But I feared you pushing Albert out of my thoughts and I couldn’t risk that.”
Juliana’s chest throbbed and her eyes burned.
“Now,” Eustace said, her eyes returning to the rather stern focus Juliana was used to. “What precisely is going on here?” She pointed to Gregory’s sleeping form. “If he’d gotten into a fight over a woman, he’d likely have at least some bruising on his face and certainly have swelling and abrasions on his knuckles.”
Juliana wasn’t sure what she was ready to tell, but she did know what she needed to find out. “What can you tell me about Leucretia and Sommet?”
Eustace frowned. “Do they have something to do with this?”
Juliana remained silent.
Her aunt debated a moment before speaking. “They were lovers several decades ago. They met on one of Leucretia’s many trips around Europe. Then when iron was found on Leucretia’s estate, I believe she contacted Sommet, who had connections to several mining companies. They approached your father for permission to mine. He refused.”
That explained what the duke had been doing in Lenoria all those years ago.
“Is Leucretia in some sort of trouble with the duke?” Eustace asked.
“I don’t know.” But it was an angle she hadn’t considered. What if Sommet was holding something over Leucretia? “But she did say Sommet had cheated her. Do you know what business they were in together?”
Eustace’s brow wrinkled. “I don’t know. She was always vague about which of Sommet’s ventures she was involved in. All I know is that it has made her extremely wealthy.”
“Wealthy?”
“Where do you think all her jewels come from?”
Juliana’s cheeks heated. “I thought from her . . . cicisbeos.”
Despite all the day’s revelations, Eustace was still somewhat herself because she frowned at Juliana’s use of the word. “She may have gotten some from those men. But most, she purchased on her own.”
“How did I not know this?”
“Leucretia has always been secretive about her investments. Once I asked if we should put some of your money in the same investments since she seemed to be doing so well and she panicked.”
“She gave no explanation why?”
“She said Sommet didn’t wish to bother with more investors. Oddly enough, all her extravagant purchases ceased a little over a year ago.”
About the same time Sommet had begun to befriend Gregory. Had investments gone wrong? That would explain the sudden interest in the ore again. Perhaps he was counting on her mountains to make up for some bad investments? She’d have to tell Ian her theory. All the pieces fit. Perhaps if Sommet himself owed money to investors, they’d have something to hold over him.
She glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was time for archery. She stood and walked to the window. The targets had been set out on the lawn, and already, several ladies and gentlemen had emerged to test the bows and boast.
But there was no Sommet yet.
“Is Leucretia or Constantina chaperoning you this afternoon?” Eustace asked.
“Leucretia.” At least that had been the plan; she didn’t know if Leucretia would appear after the events of last night.
“Ah yes, I forgot that Constantina has a fear of flying things. Perhaps you can get Leucretia to tell you of her investments. She might resist, but I cannot think she would lie to you if you pressed her on it.”
Juliana stiffened her spine. She would get the information.
She hurried to her room and retrieved her bonnet from Ap
ple. She hurried out into the corridor as she tied the bow. The blue satin ribbon popped free. Drat. She’d only tacked it on. She’d forgotten she hadn’t yet done the final stitching.
She glanced back to her room. This was the only bonnet she had that matched this dress. So she would either have to take the time to change her dress or the time to fix her bonnet. Leucretia wouldn’t let her outside without one.
“Might I be of assistance, Your Highness?”
She turned to find Canterbury. He pulled a needle and thread from his pocket.
“I . . .” She was in a hurry and hats weren’t the simplest thing to mend.
He seemed to sense her hesitance and pointed to the creation on his own head. “I do have some experience, Your Majesty.”
She handed him the bonnet. As he stitched, she found herself leaning over to watch.
“I never thought to attach it that way,” she said.
“I find it puts less stress on the ribbon. Did you design this one?”
Why not admit it? “Yes.”
“It is quite fine, if I might be so bold.”
“Thank you.” If he was being bold, perhaps she could be, too. “I notice you seem to love hats as well.”
A ghost of a smile crossed the old man’s face. “When Mr. Maddox came to me and asked me to serve as a butler to one of his friends, I was a bit hesitant as I was already enjoying my retirement. But Mr. Maddox claimed I could still have as much freedom as I wanted. I could wear a peacock on my head if I so desired.”
Juliana grinned at the man. “So you took him at his word.”
“Indeed, Your Majesty. It irks him to no end.”
“So you know Ian well?”
Canterbury’s face stilled and he handed her the mended bonnet. “Better than he knows himself. As I think you do.”
Did she? “I—”
Leucretia sail past with little more than a nod in Juliana’s direction. Juliana had to rush after her. She needed her answers and she didn’t want to waste this opportunity to be alone with her aunt. “We must talk.”
Leucretia didn’t respond. She kept gliding forward, her chin lifted.
A short time later, Juliana found herself at the stairs, all her questions still unanswered. Juliana hadn’t been able get a single word from her. What should she do next? Shake them out of her?
She’d felt rather like a silly child trailing after her mother’s skirts. No, Leucretia had never been a mother to her, but she had been a mentor, an adviser.
As soon as they walked outside, her aunt had stalked off to chat with some other women under the shade of a large tree. Quickly enough to earn a few whispers.
And the fascinated attention of the newly arrived French ambassador, Monsieur Gallant, who eyed her like a hungry crow.
Perfect. Now he’d carry tales of a rift in the royal house of Lenoria.
Juliana took her time at the bow table. She fully intended to shoot in the contest—the idea of causing potentially lethal damage to something appealed right now—but the table provided the best view of the assembled group.
And Sommet had yet to arrive.
She picked up a bow, then put it down as if she was dissatisfied. No one would comment on her being picky; she was a princess after all.
