Page 12 of Brilliance and Betrayal (The Diamond of the Ton Regency Mysteries #1)

11

“The secret of being a bore is to tell everything.”

—Voltaire

I n a state of pique, Peregrine stuffed his feelings deep and shut the carriage door firmly, leaving her inside to stew. His driver, Hodges, would be able to keep her out of trouble.

If the duchess wanted to act the petulant child, he would be happy to treat her like one. But that would come later. Right now, he had to gird himself for dealing with the Marchioness of Normanby. He needed all his wits on her rather than the pointy Diamond jabbing a sore spot on his arse.

Whatever else she might be about, the marchioness didn’t deign to play petty games of superiority with Peregrine. He found himself conducted adroitly to her drawing room, where she was already standing to greet him

“Perry,” she said, moving forward to clasp his hand. “Whatever happened after I left? There have been no notices about a royal personage’s unfortunate demise, but when I heard you were staying at Buckingham House… I wondered.”

There were no servants stationed anywhere nearby, but even if they had been, he wouldn’t worry about it. There would be no gossip that he was with her, unescorted. The marchioness valued her privacy, and her servants valued the idea of not having to leave the country to obtain new employment.

“Yes, well. I have been doing a great deal of reflecting myself, Sina, having found ample time to do it.” He kept his voice cool. “And I have been pondering whether you have spent any of our time apart looking into the strange matters that landed me in the Queen’s claws.”

She let go of him, transferring her hands to her hips in a posture of irritation, though no sign of those feelings made their way to her face. “That was your own fault, and from what gossip I have heard, I would assume it has something to do with the Duchess Atholl. Combing her hair, Perry. Really?” The marchioness’s eyes danced in amusement, but it contained neither malice nor jealousy. “How positively scandalous . You have never brushed my hair, and I must admit, now I feel slighted.”

God. How had she found that out? Even the gossip rags whispering about his proximity to the duchess had not heard that choice morsel. But he let an unconcerned smirk rise.

“I shall not ask what whisperer you keep in Buckingham House that brought you that particular tidbit, but if it is a footman named Branson, dismiss him. His attitude leaves a great deal to be desired.”

“Mmm,” she agreed. Sina had deliberately cultivated a purr that put a man’s mind to all manner of sinful thoughts—the better to manipulate one. But Peregrine was unmoved. “I know who you are speaking of. Branson is not mine. But to answer your question, yes. I felt it would behoove me to do some discreet investigation of my own.”

“I thought as much. So I take it then that your associates did not act independently because they had been anticipating our failure. And judging by your displeasure that afternoon on the lawn, I feel fairly confident that you were not the architect of some second scheme.”

“You would be correct on both counts. My associates were rather miffed at the notion of someone usurping the event and interrupting our plans to further their own agenda, even if the outcome aligned with our objective. The Prince Regent and the Queen have yet to announce the princess’s engagement, no doubt waiting until the whole debacle has faded from public memory.”

Peregrine inhaled through his nose, thinking. “That does narrow the scope somewhat, though they were scarcely high on my list of suspects to begin with. Faugh .”

“The scope?” Selina arched a brow, resting one elbow in her palm as her fingertip languidly traced her lower lip. “I understand that, somehow, you and the duchess contrived to accuse one another of the crime. However, I must confess—my sources are curiously lacking in detail as to how you arrived at such a predicament.”

At least he knew that she was telling the truth. Branson wasn’t her creature, else she would have the whole damn sordid tale.

“I am afraid you will have to remain curious, Sina, but suffice it to say, the accusation—and the duchess—led to the Queen putting me on a short lead. I am looking into who might be responsible, and for now, our interests are sufficiently aligned that it suits me to bide my time.”

“With the duchess?” Selina’s delicate dark brows were high on her forehead, and her face took on one of pure deviltry. “Oh, Perry. Do not tell me—never mind, please do. Is that who is waiting out front in the carriage?”

Peregrine allowed a slight smile to serve as the answer and Selina’s laughter rang to the ceiling.

“My goodness. Whyever is she still sitting out there?”

He elected to tell the truth. It would serve that little vixen right. “Because she is under the ridiculous notion that my first order of business would be to call upon my mistress and seek solace of a… well…”

“More carnal nature?”

“That will do.”

Selina laughed again, dabbing the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief. “Oh my. I cannot think of the last time something made me laugh so hard. Does she believe you were dropped on your head as a child?”

“Knowing the duchess, I would not put that past her,” he agreed dryly.

“That must be a most novel experience for you. What a darling little lamb she is! Of all the many words I have heard applied to your character, stupid has never once been added to the list. Oh she is far too amusing. The ton will devour her whole.”

“Sina,” he warned the marchioness as a jolt of premonition struck him. Selina was sure to find the duchess an interesting and important person to become acquainted with. The duchess wasn’t stupid—Selina wouldn’t bother with her if she was—she was only naive about the circles he and the marchioness ran in. And that was the sort of situation that could be easily remedied.

Lady Normanby wrapped her arms around his neck, whispering into his ear wickedly. “I want to invite her in for tea. But perhaps I should muss your hair first. Or loosen your cravat.”

