Page 20 of Brilliance and Betrayal (The Diamond of the Ton Regency Mysteries #1)

19

“When you must broach a difficult subject with Her Majesty, do so with utmost respect, a steady voice, and a carefully chosen phrase that allows her the dignity of guiding the conversation’s course."

—Lady Cresswell, to Charity, on the eve of her debut

“ B last. What a waste of time. I am sorry to make you walk, Duchess,” Peregrine told her, taking a sidelong glance at her styled hair and freshened clothes. “We need only go far enough to flag a passing carriage.”

His words proved true, and in short order they were back within the safe confines of an anonymous black hack.

“That was… rather unexpected,” she said slowly, hoping it might spur him to response, but Peregrine maintained a dour silence on the subject of the unexpected meeting. “What do we do now?”

He pressed his face into his hands, looking harassed, and Charity swallowed her sense of hopeless unease. If Peregrine was at a loss, then perhaps Goldbourne’s comments about a lack of resources had struck a sensitive spot.

But Charity had some connections of her own. Ones she could trust. “Things seem to have grown beyond us. Perhaps we should go to the Prince Regent for aid.”

“No,” Peregrine said unconsciously, but then he stopped and reconsidered. “Maybe. But… it might be useful for you to inform the Queen. Alone.”

Oh God, the Queen, her mother’s voice said in horror. She knows nothing of any of this yet!

Charity swallowed heavily. “I think she is going to be… rather upset. Are you sure we should not go together?”

He gave her that fey, half-amused grin, but his eyes were still lined with tension. “I would go with you to hold your hand, Sparkles, but then you might have to hold onto my leg to keep her guards from dragging me off. In seriousness, we have two avenues of information still to pursue that might give us a glimpse of what we need to know. I propose we divide and conquer.

“Talk of money is vulgar, I am sure you were raised to believe—as so many others have. Their cultivated blindness allows opportunities for someone bold and ignoble. There are women within the ton , not nearly as privileged in power or finances, who will sell information or small favours for money. And Mr Cameron would know that too.”

Charity saw what he was getting at. “The princess’s letter-writer?”

“Yes. We have only so much time before he acts again, and if you and I prove too hard to strike, Cameron may turn his weapons elsewhere. That letter-writer is Cameron’s own agent in play, and we cannot dismiss her as a dogsbody. We do not know how tight his hold is on this woman.”

“So you want me to ask the Queen whose circumstances may have changed. Possibly significantly,” Charity said, following that train of thought. “Is that not something that these… friends of England,” she stumbled over the words, “would have known? Who are they?”

“They are people who attach a great many strings to their favours,” Peregrine snorted. “And that is really all you need to be aware of. There are a great many factions who are bound together by a common zeal. Selina’s friends simply happen to be better funded and organised than others.”

Charity felt cold at the idea of facing Queen Charlotte’s anger alone. “Saints preserve me—but what should I tell her?”

“Ideally, as little as you can. We need to keep her from going off half-cocked. I trust you to navigate it.”

That was unexpectedly bracing, and she looked at him curiously, wondering if he truly meant it. “Do you?”

“In this? I do. And not just because I have no other choice—although there is a truth to that part, too.”

Peregrine looked drawn. Too little sleep… and perhaps she and the whole world were plaguing him more than was fair. For a moment, he seemed only like a man who wanted to be let alone.

“Perry…” she began, uncertain about what to say. Finally, in cowardice, she said the next thing on her mind. “Be careful. I do not like the idea of you being without someone to watch your back. I will agree to see the Queen on my own, so long as you will ask Prinny for help.”

For once, Peregrine did not argue. “When you finish your task, go back to the townhouse and wait for me there. I will meet you as soon as I can.”

As the carriage rolled to a stop in front of Queen Charlotte’s stately home, Charity realised that trust she had asked about had to go two ways. She had only his word that he would do as she asked.

Charity descended from the carriage outside Buckingham House, counting herself fortunate on at least one front. Though she was not wearing a day dress appropriate to the hour, she was also not wearing the cabbage atrocity of her last visit. Progress, albeit small, was worth noting.

Try though she might, Charity was unable to entirely banish the niggling concern from the back of her mind. Was the Queen going to somehow blame Charity for her granddaughter’s misbehaviour? Charity had been, after all, assigned to keep the princess from doing anything which might ruin the betrothal arrangements.

One should argue that the Queen herself—and Prinny—bore the bulk of the blame. They had issued the edict that Princess Charlotte would wed without taking into account the young woman’s misgivings. Was it any wonder that the princess had accepted help from any quarter?

Of course, to raise such an argument would be the height of foolishness. One did not tell the Queen of England that she had been wrong. On this point, Charity’s mother had been very clear.

