Page 18 of Lord Fournier’s Shameless Princess (Scarlett Affairs #4)

No. 20 Hanover Square

London

June 6, 1804

L iesel crushed the morning newspaper as she sat at her breakfast table and muttered a few blue words none of her servants should hear. She had completely forgotten that June fifth was His Majesty’s birthday. All of London had lined the route from the Queen’s House at Buckingham yesterday morning down to St. James’s Palace. The festivities, abridged for the health and welfare of the sixty-six-year-old monarch, had gone on, nonetheless, for more than six hours. The weather had not cooperated. Not outside the palace, nor inside, where closed windows and doors made the air so close in such a crush of celebrants that several ladies had fainted and were carried out. Lifeless, declared one newspaper.

In spite of it all, the ceremony went on, with Her Majesty receiving the nobility, the gentry, and the diplomatic corps. Musical selections by Handel were ordered up, and only after six o’clock did the royal family retire to the Queen’s House once more.

Liesel would not expect anyone to even entertain the idea of having an audience with the queen today. Perhaps not tomorrow, either. They were all exhausted from the folderol. There had even been some sort of conflict between military guards and local police. A few men were wounded and the queen had been notified, to her distress.

All of which meant Liesel would be wise to do her other business today. She’d go to the bank and see if Becker had managed to get Rothschild to transfer her allowance. Afterward, if she had a mind for some more frivolous activity, she’d call on her modiste. Liesel had tried on a few of her gowns hanging in her wardrobe upstairs, and contrary to her hopes, they did not fit her well. She was thinner from her recent travels, yet with her age, she was also more buxom. Nor were her clothes the latest in fashion. She might not have worn the most stylish garb for the past few years, but she knew when a gown was too old or tired to wear to face the queen.

Two hours later, she took the stairs down to her foyer. Pulling on her gloves, she encountered her butler.

Selfless soul that he was, he asked if she wished him to notify Cook of anything special she’d like for her dinner. “We three do not keep a large pantry, Your Highness.”

“I understand, Mr. Martin. Nothing special for me, thank you, and do thank Cook. Whatever all of you were going to have, I will too.”

“Have you any expectation of how long you remain with us, Your Highness?”

“Not yet, Martin. Perhaps tomorrow or the next day.”

“Very well, ma’am. I will go hail a carriage for you.”

*

Liesel watched Clive Davenport, Marquess of Carlisle, as he hurried along Upper Brook Street. He walked from his house in Grosvenor Square to his sister’s in Park Street every day at four. Today was no exception.

His hand on his hat, his head down against the patter of rain, he approached her.

She stood upon the corner, her parasol up, hoping it might withstand any sudden downpour.

“My lord,” she greeted him with a smile as he came closer.

He paused a moment to blink at the sight of her. Then he grinned. “My dear woman.” He scanned the street to see who might observe them, then took her arm, as had been their custom in years gone by when she would come to report to him. They would pretend to promenade, as if they were friends, which they had over the years become. “How good of you to come see me. When, by God’s grace, did you arrive in London?”

“Only last night.”

He slowed his pace to gaze upon her and take in details. “You look well.”

“Hmm, do I?” She gave him a wistful toss of her head. She was as well dressed as she could be. Felt as well as could be. “You certainly are a man of discretion. I know I am not fit at the moment to be walking far. My sea legs are still with me. The crossing from Bremen to Yarmouth was so chaotic, I may bob up and down for years.”

“A frightful route.” He chuckled. “But, Your Highness,” he whispered, “I am so glad to see you.”

He was a charming man, a politician, a diplomat, and a master of spies. Taller than she by a few inches, with sun-bleached brown hair and long-lashed gray eyes, he was by her guess in his mid-thirties. A widower, he was also a father of a little girl. The child who was so young when she lost her mother needed a nurturing woman in her life…and Carlisle’s older sister had become that for the girl. He took her there each morning at eight and fetched her each afternoon at four. If ever Liesel had children, she would hope her husband would bless their offspring with as much love as this man did his.

But that was a fantasy. Only Dirk Fournier would do for her, and he was as much a black sheep as she. Never would they be restored to their own rightful places, let alone to a normal place in this rigid Society.

She caught her breath. Today marriage and children seemed so impossible to her.

Carlisle paused upon the paved street. They stood before his sister’s house. “Shall we go in to talk?”

The two of them had met there before. Liesel would call upon Terese, Lady Winterton, and that lady would send a note to Carlisle of Liesel’s need to speak with him. Carlisle would arrive soon after, often by the kitchen door for secrecy’s sake.

“Yes, let’s.”

