by Julia London
Caroline crouched down and petted one of the dogs to hide her smile. “But you haven’t any suppers planned, have you, darling?”
Priscilla lifted her chin. “Tom’s been very keen to have all the right people to dine since he’s taken his seat in Parliament. He has very big plans, you know.”
Oh, yes, Caroline and everyone else in Mayfair knew. His ambition was well-known. “What a clever man, your husband. The prince is precisely the sort of connection he’ll need, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Priscilla said, as if she’d thought it all along. “Where is that girl?” She rang the bell again.
A young woman with dark brown hair hurried in. “Beg your pardon, mu’um,” she said with a slight accent.
“A stool, girl, and be quick. We haven’t all day,” Priscilla said.
The girl went out but reappeared a moment later with the stool and two dogs trotting behind her. She set the stool in front of Priscilla. But because of Priscilla’s ample figure, and the many dogs milling about, she couldn’t quite see the stool, and commanded the girl to give her a hand up. The girl lifted her hand so that Priscilla might take it, and when she did, Caroline’s eye was drawn to the linked hands—and a flash of forest green. It was scarcely even a patch of green at all, but there it was, on the cuff of the girl’s dark service gown.
Weslorian green.
Caroline stared at the girl who, relieved of her duties, had stepped back, her eyes downcast. What was it Priscilla had said? Something about foreign servants being better than English servants. Foreign servants. Weslorian servants. Did that mean... Was Tom... Caroline’s breath caught. She could hardly move as the possibilities began to crowd into her head.
“What do you think?” Priscilla asked.
“Pardon? Oh, it’s beautiful,” Caroline said. “It’s perfect for the Pennybacker ball.”
“The hem, darling.”
“Oh! Right.” Caroline sank down on her knees to have a look at the hem. She took a pin from the cushion on her wrist. “For your supper, I think you should wear the blue.”
“You think I should?” Priscilla asked.
It all made sense. Tom’s dear friend was Henry, the Duke of Norfolk. If Tom was using this girl, Caroline was determined to get her out. And the other one, at the Pennybackers’! Yes, of course! Lord Pennybacker and Tom were friends, too, and if Priscilla had a new foreign servant, Nancy would have insisted.
“No one looks as good as you in blue, Priscilla,” Caroline chirped as she put a few pins in the hem to mark where to take it up. “And do you know what else? I think you ought to have your supper after the Pennybacker ball next week, but before everyone begins to leave for the country. It will be a palate cleanser after that dreadful ball, won’t it? And you’d not want Nancy to escape to the north for the summer and not know until autumn that you had the prince to dine, would you?”
“Oh, I hardly care what Nancy Pennybacker thinks of anything,” Priscilla said, which was laughably untrue. “But if I were to have it next week, who else should I invite?” She began to rattle off names that she ought to invite while Caroline’s head spun. Somehow, she managed to chat along, agreeing that this person or that ought to be invited, when all she cared about was how to get news of this to Leopold.
“I’ll serve lamb,” Priscilla said, waving the girl over when Caroline had finished pinning the hem. “The butcher in Newgate has taken a liking to me.” She took the girl’s hand again, and Caroline leaned closer. There was no mistaking that Weslorian green.
She watched the girl go out with the stool.
“Caroline! Where are you?”
Caroline started and whirled around. Priscilla had presented her back to be unfastened out of the gown. Caroline was breathless. She’d found a Weslorian. “What about marzipan cakes?” she suggested.
How would they rescue this poor girl? They? Yes, of course, they! She and Leopold. He’d come to her for help and she was going to help him. She had to do it. For him, and for herself.
But the other thing suddenly beating in her chest was the knowledge that once Leopold had them all, he meant to leave.
He would be leaving very soon. Too soon.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The Pennybacker ball was held in Mayfair to much fanfare. At midnight, a light supper of ham and potatoes was served, as well as ices to keep the guests from sweltering.
