Page 24 of Brilliance and Betrayal (The Diamond of the Ton Regency Mysteries #1)

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“In affairs of both society and state, it is unwise to overstay one’s welcome or outstay one’s usefulness."

—Reflections of Grace: A Guide to Etiquette

T he silent carriage ride to St James’s palace gave Charity far too much time to stir herself into a froth as she pondered the implications of Lady Blandford’s revelation.

Lady Fitzroy’s words to Charity, on that night she had been there with Roland and Grace demanding an explanation, had been pure poison. She had removed the pretty mask she wore in society, and shown them exactly who she truly was.

And they had still not quite believed what they had seen, because it had seemed too monstrous to be real.

Now, Charity acknowledged what she had seen to be true. Marian Fitzroy had been entirely remorseless for what she had done. The world was her due, and that was how she felt it should be. Lady Fitzroy was incapable of considering another’s suffering beyond how it might serve her need for consequence and admiration. If people were moved to please her because they feared her wrath, then the ends were just the same.

Charity couldn’t even conceive of how black Marian Fitzroy’s soul was. Perhaps she had been born entirely without one, and her heart could only know hate and ambition. Maybe she truly couldn’t love anyone at all.

Not even her own children.

God above. If Marian Fitzroy had a hand in things now, how deep did that influence go? What if she had also meant to punish her own son by leaving Charity’s broken body for him to find?

How angry would she be at her son for interfering with her plans?

It was almost all Charity could do not to fling open the carriage door while they were moving and hurl herself out to go looking for him.

The shouts of the driver, calling for the horses to slow, signaled Charity and the Queen’s arrival at the palace. Though the carriage lacked the royal crest, the footmen must have been recognised.

The guards threw the gates open wide and stood at attention as they passed. At this arrival, Queen Charlotte was greeted with all the fanfare due to her lofty station. Footmen, guards, and maids rushed around to prepare the way. Charity overheard a few grumbled questions of why they were not alerted in advance of her arrival.

Oh, if only they knew the mood of the Queen at that moment, they would all seal their lips shut and bow down, avoiding her gaze as she passed.

Queen Charlotte snapped her fingers and a footman ran forward. “Where is the Prince Regent?”

“He is in the Royal Closet, ma’am. If you will follow me to the receiving room, I will send someone to let him know of your arrival.”

“You will lead me to him, posthaste,” she ordered, and then added over her shoulder, “Duchess, attend me.”

Charity could think of nothing she wanted to do less. But perhaps Prinny knew where Peregrine was bound. Following in the Queen’s wake, Charity ventured into a part of the palace she had never been before. Men and women of the ton eyed her with blatant curiosity as she passed, but grew few and far between the deeper they went into the prince’s private chambers.

Queen Charlotte barely allowed the footman time to rap on the door before she pushed past him and strode inside. All the laughter and chatting came to an abrupt halt at her arrival. The Prince Regent, who had been lounging in a chair with his feet propped on a stool, pushed a woman from his lap and sprang to his feet.

“Get out!” The Queen proclaimed. Even Charity had to resist the urge to run from the room, but she was not going anywhere until she had some idea where to find Peregrine.

Charlotte pulled the scroll from her pocket and thrust it at her son. “Your daughter acted under orders from Marian Fitzroy! Read the paper, and then explain why I have learned all of this from someone else!”

Prinny moved closer to the light of the candelabra, and his mother claimed his chair. She sat with an audible sigh and rubbed at her leg. For a moment, Charity glimpsed the woman beneath the jewelled tiara, a woman fighting a losing match against the march of time. But just as quickly, the Queen straightened, and once again assumed the proud stance of a lady sitting on the throne.

Prinny read the letter twice, as though hoping to find something different the second time around, and then turned his anger onto Charity.

“Why did you not bring this to me?”

“To you ?” The Queen gasped. “She has brought plenty enough to you, Prinny! The duchess is my lady-in-waiting, lest you need a reminder of her loyalty. Not to mention, Lord Fitzroy was by earlier, bringing information to you .”

Prinny bit back a retort and coughed into his hand to keep from entering a shouting match with his own mother. “Your Majesty— Mama —let us discuss this in private.”

