Page 1 of Brilliance and Betrayal (The Diamond of the Ton Regency Mysteries #1)
London, Late June, 1813
“To wed is to tread the respectable halls of matrimony. Conveniently timed widowhood, however, ascends one to the gallery above, offering a commanding view—and influence—over all below.”
—Reflections of Grace: A Guide to Etiquette
L ady Charity Cresswell recited the mantra in her mind as she stopped at the precise distance from the throne and sank into a curtsy deep enough to make her mother proud.
Confident steps. Head held high. Chin dipped in perfect obeisance.
“My diamond,” Queen Charlotte purred, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “What a surprise to see you today.”
Charity kept her gaze on the intricate parquet floor, not taking the bait. Torturous hours under Mama’s eagle-eyed scrutiny had finally borne fruit. Even now, Mama’s voice echoed in her mind. One does not lift her gaze until bid to do so. Nor speak, nor twitch.
“Stand, and explain the purpose of your visit.”
Charity rose smoothly, her slippered foot sliding across the polished wooden boards.
This was the only way forward.
This parlance would determine Charity’s entire future. Forcing this meeting was a bold move, but what came next was even riskier. To ask the Queen to forgive her for ending her carefully arranged engagement was nigh unthinkable.
A pang struck her as she recalled Lord Roland Percy’s confused, stricken expression when she told him she was breaking off her engagement to him mere minutes ago.
Lord Percy would be the next Duke of Northumberland. He had wealth. A title. Darkly handsome looks. Perhaps most unusually, he seemed to be a good-hearted man. By all aristocratic accounts, it was a splendid match for the both of them, especially since she was this season’s diamond of the first water.
Yet her brilliance had dulled. After her audacious kidnapping from the Fitzroy estate earlier in the season, her reputation had been saved from ruin only by the boldest of lies made by the Queen, and a subsequent engagement to Lord Percy—the man who had so unexpectedly fallen in love with her best friend, Lady Grace.
Her family had no inkling of her whereabouts. When they discovered she was here to end that engagement, their fury would be volcanic. Her mother, most of all, utterly incapable of comprehending her reasons.
Her footing was still not firm enough to survive more scandal. Everyone who knew the truth of her situation believed Charity needed to marry Lord Percy quickly.
That included her loyal best friend, who had begged him to protect Charity at the expense of their own happiness.
Now is not the time to focus on feelings , she chastised herself. The Queen’s aid would not come without a cost. It was tantamount to playing chess against an opponent who could topple the board at will. And yet, the Queen didn’t simply play the game—she held the pieces, the board, and the rules firmly in her grasp.
Charity assumed a pose of cool deference, ignoring the retainers and guards around Charlotte as if it were only herself and the Queen in the room. “Your Majesty, you and Lord Percy have done me a great service this year. He is a perfect gentleman, and any woman should be lucky to marry him.”
Queen Charlotte, no one’s fool, sat straighter on her throne. “Why do I hear a ‘but’ in your unspoken words, Lady Charity?”
“Because Your Majesty is perceptive. I fear he has a weakness which I cannot overlook. He is in love.”
The Queen waited, perplexed, expecting Charity to say more.
“I cannot marry him, Your Majesty.”
The Queen huffed and she waved a hand in the air. “Love is a gift, Lady Charity, but certainly not something which warrants our attention nor the dissolution of a betrothal. Especially for a lady in your predicament. Allow me to guess. He is smitten with the little mouse who assisted him in those escapades to find you.”
Charity did not answer, watching the Queen through her lowered eyelashes, which was answer enough.
“How very curious,” Charlotte continued. As she leaned forward slightly, the light of a hundred candles in the golden chandelier sent the tiara on her head ablaze. “He was committed to this course, and now you are against it. I wonder why. She is your friend, is she not? Lady Grace Tilbury, hmm?”
At the small incline of Charity’s head, the Queen’s tone soured. “I am disappointed in you. A diamond must be as unyielding as it is dazzling, yet here you stand, ready to fling your cap over the windmill—either in a fit of romantic folly or misguided loyalty. The former would be foolhardy, and the latter would be cowardice. Perhaps you can understand why it displeases me to consider either option!” The Queen’s voice was strident, just shy of a shout.
You should apologise and leave , her mother’s voice suggested. It was always there, reminding her at every turn how to walk, look, and even breathe.
