Page 21 of Brilliance and Betrayal (The Diamond of the Ton Regency Mysteries #1)

20

“God is a comedian playing to an audience that is too afraid to laugh.”

—Voltaire

P eregrine directed the driver to continue on to St James’s Palace, and then went back to sorting out the too many thoughts occupying the small space in his head. Charity, unfortunately, took up more of it than he could allow.

That way lay only destruction. There was no future with the Duchess Atholl.

For years, he had known—that is, when he bothered thinking of marriage at all—that once he took a wife, she would be someone whom he would need to install in a country house, far, far away from London. From his mother. Even if Charity overlooked his title, a life away from the scene would never be in her cards. So no matter what his regrets, it seemed she was right. Imagining any different outcome was madness.

Still, she had asked him to stay with her, tormenting him with a fantasy that would never be.

There was no cruelty quite as savage as women’s affection.

Vexed, he pushed his feelings aside once more, trying to connect himself to cold reason. If he couldn’t keep his head, he may as well go directly to Cameron and ask the man to slit his throat, and he was certain the man would gleefully oblige.

Cameron probably had been watching him since he returned to London. Was likely watching him still. The man of affairs had made two oblique threats to warn him off with the henbane and Red Hand. But Peregrine had changed the game when he and Hodges had fought back against the hired men.

Before Sidmouth sent him into hell, he had been much like any other aristocrat—without the courage to meet violence with his own. Until last summer, he had kept himself out of the shadowy side of London, preferring instead to use secrets and politics. No one would have expected that he would have killed three of Red Hand’s cutthroats during the fight on the bridge. Cameron had likely had to fork out an additional sum in recompense. It was no wonder the man had ordered the retaliatory strike.

God. Charity was meant to be a warning in blood. If he hadn’t heard her call him—if he hadn’t turned back—she might have died. Or worse.

His stomach nearly revolted at that thought and he snarled at himself. Focus, you idiot.

This was Cameron’s strategy. This was the test: to warn Peregrine away from interfering with his schemes and cow him with the knowledge that he could not act against Cameron without consequence.

Peregrine was, after all, the legitimate heir to Lady Fitzroy’s empire. Whatever remained of her lucrative, shadowy business enterprises was Peregrine’s to take. But that he wanted no part of it meant very little. In fact, that only sufficed to drive the businessman harder, to seize it for himself before Peregrine had a chance to dismantle or expose any part of it.

There was a slim chance he could find a way to placate the man’s greed. To use his knowledge to set up a bargain that would bring him the peace he wanted, and keep Cameron from tipping the scales.

But to find out if such a deal was possible, he needed to talk with Cameron.

Before Peregrine could even negotiate, he had to ensure he would survive a parley, and Peregrine needed an alternative plan—just in case a truce could not be reached.

That he would make such a strike against either him or Charity said a great deal. At best, it meant the sphere of Cameron’s influence possibly extended over the magistrate or Bow Street. At worst, there was a risk that Cameron had found a new master. Peregrine had to be careful, and he couldn’t depend on the pompous expectation that lawmen would act on his word alone.

If he couldn’t strike some kind of deal directly, he needed to turn someone against Cameron. Someone closer to him—like McGrath, who had plenty of his own reasons now to be difficult. It wasn’t going to be an easy task, and he was going to have to pay in a different kind of coin.

Even if they could provide the aid he wanted, he didn’t dare borrow it from the Order.

That was the real reason he was headed to St James’s Palace now.

As much as Charity was going to be uncomfortable with her audience with the Queen, keeping the two royals divided was a necessary part of the plan. Charlotte would never trust him enough to allow him to work with subtlety—and Prinny was incapable of thinking in it.

Peregrine needed to manipulate Prinny into giving him exactly what he needed… and that was the leverage of generosity from a higher power.

One that would also be able to mete out retribution, if he failed.

As it was afternoon, Prinny was cloistered in the Regent’s Closet, holding a different kind of court, which suited Peregrine just fine. The scent of brandy and perfume were heavy in the room, and the Regent lounged in his chair, one hand idly swirling his drink, the other resting on the curve of Lady Vivienne’s waist, playing with the ribbons at the back of her gown. She laughed at something he murmured—something Lord Ravenscroft, standing near the hearth, had surely heard.

But the lord didn’t laugh. He was busy glaring at Peregrine, his face grim with an animosity that hadn’t been there at their last meeting. Prinny’s magpie either saw no need to curb hostility in this private space, or he too had heard of what had happened.

His guess was the latter.

With a small, ironic twist of his lips, Peregrine cast a lazy eye over what he could see of the patterned red silk of the wallpaper, the Persian carpets, and the round backside of the woman being held in the sotted regent’s lap as he held his bow.

Prinny was making a statement that he could do as he pleased. Fine. Peregrine would play the penitent.

“What do you want, Fitzroy?” the Prince Regent asked, finally allowing the woman to stand and move away.

“I would have a word with you, Your Highness,” Peregrine said as he stood, affecting boredom.

“Must it be now, Fitzroy?” Prinny murmured, reaching for his snuffbox. “I do hate interruptions.”