Charity dared to cut in before she was summarily dismissed. “I beg leave to go in search of Lord Fitzroy, Your Highness. Might you know where I can find him?”

“He and my magpie left something like an hour ago. The footman might have some better idea of their destination.”

“With no guard?” Charity had the temerity to ask, trying to keep the censure from her face when Prinny responded in the negative.

Charity glanced at the Queen, waiting for the woman to dismiss her. As soon as Queen Charlotte nodded for her to go, Charity curtseyed and backed out of the room. And then, she ran.

The poor footman had no idea where Peregrine had gone, though he did confirm that his lordship had left in the company of Lord Ravenscroft. He directed Charity to a guardsman, who called over a stableboy. Charity gritted her teeth through the wasted minutes, but eventually she found someone who had overheard Peregrine’s instructions to the carriage driver.

He was on his way to his London estate. Perhaps she could catch him there. She girded her loins and asked for use of a carriage for the remainder of the afternoon.

Just the thought of setting foot in that place again caused her to break out in a cold sweat, but she pushed the black tide of hysterics down. Lady Fitzroy is not there… yet , she reminded herself.

But when she arrived in a stew, Peregrine was not there, either.

“He passed through briefly,” the new family butler had explained, “but after sending Dawson out with a message, he left again. Dawson and Hodges went with him, so unfortunately I don’t know where they might have gone, Your Grace.”

He had clearly gone onwards to the meeting—but where? Mr Cameron’s offices? She might be able to find him with enough time, but time was something she didn’t have. Then she remembered the meeting that had started her day. The promise of additional resources, of help for which they had only to ask.

She opened the carriage door and called out her direction. “Take me to the home of the Marchioness of Normanby.”

Perhaps Selina could be persuaded to part with the information she needed—especially if she had ever had any real affection for Peregrine Fitzroy.

“Duchess Atholl! What brings you back to my home?” the marchioness asked gaily when Charity walked into her drawing room. “Have you a need to borrow a gown?”

“I wish it were that simple,” Charity replied, shrugging off the woman’s catty teasing. She had composed her words during the short ride over, but now doubt coiled tight in her chest.

Peregrine had told her time and again that the marchioness was not a woman to be approached lightly. What if she had misread everything? What if this appeal placed Peregrine in greater danger rather than less? But she had no choice. Hesitation would only be a weakness here. She forced herself to hold the woman’s shrewd gaze and pressed on.

“May I speak plainly?” Charity continued on after the woman nodded. “Lord Fitzroy is in trouble.”

The marchioness’s eyes flickered, but she masked her expression. “Again? Whatever could he be up to this time?”

“His mother is back.”

“What?” the marchioness reared back, her voice unstrung with shock for the briefest moment before her expression was brought back under control. “In London? Do you have proof?”

“I—” Charity hesitated. “Not exactly. I only have seen proof that she has been corresponding with people in London.”

The beautiful, statuesque woman pursed her lips, thinking hard and quickly as she paced the room. “Correspondence, you say? Giving orders, perhaps? Are you saying Lady Fitzroy had somewhat to do with the… sabotage of Prince William’s dignity?”

Charity forgot that Selina would be able to piece that part together, given her previous suggestion about Caroline. “Yes, she did.”

“And that part you do know for certain? Unlike the supposition she has returned to English soil?”

“Yes,” Charity admitted. “I am not able to tell you everything, but it does seem certain now that Marian Fitzroy played a part in the poisoning of the prince.”

“You cheeky little devil, Peregrine,” the marchioness muttered to herself, looking irritated.

Did she think he was working with his mother? “Please, Marchioness. I do not believe he is in collusion with her.”

“Oh, do not fret, Duchess. Perry would sooner dance a reel in his smalls than help his mother. That I have no doubt. It is a valuable—and dire—piece of information you have brought to me, and I am sure that Perry has told you I am a broker in such things. So you came with a purpose. What is it?”

Charity straightened her sleeves and settled into her seat on the sofa across from the marchioness. “One of your… acquaintances said you have resources, Marchioness. I need to know where to find Mr Cameron.”

