Celeste Bradley - [The Liar's Club 01]
Page 34
“Who said you would ever not love him? The first man you love, well … you never really get over him, no matter how it ended.”
“Oh, dear. That doesn’t sound very promising.”
“But that’s not to say you couldn’t love someone else. Maybe not that easy-hearted way, or so much, but mark my words, you’ll love someone else … someday.”
Agatha pressed her fingertips to her aching eyes. “But not today. And not tomorrow.”
“No, can’t say that you will.”
“Today and tomorrow will be the most difficult, I believe. Then of course, there is the day after that.”
The two women sat in silence for a moment, contemplating their tea and their memories. Then Pearson appeared in the doorway, with the attitude that he had been looking for Agatha for some time. She decided not to check his eyebrow gauge.
“Madam, an invitation has come for Mr. Cunnington.”
Agatha blinked. “Well, it seems James will still be welcome in some houses.”
“Indeed, madam. It is a Royal Invitation.”
Agatha smiled, her joy in James’s public redemption undiluted by her own reverse situation. “He is to be decorated, I was told. No one deserves it more.”
“Yes, madam. The Invitation came by Royal Messenger. He awaits a reply.”
“Of course.” Agatha held out her hand for It. “How do you manage to capitalize spoken words that way, Pearson?”
“Years of practice, Madam.”
“Well, you’re very good at it.”
Pearson bowed. “Thank you, Madam.”
The Invitation came in the form of a rolled scroll of vellum, wrapped in silk ribbon and marked with an ornate seal. Agatha carefully detached the seal to save it for Jamie. One didn’t get one of these every day, after all.
The Invitation was for James to attend the Morning Audience at the Palace in order for the Prince Regent to show his official appreciation for an Act of Valor.
In four days.
“Four days? His Royal Highness cannot be serious!”
Even Pearson seemed concerned. “Master James will not be much recovered in four days.”
“I shall have to refuse for him, then.”
Pearson cleared his throat. “I would not advise it, madam. The audiences are sometimes scheduled months in advance. Someone powerful may have been bumped aside for Master James. It would not do to put His Royal Highness out.”
Agatha chewed her lip. “Would it be permissible to have someone accept it in his place?”
“Perhaps. If he were dead.”
“Ah. Well, then. I suppose I must reply with a respectful acceptance.”
Pearson cleared his throat again. Agatha looked up. “An obsequious acceptance?”
“It may be advisable.”
Agatha thought about her own filth-beneath-their-feet position in Society and decided that she would hurt James’s chances for recognition as little as possible.
“Thank you, Pearson. Will you be so kind as to bring me my writing case? And come back here. I’ve a feeling I’ll need your expertise to word this properly. I might make a muck of it, myself.”
“Most assuredly, madam.” Then he was gone before she could figure out precisely which part of her request Pearson was agreeing with.
* * *
Simon nodded in response to something Stubbs had said, but he wasn’t listening. Instead, his gaze kept returning to the fire in the hearth of Jackham’s office. The flames reminded him of the golden lights on Agatha’s skin as she reached for him before the fire that first fateful night.
“So d’you think the Griffin will be back to his post soon, sir?”
Simon drew his attention back with a jolt. “What? Oh, perhaps. But he has a bit of healing to do, first.”
“True enough. I was thinkin’ maybe he might be wanting to take me on as an apprentice-like, while he’s laid up.”
Stubbs gazed at Simon hopefully.
“Why, Stubbs, I’d no idea your ambitions lay in that direction.”
“Oh, yessir. ’Specially after that lovely bit he pulled on Winchell’s privy. I ’eard the muck flew near ’alf a mile. Wish’t I seen it.”
Simon forced his mind to consider the plan. Training an apprentice took time, which was why he never seemed to have enough skilled men. No one really wanted to stay out of the field long enough to do the job, so new men were only trained while injuries healed or when attrition made it a necessity.
“It’s a good idea. I know you have the mechanical ability for the job. I’ll speak to him, Stubbs.”
