Page 10 of Brilliance and Betrayal (The Diamond of the Ton Regency Mysteries #1)

9

“Never compete with someone who has nothing to lose.”

– Baltasar Gracián, The Art of Worldly Wisdom

“ H er Majesty has asked me to take you to the Garden View Chamber,” said the footman. The slight man’s expression was now studiously blank. “Would you follow me, please?”

Peregrine noted the absence of name and title. This lack of respect was his fault; he had no doubt the servant heard him shouting in the Queen’s presence. Still, a bold act for a man in livery. One he did not intend to ignore.

The duchess’s duplicity scalded, the burn of it searing far beneath his skin. But Peregrine’s anger wasn’t reserved solely for her—it turned inward, sharp and unforgiving. He had dropped his guard because for one fleeting moment they had reached an accord about the prince’s poisoning. And in that moment, he somehow managed to forget that she blamed him for other miseries in her life.

Idiot .

He didn’t normally feel an urge to demand his pound of flesh from servants, but the rude footman had caught him at the wrong moment. He ran his tongue over the sharp tip of his eye teeth, repressing a smirk as the footman walked ahead, and the guard trailed behind. Lazily, he slowed his step, managing to nearly end up side by side with the guard.

The guard was attempting to remain stone faced, but the tilt of his eyebrows showed confusion and discomfort. At first, he tried to slow his step and fall behind, but Peregrine tilted himself slightly towards the man, and reluctantly the guard settled only a half step behind and to his right.

“It has been a frightful night,” Peregrine said to the guard, pitching his voice just enough that the footman would hear him clearly. “I imagine at this hour the kitchens are a bit sluggish, but since you are here, do you think they could manage a cup of chocolate? I adore it with a dash of cinnamon, if the chef would not be too put out.”

The guard’s eyes darted to the footman, whose shoulders had gone up but otherwise betrayed no sign he was listening. “I, er… will see your request passed on, my lord,” he murmured.

“Marvelous,” Peregrine said. “I am sure it is not a usual part of your duties, but your effort is appreciated nonetheless. Thank you for seeing to my comfort.” And then he stepped forward back into place, not wanting to accidentally antagonise the guard—just the ruddy footman for putting on more airs than his narrow shoulders could carry.

The distance they walked indicated the room was quite far away from everything. Peregrine made a private wager with himself. The Queen, vain and spiteful creature that she was, was the sort of woman who liked to make displays of her displeasure.

It was rather hard for Peregrine to act offended when the ploys were so predictable.

And he was right. The room was at the very end of a hall, lacking the opulence he had seen everywhere else in Buckingham House. It was modest in size, and painted in a washed-out blue. The furniture it contained was well-crafted, but simple, lacking in gilt adornments or carving, and the fireplace was serviceable but small.

It was a perfect, carefully contrived picture of deliberately restrained hospitality, with just enough amenity to avoid being insulting, but lacking the more luxurious touches afforded to an honoured guest.

“Your washstand is stocked, and the fire has been laid. The chest contains a spare blanket, shirt, robe and slippers. The bell-pull is there, should it prove necessary, my lord,” the footman said, his voice clipped.

Amused hugely, Peregrine let it show on his face, not caring at all if the footman interpreted it as pleasure with his room. His padded prison. “Excellent. I shall be quite comfortable here.”

He shucked his coat, noting with a curse that a few more stray golden hairs clung to it. But he handed it swiftly to the footman. “I suppose you can manage this, I trust. Or else find someone who can. I would hate for the fabric to suffer for lack of expertise. And if someone can come retrieve the rest of my clothes to freshen them, I believe I will need them for tomorrow.”

The man gave a shallow bow, “As you wish, my lord.”

Prig. Peregrine stared out the single window for a moment as he changed into the nightshirt, seeing only the faint glow of gas lamps.

There was nothing more he could do this night. The Queen was waiting for him to dance to the beat of her drum, and the duchess—well, who knew what instrument she was playing? Suffice it to say, she had a rhythm of her own going, even if he hadn’t yet identified the song she was trying to perform.

He was not interested in their coarse manipulations. If they wanted him embarrassed and ill at ease, he would give them a taste of their own medicine. Releasing all the tension in his back and neck, Peregrine hopped into his bed and promptly fell asleep.

He slept as deeply as a babe, rousing late—perhaps sometime around one in the afternoon, to judge by the shadows. His clothes rested on the chair, brushed and freshened. Ravenous, he yanked the bell pull, wondering if the servants would respond or if the pretense of hospitality would be entirely cast aside.

But they responded quickly and adroitly, acceding to his whims. He received all that he could want—good food, the papers, even a bath—but no summons came for him, and given the guard positioned in the hallway, he was not intended to leave.

Peregrine idled the rest of the day away, with plenty of time to think about everything.

Someone would get him, sooner rather than later. It would cause too much speculation if he vanished at Buckingham House, so his detainment was unlikely to be protracted. Doubtless, the royal family and that chit were following what few bits of information they had.