The marchioness’s eyes narrowed. “And where is his lordship? Does he know you are here asking for it?”

“I do not know where he is, and that is why I need your aid. I know he was going to seek a meeting with Mr Cameron by other means. But when he left, he did not know about his mother, and I am afraid he might be walking into a trap.”

To her credit, the marchioness’s expression was quite serious, and she paused before replying. “It seems as though Perry is running out of time.”

Confusion swamped her. “I… do not understand.”

“Peregrine has been trying to dance on the head of a pin, little lamb,” the marchioness said obliquely. “His attempts to remain unattached among the ruling orders have made him weak. He refused to be a player, so he is treated as a pawn. If he does not choose an alliance with someone who can lend him consequence… it will get worse.”

“Why must he choose?” Charity countered. She was beginning to understand the challenges Peregrine faced. Everyone seemed to want something from him, but no one was there when he was in need.

Not unless he promised them more than he wanted to give.

The marchioness was calm, even though her face was not unsympathetic. “He must make himself indispensable to someone, otherwise he will be a liability. Liabilities have a rather short life span.”

The cold logic of it was chilling.

You are here. That thought calmed Charity’s racing pulse. She was not leaving until the woman gave the promised aid.

“Are you going to tell me what I wish to know or not? Lord Fitzroy’s life might be on the line if I cannot find him before he gets to Mr Cameron. He needs help. Are you his friend? If so, you will see fit to offer whatever aid you can.”

“I already have.” The marchioness played with her lower lip idly. “Not just, of course, what you have seen him reject—the promises of aid and shelter under my wing if he consorts with my… friends. I have given him other forms of assistance as discreetly as I dared, so he would not reject it out of hand.”

“What is it that you have done?” Charity asked her, uncertain. “Is someone on their way to Cameron now?”

“Duchess—may I call you Charity? And you must call me Selina, of course. Because I spoke the truth before. I believe I would like it if you and I could be very good, very powerful friends.”

Charity was not at all convinced that would be a good idea. But she knew one thing—she did not want the Marchioness of Normanby to think her an enemy. So she nodded, deeply masking any hint of uncertainty.

Selina smiled widely, for all appearances, genuinely pleased. “Good. I am so happy you agree. We can speak more plainly with one another, and then I can tell you an interesting story. When Marian Fitzroy fled, your Crown saw an opportunity to be rid of both her… and her bloodline.”

Charity blinked, acutely uncomfortable as she was reminded of her own uncharitable thoughts from Prinny’s little garden party only just a handful of days ago. How she had been wroth that he had returned unscarred. That he had returned at all. “You believe he was meant to die on the continent.”

“Oh no. If I had not intervened, he would have died as a traitor—in a noose, that very week,” Selina told her. “Perry bought a favour from me. I called in a great many favours to send him to war instead, and the Crown still did their best to make sure he would never come back.”

“Peregrine said your favours are expensive,” Charity admitted, and Selina nodded.

“He only knows a piece of it—but from what I hear, the rest is still… working to help keep him alive.”

“Your ‘friends of England’?” Charity asked, suspicious, and wanting to scream in frustration. It was taking all her years of perfecting her self-control to keep it from leaking out. “Duke Chandros said you were friends of England, but you speak of the Crown as though it is your opponent. Who are they? Some society, like the Freemasons?”

“Oh nothing so tawdry as that little boy’s club. My friends are a select group of powerful, influential people who believe that leadership should not be left to random chance. We are the architects of Parliament, the unseen hand behind the ballot.”

A creeping unease settled at the base of Charity’s spine. She had always assumed the whispers were exaggerations—the mad rumours of idle aristocrats who found pleasure in paranoia. But Selina’s expression held no amusement. She was not indulging in speculation. She was stating fact. And that meant there was far more at play than Charity had ever imagined.

“What do your… people want? To overthrow the Crown?”

“Just influence, darling. Nothing so chaotic as overthrowing the king—just making sure we keep a hand on the reins. And we already have it—more than you might suspect.”

“I take it you want something of me,” Charity said flatly. “My information is not enough to render more assistance.”