“Yessir. Thank you, sir! Well, I’d best get back to the door, then.” Bobbing awkwardly, Stubbs backed out of the room.
Simon closed his eyes and scrubbed his face with both hands. He was finding it very difficult to care today. Would he never regain his lost enthusiasm?
He heard someone clear their throat. “Stubbs, I said I would speak to him.” Simon looked up. “I can’t promise—”
It wasn’t the delirious Stubbs. Before him stood Dalton Montmorency, who did not look happy at all. He loomed over Simon’s desk like a well-dressed angel of Death. It was incredibly irritating. Simon had a serious dislike of being loomed over.
He gave a sour smile. “Well, don’t you look every inch the Lord Etheridge this fine morning.”
“I want to marry her.”
Simon looked away with a spasmodic jerk of his head. “Thanks for the warning,” he said tightly.
Dalton shrugged. “But I can’t. Not until you tell me face-to-face why you won’t.”
Simon leaned back in his chair, a bitter bark of laughter escaping him. “My leash has been pulled.”
Dalton nodded. “Liverpool.”
“Yes. Apparently she is now completely off-limits, even should I overcome my own reservations, for she has become a public oddity. The focus of far too many eyes. He does not want me or the Liar’s Club exposed to such scrutiny.”
Simon wished fervently for a brandy, though the sun was not yet low in the sky. “Furthermore, should I fail to respect those limitations, he will withdraw all support for the reinstatement of James Cunnington.”
Swearing, Dalton sat on the sofa opposite Simon’s desk. “The calculating bastard. He’s always wanted more of a hold over you.”
“He has one now. Agatha would never risk her brother’s career.”
“And you would never ask her to.”
“No.”
Dalton leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands steepled before him. “Then this bit of news may interest you. After the attack, I immediately sent word of Cunnington’s heroism to the Prince Regent.”
Simon raised a brow. “Against Liverpool’s wishes, I assume?”
Dalton lifted one corner of his mouth in a cynical smile. “Let’s just say I was not officially aware of any objection when I sent the message.”
“Quick thinking.”
“More like desperation. Since Liverpool’s appointment, he has tightened his grip on all the operations overseen by the Royal Four.”
“I thought your loyalty to him was boundless.”
Dalton steepled his fingers. “My loyalty to England is boundless. My loyalty to Liverpool extends only until it contradicts that.”
“I’d say that is a wise stance. Obsession has ruined many great men. Liverpool may yet cross the line.”
“True. But more to the point, the Prince Regent has invited James to a Royal Audience. He intends to publicly decorate him for saving Liverpool.”
Simon sat up, a swift dart of hope giving strength to his spine. “What?”
Dalton nodded. “Of course, he’ll be far too well remembered for covert work for a while, but sabotage doesn’t necessarily call for that.”
Simon was thinking quickly. “But that will negate any moves that Liverpool makes to remove James from his post! He’ll never be able to make good on that threat.”
Dalton grinned. “I know.”
Plans spun in Simon’s head.
Marriage. A home. A lifetime of Agatha in the morning—
But there still remained the one insurmountable obstacle. Her life would never be out of danger. Not unless he walked away from the business forever.
You are irreplaceable.
But was he truly? The job required a certain kind of man. A man with no lust for wealth or power. Someone with vision and brilliance, without worries of status or class distinction. Someone with an abiding love of England that would make it worthwhile to give up all else.
A man like the one before him.
It all came down to one question. Should he keep the Liar’s Club and let Dalton have Agatha? Or should he hand the job over to Dalton and be an unemployed dependent for the rest of his days? One who went to sleep in Agatha’s arms every night?
Simon had always liked the easy ones.
He leaned back in his chair once more and regarded Dalton with a nonchalant smile. Time to do a little Covent Garden–style haggling. “So you miss the fieldwork, eh?”
