Page 15 of Brilliance and Betrayal (The Diamond of the Ton Regency Mysteries #1)

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"When tempers flare, my dear, a soft word and a sharper wit will tame even the most unruly gentleman."

—Lady Cresswell, to her daughter

A t the appointed time on the following day, the rhythmic clicks of boot heels on marble floors gave Charity plenty of warning that her guest had arrived. She gave each cheek a quick pinch to ensure they were perfectly pink and then pasted a welcoming smile on her face. She had not been sure Ravenscroft would accept her invitation.

That smile dropped when a tall, blond man waltzed into the room. "Good afternoon, Your Grace," Fitzroy said, letting his gaze linger on the room’s extravagant decor. "I must say, it is refreshing to see more of your home than just the bedroom. I was starting to believe that was the only place where the real entertainment happened."

Pig. Why had she bothered pinching her cheeks? “We will not be discussing my bedroom, Lord Fitzroy. Mind your manners, or I will see you escorted off the grounds.”

Fitzroy had the gall to lay claim to the most comfortable chair in Charity’s drawing room. “Strange. You seem to like me better when my manners are poor. I did not hear a single word about my cravat in the carriage last night.”

That was… a different thing entirely. Was it fair to complain about dishabille when they had been beset by armed men?

Charity crossed her arms over her chest and glared down at him, not that it made any difference. Perhaps if she stood long enough he would recall that a gentleman waited for the lady to sit. His expression suggested he knew and was ignoring all propriety. She did not harrumph, but it was a close thing. “You are early.”

“My apologies for arriving ahead of schedule, Sparkles. Truthfully, I expected to have to waste time tracking you down because you left me standing on the lawn. But here you are, and here I am. Do you have any tea or cakes? I am feeling somewhat peckish.”

“Go away. I need to have a word with Lord Ravenscroft.”

“I thought that was the point of this invitation—for both of us to speak with him about what he saw at the event?” Fitzroy cocked his head to the side and studied her, and then he laughed. “Ah. You did not warn him I was going to be here.”

“You did not send the marchioness any warning of my visit,” she said mulishly.

Fitzroy’s face went bland. “Sina harboured no ill will towards you, as you saw when she ran out and invited you in the moment she heard you were there.”

“Fine. But you are friends. I do not know his lordship well enough to go that far. Given what happened to us yesterday, discretion and caution are… warranted.” Charity stopped as another set of footsteps echoed in the hallway.

“Behave!” she hissed over her shoulder as she spun around, appalled at the irony of the situation. She had her archnemesis in her drawing room, ostensibly for a polite visit and tea. Her friend Grace would never believe this. Not a word. Not unless she could see it for herself.

Hurrying over to the doorway, she found it harder to keep the smile on her face as she held out her hands to welcome the other man into her home.

“Lord Ravenscroft for you, ma’am,” Pritchard announced, his voice both correct and yet censorious. He turned on his heels and left without asking if she wanted tea.

“You are a vision, Your Grace,” Ravenscroft purred, his words gliding forth like silk. “Radiant, as ever, with a brilliance so dazzling it sets all of London frothing in envy and despair.”

“I could not agree more,” Fitzroy piped up from behind her. “I tell her so rather regularly, do I not… Sparkles?”

Lord Ravenscroft jerked sideways to see over Charity’s shoulder to the man now standing on the other side of the room. His mouth dropped open before slamming shut into a grim frown. “What is he doing here?”

“How rude. I was invited by the duchess.” Lord Fitzroy tsked .

Ravenscroft looked confounded. Charity latched her arm through his and guided him back into the hallway. “There is much to explain—” she began.

“Pray, correct me if I am mistaken—” Ravenscroft interrupted in his velvet tone, the words edged, “—but were you not, only three days past, declaring with utmost certainty that this man had drugged both the prince and princess?”

“No secrets!” Fitzroy’s voice called from inside the drawing room, and Ravenscroft’s eyebrows crawled even higher up his forehead.

Shaking his arm, Ravenscroft loosened Charity’s hold.

Charity was losing her grip on the entire situation, and not just Ravenscroft’s arm. She stepped in front of him. “ Please , my lord. I will explain it all, if you will give me the chance. I need your help,” she added, praying that would be enough.

The pause before he responded was so long that Charity was certain he was going to say no. But with a terse nod, he stepped aside to allow her to lead the way back to the drawing room.