They would find nothing that tied to him. Outwardly, he exuded patience, and no small amount of gloating. Not only would they fail to pin the deed on him, they would probably have no firm leads in any other direction either.

And so he expected the knock at the door which roused him on the morning of the second day of his confinement. He washed and dressed as leisurely as he could without being rude, ignoring the fidgeting of the footman who expected him to move in haste to the Queen’s private sitting room.

Dappled sunlight filtered through the tall windows of Queen Charlotte’s space, brightening the sage green silk of her walls and the florals of her carpet. Peregrine was in no way surprised to find the Regent already seated in an upholstered chair beside his mother, the positioning of the chairs set for an inquiry.

It gave him some small measure of appeasement to see the Duchess Atholl was standing, slightly behind and to the side of the Queen.

“Lord Fitzroy,” the Queen said once he finished his bow. “We trust our hospitality has been satisfactory?”

“Quite, Your Majesty,” Peregrine said serenely. “I have wanted for nothing. How did your investigations fare yesterday?”

Charlotte’s lips pursed slightly as she raked her gaze down him, unsatisfied, and Peregrine hid his sense of triumph.

“We have been as thorough as we dared while trying to remain discreet,” Prinny admitted. “The Princess and Prince William have made full recoveries and are no longer experiencing any ill effects. I believe the duchess has improved as well,” he added, giving the young woman a quick glance.

Charity nodded, her eyes downcast.

Was that all they had bothered looking into? “What came of questioning the footman serving the drinks to the Dutch contingent?” he asked.

Prinny harrumphed, looking displeased. “Nothing we can act upon with any surety. The footman is one of ours, and he said that the bottle had been corked and sealed when it was given into his possession. And then, as the duchess said, the jenever had been decanted. The prince had been partaking from it all afternoon and seemed no worse for wear until late in the day.”

Peregrine carefully sifted through that statement. “Correct me if I am mistaken, but it sounds as though you have verified the drink was tainted.”

“With henbane, yes. Or something that acted to the same effect,” the Queen said sourly. “When no one showed signs of becoming too ill, we had the apothecary’s assistant imbibe what remained. They have agreed with your identification of the drug.”

There was a small silence, and Peregrine suppressed the urge to sigh. Would they ever get to the point? “This is all very fascinating,” he said at last, his speech polite but edged with impatience. “And I do appreciate your need for caution. I understand. But—and I assume you are confiding in me because you have come to agree with what I am telling you now—none of this has anything whatsoever to do with me. So, respectfully, might I be allowed to go home now?”

The Queen’s eyelids flickered with irritation. “Refresh my memory, Lord Fitzroy. Which one of the parties present during our last meeting mentioned that the choice of tincture might be… how did you put it? A ‘coded threat’?”

“I suppose I did, but that does not mean that is what it is. It could easily have been nothing more than the weapon that was at hand. I trust your apothecary did inform you of how very common henbane is, which is why certain parties who are present now have some passing familiarity with its adverse effects.”

The duchess remained silent, not even meeting Peregrine’s eyes at that.

Prinny stuck his oar in, leaning on the arm of his chair. “The apothecary believes this the work of an amateur. The right dose of henbane would be fatal. He could not fathom why someone might so deliberately miss the mark when there are better choices to make him ill.”

Peregrine lifted his eyebrows, betraying no other sign than polite interest. “There is a possibility he might be right. Alternatively, it would take a practiced hand to accomplish what they did.”

“Enough. I am tired of beating around the bush,” Queen Charlotte said, cutting the air with her hand. “There are far too many possibilities . We have a handful of facts, and too many avenues to pursue. Then the point remains that if it was meant to be a message, there were only two people who managed to hear it: you, and the Duchess Atholl.”

He laughed out loud. “You think my mother would poison Prince William to send me a note to say ‘Hallo son, how is the weather in England this time of year?’” His eyes fell on the duchess, who had finally looked at him. “I am, of course, assuming you still believe it could be my mother.”

The young woman’s eyes flashed, and finally she spoke out of turn. “Stop acting the fool.”

He had been bored by this posturing. Annoyed even. And now sudden anger bit deep. “I do beg your pardon; did you just tell me I am the one being a fool? After you impugned my honour and invited me to spend a full day as an unexpected guest of the Queen?”

“I told you to stop acting like one,” she hissed. “Do I believe that you are indifferent to what happened at the fête? Not for one moment. Not after you broke into my home, convinced I was the one behind it all. And most certainly not after I recognised the pattern and suspected it had been orchestrated by you. You do not believe it is a coincidence, Lord Fitzroy. Do not pretend that what happened does not prey upon your peace of mind.”

Peregrine let a smile curl his lips, but it did not reach his eyes. He felt… he didn’t know. Hollow and strange. Perhaps this was what it was like to be losing his bloody mind on top of everything else.

“What a rousing speech. Yes, you are quite correct that I will take steps to ensure I am not being implicated in any plot. Perhaps you can see why, given how my loyalty tends to be… rewarded. Whatever else is on my mind, my dear duchess, is really none of your damn business.”