Chapter Thirty-one
“You’ll not miss this. I won’t allow it.” James pinned Agatha with a vehement glance. The intimidating effect was somewhat ruined by his pallor and the fact that his chin was pointed ceilingward while Button tied his full jabot.
Agatha smiled proudly. “You do look fine in your court costume. I shall have to keep reminding myself about those baggy winter drawers of yours to keep from being overly impressed.”
James grimaced at the ceiling. “Hoyden.”
“Bookworm,” Agatha retorted in an age-old exchange.
All teasing aside, James did look magnificent. His pale blue satin frock coat was heavily trimmed with gold embroidery, and his waistcoat and formal knee breeches were done up in a complementary cream satin. A cream satin sling was draped over Button’s shoulder, waiting to support James’s injured arm.
She shook her head with wonder. “Button, I believe I shall give you another raise in pay. I cannot believe you were able to locate this and fit it in less than four days.”
“Aggie, enough about my clothes. I insist that you come.” Freed from his temporary immobility, James gingerly adjusted his lace cuffs with his good hand and turned to her.
Agatha was silent for a moment, her mood gone somber. Then she said, “I don’t want to shame you.”
His eyes flashing with anger, James crossed the room to her. “I’m hurt that you think you could!”
“But this should be your moment,” she protested. “You’ve earned it. If I appear, all anyone will talk of is the ‘Chimneysweep’s Doxy.’”
“Where did you hear that?” James was furious. “You shouldn’t have to hear that!”
“I asked the servants to find out what they were calling me. I knew it would be something, and I thought it best if I were prepared. So I don’t think I should go. I wouldn’t want to offend the Prince Regent.”
James snorted. “He’s not easily shocked. If he hasn’t done it, he has paid to watch it done.”
Button tittered at that. “He’s entirely correct, Miss Agatha. Why, the stories I’ve heard—”
James held up a hand. “Perhaps not suitable to a lady’s ears, Button?”
Button nodded affably. “No, sir. Quite true, sir.” Then he turned to Agatha and mouthed, I shall tell you later.
James continued. “But more important, the Prince Regent knows Simon well, and likes him very much. I doubt he would hold your ‘chimneysweep’ much against you.”
“Oh.” Agatha blinked in surprise. “Simon is a friend of His Royal Highness?” Her heart swelled with pride. “How lovely for him.”
“So you must go. I order you to do so.”
Agatha propped her fists on her hips. “Order?”
“Insist.”
“Oh, really?”
James grinned. “Plead abjectly?”
“Much better. Very well, then. I shall go, but I’ll not look nearly as nice as you, for I’ve nothing suitable to wear.”
Button piped up. “Oh, yes, you do, Miss Agatha!”
He reached into James’s wardrobe and pulled out an exquisite blue satin gown just shades darker than James’s frock coat. It was absolutely laden with gold embroidery.
Enjoying her shock immensely, James grinned at her. “Really, Aggie, do get dressed. Why do women take forever to get ready?”
Her breath finally returned in a delighted shriek. Seizing the magnificent gown, Agatha ran for her room, yelling for Nellie all the way.
* * *
The Royal Audience Chamber deserved capital letters. Agatha had never seen such immense artistry and beauteous wealth in all her life. She and James were directed down a long velvet runner to stand near the front of the crowd that had already assembled for the audience.
There was indeed a rush of whispers at her presence, but Agatha kept her head high. Perhaps it was the fine gown or perhaps it was the quick warm clasp of James’s fingers as she walked down the carpet at his side, but she felt nothing but pride. In him, in herself—for after all, she’d been part of Lord Liverpool’s rescue as well—and in her beloved country’s finest hall.
If Agatha did not want to meet the eyes of any courtiers or other attendees—and she didn’t—she could easily spend the next week examining the lovely room in which she stood.
The ceiling alone was noteworthy for its astonishing amount of gilt detail. And the colossal chandeliers that hung from it were marvels of shimmering gold and crystal.
