Of Fate and Phantoms (Ministry of Curiosities Book 7)

by C. J. Archer

  "The prince," Lady Vickers said, as if I was a dimwit for asking. "The Prince of Wales."

  "I thought you already knew," Marchbank said heavily.

  Lincoln didn't respond. "We didn't," I said. "This is a surprise."

  Lincoln had never looked shocked at anything, yet his unblinking immobility was the closest to it I'd ever seen. He'd been caught unprepared for this meeting, something he loathed.

  "I'm not sure I want to be introduced," Alice said. "Perhaps I'll wait here by the wall, out of the way. But Charlie should go."

  "I insist." Lady Vickers' voice rose with her excitement. "Particularly if he brings some young gentlemen with him, if not the young princes themselves. They're the perfect age for you, Alice."

  "Me!" Alice blurted out. "I'm just an ordinary girl."

  "You're a beautiful, charming girl, just the sort to catch the eye of any gentleman. Charlie is too, of course, but we all know she's not available."

  I studiously avoided glancing at Lincoln. Alice thanked Lady Vickers for the compliments but expressed a wish to avoid meeting the prince and his party. I agreed with her point of view. From what Lincoln had told me about the one encounter he'd had with his father, at another ball some months prior, the prince thought of women as playthings, there for his enjoyment. I didn't want my friend embroiled with a rich, titled scoundrel. I didn't want her going the way of Lincoln's mother—abandoned and with child. Alice had no family who cared for her, and we were her only friends. I would protect her from men like that. Fortunately, I didn't think I'd have any difficulty on that score. She was one of the most sensible girls I'd met.

  Lady Vickers, however, seemed determined. She alternately begged and reasoned with Alice, until she finally gave up and ordered Alice to meet the prince when he arrived.

  "There you are," Seth said, joining us, all smiles. Smiles which he directed mostly at Alice. His mother's lips tightened. It was then that I realized why she'd pressed Alice so hard to meet the prince. She hoped someone else would capture her eye—someone other than her son.

  Perhaps she ought to be introducing Seth to eligible ladies, and not Alice to gentlemen. The infatuation seemed entirely on his side, not hers. From the small hint she'd given me, I gathered that Alice saw Seth as an amusing person, but she had no interest in him. He, however, couldn't take his gaze off her.

  He thrust out his hand. "Will you dance with me, Alice?"

  She paused. Her gaze flicked to his mother. Lady Vickers' nostrils flared. "I can't think of a single reason not to," Alice said, accepting his hand.

  Lady Vickers watched them go then stormed off. Lord Marchbank had also disappeared, although I hadn't noticed him go.

  I clasped Lincoln's elbow. "You don't have to go anywhere near him if you don't want to."

  We stood side by side, watching couples assemble on the dance floor, neither of us speaking. A troubling thought struck me.

  "You won't do anything foolish, will you? In the prince's presence, I mean."

  His gaze slid to mine. "When have I ever done anything foolish?" At my arched brow, he added, "Disregarding the time I sent you away."

  "And the time you kidnapped me. And when you—” I cut myself off before I mentioned the darker things he'd done. “Never mind." He was in no mood to be reminded of them or treat them lightly.

  "I won't do anything foolish tonight," he said. "I won't speak to him at all."

  "Then neither will I." I took his hands in mine. "You promised me a dance."

  We moved to the edge of the dance area and waited for the music to end and another tune to begin. It was a waltz, and it necessitated us to be close to one another, much to my delight. As with everything he did, Lincoln was a very good dancer and made me feel like I was better than adequate, which was quite a feat given my lack of lessons.

  We moved aside when the dance ended and made our way to the refreshment room. Lincoln retrieved a cup of tea for me but nothing for himself, then we fell into quiet conversation.

  A few minutes later a woman dressed all in white with a white mask rimmed with seed pearls entered. Dark hair trailed down her back, stark black against the white, a tiara sparkling in the light from the chandelier. Voices rippled around her, following her path to the footman holding the tray of ices. I thought the chatter was because the cut of her bodice was too low, but then I realized it was most likely because the woman behind the mask was Lady Harcourt. Ever since her secret past as a dancer became public, society madams had snubbed her. Apparently Lady Hothfield had decided to make an exception.

