Page 32 of Brilliance and Betrayal (The Diamond of the Ton Regency Mysteries #1)
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"I am so grateful to you for that kindness you offered without question. But… How could I possibly use that invitation, knowing it would rob you of happiness?"
—Lady Charity, to Lord Percy while ending their engagement
T he Queen’s focus was unrelenting. No mercy would be offered. Dressed in dark velvet, she sat tall and still upon a gilded chair, her pearl-adorned fingers steepled in quiet judgment.
But it was Peregrine’s expression that undid Charity. His mouth parted, his upper lip curling as though he had bitten into something foul. A muscle in his jaw twitched. His usually unshakable posture—so often poised, ready to deflect or attack—had stiffened, his shoulders locked as if bracing for a final blow. His gaze flickered between her and the floor, searching for an escape that did not exist, as if he could not bear to see the face of his betrayer and yet could not look away.
“Your Grace?” the Queen repeated.
Peregrine tilted his head toward the Queen, allowing Charity a clear view of his expression—which looked chillingly like it had in the painting. The man from the mirror.
That was how he saw himself—the person he would rather be trapped behind glass, far from any future. Her agreement with the Queen, however well meaning it had been, might take him farther from that idyl still.
Her heart pleaded for her to fall to her knees and beg him for forgiveness, but her steel will kept her upright. What had she been thinking? Her Majesty was never going to consent to letting him go. It was foolishness of the highest order to even imagine such an outcome. But she had to hold onto that foolish desire, because Charity was his only hope of ever getting free from this obligation.
Perry, she thought desperately, this was the best of our bad choices.
But she could hardly say that aloud. Keeping the Queen happy—having her remain confident of Charity’s loyalty—was of primary importance right then. Charity schooled her features into an expression of pure obedience and, without so much as a glance in Peregrine’s direction, she gave her answer.
“I did not tell him before now, because he had been so ill, and I was certain he would react badly. I did not want to jeopardise his recovery, but I miscalculated how quickly he would try to act. Your Majesty, we need his help most desperately. I still believe he is our best hope for capturing his mother—even more so now that Marian Fitzroy may have revealed her hand. That is, I think, our paramount concern. Any information we gain about this… Order will be the crowning touch on our eventual success.”
The Queen’s nostrils flared in dissatisfaction, but she did not outright frown.
The force of Peregrine’s stare, however, pulled her back around. “You sold my life to the Queen, and promised her I would hunt my mother and the Order in return.”
He did not ask it as if it was a question. If she hadn’t learned to understand him better, she might have thought his face expressionless. But what she saw instead… it destroyed her.
She gave the Queen one fleeting glance beseeching her patience and then Charity shifted her stance and appealed to Peregrine. “I lived in terror for three days, thinking you might die, Perry. And I still fear for your life.” The words came in a rush, unguarded, raw. “You know you are a threat to too many people. They—” she bit her tongue, mindful that she had not been entirely honest with her Queen about Selina and her secret society— “well, your mother at least, would rather see you dead than risk you slipping from her grasp. I had to make a choice. The Queen and Prinny were the only ones I trusted to protect you. Surely you can see?—”
“I do beg your pardon!” the Queen interrupted, waving aside anything else Charity hoped to say. “It hardly matters now why you struck the bargain you did. The only thing that is important now is that you both acknowledge the bargain and the parts I need you to play.”
“ Respectfully , Your Majesty,” Peregrine turned and used the most neutral voice she had ever heard from him, “I do not recognise this bargain. The duchess bartered with something that was not hers to give.”
“Lord Fitzroy, you may interpret my words in any way you see fit,” the Queen leaned forward, enunciating carefully. “I do. Not. Care.”
Peregrine looked past the Queen, to where the Prince Regent stood silent. “Your Highness, you are the ruler—are you not? Can you truly look me in the eye and say this is a just outcome?”
Prinny shrugged his shoulders, uncaring, his heavy-lidded eyes glassy with wine and disinterest. The heavy embroidery of his waistcoat strained against his stomach as he shifted lazily in his chair, a king in all but title—and effort.
“Justice must make a bow to what is reckoned to be necessary, Lord Fitzroy,” Prinny murmured. “If it is as you predict, what is the freedom of one man when compared to the safety and welfare of the nation? What sort of patriot would deny this call?”