Where was the duke? What if he didn’t attend this entertainment after all? She’d have to trust that Ian was monitoring that before he made his attempt.
As she picked up the final lady’s bow, the duke joined the guests. He immediately went to speak to the ambassador. After several seconds, Sommet lifted his eyes to hers, the taunt in his face clear.
But that taunt meant he thought he’d already won. And a prideful man made mistakes.
So she slung a bow over her shoulder and strolled to the other intrepid women gathered to shoot at the ladies’ targets.
A footman handed her an arrow and she set it to the string. With a slow exhale, she let the arrow fly. It buried in the outside ring with a solid thunk.
A bull’s-eye would have been more dramatic, but her hands were shaking so badly that she was glad she hit the target at all.
She shot three more arrows, keeping Sommet in her peripheral vision the entire time. He spoke to an earl and then to Lady Plimpington, who latched herself on to his arm.
Juliana’s shoulders relaxed slightly. Lady Plimpington was immensely talented at trapping people into long-winded conversations about the untouched potential of her daughters.
Now that Sommet’s back was to her, she allowed herself one quick glance at the duke’s section of the castle.
And her heart stopped.
Ian was scaling the side of the castle tower.
Outside. In front of everyone.
She whipped her head back to the targets.
Was he mad? She knew he could climb it. He’d done it before with her on his back, but now there were thirty people who could spot him. True, he was wearing a gray shirt the same color as the stone. And he was already past the second floor so they’d have to look up to spot him.
But if she’d seen him, Sommet could as well.
Where was Abington? And why hadn’t he dissuaded Ian from this insanity?
She didn’t attempt to shoot another arrow. She feared she’d drop it entirely. She risked another glance back. He was already to the third floor. Her terror mixed with pure raw admiration. The gaps between the stone couldn’t have been more than an inch deep and yet he managed to climb as easily as if he’d set up a ladder. His toes found grooves to cling to that she wouldn’t have guessed existed.
He appeared to be working on a window with something. His dagger, perhaps?
A footman strolled directly underneath where he was perched. She forced her gaze to the grass at her feet.
Air refused to enter her lungs.
But after a moment, when no alarm had been sounded, she allowed herself to look up.
But where had Sommet gone? He was no longer with Lady Plimpington.
Her gaze darted around the guests. There. How had he gotten close to the door so quickly? She handed a footman her bow and strolled toward the duke. She didn’t dare risk another glance at Ian in case Sommet followed her gaze.
And she realized after all her time planning for Leucretia, she didn’t know what she was going to say to distract the duke.
Even if she had some of Leucretia’s flirtation, trying it on Sommet would only serve to make him suspicious. In fact, if she approached him at all, Ian would be in trouble.
She could faint from the heat. It was rather unbearable.
But she suspected he’d see through her ruse and rush inside.
What could she do that would bring the duke to her? She forced her thoughts to calm. She could do this. She had told Ian she would, and she would.
Monsieur Gallant.
Planting a large, seductive smile on her face, she strolled toward the French ambassador. “Monsieur Gallant!” She made certain to call a touch louder than normal.
The man’s eyes never lifted above her bodice. And under normal circumstances, she ensured she never spoke to him alone. But desperate times . . .
She offered him her hand for his customary molestation, but after he’d finished salivating over it, rather than wiping it on her skirts, she placed it on his arm and leaned closer.
Monsieur Gallant’s rat eyes widened under his thin brows. She never had been able to tell if he plucked them, but he was vain enough it was a possibility.
“I had not thought to see you here, monsieur. You mentioned nothing of it when we met a few days ago.”
His tongue polished his front teeth. She’d met with him in enough failed negotiations to know that meant he was nervous.
Perhaps she could do more than distract Sommet with this conversation.
And she had distracted him. The duke had ceased his movement to the door. In fact, he turned back to speak to Lord Bentersly, who was distinctly closer to her.
“So, Ambassador. I’ve been thinking of the proposal you
suggested when we last met.”
His tongue probed his teeth again. “You have?” Gallant was too skilled at his profession to betray more than that.
“Yes. I don’t agree with it. But I’m thinking we might be able to come to a more favorable solution than the one you have with Sommet.”
Sommet glanced at her then and she made sure to jerk her head quickly away as if she was hiding something.
“France wins either way,” Gallant said.
“You believe Sommet has France’s best interests at heart?”
Gallant hesitated. “He is interested in his own pocketbook, and France is interested in continuing to get her ore.”
Continuing? But she couldn’t ask without revealing how little she knew about Sommet’s actual activities.
“I might be interested in providing ore.” If might meant never in her lifetime. “After all, the royal coffers will need to be filled after all the neglect.”
Gallant tipped his head slightly. “Sommet said you’d refuse.”
“Of course Sommet would say that.” Had she worked the duke’s name into the conversation enough to draw his interest yet?
“It is essential that the shipments not be stopped.”
Her whole body went cold. Somehow Sommet was already mining. But what about the villages— Casualties of war. The duke’s earlier words now resonated with new meaning. “Why would they stop?”
“Sommet assured me that you’d follow your father’s decrees.”
“And you listened?”
“A rather indifferent day at archery, was it not, Your Highness?” Sommet stepped into the space between her and the ambassador, his eyes glittering. “I fear you might not have enough experience at the game. Gallant, perhaps you’d care to join me inside for the brandy I spoke to you of earlier.”
Juliana rested her hand lightly on the ambassador’s arm. “But the ambassador and I still have much to discuss.”
Gallant bowed at her but backed away. “We can continue this discussion later.”
But if he was about to sequester himself with Sommet, she could wager how productive her future meeting would be.
She couldn’t risk letting Sommet go into the house, either.
