by Regina Darcy
NINE
Upon following the soldiers’ directions, Gemma walked a long way only to find out that she had been directed to an orphanage. She realised as soon as she beheld the structure that it was not the residence of a nobleman, but she intended to make sure, and so she knocked upon the door. The girl who answered looked to be no more than nine or ten, a slender child with enormous eyes and a thin face, looking as if she could do with more pudding. Gemma recalled the Earl’s words about the people who lived under the bridge out of dire circumstances that made them desperate. Would this poor child end up in that fashion, she wondered as she apologised for troubling her and turned away.
The guard had sent her on a wild goose chase a good distance from Buckingham Palace. Now there was nothing to do but return there and try, once again, to persuade the irreverent guards to heed her.
But the guards were not the same. The one known as Bertie was still at his post, but he had been joined by another member of the outfit. Gemma went up to him.
“Don’t listen to her, Robin. She’s daft,” Bertie called.
“I am not daft!”
“May I help you, miss?” the other guard inquired politely.
Gemma took heart. At least some members of the royal guard had manners. “I am here on behalf of the Earl of Hemsworth,” she began. “He learned of a plot to overthrow the king. The Earl has risked his life to foil the plot and bring the culprit, a man named Baron Ainsworth, to justice.”
“That’s rather an outlandish story, miss, you must admit.”
“Do you doubt me?”
“I . . .”
“See here, soldier, what are you about? You are not paid to dally with pretty passers-by, you know,” a scolding voice came from inside the gates.
“Sorry, sir,” the guard named Robin apologised. “This lady says that there’s some sort of plot against the King. She’s come to warn us. Silly, of course, but I thought—”
“A plot against the King?” The speaker was a gentleman of middle age who was dressed in fine, if sober, garb. He seemed to be a man of some rank within the royal household, judging from the manner in which the guardsmen addressed him. He came closer to her. “And how would you know of such a thing?”
“Because I spent nearly a week in the company of the man who has been assigned to uncover the plot and save the King,” she retorted.
The man scrutinised her coolly. “It is not to a virtuous woman’s credit that she should spend so much time in the company of a man who is neither her husband nor her relative,” he said after consideration.
“Should a woman consider her virtue before the life of her King and the safety of her country?” Gemma returned.
“Most would,” he replied in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Will you at least listen to what I have to say? If the King should come to harm, you will wish that you had done so.”
“The hour is late and I am expected elsewhere. If you are wasting my time with your tale, I assure you that I will not deal with you kindly,” he said.
“I should think that saving the life of your liege lord to be sufficient reason for being late to an engagement.”
“I must praise your persistence, if nothing else. Very well, come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“Do you think I intend to be seen dawdling outside Buckingham Palace with a woman of questionable purpose and virtue?” he demanded. “There’s a teahouse a block away from here. We shall go there. It’s sufficiently popular that we shall not be noticed and if we are, someone will merely assume that I am making an assignation.”
Saying this, he began to walk away with a brisk stride. Gemma, who had already realised that the adventures of recent days had squandered any hopes she had of maintaining a virtuous reputation, despite her innocence, followed suit. Inside the teahouse, which was, as he had predicted, crowded, they were seated.
“Now then, tell me this fantastical tale of danger and plots,” he said when their tea had arrived. “If nothing else, I daresay this shall provide me with an entertaining story with which to regale my supper companions.”
Bristling at his assumption that she had nothing of worth to reveal, Gemma relayed her story. She did not mention that she and the Earl had been hiding under Westminster Bridge when they were captured. She began the story with the attack by the unnamed men who had then taken them as captives.
“And how did you know that you were on the property of the Baron Ainsworth?” the man asked.
“The Earl pretended to still be under the effects of the blow to the head, and appeared to be asleep when the attackers came into the room. He overheard them.”
“So he says. You are aware, I assume, that this whole tale could be the effort of a young man to impress a pretty girl?’
“The Earl is not such a man!” she defended him. “He is brave and kind and honest. At no time did he molest me. He spoke of his duty. He was a military officer who was sent home from Europe at the behest of the Prime Minister in order to uncover this plot and find out who was behind it. Several of his companions who had joined him in the effort are unaccounted for and the Earl fears that they are dead at the hands of the Baron.”
The gentleman sat back in his chair and studied her. “Describe the Earl,” he said finally.
“Fetch paper for me,” Gemma replied, “and I shall draw him and the Baron for you.”
Again, a long measuring silence transpired while he scrutinised her.
“Paper,” he said with resignation. “You are a most demanding young lady.”
“But you do concede that I am a lady!” Gemma said in triumph.
“Yes,” he replied. “You are a lady. A most unique and original lady, and whether that is a good or a bad thing, I cannot say. But paper you shall have, and answers I shall have, and then we shall determine whether I am missing my supper for a good cause.” As paper was brought to him, he spun it towards her with a flourish. “Here, there is paper. Now convince me that you are telling the truth.”