Carlisle led them up the steps and tapped with the knocker. The butler appeared in a trice. Recognizing Liesel as the one who’d often met his mistress’s brother in secret, he ushered them both in to the small family parlor at the back of the first-floor stairs.

“Give us ten minutes, Brown,” Carlisle instructed the butler. “I know my sister will wish to greet our visitor. But we need some time alone.”

“Certainly, sir.” Brown bowed himself away.

Carlisle patted her hand as she took a chair before the fireplace. A small fire burned, chasing away the chill of the rain.

“I am quite thrilled to see you, Liesel.”

“I am quite thrilled to be here, Clive.”

“Conditions are so grave on the Continent, we worried you were captured.”

She would summarize her plight as best she could. Details she would give to Carlisle and his three colleagues later. “You were right to be concerned. I was there, Clive, when Caulaincourt came across the Rhine to capture the Duke of Enghien. I saw the army arrive at his house. I know I could do nothing to save him, but God knows I tried. And I fled.”

“Where did you go? I had no word, no clue from any of our assets in Germany or France.”

“I went to Lord Fournier.”

“In Karlsruhe?” That shocked him. “Do you know some say he works for Scarlett Hawthorne?”

“I have heard that rumor, yes.” She gave him a rueful look. She would not reveal information that only Dirk could utter. “I knew how he’d saved so many these past two years, and with the abduction of Enghien, I feared the French would invade more German states. Worse, I feared they’d abduct my sisters and brother for ransom.”

“Liesel,” he murmured in soft compassion, “we know Bonaparte did have a plan for that. He sent ten soldiers to Rittenburg.”

She gasped. “When?”

“Early April. A secret operation that failed because you and your family were nowhere to be found.”

“Thanks to Lord Fournier’s quick thinking.”

Carlisle leaned toward her. “And you are all safe?”

“My younger brother Nikky and my sister Katrin are here with me, safe and sound at Dirk’s house in Kent.”

Carlisle caught her informality. “Dirk?”

“Yes, I use his given name. One does not travel for weeks on end with anyone and not become their friend.”

“At the very least.”

At the most for me.

“But what of Mara?” he asked.

“She is married to Prince Hartenburg.”

He went still with shock. “We’ve had no notice of that.”

She frowned. “Have you no diplomatic announcement of their marriage?”

“None.”

She put a hand to her throat. “Why would that be? They were married by the bishop in Rittenburg. I was there. So was Dirk. Hartenburg took Mara away that afternoon. Why is their marriage not public in his state?”

“I do not know. Perhaps any communiques from Hartenburg are delayed with the French crossing all sorts of boundaries and breaking rules. But I will inquire.”

Her pulse pounded. She feared for her sister’s welfare. “Hartenburg wanted regent authority over Rittenburg. He thought he could get it, too, because when Dirk and I arrived, Rainer was not in residence and neither was I.” She shot to her feet. “He is devious. You must ask the envoy from Hartenburg why they have no news of this marriage.”

“I will. Never fear. Now, you must tell me what you did in Paris and how you managed to befriend Enghien. We need to know of your success , my dear.”

She grinned. “I will gladly tell you all I learned. One thing I did was learn, painfully, was how to peel garlic in René Vaillancourt’s kitchen.”

“No!” Carlisle barked with laughter.

“I don’t wish to do it again. Peel garlic, yes. Work for Vaillancourt, no. But I must add that I can now make a very good pot-au-feu , if you are interested.”

“Ha! I will take you up on that. What else did you learn?”

“Vaillancourt is rabid for promotion. Evidently, he was very attached to one special lady, a friend of Josephine Bonaparte. But she deceived him, somehow. A friend carried her out of Vaillancourt’s house in sight of many diplomats and military men. It was a scandal.”

Carlisle seemed tickled by her explanation. “Madame St. Antoine is that lady. And yes, she was ill but carried away by the Englishman who loves here. She is now here in England and is Lady Ramsey. It is my understanding that she and her husband work for Scarlett Hawthorne. Ramsey has for years.”

“Friends and spies are everywhere, aren’t they?” She wondered if Dirk knew of this. Hopefully, here in Town, he would learn.

Carlisle agreed. “I wish more detail about your time abroad in coming days, please. But today, we speak of your future. First you must rest. Recover. Weeks of fright can tear at a person’s health. I know. I remember.”

Liesel recalled his wife’s long illness, painful and debilitating, her malady robbing Carlisle of peace as he watched her slowly pass away.

“I wonder if you have any idea of what you would like to do from this day forward,” he said.

She stared at him, this sweet man, this loving father, who coincidentally ran ruthless agents throughout Europe. “I want to leave London and go south to the sea. Brighton, I think. I want to make a good home for my brother and sister. That means I will not, for the immediate future, take any assignments from you.”