A muscle jumped in Peregrine’s jaw, his breath coming sharp and short. For a moment, it seemed he might spit a retort, but he swallowed it down, his hands curling into fists at his sides—knuckles whitening with the effort to remain civil.
Charity longed to throw herself into his arms, to remind him that she was on his side, but she fought against the impulse. Right now, her help was the least welcome of all.
The silence stretched until Peregrine broke it again. He spoke again to Queen Charlotte. “Your Highness makes a most excellent point,” he said, his voice coloured with only the barest trace of sarcasm. “Your Majesty, though your patience is no doubt waning, I must raise one last consideration. You are demanding no less than my total fealty. How will you trust that I will keep my word?”
Charity’s breath hitched as she studied the Queen’s expression. To even hint at such an outcome could result in Peregrine taking up a permanent occupancy in the Tower.
The Queen smiled. “Should your nation’s needs be insufficient to motivate you to task, then of course, you have the right to decline to accept the terms of the agreement. But you still stand guilty of conspiring against both the Prince of Orange and the Crown, twice over since you were overheard by the royal guard conspiring with Mr Cameron. You will be charged, stripped, and the promise of protection rescinded, which I expect to be sufficient motivation to earn your fealty. But trusting your word , Lord Fitzroy?” she said delicately. “That may never happen.”
“Your Majesty?—”
The Queen sighed heavily at his words, signaling her patience had reached an end. “Make your choice and make it now. Swear your loyalty to the Crown or accept the consequences of your actions.”
Charity could not turn away from Peregrine. She scanned him from head to toe and back again, searching for a clue as to his next move. “Don’t let your mother win,” she whispered, barely moving her lips.
Peregrine exhaled sharply, his hands clenching and unclenching, as if grappling with the weight of his choice. “I will swear to the destruction of my mother, Marian Fitzroy. But the Order—you will likely never find them all, much less bring them to heel.”
The Queen smiled faintly. “One problem at a time, Lord Fitzroy. Right now, the one I require to be brought to heel is you.”
Only Charity stood close enough to mark the faint quiver in his shoulders—like the tension of a bowstring—before resignation settled over him.
“If death is my only alternative, then I will serve. Tell me what you wish. I am yours to command.”
Well, you have succeeded in making a Fitzroy pay.
Charity’s mother’s voice dripped with satisfaction. Imaginary though it was, it turned Charity’s stomach. She raised her hand to her mouth and took shallow breaths, desperate not to get sick. Over and over again, she reminded herself that her only goal had been to see Peregrine survive. Surely, once they were alone, he would listen to reason.
His words drew a vicious smile from the Queen. “For now, my command is simple, Lord Fitzroy. Go to the Order and take them up on their offer of protection. Let them think they have won you to their cause, and then you will be in a position to provide us with information.”
The muscles in Peregrine’s jaw pulsed, but his rigid spine kept him in check. “Is there anything else you wish from me?”
The Queen tapped a single ringed finger against the armrest of her chair, the only sign of her satisfaction. “To remain in touch. Her Grace will be your conduit to us. You may go.”
Peregrine spun on his heel, his stride crisp, purposeful—an about-face so precise it would have earned a general’s approval. His boots struck the marble floor in measured, deliberate steps, echoing through the cavernous chamber. He did not look back. Not once.
Every step away he took caused another crack in Charity’s facade. The air in the room felt stifling, the weight of the Queen’s judgment pressing against her like a vice. She could not bear it any longer.
“Your Majesty,” Charity turned, barely aware of her own movement, her voice slipping past her lips before she could stop it. “Please—I beg you—allow me a moment with Lord Fitzroy.”
The Queen looked at Charity sidelong, but relented enough to wave her off.
The door closed behind her with a muffled thud, leaving her alone in an empty corridor. In a palace filled with courtiers and servants, the barren space had the feel of a mausoleum. It was appropriate, Charity mused, for her hopes of catching Peregrine lay dying.
She gathered her skirt and broke one of the foremost rules of visiting the palace. She ran.
She spotted the back of Peregrine’s head as she turned the first corner. “Lord Fitzroy! Peregrine!” she called. His steady gait pulled him further away, leaving her no choice but to make a last desperate attempt to get him to stop. “Perry! Perry, wait!”
He stopped dead, his back going rigid at the sound of his nickname tumbling from her lips. But he did not turn. Charity slowed to a fast walk, letting her skirt fall to the ground so she could hold out her hands to him. She grazed the coat on his back, the fabric smooth under her hand, desperately seeking the connection they had found.