***
Unaware that Gemma, or Ann as he knew her, was in the city, the Earl prepared to go to bed early the night before the duel. His affairs were in order. He had spent a pleasant supper with Great-Aunt Agatha, amusing her with his soldiering stories. He expected to be the victor in the morning’s duel, but a man must always make allowances for the unpredictability of fate. He was a soldier and therefore did not fear death, recognizing that it was an ever-present foe.
But as he lay in his bed awaiting slumber, which did not come, his mind returned to the days he had spent with the lovely artist. What if he died never knowing who she was or why she had been under the Westminster Bridge that night? Surely destiny had been at his side when he rescued her from the thief who had attempted to rob her outside the tavern. What was the story of her life? A tale which would surely rival that of any novel if it were known . . . That she was of a good family was apparent. Great-Aunt Agatha would have welcomed her as a Fitzsimmons, of that he was sure. Aunt liked women to have spirit, and it could not be denied that the lovely, lively Ann, with the brilliant paintbrush and the quick wit, had spirit. What benefit a woman of her nature would have been to revitalise the dwindling Fitzsimmons line.
Her art spoke to him more than words. He perceived a woman whose talent with a paintbrush was her true voice. To be married to such a woman . . . what would that be like? He had never known a woman artist and he regarded the ploys of the debutantes as empty-headed artifice. He was a bachelor because he had never fallen in love. It was not enough to do as Great-Aunt Agatha wished and marry so that the Fitzsimmons line would not die out. He would marry for love. But how could he marry if the woman he loved remained a mystery? Or would cruel fate intervene first and take him from this world, denying him even the chance to seek her and tell her of his feelings?
TEN
It was still dark outside when the Earl dressed, dispensing with the services of his manservant so that there would be no one who could reve
al that he was about to fight a duel. He was silent as he left the London house. The entire neighbourhood was still asleep, enjoying the slumber of the hour.
Percy was waiting, holding the reins of the horses. Neither horse was from the Fitzsimmons stable, which meant that Percy had brought their mounts from his own residence, another means of avoiding witnesses. Although, because Percy had lost his arm on the battlefield, he would have needed the assistance of a groom.
“Timmons will meet us there,” Percy said as they mounted their horses and rode for Hyde Park. “He hopes that you will reconsider. Is there nothing from the Prime Minister?”
“I spoke with him yesterday afternoon. They want to make sure that their case is solid. They mean to hang him and in order to hang a member of the nobility, there can be no loose ends. Every piece of the puzzle must fit together, every step must be accounted for, and no alibi can be persuasive.”
“Does the Prime Minister know of this duel?”
“He does not. Apparently Ainsworth must have sworn his guests to secrecy and they have heeded his instructions.”
“Someone did not,” Percy said grimly. “I heard the news that very night when I was at the tavern. I wonder if Ainsworth himself is culpable?”
“For what purpose?”
“To establish that he has been the injured party. I do not trust him, Fitzsimmons. I would not put it past him to murder you before you arrive at the site.”
“Ainsworth is disreputable, I agree,” the Earl said. “Any man who plots the overthrow of the government is at best a rogue and at worst a villain. I do not dispute your reasoning but I don’t see how it would advance his aims.”
“If you know of the plot, and he seeks to be rid of you, it would certainly advance his aims,” Percy replied. “There’s no telling how much Ainsworth has deduced, you know. His attempt to capture you might be part of a plan to put you on the throne, or it might have been an effort to find out just how much you know.”
“It will be futile for him to kill me,” the Earl said. “The Prime Minister will arrest him in any case once the evidence is complete.”
“Yes, but Ainsworth does not know that the Prime Minister is now privy to his plans,” Percy protested impatiently, his plain, unremarkable features invigorated with the urgency of the situation.
“You are a good friend, Percy,” the Earl said. “I regret that I have brought you into this web.”
They had arrived at Hyde Park, the grounds still shadowed in the very early dawn before light broke. They would have to wait for the light in order for the duel to proceed. All around them, the trees, bushes, and hedges seemed to be part of a conspiracy of arboreal silence. The occasional moan of the wind travelled through the leaves and branches like gossip—the only noise that could be heard.
Percy saw nothing out of the ordinary and yet his senses were alert to danger. He could not think why. The Earl was no fool and he did not seem troubled. Yet his thoughts did not seem to be on the duel. It was the devil of a time to be preoccupied, Percy thought angrily, his mood heightened by his fear for his friend’s wellbeing.
He was the first to hear the sound of hooves. Quickly he turned and spied Ainsworth, his second, and, not long after, Dr Timmons.
Percy went over to Ainsworth’s second, a man he recognised as a fellow member of White’s.
“We shall have to wait until daybreak,” he said. “You’re Niles Dorchester, are you not?”
The man nodded glumly. “Deuced rash, this business. I don’t hold with duelling. Deuced dark, too. Feels as if morning doesn’t want to come.”
“Any chance of talking him out of it?”
Dorchester shook his head. “He says he was insulted and means to have satisfaction. Dash it all, Tennison, he was insulted. A chap can’t go into another chap’s home when he’s not invited and call him a traitor. It isn’t done.”
“You’re a friend of Ainsworth?”
“Wouldn’t say a friend, exactly. I’ve taken supper at his table, does that make me a friend?”