  I was in two minds as to whether we ought to acknowledge her when she spotted us. She didn't approach, however, but simply bowed her head in greeting, set down her ice without touching it, and glided out again.

  "She'll probably ask you to dance later," I said to Lincoln.

  "I doubt it. I'd wager she's given up."

  "On you? Unlikely. Losing is not in her nature."

  He turned to me. "You don't need to fight her, or anyone. I'm yours."

  A lump rose in my throat. I swallowed. "If I did have to fight, I would win. My right hook is rather good."

  He chuckled quietly. "That it is, Charlie."

  We'd restarted our training sessions after Christmas. Lincoln had been teaching me how to fight off an attack, with and without weapons. Even though the supernatural imp in my necklace could save my life, it needed to be out of its amber orb to do so, and I may not always be able to summon it. Knowing that I was capable of throwing a punch as skillfully as any pugilist made both Lincoln and I feel better. It also allowed us to touch one another without raising eyebrows.

  A man wearing ordinary evening clothes of tailcoat, black waistcoat and white tie sauntered over to us. I recognized him from his lazy, arrogant walk, and the fact that his black mask—the only item of clothing befitting a masquerade ball—covered very little of his face. I tried to hide my distaste of Andrew Buchanan, but I doubted I succeeded.

  "Well, well, if it isn't Bluebeard and his mistress," he drawled, looking me over with a critical eye. His gaze settled on my breasts, somewhat insignificant affairs compared to those of his step-mother, Lady Harcourt. He sniffed.

  Neither Lincoln nor I took his bait.

  "Your disguise isn't all that good, you know." Buchanan's little finger wiggled at Lincoln's chest. "I knew it was you immediately."

  "You're looking for Julia," Lincoln said.

  Buchanan bristled. "What makes you say that? I'm here for the refreshments." As if to prove his point, he inspected the table laden with cakes, biscuits, bonbons and sandwiches.

  "She just left," Lincoln continued.

  "I told you, I'm not—"

  "Go away."

  Buchanan backed off, hands in the air. The footman had to step nimbly aside to avoid a collision.

  "He's already drunk," I said, watching Buchanan retreat to the ballroom.

  "And he'll be even drunker soon."

  "Do you think he'll embarrass himself? Or her?"

  "It's likely."

  A commotion by the door drew our attention. Surely Buchanan hadn't made a fool of himself already. Whispers of "He's here" rippled across the room to us.

  "The prince," I announced.

  "Shall we dance again?" Lincoln asked.

  "Is that wise? Perhaps we should stay in here."

  "I'm not going to attack him, Charlie, or confront him. I simply want to dance with you."

  "Oh," I said and bit my lip.

  "Besides, have you ever seen a member of the royal family?"

  "No."

  "Then now's your opportunity." He held out his hand.

  I placed mine in it. "You're going out there, near him, just so I can catch a glimpse of a prince?"

  "Is that such a bad thing?"

  "Not at all." Yet I didn't quite believe that he was doing it for me. There must be a small part of him that wanted to observe his father, too, even from a distance.

  We exited the refreshment room, but couldn'
t catch sight of His Royal Highness through the throng. Everyone seemed to want an introduction. It took a good hour before the crowd thinned and we could see the man himself. He was a strong looking fellow, and handsome for his age, although his florid complexion and paunch told the story of his excesses. According to Lady Vickers, the Prince of Wales enjoyed the company of women, although not that of his wife, and drank champagne as if it were water. Sometimes, he even bathed in it, but only when he frequented Paris's exclusive brothels.

  "There you are." Lady Vickers caught my hand as soon as Lincoln and I ended our dance. "Come with me, Charlie, and meet the prince before he gets too drunk and makes a play for you."

  My eyes widened.

  She waved her hand. "You've heard what he's like."

  I turned to Lincoln, but the crowd had already moved into the space between us. Apparently he had no intention of following.