Peregrine reached up and disentangled her arms. “Absolutely not, you incorrigible wretch. Go ahead and try to invite her in if you like, but I doubt she will accept it. It is far more likely she will misconstrue the nature of such an offer entirely.”

Selina simpered. “I see no harm in indulging both curiosity and scandal at the same time as I play the gracious host. But shall we wager? I think your duchess is savvy enough a social creature that she knows she will be forced to accept my invitation.”

“She is not my duchess—” he began, but Sina dashed out without waiting for him to respond.

Peregrine watched through the window as the marchioness strode to the carriage, her knuckles tapping smartly on the door with the precision of someone accustomed to being obeyed. After a moment, she leaned in to say something. It must have been a persuasive argument because within ten seconds, the door opened.

He suppressed a smirk. It was just as well he did not make the wager. Since she had been so obviously waiting in the drive, the marchioness had caught the Duchess of Atholl neatly in the snare of propriety, robbed of any excuse about a pressing schedule.

But as they entered the drawing room, Peregrine halted the train of his less charitable thoughts. When she entered, she moved stiffly, as if each step had to be forced. Her posture was perfect, her expression poised, but there was something just slightly off. Too controlled. As if she was holding something at bay.

Sina seemed to sense it too. “Morton, dear, fetch us all some tea and whatever sweet delights Cook has made today, would you?” she asked her butler. Then she turned back to the duchess. “Please. Sit and relax, Your Grace. It is the least I can do after this oaf left you sitting in front of my house. He should have told you that you were welcome to come in. I have been most interested in making your acquaintance since I saw you two together at Prinny’s party.”

Already the colour was coming back to the duchess’s face, and now she pinkened with a touch of embarrassment. “To be honest, he did. I was the one who did not want to… presume.”

Well, at least she did him some credit. “May I present Lady Selina, Marchioness of Normanby? A paragon of wit and charm, as I am sure you will soon discover. Selina, this is… the Duchess Atholl.”

Selina was a master of dissembling, and she quite convincingly nattered away for the next few minutes like an empty-headed lady of fashion until Morton returned with the tea tray. And then she served like a good hostess, not even raising an eyebrow at Duchess Atholl’s request again for milk and three lumps.

Peregrine’s eyelid twitched at the amount of sweetener. But he also noted she ignored the plate of small cakes. He idled, munching on a frosted concoction and drinking tea while the women chatted about inconsequential things like the latest dress styles and tatted lace. Or rather, the marchioness chatted, and the golden-haired virago responded with clipped replies.

As the conversation continued, the duchess gradually loosened her tongue, her answers growing longer. Sina laid her trap barehanded and obvious, like a snare sitting across a rabbit’s path, and his shiny nuisance—however questionably versed she was in manners—was completely unaware of it.

Without a doubt, the marchioness was enjoying herself immensely. Peregrine certainly was. He was having difficulty maintaining a straight face as he waited for the inevitable to happen.

It wasn’t until she had finally managed to convince the duchess to nibble politely on a ratafia biscuit that Selina let it spring.

“I must confess, Your Grace, you are the very last person I would have expected to find in Peregrine’s carriage. Especially after everything that happened last year.”

The duchess nearly choked on her bite, and swallowed painfully. There was too long a pause before she managed to echo the marchioness. “What happened last year?”

Selina delicately swirled her tea. “That little... incident at Fitzroy’s ball. Such a peculiar turn of events. One moment, you were enjoying a glittering debut; the next, you vanished. It was quite the topic of gossip. I can see why you would nurse a grievance against the Fitzroy household.”

The duchess actually gave him a withering look. “You told the marchioness about what your mother did?”

The marchioness took the spoon out of her cup and took a long sip. “My goodness, little lamb.”

The duchess’s face reddened, and Peregrine relaxed back in his chair, wondering if she would explode. “Why does everyone think they can ignore my title and call me by some insulting pet name?”

Peregrine sighed. “The marchioness has two eyes and a mind behind them. You knew already the Queen’s excuses for your absence were awful, you kept giving me the evil eye at Prinny’s party, and then when Lady Normanby goes fishing with the most flimsy of bait, your hunger for revenge made you swallow the hook whole. I did not tell her. You did—Sparkles.”

The Duchess Atholl’s red face drained of colour quickly as she realised her error.

“You should be nicer to Perry,” the marchioness told her. “Not only is he correct, when it came to your secrets, he was the soul of discretion. Really, you should be mindful of the fact that he is an impenetrable strongbox when it comes to information of all kinds. I should know—I have tried to… pick his lock. Once or twice.”

Peregrine rolled his eyes, because now she was only trying to scald the duchess’s ears with innuendo. “Sina, do not be vulgar; she was married so briefly, she would hardly understand the meaning of your words.”

The marchioness blithely finished her tea, telling Peregrine without words that her mind was working very hard. The fact that they remained in each other’s company gave the marchioness’s clever brain more to chew upon than he liked. He needed to take control of things, and Selina had a weakness for flattery. They were there for a reason, and it was time he brought it up.