If the Queen was cross, Charity would accept the blame with good grace, and then turn the conversation toward uncovering the identity of whomever was truly responsible for the crime.

She lifted the hem of her skirt and followed the Queen’s butler through the grand front hall, down a corridor, and into Queen Charlotte’s private reception chamber. Her Majesty sat on a velvet, gilded chair only a shade less imperial than her throne at St James’s. While Charity sank into a deep curtsey, the Queen banished her attendants from the room.

No sooner had the door closed behind them than the Queen demanded Charity rise with a voice like a whip crack. “On your feet. Now . And tell me why I have been left to wonder about your whereabouts like some common gossip.”

Charity deepened her curtsey in obeisance before returning to standing. “I offer my most humble apologies for not coming sooner, Your Majesty. After we spoke with Princess Caroline, the situation progressed in ways well beyond my control.”

“So, you have gone sniffing around that pitiful excuse for a princess? Predictable. Caroline has been a thorn in my side since the day she set foot on English soil.”

The Queen carried on, retreading old arguments against Princess Caroline, and leaving Charity ever more baffled. Surely Prinny had told his mother the truth…

When the Queen paused for breath, Charity dared to wade into the gap. “Your Majesty, has the Prince Regent not come to visit you?”

That stopped the Queen’s diatribe in an instant. “Why do you ask?” she inquired, peering suspiciously at Charity. “Does he know something I do not?”

Charity’s stomach lurched. If Prinny had not spoken to his mother, it meant that the Queen did not know about her granddaughter’s involvement in the matter. And heaven help her, Charity was going to have to be the messenger.

Her mother whimpered in her mind. Even the newfound voice of calm failed to offer any advice.

“Well?”

Charity had no illusions about how this conversation would unfold. The Queen would not take kindly to being left in the dark—especially not by those she trusted most. Charity swallowed hard, her voice steady despite the sudden weight pressing against her ribs.

"Your Majesty, I regret to inform you that there has been a grievous oversight," she began carefully. "One that I assumed had already been corrected."

Queen Charlotte’s eyes, sharp as the points of a diadem, narrowed to slits. “Spare me the riddles, Duchess. I have neither the time nor the patience. Speak .”

Charity inhaled slowly, ignoring the icy fear creeping up her spine. "Princess Caroline is not responsible for the poisoning, though I, too, shared your suspicions.” In a calm voice that belied Charity’s nerves, she told the Queen about her visit to Montagu House and the subsequent trouble she and Fitzroy encountered on their return.

“Does this have anything to do with why Bow Street was called to your home last night?” Charlotte asked mildly. When Charity’s head jerked in surprise, the Queen added, “Word of at least that much reached me. What I fail to understand is why I am only hearing it from you now.”

“There is more, Your Highness. After the attack on the bridge, it became clear that something bigger was afoot. Lord Fitzroy and I reached out to Lord Ravenscroft for information. It was in my conversation with Prinny’s man that I realised who had poisoned the jenever decanter.” Charity steeled herself for the fallout and then forced the full confession out of her mouth. “It is my… unhappy duty to tell you that Princess Charlotte was the poisoner."

For a moment, there was nothing but the tick of the mantel clock and the distant sound of a footman passing in the corridor. The Queen did not move, nor did she blink. And then?—

A sudden, sharp exhale. "What nonsense is this?" The words were clipped, incredulous.

Charity pressed on. "The princess confessed yesterday to her father and me. She did not act alone. Someone was passing her messages—guiding her. She does not know their identity. I left the princess in her father’s care and departed to search for the identity of the messenger."

The Queen stood abruptly, a rare display of raw emotion. “You mean to tell me,” she hissed, each word laced with fury, “that my granddaughter—my own blood—has been dragged into scandal, and not a single soul thought to inform me?”

It horrified Charity that Prinny had failed to disclose the information immediately. He was the highest ranking man in England, and yet it seemed even he feared to tell his own mother bad news. For a moment, Charity wondered what would happen if she pointed this out, but just as quickly she discarded the notion. She could ill afford to make enemies of anyone wearing a crown. Yet, her stomach churned as she forced her mouth to form the words of apology.

Charity bowed her head. "I should have come sooner, ma’am. That failure is mine."

"Yes, it is," the Queen snapped, her voice rising. "Yours! Prinny's! And I suspect half of my court, who cower and whisper like frightened mice instead of speaking the truth!"

Charity held firm, though her pulse quickened. "Your Majesty, I swear to you—nothing was kept from you with malice. The situation has been... delicate."

The Queen let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Delicate! And now you tell me my granddaughter is a criminal!"

"She is a misguided girl who thought she had no options," Charity countered. "Whoever influenced her knew how to manipulate that desperation. If we do not uncover their identity, the damage will only worsen."

The Queen’s expression was thunderous, but Charity saw the shift—the calculation behind her anger. Queen Charlotte was no fool. For all her fury, she understood the stakes.

