Page 33 of Brilliance and Betrayal (The Diamond of the Ton Regency Mysteries #1)

“A lady who chases a gentleman risks becoming the hound rather than the prize. Better to set the snare and let him believe the pursuit was his idea.”

— Reflections of Grace: A Guide to Etiquette

T he grand ballroom of Carlton House gleamed under the blaze of a thousand candles. The scent of beeswax polish mingled with perfume and champagne, the hum of conversation rising and falling beneath the strains of a lively waltz.

Silk and satin swept across the marble floors as London’s finest swirled in elegant formations, their priceless jewels flashing beneath the crystal chandeliers. Footmen in the Prince Regent’s livery stood at attention along the perimeter, their faces expressionless as they carried silver trays laden with wine and champagne.

Smile, nod, and listen closely.

Charity stood off to the side of the dance floor, at the centre of a cluster of fashionable women. They tittered as they exchanged commentary on the other guests, their clothing, and their choice of escorts. Charity gave a nod of encouragement now and then, just enough to keep the others from noticing her silence. She had little interest in the attendees thus far. It was in anticipation of new guests that she kept watch over the entrance.

A hush fell over the room as a footman at the doorway lifted his staff and struck it against the marble floor, the sharp crack echoing above the music.

"Her Majesty, Queen Charlotte," the footman announced, his voice ringing through the ballroom. "His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent. Her Royal Highness, Princess Charlotte of Wales."

At once, the guests turned toward the entrance, sweeping into deep bows and curtsies as the royal party made their entrance. The Queen, resplendent in royal blue velvet and diamonds, led the way, her sharp gaze surveying the gathered assembly. The Prince Regent followed, his coat embroidered within an inch of its life, a hand resting lightly on his rounded stomach. Behind them, Princess Charlotte, dressed in a soft green pastel, wore an expression of polite interest—though anyone watching closely might have caught the flicker of unhappiness in her eye.

As the royal procession moved forward, the hush lifted, giving way to murmured admiration and the rustle of shifting skirts as society’s elite awaited their cue to rise.

“As you were,” Prinny pronounced, mostly so that he could leave his mother’s side to ask his mistress for a dance and supper, not necessarily in that order.

The Queen continued on, aiming for the trio of velvet chairs set aside for the royals’ use. Charity did not miss the way the woman’s attention drifted around the faces of the guests, acknowledging them with a smile or a frown. The worst were those she did not acknowledge at all.

Charity had not sunk that low, but she was still a hair’s breadth away from truly falling into disfavour. With that in mind, she excused herself from the ladies and hurried to intercept the princess.

Do your duty with a serene heart and a steady pace , her mother admonished.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” she said when she reached the young woman’s side. “Your gown is exceptionally gorgeous. Is it new?”

The princess preened under Charity’s admiring gaze but then her shoulders sank. “Papa only ordered it because he heard it is the Prince of Orange’s favourite colour.”

“Oh dear,” Charity murmured, before biting her lip. This was to be her dance for the night, to sway between sympathy for the young woman and her orders to ensure the princess behaved.

The engagement was still very much on. It was hard not to see it as punishment, given what Charity now knew of the princess’s sentiments. Poisoning one’s future husband was not near enough to stop a wedding, if one was in the royal family, but it did not exactly bode well for the Prince of Orange either.

Once, she had dreamt of being a princess. Now, she could imagine no worse fate. That was what made her ideal for the task of accompanying Princess Charlotte around for the rest of the season. At least with Charity, the princess could be honest about her concerns. It made no difference that they were equally unable to do anything about it.

What Prinny and the Queen declared would take place. The futures of the English and Dutch thrones would align, setting up the possibility of a great empire. No one, not the couple themselves, and certainly not Marian Fitzroy, could put a stop to it.

But tonight, the princess seemed to be in good enough spirits. She agreed to promenade past her intended, and to trade the requisite curtseys and bows. She even engaged in a few minutes of conversation. When, as always, the royals ran out of inanities, Charity whisked the princess away with the promise of a glass of punch.

They arrived at the refreshment table to find a beaming man awaiting them.

Lord Ravenscroft twirled his arms in a flourishing bow before pressing a kiss on the princess’s outstretched hand, even though his gesture was more avuncular than flirtatious. "Your Highness," he murmured, letting the words curl like smoke, "what a relief to find something worth looking at in this dreary assembly. I was beginning to despair."

“Was Her Grace not enough?” the princess giggled, nudging Charity forward.

“Oh! I do beg your pardon, Duchess Atholl. I was so blinded by this vision, I did not see you there,” Lord Ravenscroft purred before giving Charity a wink. “Will you forgive me long enough to allow me to escort you both to the supper buffet?”

Charity longed to remain within sight of the main entrance, but she could not abandon her charge. Besides, Lord Ravenscroft might have some word about the man whose presence she sought.

“All right. Just this once,” Charity replied, slipping her arm through his. The princess took her place on his right, and the trio made their way to the next room where long tables nearly bent under the trays of food.

A footman stepped forward, a plate in his gloved hands, ready to serve the princess. “Would Your Highness like something from the fish and game table? Perhaps a slice of the roast venison with Cumberland sauce?”

The princess wrinkled her nose and commanded him to follow while she perused her father’s offerings. Charity and Lord Ravenscroft wandered into a nearby alcove, one where they could keep watch over the princess but speak privately.