A stirring in the crowd forced Agatha’s gaze down to the raised and richly draped dais at the end of the long room. The Prince Regent was ascending his throne. Excitement rose within her. She’d been so looking forward to seeing him in person—
Well … hmm. Agatha was a bit disappointed. He wasn’t precisely impressive at first look, unless one was impressed by girth. He was a very wide sort of fellow. Or perhaps a better word would be round.
He was richly dressed, of course. His gold-bedecked waistcoat alone likely cost a year’s income from Appleby. Then the Prince Regent turned to settle his generous rear on his throne, and Agatha saw him clearly for the first time. Though his face was round and pale with overindulgence, his intelligent eyes were attentive to all about him.
Agatha liked him immediately.
“Whyever did Lavinia call him brainless?” she whispered to James.
“I’ve no idea,” he whispered back. “He’s actually quite brilliant, for all his decadent ways.”
Agatha continued to watch the Prince Regent through the next hour or so, as he fulfilled his audience’s various petitions and rewards. Sometimes bored and rude, sometimes lively and interested, often scathingly amusing—George IV seemed a fascinating fellow.
She could see him enjoying a man like Simon. And she could see why Simon would in turn enjoy the Prince Regent.
Then James’s name was called by an outrageously dressed man—perhaps a herald?—and James slowly made his way to the front of the chamber to stand before the Prince Regent.
Agatha cried proud tears as her monarch spoke over her brother’s bowed head, then draped a beribboned medal about James’s neck. When it was done, she remembered not a word, but she would never forget the fierce gladness on James’s face when he turned to face the audience and bowed to tumultuous applause.
She was happily sniffling still when James made his way back to where she stood.
“Did you hear what he said to me?” he asked her.
Shaking her head, Agatha laughed. “Not a bit of it. I was too occupied with crying.”
James ran a wondering hand over the medal on his chest. “He said that he was demanding my continued service. For life! I’m to be reinstated to my post!”
Agatha bit back her instant worry for his safety and smiled joyously at him. “Of course you are. What would they do without you?”
Then Agatha’s heart leaped as the herald stepped forward and called out, “His Royal Highness will now hear the petition of Simon Rain!”
* * *
Then he stepped close to the dais when a lazy wave of the royal hand indicated he should.
George IV regarded him coolly for a moment. Then he smiled. “What’s afoot, Simon?” he asked, in a natural tone that did not reach the first row of the audience.
Relief filled Simon that the capricious Prince Regent seemed inclined to remember their past friendship. “Your Majesty, I am here to petition my release from your service.”
The Prince Regent’s eyes narrowed. “Really? Why?”
“I wish to marry, Your Majesty.”
There was no answer for a long moment, then the Prince barked, “Who?”
“Miss Agatha Cunnington.”
“Cunnington. He was just up here. The sister?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The Prince’s eyebrows rose, and he chortled with delight. “You are the infamous chimneysweep?”
“I am.”
Simon was forced to wait while the Prince took several long moments for hilarity. Finally, the Prince wiped his eyes, still chuckling weakly. “Oh, that’s rich. I needed a good joke. I may grant your petition simply in thanks for that.” Then the sharp-eyed ruler was back. “Bring this woman to me.”
Before Simon could protest, the herald stepped forward. “His Royal Highness calls Miss Agatha Cunnington.”
Astonished whispers swept the assembled crowd. Simon heard “Chimneysweep’s Doxy” more than once. The name enraged him further every time he heard it, and it seemed he could go nowhere without hearing it.
Yet Agatha seemed entirely unaffected by the clearly audible mockery. She walked gracefully through it to stand beside Simon, then curtsied flawlessly to her sovereign.
The herald formally presented her. The Prince recognized her, and she stood to face him serenely.
“Your Majesty,” she said.
The Prince regarded her closely for a moment, and Simon could see that he liked what he saw. For a moment, Simon regretted bringing her to the attention of the Royal Rake.
Then the Prince returned his attention to Simon. “I smell a story here. Tell me.”