“For Cameron’s location? That is a trifle, Charity. I will give it to you if you like, but even if you send a pack of guards, I do not believe you could help him more than I have already. If it is a trap, as you fear, it will spring before anyone will reach him. But you are correct, I do want something from you. I want you to use all of your power to convince Peregrine it is in his best interest to align with me.”

It was so surprising a request that Charity’s lips actually parted. “It is… remarkable you think I could manage to convince him to do such a thing when you yourself cannot. Even if I had such sway over his opinion, why would you think I would encourage him to align with you rather than seek more protection from the Crown?”

Selina let her elegant hands stroke over the fabric of her gown. “How much protection do you think they would offer him, truly?”

Little. The voice of the Queen, idly contemplating offering up Peregrine’s head to the Dutch, rang in her ears.

The marchioness took her silence as the answer, continuing. “Peregrine Fitzroy knows far too much to be let alone. He is an unattended, loaded gun waiting to be picked up and used carelessly. Ours are the safest hands to put him in—especially if Marian Fitzroy may be planning her return to England.”

It made a certain amount of sense, but Peregrine would detest being forced to choose. “I take your meaning, but…” Charity licked her lips. “I do not believe I can convince him.”

“He is his own man, of course. All I ask is that you argue our part genuinely.”

“And… what if I refuse to plead your case?” she inquired.

“If you refuse, then nothing. I ask you to do it as a favour, as a friend who cares for Peregrine,” the marchioness said. “You… are coming to care for him, I think. At least, enough that you understand his thoughts.”

But then, her eyes turned opaque. “However, if I find I am forced to use it, evidence of his plans to poison the Prince of Orange will be given over to the crown. I do not want Peregrine harmed, Charity, but if it is the only choice, I will do what I must.”

“But—” The breath rushed from Charity’s lungs, leaving her momentarily weightless in her seat. “He had nothing to do with what happened to Prince William.”

Selina gave her a look of deep pity. “Darling, that is only because someone else poisoned him first. Oh, do not look so shocked. Peregrine had selected croton oil because it would not be fatal. Poor Prince William! He was bound to end up sick in the bushes one way or another that day.”

Surprise warred with horror. She wanted to deny it, to argue that Selina must be lying, twisting the truth to suit her purposes. But deep down, an awful part of her recognized that it fit. Peregrine had always carried secrets like armour, had always seemed like a man one step away from destruction. And yet…

A cold sickness curled through her stomach, winding tight. She had known—on some level—that Peregrine was tangled in dangerous affairs. But not this. Not actual treason. Not something so damning that it turned the ground beneath her feet to quicksand.

Her throat felt thick when she finally managed, “Why—why would he do that?”

“Because that was the price I asked for saving his life.”

And now that life was being put in Charity’s hands.

“What if I cannot convince him?”

“Then you did what you could,” Selina’s eyes brimmed with sympathy, and then she let her face harden. “All I ask is that you try. I would still enjoy being your friend; however, I would understand if you feel like this is no longer possible. Just know that this is the only favour I would ask of you for so little. If he, or you, want something more, you must negotiate for it, like everyone else.” Selina rose from her chair, signaling their meeting had come to an end.

“Do not waste your worry on Perry, Your Grace. A man like him always lands on his feet—until the day he doesn’t. And if that day comes… well. That, too, will be a choice.”

Her words failed to offer Charity much comfort during her drive to the townhouse near the Seven Dials. She had the carriage drop her off a street over, and wound through the narrow paths between the rows until she found the rear entrance Peregrine had shown her on their way out that morning.

The key was exactly where he had left it. The lock clicked over and silence greeted her when she stepped into the kitchen. Her thoughts, fears, and worries were her only company as she climbed the stairs to the bedroom. There, she dragged the stool from the dressing table over to the window and nudged the curtains far enough apart to allow her to see the small garden behind.

The night pressed in against the windowpane, cold and indifferent. Her hands curled tightly in her lap, nails biting into her palms as if pain might ground her. Everything felt more uncertain now—more fragile. She had trusted Peregrine, had thought herself a step closer to understanding him. But tonight had unraveled every assumption she had clung to.

She would wait. She would demand the truth. And, God help her, she would have to decide whether she could live with the answer.