But ever more frequently, there was a new voice inside of Charity, a coolly logical one, that warned her to harden her spine. Loyalty it was, but hardly misguided. If she went through with the marriage, at best her best friend would eventually grow to despise her. More likely, the two would eventually betray her.
The worst part was, she would be the first to encourage them to find what happiness they could. But as soon as word got out—and it would—she would be the laughingstock of the ton . The Queen would not come to her rescue. Charity would find herself missing from all the best guest lists.
That damage to her standing would not do. Not when the strongest reason she had for courting Percy had been for his connections and title. Power was the one thing Charity craved above all—even if a desire to grant a small favour of happiness to her best friend was a close second.
Charity stilled her hands to keep from plucking at her skirts. Show no signs of fear , the logical voice said.
“I am surprised you have not raised the concern I have taken leave of my senses, ma’am. Rest assured, my ambitions do not include falling in love.”
She gave the Queen a small smile. “I have little to gain by thwarting Cupid’s arrow. I will not consign myself to a match with a man who does not understand the subtleties of court—not merely to quell rumours of my virtue. Magnanimity does not have to harm our interests. We could secure both the friendship and gratitude of the next Duke of Northumberland—not to mention Lady Grace’s—for the price of a simple broken engagement. And that would be a bargain, would it not?”
Queen Charlotte’s brows drew lower, but underneath them, Charity could see the Queen thinking. If the Queen was thinking, then Charity had a chance of succeeding.
“A bargain,” the Queen repeated as she mulled this over, but her face grew suspicious. “A broken betrothal would be only half of the deal, Lady Charity. If you think you might negotiate with me for the chance to remain unwed and unattached, I will disabuse you of the notion.”
As if that was an option. Once she broke this engagement, Charity would have to marry someone else—at once. “Of course, Your Majesty. There are better matches to be made.”
“Are there? The unfortunate truth is I have no idea who. What person of standing might be willing to overlook both your disappearance and a broken betrothal? If you do not have a plausible alternative, I am sure I need not tell you how very troubled I will be.”
Charity had spent countless hours before her debut poring over the noble families of England, charting matches with the precision of a military strategist.
“Lord Percy was only the best of those in London,” Charity began slowly. “I can not settle for anything less than his station, or Lady Fitzroy will have won. She will have succeeded in ruining my prospects, and secured a victory over you.”
Queen Charlotte scowled at that, then softened. “You suggest someone who is outside of London, then. For a moment, I feared you were about to propose marriage to one of mine. I am not cruel enough to allow that.”
“I would not dream of such a presumption, Your Majesty, though I will have to venture farther afield—to Scotland, to be precise. Duke Atholl is a widower. Again.”
Charlotte’s tapping fingers paused. “Atholl is three breaths shy of the grave. And he already has an heir.”
“A young heir,” Charity countered.
“No one will accept you as a steward until he comes of age.”
No one will accept a woman, she meant. Beneath Queen Charlotte’s words was a world of frustration. With her husband indisposed, she was forced to bow down to her son, when by all other rights she should have ruled.
“Duke Atholl is a reasonable man who will want his heir protected and cared for. His vast Scottish holdings are tempting prizes for many. Your Majesty, I suggest we might solve both his problems with one blow.”
The Queen’s gaze slid to the side as she considered Charity’s words. “Duchess Atholl… it is possible.”
“Mayhap Prince Edward might offer his services as guardian for the lad?” Charity ventured. “His Grace could go to his death in peace for the future of his family line.”
“He would be grateful to me. And his son as well.” The Queen touched her lip and then motioned for a footman to approach. “Fetch a lady’s maid and have them bring a quill and paper. I am of the mind to dictate a letter.”
Her relief was so great that Charity needed to imagine herself as a Grecian goddess carved from stone. Immoveable. Unfeeling.
“You did not mention the inevitable matter of a mourning period. Some might view that as hiding, but cutting the time short would not be respectful either.”
Was that all? That would be simple. “If Your Majesty had some need of me here, I could hardly disobey a command to appear. The princess will be making her formal debut next season, I believe?”
Queen Charlotte’s mouth twisted into a smile. “Indeed. The benefits to this course of action may appear to outweigh the detriments. So if this is your wish, Lady Charity, I suggest you think hard about how you will be of use to the throne when I recall you. Use the time of your ride to Scotland wisely.”