The best of summer evening gowns made their appearance at the ball, the most desirable including the latest in French fashion of having elaborate bows cascading down the front of the dress.
Prince Leopold of Alucia has announced his imminent departure from England. He is expected to set sail in a matter of days and return to Helenamar to formally announce his engagement to a Weslorian heiress. It shall come not a moment too soon, as Lord Pennybacker has accused him of trying to seduce one of his maids during the ball.
—Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and
Domesticity for Ladies
LEO WAS INDEED being followed. The day after Caroline had told him about the two men from the foreign secretary’s office, he’d noticed a man walking briskly behind him. Kadro and Artur were strolling behind him, too, but either they hadn’t noticed the gentleman, or...or was it possible they were part of the conspiracy against him? Leo wouldn’t have believed it, but then again, he wouldn’t have believed there was a plot to kidnap his brother last year, either. And yet there was. What possible reason would anyone have to plant such a terrible rumor about him? To keep him from discovering the identity of these women?
He didn’t know how or what, but he knew instinctively that it had something to do with Cressidian.
He decided he would think about it when it was necessary. For the time being, he had something pressing to think about. Time was running out to find the last two Weslorian women and free Rasa from Lord Pennybacker’s shackles. He had to at least find the women he knew about. He couldn’t begin to guess how many more there were that he didn’t know about. Young women. Poor women. Helpless women.
He hoped to have Rasa in hand very soon. Tonight was the night of the Pennybacker ball, and somehow, Caroline had managed to see him invited to attend.
Last week, a footman from the house on Upper Brook Street had delivered a note. It said simply, Please do accept any and all invitations you might receive. He’d thought it odd advice, seeing as how he wasn’t receiving any invitations, his name having been struck from all the rolls of suitable guests. But then, curiously, an invitation to dine at the Farrington home arrived a day or two later. In spite of Caroline’s note, he was rather surprised by it—he scarcely knew Lord Farrington. Nevertheless, Lord Farrington had issued his invitation and seemed eager to make Leo’s acquaintance. The date was set for Saturday next.
The invitation to the Pennybacker ball arrived the day after that, along with a personal note from Lady Pennybacker, begging His Royal Highness’s forgiveness for not having sent the invitation sooner. The ball was to be held in just four days’ time, and three days before the dinner at the Farringtons’.
The note said the invitation had been “inadvertently misplaced.”
“Inadvertently misplaced,” Leo repeated. How the devil had Caroline managed it?
“Shall we accept?” Josef had asked, his expression inscrutable. “It is Wednesday evening, and your calendar is free.”
Leo resisted directing a withering look to Josef. He wanted to say of course they would accept, as he was being followed and suspected of treason against his own father and appearances were desperately important. “Je,” he said simply. “I should appreciate the diversion before we depart this land. You should take the night for yourself, Josef. Take in the theater, perhaps.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
It was the sort of vague response Josef always gave him. Neither a yes or no, but a simple thank you. Would he take in the theater? Or w
ould he plot against his employer?
Leo had been looking at Josef a little more closely of late. He suddenly didn’t trust him. Josef had always been unreadable, but now that enigmatic posture seemed suspect, especially in light of the fact that Josef had been the one to suggest Cressidian to him.
Leo recalled how Bas had felt in London those days after Matous was murdered—he trusted no one but Leo, and a pretty woman who lived in a modest town house who liked to repair clocks. He was becoming more like his brother every day.
“I shall notify Freddar that you will need formal clothing for that evening,” Josef said, making a note in his leather journal.
Leo wondered about that leather journal. What other notes did it contain? “Thank you. You may go.”
Josef glanced up. Leo rarely was the one to end their appointments—generally Josef was bustling off to take care of this or that. But he gathered his things and stood, then bowed his head. “Send Kadro to me,” Leo added, his gaze once again on the invitation.
“Je, Your Highness.”
Kadro entered a few minutes later and bowed.