Unlike Ravenscroft, Fitzroy was standing at ease, which was a relief. But then she promptly wanted to kick herself. This was her home . Why had she ceded all control over it to Peregrine Fitzroy?

Because as the hostess, it is your responsibility to ensure all are having a pleasant time. Her mother’s voice, unwanted on the best of days, held all the allure of nails on slate.

This is absolutely not a social call, Mama.

But her mother’s rebuke did remind her of obligations as hostess, and with it in mind, she rang for a footman and asked for two trays to be brought in. Tea and cakes seemed a poor choice of weapon, but hopefully the sugary treats would sweeten them up.

If nothing else, the ceremonial aspects of pouring tea and selecting cakes and biscuits enforced the temporary truce. While the men demolished the sweets, she gave Ravenscroft a brief review of what had been learned during the days Fitzroy had been held.

“I confess, I heard some of this from Prinny,” Ravenscroft admitted. “Though I did not agree Lord Fitzroy was absolved by the evidence.”

“Whatever other mischief Lord Fitzroy may have gotten into,” Charity said softly, giving said lord a brief glance from the corner of her eye, “he played no obvious part in this.”

The man gave her a slow, cocky smile in return, and Charity’s stomach fluttered, suddenly reminded of the other mischief that seemed to be suddenly on his mind.

She hastened on, not mentioning the unnerving visit to the marchioness. “We came to the conclusion that Princess Caroline was the next most likely suspect.”

Ravenscroft was so horrified he dropped his cake. “You didn’t.”

“We did.” She carried on, telling of their visit.

“You paid a call on Princess Caroline without me? Without even consulting me? You are lucky she only sent you to view the roses and did not have you cast into the thorns! The woman loathes Prinny, the Queen, and anyone with even the faintest connection to them. And you, my dear, surely occupy a rather prominent position at the very top of her list.”

Charity did not miss the amused glance Fitzroy tossed her way, and she remembered how the marchioness had wished him luck. “Yes, yes, I know that now. But surely you can see why we suspected her.”

“You wasted the trip. Subtlety is not part of her repertoire. And more,” he added, “even if she had been minded to do such a thing, she would never take a risk with her daughter. Say what you will of her, but she does love her child. The bond between a parent and child is something special… is it not, Lord Fitzroy?”

It was only because she was watching him that she saw it.

Fitzroy was in the middle of sipping his tea when Ravenscroft’s words struck home, but he did not flinch nor sputter. He carried on, seemingly unfazed, but Charity saw the sudden lines of tension in his gloved hand. The tiniest spark of fury in his gaze. If she had blinked, she would have missed it.

How often did he need to repress such reactions? He must be so tired of having the subject of his mother cast in his face.

"Quite," he said simply, pausing to swallow his sip with deliberate calm. "My mother taught me everything I know about the people in our circle, and her words have frequently served me well. You might be surprised to know that she even had a fair bit to say about you, Lord Ravenscroft."

Ravenscroft’s face had become hard. “Did she?”

“My mother did have the most uncanny ability to notice the more… unspoken nuances in people. I wish I had half the knack of it.”

Charity had the strangest sense the two men were exchanging threats. Dire ones, if Ravenscroft’s face was any indication. But frustratingly, she could not grasp the meaning of it.

She cleared her throat with a polite cough to get the men’s attention. “Stop. Please. We cannot make any progress if we cannot work together. If Caroline is excluded, we have to think about who else might have had the means. The footman said that the prince enjoyed several glasses of jenever throughout the party. He did not show any symptoms of the poison until after he shared that drink with the princess.”

Fitzroy took a breath and held it for a moment, thinking. “That would mean it was tainted at the party. We may be able to figure out the time in which someone could have poisoned the jenever. It takes perhaps half an hour to an hour from when they drank it, depending on the strength of the dose.”

“Does that mean it was high?” Charity murmured, thinking about how she had only had two sips, and Peregrine nodded, understanding her meaning. “Then we are lucky the princess did not care for it.”

“You do realise,” Ravenscroft added to Charity, “this only increases odds that the princess might have been the target. And it makes someone among the Dutch seem more suspicious by comparison. You seem to have a particular luck with attracting poisonous elements, Your Grace. Could it have something to do with the company you keep?”