  We scooped up Alice as we passed, tearing her away from the conversation she shared with Seth and four others, and advanced toward the prince and his friends like an army marching on its enemy, our steps sure and steady, our gazes focused dead ahead. We were out maneuvered, however, by Lady Harcourt. She was already there, her tinkling laughter floating on the drafts. The prince laughed too, his gaze not lifting higher than her heaving bosom.

  "That woman," Lady Vickers ground out between her teeth. "No one breathes that deeply. She's doing it to show off her breasts. As if we haven't already noticed them."

  "We can still meet him," Alice said.

  Lady Vickers' brows drew together with determination. She scanned the room. "I wonder who his friends are. Where is our hostess when she's needed? I want to be introduced to them."

  "We don't need to meet his friends," I said. "They're rather too old for, er…" I glanced at Alice again.

  "For me," she said flatly. "They're too old for me. Thank you for your efforts in finding me a suitable husband, madam, but I think I can manage on my own."

  Lady Vickers let go of Alice's hand as if she'd been stung. "No! You can't!" She glanced behind us to where Seth stood, his focus on Alice.

  "I don't particularly care to meet the prince or his friends," I said before the conversation steered too far out of control. "But thanks for thinking of me, Lady V."

  She jerked my hand hard against her side. I prepared to be dragged over to meet the prince.

  But we never got the chance.

  A heavily accented woman's voice pitched over the music. "I must speak! I must speak to prince!"

  Everyone turned toward the voice. Dancers stopped mid-step, and the band quieted.

  "Who is it?" the prince demanded, trying to peer over heads.

  A tall, slender woman with waist-length gray hair and tanned skin broke through the crowd. No one tried to stop her. Everyone seemed too curious to see what would happen next.

  The strangest reaction came from Lady Harcourt, however. She gasped then covered her mouth with her hand. She glanced past me. I turned to see Lincoln standing there, his gaze fixed on the woman. He'd gone pale.

  The woman stopped short of the prince, whose friends now tried to block the woman's path. The prince shoved one of them aside. He faced up to the woman, keeping an arm's length between them. She tipped her chin, fierce defiance flashing in the depths of eyes as black as pitch. She was a strikingly handsome woman of about fifty years, with a strong jaw and cheekbones, and a slender figure. Her clothing, however, was modest, the practical boots well worn. Not a single guest would have chosen such a drab coat and humble skirt for their costume.

  "Who is she?" he asked Lord Hothfield, standing beside him.

  Lord Hothfield made a noise in the back of his throat, opened his mouth and shut it again without answering. He looked like a fish, gasping on the dock.

  "You know me," the woman said. "I am Leisl. Your woman, long ago."

  The entire ballroom fell silent. Not a shoe scuffled, or a nose sniffled.

  The prince burst out laughing, but there was an uncertain hesitance to it. "You jest, woman. I wouldn't waste my time with you. Get her out of here."

  "Thompson!" Lord Hothfield bellowed. "Thompson! Escort this dirty creature from the house."

  A footman grabbed the woman's arm but she shook him off with a violent motion. "I came to warn you. I see you, Prince. I see your future. You are in danger."

  The prince's laughter spluttered until it died altogether. His cheeks above his beard went white. "What kind of danger?"

  His question was almost lost amid the hoots and howls from his friends. "Get the mad old bat out of here," one of them shouted.

  The woman pointed her finger at the prince. "I warn you. Be careful of your father."

  More howls of laughter followed. "His father's dead," someone said. "God, woman, where have you been?"

  The footman grabbed her again, this time with the help of another.

  "I have seen him!" the woman screeched, her unwavering gaze still on the prince, even as the two men ushered her away. "He will bring you much trouble! Heed my warning! You know I speak only true to you. You know this!"

  The men pushed her forward and she stumbled. They stopped her from falling, and roughly dragged her away. The crowd parted, the women wrinkling their noses in disgust. One man spat at her.

  "Disgusting gypsy," muttered a woman near me. "They ought to be barred from entering the country."

  Gypsy.

  I spun round to Lincoln, but he didn't notice me. He forged his way toward the footmen and the gypsy, who shouted at them to leave her alone, that she would walk unassisted. They did not let her go.

