The Ring and the Crown

by Melissa de la Cruz

  “Monstrosity, isn’t it?” his brother’s voice asked.

  Wolf laughed. “Oh, it’s not so bad, is it?” He turned to see Leo exchanging a word with the seller, who was writing down a receipt.

  “It’s appalling. I’m taking it off the market so I can put it out of its misery. There are so many here, and I aim to buy every one.” Leo sniffed. “I’m uncertain why a portrait of the royal family should include these three courtiers. It looks like a bad Nativity scene.”

  “Ah, well.” Wolf smiled. “When did you get here? Is Marie with you?”

  “She’s coming with the queen,” Leo said. “I thought I’d check it out beforehand. Having a good season so far?”

  “Fine,” Wolf replied. “You and Marie seem to be finally hitting it off,” he said to his brother as they moved down the hall, turning heads and drawing appreciative glances along the way.

  Leo’s forehead crinkled. “Blasted wedding preparations are taking up all her time. But she is supposed to meet me here tonight.”

  “Well, Marie does love art.”

  “Yes. I thought I’d get her a painting as a wedding gift. Not any of these ugly family portraits, of course. The only place they’re going is the fire.”

  Wolf smirked. Leo was entirely too vain; his brother often argued that only the royal court painter should be allowed to paint their family. “Good choice.”

  “Speaking of wedding gifts, have you seen the loot? Real drakon eggs, and all sorts of magical exotica. Burgundy sent all of their Burgundy, apparently. There can’t be a bottle left in France,” said Leo.

  “Hopefully his wine is as good as they say. Else, your wedding will be a sour one.” Wolf shrugged.

  “By the way, when you get a chance, will you show me around those passages of yours? I want to know more about this castle.”

  “Sure,” Wolf agreed. “So, you and Marie, eh?”

  They hadn’t talked about the royal ball yet. Leo was not forthcoming with his emotions, and Wolf was not one to bring the subject up. Until now, they had hardly talked about the wedding, or the fact that Marie was to be Leo’s wife. It seemed disloyal somehow to speak of it. Marie was his friend and Leo was his brother, and Wolf decided they each deserved their privacy. But now that things had changed—for the better, it seemed—Wolf felt confident he could ask about it. “Things are good?”

  Leo stopped and grinned at Wolf. “I have to say, I am besotted. It’s a whole new world. She is a dazzling creature. I only wish she had more time to see me.”

  Wolf smiled indulgently. “I told you she was a remarkable girl.”

  “Remarkable is only the tip of the iceberg. I’ve never met anyone quite like her.”

  “There are not many like her in this world, brother,” Wolf said, happy that the two were getting along so well after their rocky beginning. “Now, come—perhaps we will find a gift for your remarkable bride.”

  Following her relative success at the Bal du Drap d’Or (after all, the name on everyone’s lips was not Ronan Astor but Princess Marie-Victoria, and of course no one could compete with a real princess), Ronan felt quite confident in her showing. She felt she had done quite well—enough to sit back, relax, and enjoy the mountain of missives and invitations for the season. So it came as an awful shock to realize that there were none.

  “I’m so sorry, my dear, it appears the claws have come out. The hostesses are afraid you will upstage their own daughters,” Lady Constance said that afternoon during their usual tea at Hotel Claridge. “They have closed ranks and decided to keep you out of the party.”

  “Can they do that?” Ronan asked, horrified. She also couldn’t help but notice that Lady Constance never picked up the check, and it was beginning to smart. Although, for some reason, the hotel seemed happy to place it all on the Van Owens’s bill. Ronan had not corrected their error.

  “They can do whatever they want, I’m afraid; they are free to invite anyone they choose,” Lady Constance said. “But it is a shame. I will do my best to try and change a few minds. Perhaps some of those who do not have marriageable daughters might be persuaded. Also…and I think this is a delicate question, so please forgive me for asking…but I have heard a few rumors about the evening of the ball.”

  “Rumors? About me?”