“Has our mutual friend been in touch?” he asked, studying her face. “No, I see he has shown us the same silence. Pity that, I was just coming to like the canary.”

Charity fought to keep her face from showing any outward sign of the pain that lanced through her, half expecting her mother to chastise her for it.

You may feel as deeply as you like, so long as no one ever sees it , her mother’s voice responded primly.

“Give him time,” she said, when she noticed she had been silent longer than she should.

Ravenscroft barked a laugh. “Ahh, apologies, Your Grace, but for a moment, the irony of our conversation became too much to bear. A mere two weeks ago, I advised you to practice patience. Our situation has reversed in more ways than one.”

They paused to nod at a passing lord and lady, and to flash a smile at the princess, before resuming their conversation.

“Was the princess properly cowed by everything that happened?” Ravenscroft asked in a low whisper.

“We are not nearly so lucky,” Charity murmured. “She is still a bit rebellious. But at least now she is wary of wolves in sheep’s clothing. She will pick her allies more carefully from now on. And I would still wager that her mama is doing whatever she can to aid her daughter’s cause. If the princess leaves England, they will both lose.”

"Yes, well, on that note," Ravenscroft drawled, adjusting his cuffs with deliberate nonchalance, "duty calls me back to the dance floor. Though my feet may give the impression of executing a perfectly respectable country reel, rest assured that I am, in fact, kicking over stones to see what unfortunate creatures might scurry out."

“Should you get the chance, ask Lady Pelham for a turn. I am curious to learn what venom she is spitting now,” Charity suggested before she wished Lord Ravenscroft luck and then rejoined the princess.

The evening was deadly dull, the usual bowing and scraping of those keen to win the princess’s favour. A few brave men asked her to dance, and Prince William even took a turn—while he was still sober. It seemed he too had learned something from the events of Prinny’s garden party, but somehow Charity did not think the lesson would stick for long.

When the princess pleaded for a rest, Charity escorted her to the chair beside her grandmother and then asked to be excused.

She passed under the arched entryway, in search of a quiet place, when she heard the footman welcoming a very late guest.

She lurched to a halt, her breath caught in her chest, though she could not say whether it was hope or fear.

And then, there he was. Lord Fitzroy. All in black, the only relief a crisp white cravat at his throat, as stark and unyielding as his expression. And on his arm—Selina, Marchioness of Normanby, a vision in violet silk shot through with silver. Charity did not miss the way Selina’s grip on Peregrine’s arm tightened when she spied Charity. The catlike smile on her face, however, was one of ownership, not affection.

A sharp breath caught in her throat. Her palms itched to smooth her skirts, to reach up and check her hair. She forced them to stay at her sides, tight against her gown. Lord Fitzroy and the marchioness came to a stop a few feet away.

Peregrine met her gaze with a flat stare, but he did not cut her dead. He gave her the merest inclination of his head, as due her station, and murmured a polite greeting. And then, he looked away.

Selina released him with a silken command. “Run ahead, Perry, and catch Lord Sidmouth before he retreats to the card room, will you, dearest? I want to have a quick word with the duchess and then I will catch up.” Selina shooed him off, leaving him no choice but to obey.

Then the dazzling woman turned back to Charity, her painted lips curling in amusement.

"Darling, I am so pleased to see you again. How have you fared these last days? Has the… excitement been settling down? You seem far more relaxed than you did at our last encounter.”

“Quite, Lady Normanby,” Charity said with a slight smile of her own.

“Please. Do call me Selina. We are friends! I must admit, I did not hold out much hope you would be successful in your endeavours to send him to us. Perry can be rather stubborn when he has a mind to be, especially against his own best interests," Selina said smoothly. "Though I am sorry that sending him my way… seems to have caused the two of you to have a falling out."

Selina was most certainly not Charity’s friend. But Charity only smiled blandly. "I cannot say I blame him for being upset, it was a bit of a tumultuous experience."

Selina’s expression softened—only slightly. She lifted a gloved hand and rested it lightly on Charity’s arm.

"Love and hate are two sides of the same coin, Your Grace," she murmured. "They are both bound together by interest. He will come around in time; our relationship is proof of it. And for now, you can sleep well knowing he is protected."

Selina dipped into a shallow curtsy and glided away, leaving Charity with only her thoughts.

Charity could not help but wonder if the marchioness knew her statement was false. Peregrine might outwardly pretend to ignore the wrongs done to him, but Charity knew he marked them well, and kept it in his internal vault of debts, one day to be reckoned.

But Selina was correct in thinking he would come around, at least in one manner of speaking. Like so many things, he had little choice but to speak with her eventually. That was, after all, what the Queen had ordered.

Though they had managed to thwart two attempted poisonings, and had eliminated one of Lady Fitzroy’s hired hands, she did not delude herself into expecting peace and quiet. Between the Queen, the Order, and Lady Fitzroy, life was certain to remain interesting, to say the least.

In the meantime, Charity would bide her time and put together her own plan. She was not at all ready to concede the fight for Peregrine’s heart—and his forgiveness.

Will Peregrine forgive Charity for tying him to the Crown? Can they survive Lady Fitzroy’s efforts to see them killed?

Their journey towards happily ever after continues in Shadows and Splendour - Book 2 in The Diamond of the Ton Regency Mysteries. Keep reading for more details - or head on over to Amazon to order it .