“I understand. Know, however, I can arrange all that. What about funds? Do you need them?”

“I have money, thank you. What I do not have is pardon from Her Majesty for my behavior and a dissolution of my engagement contact with the Duke of Isenhurst. What service I have done for Crown and country should buy me both of those.”

“I agree, Liesel. I will speak to the prime minister. He will know of your trials and tribulations—but most of all, your successes.”

“I beg of you, Clive,” she said as hot tears welled in her eyes, betraying her wish to appear strong, “set me free.”

He took both her hands in his. “You deserve no less—and so much more.”

*

Liesel left Carlisle and his sister more than an hour later. The rain clouds had cleared. Did the heavens know the sun shone in her heart? Feeling gay, more than she had been in months, perhaps years, she decided to walk home.

She had much to tell Martin, her maid of all work, and Cook. They would applaud her future—or as much of it that she could predict at the moment. She wished she could tell Dirk about all her good news today. She had money from Becker. She had hope from Carlisle. Now all she needed was a fine gown, worthy of court, and the gumption to confront the queen to be removed from all her obligations to that woman’s family. Then she would reveal all her good news to Dirk and pray that was enough to inspire him to free himself.

But where was he?

If he had returned to the Continent and not told her, she would be furious with him. In her worst moments in the middle of the night, when she missed his arms around her most, she would swear she would go after him. Although, as the sun rose, her better judgment told her that she could not leave Nikky and Katrin alone in this new world.

So where are you, Dirk? The nights are frightful without you.

She was on her second or third attempt to rid herself of her fears for him when she rounded the corner toward her house in the square.

A very fashionable lady was climbing down from her highly polished, ruby-lacquered town coach just in front of Liesel’s house. She walked right up the front steps and knocked. When Martin opened the door, she announced herself and presented her card to the butler.

But Liesel needed no calling card to tell her who this lady was. From the moment she laid eyes on the woman’s white-blonde hair and flashing brown eyes, she knew she would soon greet Baroness Fournier, Dirk’s mother.

“Baroness, I am honored to meet you,” Liesel said, inside. Martin had shown her guest into her parlor.

“ Danke schon , Your Highness.” The lady gave a flawless little bow. “As I am to meet you.”

“I see my butler has done his duty to welcome you. My cook is very skilled, though lately, because I am so recently arrived, she has not as many delicacies as we would wish. But I will call for tea. Please”—she swept out a hand—“we will not stand on formality.”

“No formality nor tea for me. Thank you, Your Highness.” The woman folded her hands in her lap. She was a beauty, a mass of curls done up in the latest coif, and large doe eyes that faceted in shades of brown in the sunshine pouring though Liesel’s window. “I am very happy to make your acquaintance. My son told me so much about you that I immediately became more eager to meet you.”

“How kind of you.” And where is your son? “I have had the same privilege of learning about you, my lady.”

“Months escaping the wrath of Bonaparte gives you much time to reveal who you really are.”

“It does.”

“And what you want.”

“That too.” Liesel would not dilly-dally about this. “I want quite a lot.”

“I know that too. And I came today to discuss that.”

Memories of Dirk’s mother flittered about in Liesel’s head. She’d met her, perhaps once or twice, years ago. The lady had always been kind to her. But Liesel recalled too that the lady had waited on the queen with devotion. If this woman, who was one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting, had come here to discourage Liesel from breaking with the queen, she would be disappointed. If Dirk never got free of the stain on his character, if he never felt restored to his good name, Liesel did not care. She loved him no matter what the world thought of him. And if he returned, and if he still cared for her, she would do anything to live out her life with him.

But she grew uneasy. Odd as it was, Liesel wished for something in hand to fiddle. A cup. A biscuit. A scepter to command the situation. “I am happy to have you here, Lady Fournier. But if you come to discourage me from—”

“Forgive me,” the baroness said with a kindly light in her brown eyes, “I come to you today because Dirk cannot.”

“No?” Liesel watched, her heart in her hands, as Lady Fournier removed a letter from her reticule.

“Dirk has made his way to Manchester on a matter of personal business. He sends his loving regards.” The lady leaned toward the low table between them and placed on it the small, sealed letter. “From Dirk to you, Your Highness.”

Liesel bit her lower lip, restraining herself from snatching up the paper and devouring every word.

“He is quite restless without you.”

That insight into his emotions, Liesel had not expected. But then, she was quite restless without him, too. “I hope he has the stamina to do what he must in Manchester.”

“Do you know what he does, Your Highness?”

“No. Should I?”

“Our conversation was brief. I do not know all that has passed between the two of you.”