  Not until Lincoln gripped their shoulders and tore them away from her. Away from his mother.

  Chapter 2

  "What are you doing, man?" bellowed one of the prince's friends. His voice rang clear across the room now that the band and guests had gone silent. "Let them escort her out. She's making fools of us all."

  Lincoln placed his hand on the woman's lower back and said something to her that no one else could hear. She glanced sharply at him. I tried to determine from her face if she somehow knew he was her son, but her features quickly schooled and she allowed him to steer her out of the ballroom. Lincoln had never met his mother, but he knew her name and where she lived from the file in the ministry's archives.

  I picked up my skirts to follow.

  "Who is he?" The prince's voice sounded remarkably close. I glanced over my shoulder to see him, Lady Harcourt and our host on our trail. "Hothfield?"

  "I am not sure, your highness," Hothfield said. "My wife will know."

  "He's Lincoln Fitzroy," Lady Harcourt said. "Of Lichfield Towers in Highgate."

  "Never heard of him," the prince said. "Does he know Leisl, do you think?" His use of her first name wasn't lost on me. He remembered her. He must.

  "I rather think he does," she said.

  I caught up to Lincoln and Leisl in the entrance hall, standing in the shadows beneath the staircase. He nodded at something she said and her lips parted. Her knees buckled but he caught her and guided her to the chaise.

  "That's velvet!" Lady Hothfield cried. She stood between her husband and Lady Harcourt, her fan fluttering violently at her chest. "Get up! Get up! You're ruining my furniture with your dirty clothes." She barreled past the prince, but I blocked her with my arm.

  "Her clothes aren't dirty," I said in as mild a voice as I could manage considering the way my blood boiled. "She's not doing you any harm sitting there."

  "Don't be ridiculous," Lady Hothfield snapped, shoving my arm away. "She tried to assassinate His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales! In my home!"

  "Steady on, m'dear, " Lord Hothfield said. "There was no assassination attempt."

  "Don't be a fool. She's a gypsy!"

  Lincoln stood between Leisl and Lady Hothfield. "She'll leave," he said. "She needs a moment to compose herself first."

  "Why does she need a moment? I am the injured party! And His Royal Highness, of course." Lady Hothfield ass
essed Lincoln anew and made no attempt to get past him.

  Lincoln crossed his arms over his chest and set his feet apart.

  Lady Hothfield took a step back beneath the force of his glare. "Thompson! Thompson, remove these people at once!"

  "Leave us, Hothfield," the prince ordered.

  "You wish to speak to her?" Lord Hothfield blinked at the prince. "Is that wise considering what she is?"

  "Indeed," Lady Hothfield said. "What if she puts a spell on you?"

  "Go." The way the prince barked reminded me very much of Lincoln. Both men were accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed, without question.

  With a bow, Lord Hothfield retreated, gesturing for his wife to follow. She shot a glare at Lincoln then retreated with her husband. They passed Seth at the base of the stairs and headed back up to the ballroom. Lady Harcourt left too, her pace slower, her brow rumpled in thought.

  "See that we're not disturbed," Lincoln said to Seth.

  Seth nodded and headed up the stairs, taking two at a time.

  The prince approached Lincoln as one would approach a dog of uncertain temperament. In Lincoln's current mood, it was perhaps wise to be cautious. He looked thunderous.

  "You too," the prince said.

  "No," Lincoln shot back.

  I stilled. He dared disobey the Prince of Wales? "We know she's a seer," I said quickly. "We know a lot of things that may help in this situation."

  The prince regarded me levelly for a moment. I thought he would order me to go too, but then he said, "Very well. Stay. Leisl, you shouldn't have come here. It's far too public."

  "I cannot go to your palaces," she said. "There are too many guards. Where do you expect me to go?"

  "That is not the point."

  "No," Lincoln said, low. "The point is that she risked much to come here and warn you."

  "Warn me?" The prince snorted. "Of what? That my dead father has it in for me? That's absurd." He squared his shoulders and stretched his neck. "Even if I believe that she has visions, it's still an outrageous claim."

  "You believe," Leisl said before Lincoln could reply. "I know you. I read you…sire."