  Lady Constance hesitated. “Yes, my dear. It’s come to my knowledge that supposedly dear Lord Deveraux asked you to marry him.”

  “And? So?”

  “Well, my child, it can’t possibly be true, but the wags say you turned him down.”

  “That’s because I did.”

  “Oh!” Lady Constance looked scandalized. “I was certain it was a joke. I told everyone not to believe such vicious lies. Can I ask why you rejected dear Marcus?”

  “I did not accept him, as I hardly knew him from the footman,” she said, even though she had come to London for the express purpose of marrying a rich stranger. Lady Constance’s handkerchief quivered. “Ah. I see. Well, dear, then there is very little I can do for you. Lady Julia was quite insulted when the news got out, and now the rest of the town’s hostesses are worried that because you are so beautiful to merit a proposal on the first night of the season, they would rather keep you out than risk losing a chance for one of their girls.”

  “Are you saying I should have accepted him?”

  Lady Constance put down her cup of tea. She looked as if she meant business. “That is what you are here for, is it not? To make a match? I was told by your mother that you could not return to New York without an engagement. I am only trying to help.”

  Ronan flushed. “But I don’t love him.”

  “What is love?” Lady Constance asked serenely, adding a few more spoonfuls of sugar to her tea.

  Later that morning, Ronan received a letter from her mother. She reread it again when she was alone. The situation at home was direr than they had earlier believed. The bank was threatening to foreclose on the house in a month, or take their debts public, which would put the governorship at risk. Was there any news Ronan could share that might alleviate their misfortune? her mother asked.

  We hope you are enjoying London and making many good friends. Let us know if there is any news.

  With love, Mother

  She put the letter away. She was to meet Archie and Perry at the vernissage at the Royal Academy that evening. The boys weren’t any help with any of the London hostesses, but Archie was an artist, and was entitled to invite whoever he liked to his exhibit. She was too proud to tell them her troubles anyway, and worried that they would not understand. They were both fabulously wealthy, and in Ronan’s experience, those who did not think about money preferred to keep it that way. They would surely think Ronan’s impending poverty something of a lark, and wouldn’t take it seriously.

  Lady Constance’s visit had upset her, but it was not Marcus’s proposal she was regretting right then. It was the other one: Wolf’s. Was she cursed? To have come so close to winning, only to lose in the final round. She had been so confident at the ball, flippant and glib with Wolf—but what if her confidence was misplaced? What if she had played her hand wrong? She would not return to New York without a proposal. She could not.

  Ronan decided to take Lady Constance’s advice and try to make peace with Lady Julia, Marcus’s mother. She paid a call to their house on the square. Lady Julia was out—supposedly on her way back soon—so Ronan waited for the better part of an hour in the hope that she would return. Finally, the butler allowed that perhaps the madam was not returning any time soon. Ronan left her card with him and hurried over to the Royal Academy, annoyed that she was running late. She hoped she wouldn’t miss the boys. The Academy was thinning out as guests left the exhibit, and Ronan was one of the few entering. “Oh, excuse me,” she said, bumping into a gentleman staring at a portrait of the royal cat.

  “Miss Astor,” the gent nodded.

  “Lord Audley,” she said. She recognized him from the ball and remembered him as an eager dance partner, and one who of
ten stepped on her foot. Robert Tuchet, Baron Audley, was a portly gentleman of some years.

  “So pleased to see you. May I show you around? Have you only just arrived?” He smiled broadly.

  “Yes, and yes please,” she said. She allowed herself to be led around the exhibit, and properly oohed and ahhed at his every observation. She craned her neck to see if she could catch a glimpse of Archie and Perry anywhere, but they were nowhere to be found. Neither was there a familiar dark head in the crowd, for that matter.

  As Ronan strolled through the exhibit, she mused on her current state of social decline—had she truly made such a big blunder in turning down two proposals? If she had accepted Wolf on the boat, she would be married already; and if she had accepted Marcus, she would be picking out china patterns with the Warwick crest. She would not be walking through this dull exhibition of atrocious paintings with the boring baron.