That might be prudent. If he’d told his mother that they had been intimate, Liesel would die of embarrassment.

“Dirk is in the north, disentangling himself from the lies that were told about him years ago.”

That had Liesel smiling. “Oh, I do wish him well in that. It will not be easy, whatever his plan is. But he so rightly deserves exoneration.”

“Indeed he does. He is the finest man, full of spirit, and devotion to those he loves.” Lady Fournier regarded Liesel with shrewd eyes. “He wishes to change his life.”

“I wish him well.”

“And would you join him if he succeeds?”

“I would say, ma’am, that the question really is, could I join him if he succeeds. And my answer is that I would if I were free.”

“Freedom often has a price.”

Liesel brought up her chin—and her resolve. “I believe, ma’am, I have already paid more than many would dare.”

“I do agree, sweet woman. You are a treasure any man would be proud to claim as his own. Do you want him?”

Liesel did not know whether to laugh or shout. “Ma’am, are you asking me if I would marry your son?”

“Of course I am. I have only one son. One child whose happiness I am devoted to. One heir whose welfare I wish to secure. One man who has done more for this country and for those in other countries than many in the royal family.” She tipped her head. “So I ask you, can you live with him and love him as he deserves, if he can wipe away the false accusations that have kept him from me and from his home?”

“I would like nothing more than to live in peace and quiet in the shade of tall oak trees and never go farther than my garden gate.”

“No royal courts?”

Liesel shook her head once.

“No royal marriage?” Lady Fournier gave her a sidelong glance.

Liesel smiled. “No.”

“No return to Vaillancourt’s kitchen?”

Ah. Dirk’s mother had learned much from him. “I really do not like peeling garlic, my lady.”

Lady Fournier’s smile was there and gone in the blink of an eye. “Hmmm. And have you thought at all about the enormous amount of cajoling you must do in order to persuade the Queen of Great Britain to tear up your engagement agreement to the Duke of Isenhurst?”

Liesel fought the terror that Lady Fournier’s questions wrought, but she thrilled to the fact that they had been asked. “I have contemplated that, ma’am. I have nothing more than my evidence that I did work for Clive, the Marquess of Carlisle, in Paris and peeled garlic for Bonaparte’s deputy minister of the interior.”

“And your attempt to save the Duke of Enghien.”

“And that.”

“And that you were assaulted by the Duke of Isenhurst when no more than a girl.”

“True.”

“And that Isenhurst attempted to kidnap you to take you to the altar.”

“Yes, that also.”

“The queen must know, my dear. No one treats a lady, royal or not, like baggage to be deposited on the altar of her denigration!”

“I will go to her, my lady. I have planned it. First, I had to see Clive—Lord Carlisle. I did that this morning. Then,” she said, picking up the faded green sarcenet of her old gown, “my next step was to go beg favors from my modiste.”

“A gown worthy of the queen will take days to sew.”

“Oh, she is good. Such a dress might take her just two days.”

“I have taken the liberty of engaging my own dressmaker for you.” Lady Fournier lifted the tiny watch pinned as a brooch to her bodice. “At four. Here.”

Liesel grinned at her new friend. “That is kind of you, my lady.”

“Necessary, dearest. We must call upon the queen tomorrow.”

“We?” Liesel had to be sure she’d heard correctly.

“Of course, Liesel. I may call you Liesel, may I not?”

“Oh yes.” Her hopes flew about her drawing room like butterflies fresh from their cocoon. She pressed her hands together. “The queen thinks of me as a crazed bluestocking with aspirations of spinsterhood.”

“The educated woman you are now has a reason to marry, does she not?”

“Only one man, my lady.”

“And a very fine one at that. So I ask you, shall you and I go the queen, Liesel?”

“For you to join me to call upon Her Majesty would be beyond my dreams.”

“Well, my dear Liesel, you have accomplished for me what I never thought possible. You have inspired my darling son to find a way to come to his home and live out his days here, where he belongs.”

“I have done so little, my lady.”

“My name, my dear, is Charlotte. Please use it. What you have done is an enormously vital thing, Liesel. You love my son. And for his love you will reject influence abroad to work here beside him. That is no small thing. To love a man who was reviled, threatened, an outcast, and to love him so well that he is compelled to find ways to change all of that, you have done a wondrous thing. You have made all our days to come a heaven on earth.”

This, from a woman whose acquaintance with Liesel could be measured only in minutes, washed away all but one trepidation about the future here in her adopted country.

“Well, then, Charlotte,” she managed as she fought her second set of tears today, “I think I must summon my butler to bring us something to celebrate our new friendship.”

“My dear girl, I do like the way you think. Might we have him fetch us a good bottle of whisky?”