“Ah, yes, the company she keeps," Fitzroy drawled, giving a sardonic smile. "Speaking of which, let me say that it is a marvel you are still standing, Ravenscroft, given your penchant for your dangerous... associations. One might think you have built up quite an immunity over the years—poisons, diseases , all such things.”

This time, Charity did roll her eyes. "Oh, for heaven’s sake, drink some tea, both of you," she said, her words exasperated. "Perhaps it will remind you what we are supposed to be focusing on. Lord Ravenscroft, you were lingering near the prince’s entourage. Did you notice anyone out of place?"

Ravenscroft raised a brow, leaning back in his chair. "Did I? And what of yourself, Duchess?" His voice was a mixture of mockery and amusement. "We were together for much of the time. Their meeting was so excruciating to witness, it nearly put me off my drink."

Charity gave him a sharp look, her voice cooling slightly. "I do not envy them," she said with a pointed edge of reproach. Then, softening just enough to redirect, she added, "At any rate, I was referring to earlier in the event."

Ravenscroft set his teacup aside, shifting uneasily in his seat. “Truly? No, but again, I must remind you that not everyone connected to the Dutch prince is pleased with the betrothal. I overheard a few cross remarks while I was retrieving the princess.”

Charity examined the pieces of information she had against that picture. She firmly believed that the choice of henbane was not a coincidence. Someone meant for her or Fitzroy to understand the significance. Lady Fitzroy certainly would be willing to act against the Crown, but she was far away. She couldn’t arrange for someone to come after her and Fitzroy on such short notice.

No, whoever it was, they were here, following their actions. It was not outside the realm of possibility that Lady Fitzroy would help someone in the Dutch contingency end the marriage. But if she were involved, would she target their prince? Why would the Dutch want to embarrass, and worse yet hurt, their future king? It would certainly help if she knew who Lord Ravenscroft meant.

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask when what Lord Ravenscroft had just said snagged her attention. He retrieved the princess? From a place where he could overhear the Dutch talking about the marriage? She had forgotten that she had found both Ravenscroft and Princess Charlotte standing near the fountain, some several yards away from the Dutch contingent. To hear their dissatisfaction… both of them would have had to be much closer.

Why had Princess Charlotte approached the Dutch on her own without Charity, especially after dragging her heels for so long?

Tea sloshed over the side of her cup, wetting her hand and nearly staining her gown. The pieces fell into place, one after another, until the answer was so obvious she could not believe they had missed it.

Charity’s palms grew damp at the mere thought of it, but it was impossible to deny. The princess was not keen on the match. Drugging Prince William into making an arse of himself in such a public place certainly worked in her favour. It would have been but a moment’s work for her to drug his decanter.

As for the attack on their carriage, that too likely had a simple explanation. Just as she had thought at the time, it could have been organised by Caroline. Like mother, like daughter.

You cannot tell anyone. Her own mother’s voice insisted, spinning together with the logical voice in her mind, repeating the same phrase. If you are wrong, it could cost you everything.

Perhaps it was foolish, but she hoped she was wrong nonetheless. She had to question the princess before she breathed a word of it to anyone else. And then… if she was right… she didn’t know. She would deal with it later.

Both the Queen and the Prince Regent would be livid with her for exposing such a thing to Fitzroy.

She drew from the reservoir of calm she relied upon when dealing with the Queen and forced her breathing to slow. With great care, she set her cup aside, wiped her hand on a linen napkin, and glanced at the clock on the mantle.

“My word, the time! I nearly forgot our appointment with the princess this evening. Lord Ravenscroft, I am so sorry to have dragged you back and forth, and now we will be late.”

“I, errr,” Ravenscroft searched her face before playing along. “It is no matter. We will plead for forgiveness so prettily they will have no choice but to agree. Shall I ring for my coat and your wrap?”

He did not wait for a reply before leaping to his feet and striding to the bell pull.

Charity turned to make an excuse to Fitzroy, and found his nose inches away from hers. She let out a small shriek of surprise. When had he moved to sit beside her on the sofa?

“What appointment? Where are you going?”

“I am going to see the princess at Carlton House.” She blinked her thick lashes, trying to look unconcerned even though her heart was racing. “I am sorry. I must have forgotten to mention it in all the excitement yesterday.”

“Why do I not believe you?” His voice was dark with suspicion.

Because she was lying. That she could not admit. She chose her words carefully to remain honest without revealing her secret. Lies were always more palatable when salted with the truth.