  If only she had the courage of her convictions. It would be so easy to make the baron propose, she could tell—all she’d have to do would be crook a finger in his direction, and he would fall to his knees. No matter. Marcus had promised to court her, and somehow she sensed she had not seen the last of Wolf. She was looking forward to it. She hoped the next time they saw each other, they would make themselves understood, and perhaps find a way forward.

  Her mother was already waiting for her in the open-air carriage. Marie took the footman’s hand and climbed aboard, sitting across from her so they could converse easily. The driver clicked his reins and they rolled toward the Row for their morning ride, a practice they took up every so often for the benefit of their subjects. It was why Eleanor never wore a large hat, or one that obscured her face, when she went on these morning drives. She knew there were people who had waited hours to see their monarch, and she did not want to disappoint them. Now that Marie knew that only she could see her mother as she really was, she was fascinated by her mother’s glamour. She could catch a glimpse of it if she looked at Eleanor sideways. The streets were lined ten deep with pedestrians who clapped and cheered as the royal procession made the rounds.

  “You were not at the vernissage last night,” Eleanor said.

  “I was not feeling well, Mother.” Marie waved at a child holding flowers in the air. She had planned to go, but decided to stay inside at the last minute. She had yet to see Leopold since Aelwyn had charmed him and danced with him at the ball, and Marie thought it best not to break the spell that had been cast. Aelwyn had looked every bit as in love with him that evening, and Marie was worried Leo might suspect something was different. She couldn’t quite bring herself to moon over him like Aelwyn had. The two friends had agreed last night that it was best that Aelwyn not use the glamour again until Marie was safely gone from the palace. It was much too dangerous.

  “You looked very well at the ball,” Eleanor said. “The living dress was a thrilling idea.”

  Marie nodded. “It was Aelwyn’s idea.”

  “She did a fantastic job on you—it was quite a performance,” the queen said as the carriage entered Hyde Park. The crowds were not as heavy inside as on the boulevards. Eleanor sniffed and rearranged her blankets. Even though spring had come to London, the cold and damp never quite went away.

  Such a pretty city, Marie thought. She looked out over the park grounds, with their strangely melancholy weeping beech trees. She would miss this when she went to the Americas. Gill had told her that the Saturnia was scheduled to make its return passage to New York, and they would be on that ship when it did. It wouldn’t be long now. Marie sighed and the queen gave her a sharp glance.

  “Sometimes I wonder, my child, if you truly enjoyed the ball that evening,” Eleanor said.

  “I did—of course I did,” Marie said. She attempted a smile, but it was difficult to lie, even then. She had to remember she was doing it for Gill. “All my dreams came true that night. It was truly a magical night. I will remember it forever.”

  Eleanor settled deeper into her blankets. She looked like a wizened elf buried under wool. “Funny, I don’t recall you ever mentioning ‘dancing at the ball’ as one of your dreams when you were a child. You always seemed a little bored by the whole spectacle.”

  Marie shrugged. She couldn’t recall sharing any of her childhood dreams and fantasies with her mother.

  “I for one, was sad at the end of the evening,” Eleanor said, her voice gravelly. “I was so disappointed, truly. I wondered whether I should mention it, and decided it was best if I did.”

  Her mother’s stare was piercing and cold, like that of the gargoyles on top of the palace. For a brief moment Marie felt the hair on her arms stand up in terror. Eleanor knew about the illusion spell—she had to. And now she would send her child to the gallows for her deception. This was her mother’s way of sentencing her; Marie would not have been surprised if the captain of the Queen’s Guard, who was riding in front of them, turned back and apprehended her immediately. “What do you mean, Mother?” Marie said, and coughed loudly and messily into her handkerchief.

  “I was sad and disappointed, for my girl did not come to my room after the party. Remember when you used to do that?” she asked. “After every royal ball?”

  Marie turned to her mother and smiled in relief as she dabbed her mouth. It was one of her favorite childhood memories—sitting in her mother’s dressing room, watching her take off her gown and jewels and turn back into her mother once more. How had she forgotten that?