Now Leo studied his guard. Kadro had been with him for six years now—surely he would have noticed something along the way if Kadro was involved in something nefarious? Or had he spent so much time at the bottom of a bottle that he wouldn’t have noticed anything at all? Entirely possible. “Have you noticed anyone following me?” he asked.
Kadro looked confused. “No, Your Highness.”
“Perhaps on the street as I’ve trundled about,” he said, gesturing lazily with his hand.
Kadro’s brows knit into a frown. He shook his head.
Leo slowly stood. “Well, someone has been following me. I’ve seen him, and I wonder why you haven’t. I should like to know who he is.”
Kadro’s feelings about this flashed across his face in a look of confusion, then alarm and then doubt. But he nodded and said, “Je, Your Highness. Artur and I will keep watch.”
“And keep an eye on Josef,” Leo added.
Kadro blinked. He looked as if he wanted to speak. He clearly wanted to understand what had prompted this warning. But Leo wasn’t going to tell him more.
Kadro nodded curtly.
“Thank you. You may go,” Leo said, and turned away from his guard.
He felt unlike himself. A wholly different person from the man who had occupied this skin for twenty-nine years. He didn’t like living with dull suspicions and the need to look over his shoulder. He didn’t like it at all.
Yesterday, a note had come from Hawke:
Your Royal Highness, greetings and salutations. I am writing to invite you to attend the Pennybacker ball with Lady Caroline and myself. She assures me an invitation has been extended to you and feels very much that you should not enter that “den of rumormongers and anxious mothers” all alone. I have suggested that my sister is chief among the rumormongers, and she has said some very unkind things to me in return. But it is her wish, and I extend this invitation because I have proven time and again that I am powerless to deny her. Therefore, it would be our great honor if you were to attend the ball in our company, if for no other reason than to keep brother and sister from maiming each other. We look forward to your favorable reply. B.H.
Leo couldn’t help but smile as he imagined the scene between brother and sister. The Hawkes were the only bright spot in this strange new world he’d created for himself.
He’d sent his favorable reply. He was ready to attend and free Rasa.
He was, however, unusually anxious, given that his previous attempts to free the maids had not gone smoothly. Part of him wished that he could enjoy the ball as he might have a year ago—with an abundance of wine, dancing, perhaps a card game or two.
A larger part of him was relieved those days were behind him.
He had one thing to do before he arrived at the Hawke household. Much to Freddar’s dismay, he insisted on a large overcoat to cover his formal clothing and a dreadful hat with a brim so wide one would have to dip down to see his face. He needed to make a pair of calls on the way to Upper Brook Street.
The first was to Cressidian’s house. It was time to think about that scoundrel.
Mr. Cressidian looked surprised to see him. He looked a little bleary-eyed. Leo knew that look—it was the look of a debauched lifestyle. He guessed Cressidian would rouse himself with some food and drink and have another go this evening.
“Your Highness,” the scoundrel said uncertainly when Leo was shown into his study. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I suspect not. I won’t keep you. But I’m curious, sir—how much did they pay you to slander me?”
One of Cressidian’s brows rose. “I beg your pardon?”
Leo sighed with impatience. “Come now, Mr. Cressidian. You are a master at lining your own pocket. When you told the men who are in the despicable business of selling Weslorian women that I knew about the scheme, how much did they pay you to slander me?”
The blood drained from Cressidian’s face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said coolly.
“Bloody hell, you don’t.”
“I will thank you to take your leave,” he said, and sort of lurched toward the door, throwing it open, then looking into the hallway, where he probably suspected Alucian men were standing, waiting to take him. They would come later for him, Leo would see to that.
Leo slowly walked to the door, but he paused before the man. He could smell the sour stench of fear and drink on him. “One day, Mr. Cressidian, you will be called to account for your crimes. If I were you, I’d get on my knees and beg for mercy.”
“Fine advice coming from a royal wastrel. Get on your own knees.”