“If you would indulge me, yes. It is, of course, your right to decide however privately you wish to have it.” Then Peregrine pointedly glanced over his shoulder at Lord Ravenscroft.

“Very well.” Prinny’s eyes flicked to Ravenscroft, then back to Peregrine. “My magpie can stay. You, my dear—” he swatted Lady Vivienne on her buttocks—“must go.”

With a huff, the maligned mistress stalked out of the room and Peregrine stifled the urge to roll his eyes at the dissolute Prince Regent. “Well, then, what do you want?”

"Before you ask His Highness for favours, Fitzroy,” Lord Ravenscroft said charmingly, as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, “perhaps you might first explain why it is that the Duchess Atholl’s home was attacked by common criminals."

The Prince Regent nodded his head slowly at that.

Why did they think? Peregrine was annoyed at how bloody obtuse some aristocrats could be about the lower classes.

“Common criminals—and the uncommon ones, as well—tend to mislike the aristocracy meddling in their affairs, which is exactly what we have been doing.” And that was no less than the truth. “Forgive me for being one man, Ravenscroft, when it was Your Highness and Her Majesty who sent me toddling with the duchess into the thick of a conspiracy, armed with little more than my wits.”

Prinny scowled. “I say, Fitzroy, I suspect that of everyone involved, you were in the best position to inform us that there was one afoot.”

He took a breath, ignoring the Prince Regent’s pique. “To be sure, Your Highness, I can see how it would seem so uncharitable to neglect to inform you. I, however, am one man alone. I too would have also preferred the benefits of knowing I was about to stumble face-first into what amounted to a coup d'état , but the fates did not see fit to forewarn me.”

“It remains that you still failed to warn His Highness after the fact.” Ravenscroft muttered, his usual veneer of amusement absent. “The two men you locked in Her Grace’s butler’s closet, the ones who ended up being taken by Bow Street, found a most permanent silence before they could be questioned by the magistrate. And the only reason she is breathing, I suspect, is more blind luck than anything else."

It was hard to be offended by Ravenscroft’s words when the same thought had crossed his own mind.

Prince Regent flicked open the snuffbox and inhaled a pinch. “Yes, do let us dwell on the fact that the mastermind remains at large. I was rather hoping this entire sordid matter would be sorted before I had to explain to the Queen that her granddaughter decided to poison a man rather than be forced to marry him.”

“At large, but not unidentified.” Peregrine explained who Cameron was and their tenuous connection—though he did not disclose the full extent of what services he provided to his mother.

Both the Regent and Ravenscroft looked grim by the end of his explanation. “I suggest Fitzroy has become more of a liability than an asset to the investigation, Your Highness,” Ravenscroft said, the surprise of it rendering the man nearly sober.

“The matter is complicated, to be sure, but?—”

“Complicated.” The Regent barked a single, brittle guffaw. “Ravenscroft is right. I can guess that you are here for one of two reasons. Either you need my aid, or you are about to explain how you are clearly overmatched. Now that I am aware the guilty party is a creature of the rookeries and not one of us, it seems prudent to dismiss you and send in the guard.”

“Dismiss me at your peril,” Peregrine warned them. “If you send the guard to ask around for Cameron, he and the worst of his henchmen will be in the wind before the guards even catch his scent. You want to watch half of London burn? You have no idea what sort of manpower he can muster. But that strength can also be turned into a weakness. Cameron is untouchable only for as long as he can afford their loyalty, or as long as his men fear him more than they fear the law.”

“Why am I not surprised that you would suggest an immoderate solution?” Prinny’s voice was dry.

“I believe Fitzroy is suggesting there is more than one incentive we might dangle to the rabble in exchange for betraying Cameron. He wants the right to grant them protection, Your Highness,” Ravenscroft said, his eyes half-hooded as he considered Peregrine.

“A double-edged offer, yes,” Peregrine agreed simply. “Protection for any man who turns on him. And the threat of no mercy for those who do not.”

Prinny barked a laugh. “You think I have the authority to simply absolve criminals?”

“Why pretend you do not have the ability to arrange to see it done?” Peregrine countered. “More importantly, I think you have the incentive to see to it.”

“I confess, Fitzroy,” Prinny said meditatively, his fingers worrying over the snuffbox. “I see your motivations in this more clearly than I see mine. This Mr Cameron rather seems to have a personal interest in your demise. I wonder why that would be.”

“If I had been the mastermind of an exacting plan to manipulate the princess and change the course of the Crown with no one the wiser, and it was both exposed and foiled, I might bear a grudge or two,” Peregrine said, omitting the other details. “You sent me to block his way, and so I am the focus of his retribution for now. But Cameron’s first blow was aimed at the royal family, and once I am dealt with, I imagine you will become a target again.”

The Regent studied him; Peregrine could almost hear the wheels turning in his mind. “Point made, Lord Fitzroy, but you need to move with haste. I cannot have the ton thinking that I will ignore the gutter-wretches attacking their betters.”