The Dutch delegation was still high on the probability of suspects, but it seemed that the Crown was conducting their own investigation in that direction. Given Selina’s earlier statements, all of the men of means she associated with were unlikely to have interfered with the two of them. But there were a great many more who had not been invited, and as Queen Charlotte had pointed out, it would not be an impossible matter to buy or force another person’s hands.

“Sina, we rub along because one has ears where the other does not. You know what transpired with Prince William. Let us play a little game. If his sabotage or embarrassment was the aim, who from the list of people who were not invited to attend would you mark for having the means and the motivation? Someone who is not among the visiting Dutch lords and ladies?”

Selina paused, thinking. “Without any proof to lean on? At the top of my list would be the Prince Regent’s wife,” she said. “Once Princess Charlotte is wed, the Regent will toss her mama out on her ears.”

Both he and Selina looked to the duchess to see if she would weigh in, and the woman fidgeted, understanding that her connection to the Princess of Wales might provide helpful insight. “If you are hoping that Princess Charlotte might have heard a confession from her mother, you will be disappointed. I cannot believe she would betray Caroline.”

She continued slowly, choosing her words with an excess of care. “But… I think the idea has merit. Not only would it allow Princess Caroline to stay in England longer, it would be just another wicked, scandalous blow dealt to the Regent in their ongoing row.”

Peregrine huffed a quiet breath of agreement.

If they were only considering the first two possibilities—breaking up the negotiations, or causing a scandal for the Crown—then Princess Caroline was the only remaining name he had. Unfortunately, if it was a message, the list of suspects would be considerably longer.

But he would have to examine that possibility later, with the pretty and very vexing little duchess. Sina would not hear a whiff of suspicion about that from him.

“Well, Sparkles, it seems we have our afternoon planned for us. Shall we go call on Princess Caroline?”

The duchess nodded, her brow knotted in thought, and stood up, straightening her skirts.

Selina concealed a knowing smile behind her hand while the duchess wasn’t looking and then shook her head. Reaching out a hand, she said her farewells to the duchess. “I expect your opinion may differ, Your Grace, but I feel that if we met on a more even ground, I would like you very much. So I will give you this advice for free. Information is the only currency that matters, and the only one that can buy true power.” Pausing for emphasis, Sina continued, “Do not let others pick your pockets.”

To her credit, the Duchess Atholl considered those words seriously. “Thank you. It is a lesson I thought I already knew but… perhaps I did not understand its meaning as fully as I thought.”

The marchioness stood then. “Good. Then I cannot wait until we see each other again.”

Both a promise and a threat. It would be interesting to watch and see if the duchess could survive Selina’s friendship. Heavens knew sometimes it felt like he barely did.

“Perry…” the marchioness turned to him, resting a hand upon his. “You are skirting unsafe territory. I wish you… luck.”

Well, that didn’t seem sinister or anything.

The duchess remained thoughtful during the walk out to his carriage, and he gave his driver the address as the man helped her in. Of course, she helped herself to the forward facing seat, and made sure she was positioned directly in the middle, so he would have to sit opposite and find a place for his legs.

What a cat. Pleasure rippled through his belly as he briefly considered how to return tit for tat. Finally he slouched into the corner as he faced her, stretching out his long legs. He let his limbs brush against hers as he used the tip of his shoe to nudge her feet to the other side.

“I beg your pardon,” she muttered, scowling as she slid to the other end of the bench on her side of the carriage.

“Beg away. I am a soft touch for a properly remorseful woman. And besides, it is an hour’s ride to reach Montagu House in Greenwich Park. Why should I be uncomfortable?”

Despite her efforts to lean away from him, every jostle and bump caused his leg to brush against her skirts. He could practically see her blood heating slowly to a boil as discomfort from her position settled in.

Amusement passed quickly. His twenty-seventh birthday was in a month, giving him perhaps six or so years seniority over the duchess, but sometimes her inexperience left him feeling a hundred years older.

“You are punishing yourself more than you are punishing me. You know that, right? All you are going to do is end up with a pain in your side from sitting like that. Relax. There is no one here to judge you for riding with me.”

“Except for you and me.” But she did straighten herself. After perhaps ten minutes passing in silence, she volunteered a new comment. “The marchioness was not at all what I expected her to be.”

“Nothing you could say would please her more.”

She studied him through lidded lashes. “You like the Marchioness of Normanby, but you do not seem to trust her. At least, I assume that is why you did not ask her about who might wish to send your mama a message.”

Peregrine’s habitual, neutral smile became a touch more genuine. “Be careful, Sparkles. If you learn to become astute, I might have to revise my opinion of you.”

She ignored the nickname. “Would a better opinion include trust? At least—more trust than now. You could have kept me from walking into her den that blindly,” she murmured with only the barest hint of petulance.

Thank God she had amended her question, because he doubted she would like being told no. He couldn’t imagine allowing himself to be so vulnerable with anyone. Never again.

“I will never leave you ignorant where it might cause us harm,” he temporised. “Some people play for much higher stakes than party invitations, Duchess. But trust is a weakness that few people with ambitions can afford.”