“What makes you think I haven’t?” Leo asked with a wry smile. And then, with speed and strength he hadn’t known he possessed, he punched Cressidian squarely in the jaw and sent him tumbling backward. He gave a laugh of surprise as he went out—he wouldn’t have thought himself capable of such a stunning blow.
The next call he made was to the home of Hollis Honeycutt. He needed to see that his wards were comfortable and prepared to leave at a moment’s notice. He arrived at the address where he’d sent the ladies and knocked on the door. The man who opened the door to him in shirtsleeves and an apron was as tall as he was, and a bit broader. He might have been the most handsome man Leo had ever seen.
He must have been staring in confusion, because the man said, “Aye?”
“Pardon. Is Mrs. Honeycutt at home?”
“She is,” he said, looking Leo up and down. He didn’t move from filling the door.
“Who’s there, Donovan?”
Hollis Honeycutt appeared at the door, ducking under the arm the man had propped against the door frame. She was dressed for the ball. “Oh! Your Highness!”
The man arched a brow.
“I beg your pardon, but I had a moment of opportunity and I thought I might see after your guests?”
“Come in,” she said, smiling. “They’re dining just now. My cook has gone away for the weekend and Donovan made a lamb shank. He’s an excellent cook.”
Leo squeezed by the man and into the foyer. He was instantly struck by the smell of something delicious and something even more amazing—the sound of laughter.
* * *
AN HOUR LATER, Leo arrived at Upper Brook Street with Hollis, who would also accompany the Hawkes to the ball. He shed the overcoat and hat and straightened the cuffs of his sleeves. He was wearing his finest formal wear, and for the first time since perhaps his brother’s wedding, he had cared what he looked like. He wore a blue silk sash with his royal medals and had Freddar tie an Alucian knot in his neckcloth. He wore the formal Alucian coat and combed his hair neatly behind his ears, also in the Alucian style. If he was going to leave England in disgrace, he would do it with his head held high.
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Garrett showed him into the family drawing room. Beck was impatiently pacing the hearth. “I’ve been waiting for Caro a half hour,” he said impatiently. “What is it that women do in their boudoir? It seems fairly straightforward, does it not? A petticoat, a few pins in the hair,” he said, fluttering his fingers at his head.
“Are you complaining again, Beck?”
“Caro!” Hollis exclaimed as Leo and Beck turned toward the door. “Your gown is gorgeous!”
“Thank you, Hollis! And you are beautiful in blue, darling. You should wear it always.”
Leo’s breath was snatched from his lungs—Caroline looked beautiful. She always looked beautiful—but tonight there was something about her that sparkled. She wore a headdress made of gold and sparkling crystals that looked a bit like a crown, and from which three gold feathers rose up on one side. Her dress was a brilliant shade of gold, so light that it looked a bit like stardust. The skirt, a diaphanous layer of silk over another layer of heavier silk, was embellished with tiny seed pearls. She wore a choker of pearls around her neck, and another, larger pearl brooch pinned to her bodice. A wrap of the same material as her dress was draped loosely around her arms.
She was elegant, resplendent—he felt like a crow, and she the shiniest of objects. He couldn’t look away.
“It was well worth the wait, then, darling,” Beck said. “You and Hollis will outshine all the other ladies.”
“That’s an unexpectedly kind thing for you to say, Beck,” Caroline said with a curtsy. She turned her smile to Leo and he felt it sink into his bones and lodge there. He hoped he never forgot that smile. “Your Highness! How do you do this glorious evening? The weather is so fine, I think they will have the doors open, won’t they?”
“I am...ah.” He felt a little tongue-tied. “I’m very well, thank you.” He smiled. He was speechless. Utterly bewitched. In love.
Her smile deepened, too, as if she understood what he was thinking.
Beck said, “If the two of you will stop gawking at each other, we might be on our way.” Beck and Hollis had already moved to the door and Leo hadn’t noticed.