“Two things can be true, Lord Fitzroy.” The Queen steepled her fingers. “You can be a dangerous man with questionable loyalties, and you can still be the uniquely suited tool we are willing to wield to run our enemy to the ground.”

“At the risk of being thrown into a dungeon and forgotten, I do not care to be your tool , Your Majesty. If I fail to find the guilty party, someone with a particular grievance against me could ensure I take the blame. And, as luck would have it, that could describe just about everyone in this room.”

The Queen’s gaze hardened, her pitch threatening. “If you insist, Lord Fitzroy, although let me assure you of this: though the testimony shows you kept your path away from the prince and princess during the party, you know better than most how other hands might achieve your means. I have no intention of letting you pursue your own devices. Evidence has a way of being tampered with by those with much to lose—and you, it seems, have more to lose than most.”

Peregrine’s back teeth ached. “I see I am outmanoeuvred. If I concede and agree to help, will you at least allow me to deal with matters directly?”

Charlotte tittered, a cutting sound. “Oh Lord Fitzroy! As if we would ever let you leave without a safeguard. You are far too clever to be trusted on your own.”

Prinny, who had been watching the match of wills between Charlotte and Peregrine with pensive interest, finally volunteered another comment. “Lord Ravenscroft?—”

“No.” The Queen’s voice brooked no argument.

When his eyes found their way to the duchess, Peregrine barked a sharp laugh in helpless disbelief. “ Her! You want—a mere slip of a girl—to play my nursemaid while I ask around about who might have committed treason? Have your jest.”

At least the duchess seemed no happier about this than he did. Were they to swap shoes, he would likely be crowing about it.

The Duchess Atholl’s composure broke just long enough for her to take a half step forward before she caught herself. She drew herself up and turned to the Queen, waiting for the woman’s permission to speak. Queen Charlotte showed the first hint of approval Fitzroy had seen yet as she nodded.

“Your ‘nursemaid,’ Lord Fitzroy,” Charity said distastefully, “is even less interested in playing the role than you are in having me play it. Already tongues have been wagging. But as much as I would prefer it, I cannot follow my Queen’s wishes acting alone—and neither can you.”

Truly, generosity was its own form of punishment. He should have let her fly to the Queen, alone and looking like a crazed wild thing, to endure whatever suspicion they might level and then be released.

Prinny stirred. “The Duchess Atholl is correct, Fitzroy. The questioning is moving towards the upper classes, and as that is fraught with delicacies, it would be both unseemly and ill-advised to send her alone. You are not the only ones we have looking into things, but where your mother is concerned, you and the duchess are the… best equipped. Go be useful,” he barked. “This is tiresome, and I have a game of billiards waiting for me, so I am of no mind to cross my mother’s wishes.”

The Queen was slower to rise, though that might have been more to do with her advancing age than anything else. She gazed at the pair of them through lowered lids before finally settling the weight of her royal gaze on him.

“If it soothes your wounded pride in the slightest, Lord Fitzroy, both my son and my diamond are convinced that, whatever your other failings, you are not guilty of poisoning the prince or princess. That is why I permit you to remain in my diamond’s company and why you have this opportunity to earn my trust.” Then, like her son, she turned her back and left.

As he and the duchess stood there, Peregrine exhaled slowly, the only outlet he allowed himself for his agitation. It was seldom in his life that he found himself in situations where his control of matters was tenuous.

It was… vexing.

“I am sorry, Lord Fitzroy, but perhaps we should assume this… partnership… is for the best. It occurs to me that this might not be a message for you or I—it might be a message meant instead for your mother.”

That had occurred to him too. But he was unsure how to take her meaning. He whirled, meeting the duchess’s gentian eyes. “And you think it best I cooperate because I need the protection of the Crown, Duchess?”

“I think you see enemies in the shadows, and you have no compunction against striking against them. If you are willing to do so, it would be useful to harness that to our benefit.”

“And I think that if your Queen has the slightest idea what she is getting you involved in, she is not showing nearly enough concern for your safety.”

Being involved in scandal was one thing, but investigating a crime was far, far more dangerous for any woman, much less one only a year past her debut.

“She knows I will be able to open doors you cannot.” She turned away, straightening her skirts.

The only person who remained behind was the footman. Once again, he was studiously ignoring Lord Fitzroy. “Your Grace, I shall send to have your carriage brought around.”

“Thank you, Branson. Would you also see that Lord Fitzroy’s horse is prepared? I imagine he would prefer to refresh himself after his ordeal before coming to Atholl House.” She glanced at Fitzroy and added, “That is agreeable to you, I trust? After two days, I suspect a change of clothing might even prove advantageous. I shall await you at home when you are ready.”

So it was going to be like that, was it? Fine. She would quickly find out that he was no tame dog to be held on her leash. Peregrine gave her a bow so low that it was sarcastic. “As you command, sparkling one.”