He shuddered once like a fly-stung horse and then became utterly still. Unmoving and unmoved despite the raw ache in her voice.
Charity’s hand slid down his arm as she circled around to face him. She stared up at his handsome face, at the chandelier filled with a dozen candles hanging above his head, and remembered someone else.
It had been in nearly this exact spot that she had crossed paths with Lord Percy a year prior. He had borne a similar haggard expression, the same deep shadows under his eyes. He, too, had thought himself facing a grim fate, to be trapped in a future he did not want.
On that occasion she had known just what to say. She had told him of her intention to end their engagement. To free him to marry the woman he truly loved—her dearest friend Grace. Though he had stood in stunned silence, she had witnessed the transformation in his posture as the weight lifted from his shoulders.
Surely, she could do the same again. Peregrine had only to give her a chance to explain.
He kept his nose high, all but ignoring her as he stared at some point high up on the wall. “Did you need something else from me, Your Grace? Perhaps my dignity, so you can crush that beneath your slippers as well?”
A vise tightened around her ribs. “I need a chance to explain why I did this for you.”
“Did you?” he asked curiously. “Do it for me, I mean. It rather feels like you did this for your own purposes.”
“Of course I did it for you!” she hissed, her voice low. “You are… like a bone, with three dogs fighting over you. Three very dangerous dogs.”
“I would kill to be a fly on the wall in the throne room when you tell the Queen how you compared her to a vicious canine,” he murmured an interruption, his voice light and cutting. “Be sure to invite me for that.”
“Be serious! You said you did not trust Selina, and when she threatened to expose you for treason to me, I could see why! And your mother tried to have you killed! The doctor said you were dying. Lord Ravenscroft made it clear that your mother would see the deed done, even if the fever did not.”
Charity choked back a sob, barely able to get out her final plea. “I did not want you to die, Perry. I would have done anything to protect you. What else could I have done but go to the one power who I thought would be reasonable? You are up against people who are so powerful?—”
“You want to know what else you could do? You might have noticed that I am not so thick I haven’t the slightest idea what is going on. I have been doing this dance with these people for years before you ever set foot among the peers, Duchess. If you couldn’t have faith in my ability to protect myself, then at the very least, you could have waited for me to admit to my need for help.”
“Would you? Tell me the truth, Perry. You snuck from my home in the middle of the night, bleeding and half-dead, to meet with your mother’s man of business! Did it give you a moment’s pause to think how it would have grieved me to find that letter, and to never see you again?”
Charity’s eyes burned, but she refused to be discomposed in public, where anyone could see. “You and I are both prideful, suspicious creatures, afraid to trust others for our own reasons. Nothing makes us more vulnerable than admitting that we need someone else’s help. But I trust you now, Perry, and I need you ,” she blurted. “I—needed you to be safe. The Queen… I will try to think of something to fix things if you will just give me a little time.”
The corner of his mouth curled up in the smallest smirk, and his eyes finally dropped to hers, the pale blue of them as cold as ice. “By all means. Try . I’m not a doll for you to play with, Your Grace. I am a man—however neatly you may have gelded me. I have thoughts and feelings of my own.”
She swallowed hard, and Peregrine studied her coldly for a moment. “It is amusing, actually, that you set yourself apart from the others. You, Selina, and even the Queen and my mother—you take my choices, and even the very pretense of them. You are all exactly the same. But heed my words, Your Grace: no matter how you might compel my behaviour, you will never control my thoughts. And right now, I despise you for trying to control me at all.”
The words struck her breathless, and she pawed blindly at him, trying to find the right way to beg his forgiveness. “Perry—wait,” she whispered.
“Please do not touch me, and on that note, will you excuse me? I am afraid I cannot tarry any longer. I expect I will have a busy afternoon groveling to the marchioness. When—if—I have some word to report about my success, I will write you. Good day, Your Grace.” He gave a stiff bow and then stalked past her.
A polite cough from behind made Charity jump.
“Apologies, Your Grace,” a footman murmured. “The Queen sent me to find you.”
Charity took a deep breath, shuddering as a shiver wracked her shoulders, and then drew her back straight.
Confident steps. Head held high. Chin dipped in perfect obeisance.
Charity took the broken edges of her soul and wrapped them around her spine, shoring it up until it had the strength of forged iron.
Once again the Duchess Atholl, she returned to the throne room.