Her hand rose without conscious thought and brushed across his cheek. “Because… we have an ugly history between us.”

Peregrine Fitzroy’s skin was warm beneath her hand, and embarrassed, she took her hand away. What was she thinking, touching him like that?

“I will be safe, I promise.” She rose from her seat with flawless poise, every movement deliberate, as if elegance could somehow shield her from the guilt twisting her stomach into knots. She refused to meet his gaze, refused to let those questions written so plainly on his brow pierce through her composure. “I will send a note to you tomorrow, and we can decide then where next to turn our attention.”

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “I will see myself out.”

Ravenscroft studied Charity in the dim light of the carriage, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "So," he drawled, breaking the silence with his usual lazy charm. "An appointment with the princess. And here I thought I was the only one who specialized in sudden, unexplained obligations."

Charity kept her gaze on the swaying curtain, her expression calm, though her hands were tightly folded in her lap. "It is a delicate matter," she said simply, as though that explained everything.

"Delicate?" Ravenscroft repeated, arching a brow. "That’s a very interesting choice of word. You do realize you have left our dear Fitzroy looking as though you kicked him square in the chest, yes? Not exactly the hallmark of subtlety."

Her jaw tightened at the mention of Peregrine Fitzroy, but she refused to rise to the bait. "He is capable of handling far worse than my absence, I assure you."

"I do not doubt his resilience. What I doubt, my dear duchess, is your ability to keep him in the dark. A man like Fitzroy—clever as a devil—will puzzle it out soon enough. And when he does, I hope you have planned for what comes next."

His words raised gooseflesh. "I appreciate your wisdom, but what comes next is none of your concern, Ravenscroft. This… this requires a particular approach, one I must take alone."

“Ah, alone . Now I see why our infamous prickle was left behind. You are worried about the Queen’s wrath if he so much as looks sideways at the princess.”

Charity felt physically ill. “Ravenscroft. Do yourself a favour and stop guessing what I am about.”

To his credit, he listened, eyes flickering. “Tread carefully, my dear. The Queen’s wrath may be sharp, but a man’s disappointment?" He tapped the side of his temple lightly. "That cuts deeper."

At Carlton House, he offered her a hand for her descent from the carriage. The tall Corinthian columns loomed before her, resembling the bars of a jail cell.

Queen Charlotte would flay Charity alive if she knew she was questioning the princess about whether she had committed this crime. The stakes were as high as she could imagine, and Charity could not breathe a single word of this to anyone until she had all the facts.

What the young princess needed now was a confidante. The challenge would be convincing her that Charity could be that person. With that in mind, Charity gathered up her courage, tamped down her fears, and entered Carlton House.

She was in luck. The princess was in and agreed to see her. The footman took the lead, guiding her upstairs to the private rooms the royals called home. He gave a polite rap on the door and a faint feminine voice called for him to enter.

“Duchess Atholl, how lovely and unexpected to see you!” The princess was all smiles as she welcomed Charity into her private sitting room. “It has been a few days. Come, tell me where you have been. Father has refused to let me leave the grounds.”

“I do have news,” Charity said, darting a glance toward the maid stationed against the wall.

Princess Charlotte followed Charity’s gaze, and without further prodding, dismissed the servant. “The duchess and I will see to ourselves, Ethel. I will ring when I need you.”

The maid curtseyed and exited the room, closing the door firmly behind her. The princess guided Charity to a pair of gilt edged chairs and urged her to have a seat. Her expression was so pure, so lacking in guile, that Charity felt a hint of doubt.

Could this young girl really have poisoned her intended, and herself, to boot? There was only one sure way to find out.

“Your Highness, I bring your mother’s regards,” Charity said by way of a beginning.

“You saw Mama?” The princess’s eyes lit up. “Where? Is she nearby?”

“I visited her at Montagu House, and spent time viewing the roses. She bade me to tell you that they have grown tall and bloomed since your last visit.” Charity glanced around, as if checking that they were still alone, and lowered her voice. “She also told me you have told her you do not wish to marry Prince William. Is that true?”

“Of course I have. I have told everyone. I have practically shouted it from the rooftops,” the princess said. “I do not care for him, Your Grace. Not enough to leave England.”

"Surely, Your Highness, if you shared your concerns with him—or even the Queen..." Charity hesitated, knowing it was likely futile.