Lord Ravenscroft gave his liege a look of incredulity. “Your Highness, he has barely given you a wisp of a plan. Just how do you propose to make them talk, Fitzroy? You, alone, wandering into some squalid drinking den, hoping they will be intimidated by your noble frown?”

“I have my methods,” Peregrine said coolly, not bothering to inform Ravenscroft that he was rather near the mark. “You need not concern yourself.”

“Well, that is unfortunate for you,” Prinny said flatly. “Because you shall have his concern. I want my magpie to go with you.”

“Your Highness, bringing another gentleman to negotiations with rough men would be a terrible idea—” Peregrine began.

Prinny cut him off with a languid wave. “I do not trust you to do this properly, and I certainly do not trust you to do it alone.” He settled back in his chair. “Also, if you do fail, I will need someone who will drag your corpse out of the stews and remember to report back to me.”

Ravenscroft looked like he drank spoiled milk.

Peregrine had gotten what he had come for; there was little benefit to arguing. So he bowed to the Prince Regent and took his leave.

“Er,” Ravenscroft split a look between the two men and hurried after Peregrine. “You might have argued a little harder against my inclusion, Fitzroy. What in the hell am I supposed to do to help you?”

“You may always hide in the carriage so that you live long enough to drag my corpse back to His Highness as he suggested,” Peregrine said lightly. “That would be useful.”

He made a moue of distaste. “Ballocks. What is your real plan? And do not pretend it is to walk in with a hope and a prayer that some henchman will turn traitor just because his conscience has been plaguing him. As cheerful as it would make me, I doubt you are the sort who looks down the barrel of your pistol to be sure that it is primed.”

“At this point, the plan is rather simple. I need to parley with Cameron. In theory, he should be amenable—stirring up the aristocracy is bad for business, even in the rookeries. Beyond that, I mean to see what influence can be had among the sellswords he has not bought outright.”

“So I am just here to play secretary?” Ravenscroft said, giving him a sidelong look.

Peregrine gave the older man a taunting glance. “Have you grown forgetful in your dotage already? I did not ask you to play any part at all. Go home, Ravenscroft. I do not need the help of a dandy, and your considerable talents as a courtier would be all but wasted on these men.”

When Peregrine asked one of the footmen to arrange for a carriage to take him home, and the servant scurried off, Ravenscroft leaned against the wall with his hand, barring Peregrine’s way. “Doubtless I am going to regret this, but I rather think you are going to be stuck with me, and not only because His Highness commanded it. I have taken the liberty of asking a few questions since our last encounter yesterday. Unless I am gravely misinformed, Fitzroy, I am of the impression you can count your allies on one hand and still manage to have fingers left over.”

Ravenscroft was right, and that didn’t improve his mood. “Ah, but the allies I recruit grow finer by the hour. It would make for a tremendous comedy. You loathe me, I mislike you, and we have the duchess who hates us both?—”

“She is already halfway to adoring me. What is more unfortunate is that I do not believe she hates you nearly as much as she pretends to.”

“Thank you. You have already made it clear you think she should hate me far more,” Peregrine said dryly, and he pushed Ravenscroft to one side so he could head to the waiting carriage. Then he gave the driver the address for the Fitzroy estate proper, getting inside.

“Be serious, for one moment,” Ravenscroft scolded him, and he hopped into the carriage with him, without so much as a by his leave. “Answer me this. If you were your mother’s son in truth, I would have a great deal more to worry about, would I not?”

“Make no mistake. I am my mother’s son, Ravenscroft,” Peregrine said softly. “She was the one who taught me the value of collecting other people’s secrets, and the… myriad ways one could use them. I know how to play her game. And just because I have not yet demanded any sort of compensation for keeping your particular secrets does not mean I will not—particularly if I am pushed to desperation.”

Ravenscroft slanted a curious look at him. “But however well you know how to play the game, I am beginning to get the impression… you would rather not.”

“Are you implying you are starting to believe I am holding the truth of your affairs in reserve because I am actually a nice person?” Peregrine deflected, flashing the man a swift grin with too many teeth.

“Well, since you are not a nice person, that would be rubbish. But I might be revising my opinion of you upward to a garden snake with a bit of a soul from where I had you before—the lowest form of the devil incarnate.”

“Just as well, because the position of the devil is held by someone else, and frankly, I would rather be left alone to my own devices, idling my nights away like every other wastrel.”

Ravenscroft snorted. “Playing cards and mingling at soirees? You would be out of your gourd with boredom within a fortnight. I saw your face at the garden party when you thought no one was looking. Where are we going, anyway?”

“Back to my home, so I can write a letter or three and collect my driver. I may make you act as my secretary after all.”

“Mr William Hodges, eh?” Ravenscroft said cannily, rocking back and forth. “A rather competent man with a gun, I am given to understand.”

“More competent than you , certainly. It has always amused me that the Regent calls you ‘magpie.’ I always thought you more of a court peacock.”

Ravenscroft was unflustered. “Peacocks are a proud and noble bird, with sharp enough spurs. How are your talons these days, Lord Canary?”

“Sharp enough to catch some rats, darling Maggie.”