  “I was expecting you, I was. I missed you, Marie,” Eleanor said. “You are growing up so fast…and I think I had hoped to hold on to you for a little longer.…”

  “Oh Mother, I’m sorry, I was so selfish—the ball took so much out of me—I just needed to rest—I’m sorry,” she said, reaching across the carriage to take her mother’s hands in hers.

  They remained that way for the second loop of the park, and Eleanor released her grasp first. “You know, my child, you do not have to pretend with me, like you did for everyone at the ball. That kiss—a little over the top, don’t you think? I know you do not love him, and that perhaps you are angry that you have to marry him. But you may learn to love him, like I loved your father. That is all you can ask of our life—to do your duty to your country, to protect our interests and serve our people, and hope that happiness comes as well. If you are lucky and try very hard, it will.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Marie said, turning away. They were silent for the rest of the trip.

  A few days later, Marie visited Aelwyn at the charter house. She found her friend sitting alone, looking out the window pensively. Aelwyn looked as drawn and tired as Marie did, and Marie wondered who, exactly, was benefiting from this. Both of them looked ill. Perhaps it was a sign that she was on the wrong path, that they both were—but she could not admit it to herself. She had to do this; it was their only chance—her only chance—for freedom and happiness. She had to shove her feelings aside, especially her loyalty to her mother, to do this. Gill—think of Gill and his love for you, and the life you will share together, she reminded herself. That is all that matters.

  “Marie,” Aelwyn said. “You startled me.”

  “I’m sorry—I had to see you—”

  “Because you are leaving.”

  “Yes. Tomorrow evening, at the garden party. You must take my place at the dance. I will tell the court I don’t feel well enough for dinner, but will join them for dancing and supper afterward. At midnight, Gill and I will leave the castle through the basement tunnels by the back gates, and you will appear at the dance as the lovely Princess Marie.”

  “He has the spell-key?”

  “No.”

  “But how?”

  “I don’t know, but he says that the wards will be down when I cross. Can you do anything to help us? Doesn’t the sisterhood work on those shield spells?”

  “I will try to make sure the wards don’t come back up too soon. I can give you more time. I can’t bring them down myself—only the spell-key can do that—but I can keep
them open once they are down.”

  “He will be waiting for me outside with a hansom cab. The ship sails a day later.”

  “So soon,” Aelwyn said. “Are you truly certain this is what you want?”

  Marie nodded her head, and said the same thing she had said when she first came to ask her friend for aid. “Please. Help us. I am begging. Winnie, I know I am asking so much of you. But, don’t you see—this is all for the good—Mother will have a healthy heir, and Leo will have a wife who loves him—won’t he? Won’t he?”

  Finally, Aelwyn nodded. “As you wish. I will play both parts for a while,” she said slowly. “It won’t be too hard, as the Order is going into its silent recess where the sisters are in seclusion for a month, and I am to remain in my cell for a good part of the day. At the end of it, they will discover that I have ‘escaped’ as well, leaving a note that makes it clear I have returned to Avalon.”

  “It will be done, then,” Marie said, putting her hand on Aelwyn’s cheek. “You will be me. And I will be with Gill.”

  “Good luck, Marie,” Aelwyn said. “I hope very much that you know what you are doing.”

  Marie laughed. “I don’t…but maybe that is for the best. This will be the greatest adventure of my life.”

  She hugged her friend tightly, said good-bye, and did not look back once.

  On her way back to her apartments Marie ran into Hugh Borel, the so-called Red Duke, who had been in and out of the St. James Palace throughout the season with the French contingent. She hoped he was happy with the reinstatement of Orleans into the court. Perhaps Aelwyn would do Isabelle a service, and take her as one of her attending ladies.

  “Princess,” he said, bowing.

  “Lord Burgundy,” she said with a smile, hoping he would be brief and not desire to hold her attention for longer than necessary. She knew she should be flattered by all the attention, but run-ins with obsequious courtiers usually resulted in another round of coughing.