The princess shook her head. “I have tried. Everyone gives me sympathy to some degree, but the answer is always some shade of the same colour. ‘Do your duty. Happiness is secondary.’ I do not want to try to scratch grains of happiness out of the dirt. That is not how it should be. Do you not agree, Your Grace?”

There was so much anguish in her voice, Charity longed to bob her head in agreement. She allowed a hint of it to show when she phrased her next question. “Is that why you put something in the jenever decanter?”

“I—” the younger woman paused for a breath.

Charity grasped the princess’s hand. “I know, Your Highness.”

“Did Mama tell you? Oh, I knew it had to be her sending me the messages!” The princess’s face lit up. “Mama said she would find a way to help me get free of this betrothal. I thought she would have a word in a few ears like she usually does, but no. When the tincture arrived with the instructions, I was shocked, to say the least. But it worked! Father cannot force me to wed a drunken fool. Mama is much more clever than I had hoped!”

The princess leapt to her feet, her laughter ringing out like a child’s delighting in a harmless prank. But this wasn’t harmless. It wasn’t a game.

Charity kept her expression composed, the mask of the serene duchess never slipping, but beneath it, her mind shrank in horror. The princess had guessed it was her mother sending the messages, but even she had been unsure. And Fitzroy—he was certain that Caroline was not guilty. Charity had little reason to doubt his deduction.

What should she say? What could she say? Did the woman understand the risk she had taken?

“Your Highness,” Charity said carefully, choosing her words as judiciously as one would choose their steps on a narrow bridge, “did you not fear for the consequences?”

The princess brushed her concern aside. “The man is fine, is he not?”

He was, though Charity could not stop the wave of doubts rushing over her. She grabbed a hold of the princess’s hand and urged her to sit again. “Please, Your Highness. You must tell me everything.”

Princess Charlotte rolled her eyes, but the fear showing on Charity’s face caused her to submit to the request. “As I said, a tincture came with a letter, and I was instructed to put it in a bottle. I saw my chance when you were not waiting at the fountain. For once, no one was paying attention to me. I distracted the footman with a request for a punch and put it into the decanter.”

“But what was in the tincture?”

“I have no earthly idea. It tasted so strange—the jenever, I mean. I cannot imagine how he stomachs it. At least, I am supposing that was the jenever and not the tincture.”

“Princess!” Charity gasped, stunned at the girl’s actions. “You drank it. You let me drink it. What if it was poison?”

“But…” the girl hesitated, confusion crushing her face. “Her letter told me it would be safe to drink if I put it in a bottle. Why would my mother lie?”

There was no hint of malice in the girl’s expression. She truly did not understand the seriousness of the situation. And she never, not once, doubted that the person writing the letter had good intentions towards her. Charity hardened her heart and took the young woman to task, consequences be damned.

“Princess, I beg to differ. You put us in danger—all of us. Some person sent you a strange liquid, and without any certainty of what it was, you dosed a foreign guest and yourself! If it had been a real poison, we would all be dead!”

Her eyes were huge in her face. “Mama loves me. She’d never do anything to hurt me—she wouldn’t!”

“Your Highness, you do not know if your mama sent you the tincture. It could have been anyone who sent you those messages. It could have been someone who wished to assassinate the entire royal family.” Charity drew herself up and uttered a harsh truth as she only just grasped the staggering implications of what so easily could have happened. “Your rebellion could have caused a catastrophe that would throw the entire court into chaos. And if the Dutch thought England responsible… that would be even worse.”

The princess reared back as though struck. Big fat tears rolled down the young woman’s cheeks, keeping time with her heaving sobs. Charity’s resolve crumbled, leaving behind a pile of dust where her stone heart had been.

“I did not want to hurt him. I did not mean for anything bad to happen!” Charlotte sobbed, clutching Charity’s arm. “I only wanted not to marry him! I never thought it would go this far.” Her voice cracked with the weight of regret—or was it fear?

Hug the poor child. Her mother’s voice rang in her ears, sending Charity lurching forwards. Charity’s resolve wavered as the princess sobbed, her face crumpling like a child’s. Against her better judgment, Charity drew the girl into her arms, murmuring soothing words she didn’t quite believe.

The need to comfort warred with the urgency to press for answers. She had to calm the woman down so that she could learn the rest. How did the messages arrive? Did the princess still have them? How long had they been coming?

But before Charity could utter a word of sympathy, a pounding on the door caused the princess to shriek in fear.