A long silence stretched between them. Then, finally, the Queen lowered herself into her chair, her fingers tightening around the armrests. “Start from the beginning and tell me everything you have learned.”

Charity gave a full recount of her adventure, such as it had been. On the carriage ride, she had wrestled with the question of how much she could hold back. In a strange, unpredictable twist of fate, she found herself reluctant to reveal the parts that would connect Peregrine to the villainy.

She explained instead that Caroline had sought his mother’s favours—not his—and how he had needed to defend the both of them on the bridge and at her home.

She did not confess that she had begun to think of him in his given name.

The Queen leaned forward in her chair, her interest in the story peaked. Charity dared not let her ask the obvious question. Where did you stay? The answer was rife with unintended consequences.

Though he would likely call her foolish, Charity offered the name of the only person in London she knew who would take pleasure in misleading the Queen on such a question.

“The Marchioness of Normanby was most generous,” she added. “I cannot imagine I would be here now, in such a calm state, had it not been for the loan of her lady’s maid to restore me to order.”

The Queen sniffed at the mention of Selina, but as Charity had hoped, did not ask if that was where she and Fitzroy had passed the night. “What of these men who attacked you? Surely you are not suggesting that my granddaughter hired them.”

“No, nothing of the sort,” Charity replied as fast as she could. She sought her calm again. “Though the encounters were horrifying, they provided us with a key piece of information. Fitzroy recognised them.”

“Lord Fitzroy recognised the men? From where?” The Queen’s temper was on the rise yet again. “Were they soldiers with him? Acquaintances?”

This was the truly uncomfortable part. Of Cameron and his men, she emphasised he had been Lady Fitzroy’s man of business, and most certainly not Peregrine’s.

The Queen sucked in air and her face grew arch. “Duchess, where is Lord Fitzroy now?”

“He should be on his way to consult with the Prince Regent, Your Highness.” Charity prayed he would not make her a liar. “I believe he is asking for help to deal with the man.”

Queen Charlotte sat back in her chair. “So,” she said, each syllable edged with judgment, “you sent Lord Fitzroy—alone—to deal with Prinny.”

Charity hesitated only a fraction of a second before nodding. “Given all that has happened, I felt certain Prinny would accede to his request for aid.”

“Still, I could not help but notice your choice of words.” The Queen’s voice was mild, but her fingers tapped against the gilded armrest. “You say he should be on his way to St James’s. That is not the same as knowing, Duchess.”

Charity’s spine stiffened. “I have no reason to doubt him. I do not believe he would suddenly go elsewhere unless there was a reason for it.”

“Mm.” The Queen’s expression remained unreadable. “A year ago, you would not have trusted him to fetch your gloves from the next room, let alone carry sensitive intelligence to my son. And now, you speak as though you know the workings of the man’s mind.”

Charity carefully kept her face neutral. “I have come to understand him better, ma’am. He has no wish to be associated with his mother.”

“Duchess, you are in danger of disappointing me.” A derisive snort. “Distancing oneself from a family member causing scandal is the first action any member of the aristocracy would take, if they are not lacking in common sense. The Fitzroy family excels at applying shame, guile, and charm as their instruments of manipulation. I wonder why you think he might hesitate to use your pity.”

That notion disturbed her, for she had been moved very much by pity. Could it really be a farce? Surely it hadn’t been something he had just… evoked in her because she was not responding well to his other methods.

You assumed a great deal of his thoughts and feelings before he told you anything at all. It would not have been hard for him to dupe you, if that was his goal.

Charity swallowed as doubt sank its cold teeth into her. It could be true. He could be duping me so that I give him support instead of opposition. But even if it is, I know he had nothing to do with poisoning Prince William, and that is what I need to remember.

“I have not forgotten a thing, Your Majesty. You are correct, and I remain watchful. But he has no motivation to set such high stakes merely to pretend innocence. I have seen him risk his life.”

The Queen was silent for a long moment. Then, she leaned forward. “You have always been a sharp girl, Charity. I would not wish to see you become a fool.”

Charity inclined her head. “Nor would I, ma’am.”

Queen Charlotte studied her a moment longer, then exhaled, her expression cooling. “Answer me plainly, then. Are you absolutely certain that Fitzroy is loyal to the Crown? That he is not, even now, his mother’s tool?”

“Yes.” Charity said it without hesitation, her voice steady.

The Queen’s frown deepened. Her fingers drummed against the armrest once more. “I see.”

Nothing more. No rebuke, no dismissal. But the weight of her scrutiny pressed against Charity’s shoulders like a leaden cloak.

For the first time in her life, Charity found herself in opposition to the Queen—not in disobedience, but in belief. And that, she knew, was a dangerous place to be.