“If you’re here as his second, there must be a bond.”
Dorchester shrugged. “He asked me. What was I to do? I don’t like it, though. Doesn’t feel right, somehow. Nothing I can put my finger on, though.”
Percy agreed, but there was nothing to be done about intuition. “I think we’ll be able to see in a quarter of an hour, if the light breaks through the clouds.”
“I’ll tell him,” Dorchester said. “It’s the oddest thing . . . do you feel as if someone is watching?”
“Probably the Bow Street Runners and we’ll end up before a magistrate,” Percy quipped.
He returned to the Earl, who was opening the wooden box that contained his duelling pistols. The Earl simply nodded when Percy explained the need to wait a few minutes more until daylight came through.
Finally, a pale light spread out from the sky. Dorchester and Tennison conferred and agreed that the time was right to begin. As Percy walked back to inform the Earl, he saw the leaves on the bushes rustle. There was no wind or breeze. It was odd. Perhaps some woodland creature, Percy decided.
Ainsworth, a complacent smile on his face, and The Earl, looking sober, met in the middle of the duelling field. They turned and Percy began to count their paces. When the counting ended, Percy felt his heart begin to beat at a feverish pace as the two men turned around. He noticed the rustling in the bushes again, but then his attention was caught by the figure of a woman running onto the duelling field from the other direction.
“What the devil! Stop!” he cried out.
The Earl lowered his pistol.
“Ann!” he marvelled. “Ann?”
“Ainsworth, lower your pistol!” ordered Percy. “You can’t shoot, there’s an innocent woman on the field.”
“She’s no innocent,” snarled the Baron, just as thundering hooves pounded the ground and horsemen appeared.
“Lower your pistol!” Dorchester cried out “It’s the Prince Regent! And the Prime Minister!”
Percy heard the bushes rustling furiously. He turned in time to see a trio of men taking to their heels.
“Help!” he cried out. “They’re escaping!”
A pair of horsemen broke ranks from the unit and galloped after the fleeing men.
“What is the meaning of this?” Ainsworth demanded. “I am here on a matter of honour. Has this coward alerted the authorities of our arrangement rather than face my justice?”
The Prince Regent, dressed in his usual sartorial extravagance despite the early hour, was helped to the ground by his equerry.
“Fitzsimmons!” he called out as he approached. “You owe this young lady your life!”
“Ann?” the Earl asked. His pistol was at his side, but Percy kept his pistol pointed at Ainsworth, in case desperation forced the man’s hand.
“I don’t know about any Ann, unless Miss Gemma Blake has a twin,” the Prince Regent said and waited for the laugh which was expected to follow a royal jest.
“I’m very sorry, my lord, for the duplicity, but there were reasons—”
Gemma could not finish her sentence because the Earl had run to her side and captured her in an embrace which left no doubt as to his feelings.
“I say,” said the Prince Regent, who thought the girl a bit of an attractive filly himself and was of a mind to have a go at charming her, “that’s a bit risqué of you, don’t you think, and in full view of your future King?”
“I beg your pardon, Your Highness. I thought that she was lost to me. This has been a most extraordinary episode in my life.”
“So I hear,” the Prince Regent said. “We’ve a tale for you as well, thanks to this young lady’s extraordinary ability to capture likenesses on paper. Langtry was the one, you know. He heard her story and told her to draw you and Ainsworth. When she did, he realised that she was telling the truth and that this was likely all part of that business that the PM set up. Good work, by the way,” the Regent said to the Prime Minister standing
quietly at his side. “Saved the King a lot of unpleasantness. These drawings—Carson, bring those drawings over here—are going to be admitted as evidence. Look sharp, the scoundrel is getting away!”
The Prince Regent’s soldiers raced off to encircle the Baron before he could get very far.
“Take him back,” the Prime Minister said with a steely glint in his eye. “We have some questions to ask of him. See that he is shackled, let there be no chance of escape.”
“You have wronged an innocent man!” the Baron protested as he was lifted onto a horse and his hands were bound behind him. “You have listened to the lies of that scoundrel,” he nodded his head toward the Earl. “He’s the one seeking the throne, not I. He’s the one who should be fettered and facing judgment.”
The Prime Minister did not look convinced as he indicated that the men were to lead their prisoner away.
“Well done, Fitzsimmons! I’ve always said that if I weren’t to be the next King, I’d want it to be you,” the Prince Regent said cheerfully.
“I doubt that I would do the position justice, Your Highness, and I remain your loyal servant.”
“Of course you do,” the Prince Regent said. “Supper tonight, I command you. Tennison, you as well. I want to hear the whole story. You too, Miss Blake. You have a thrilling part to play in the saving of my future throne and I wish to hear every bit of it.”
EPILOGUE
“You’ve missed a spot,” the Earl said. “However do you manage to get paint on your earlobe?”
The question was asked in fondness and was accompanied by a kiss very near to the earlobe in question. Now adorned with the Fitzsimmons rubies, it was particularly well suited for kissing.
“I’ve no idea,” Gemma admitted, leaning into his embrace. “What do you think?”