She blushed faintly and waved her crochet hook. “As you can see, I’m well armed and ready for whatever the day might bring.”
“I devoutly hope it brings you only peace and quiet,” he said.
“That sounds rather boring,” the countess said. “At any rate, Irenna is hoping to put her library skills to work at the palace. The ambassador has promised to make inquiries with the Royal Library to see if they might find her a place.”
“Library skills?” Anthony asked, as if he were unaware of her work in Vienna.
Of course, he’d read the dossiers on the Austrians, and knew far more about all of them than they suspected. Or would likely be comfortable with.
Irenna nodded. “I have been assisting in the Grand Duke’s library in Vienna. It would seem I have a talent for helping rescue old books.”
Countess Dietrichstein waved her hand. “Don’t be so modest, Wren. You do far more than simply glue bindings together.”
“It sounds very… scholarly,” Anthony said, giving the word a doubtful twist.
Truthfully, in a different life, it seemed like something he would’ve loved to pursue. He’d excelled in his studies at Oxford, and although his library in London was paltry, his country estate held hundreds of fine volumes, including some rare first editions and manuscripts. He suppressed the twinge of regret that he’d never be able to share them with Irenna, who would certainly appreciate his collection.
“Books interest me,” she said, without a trace of apology.
“I commend you for it.” He gave her a cheerful smile. “The Royal Library is located at Windsor, however. A bit out of the way. Perhaps Queen Victoria has a small collection at the palace that might need tending, instead?”
He knew for a fact that she did—novels by Dickens and George Eliot, and a fine assortment of letters that probably ought to be bound into a folio for safekeeping.
The countess leaned back, looking thoughtful. “Viscount Percival is correct. It won’t do to send you out of London. I wonder whom the ambassador might speak to about this.”
“As to that,” Anthony said, “I know a lady who has the queen’s ear. I’ll ask her to put in a word for you. In fact, I’ll do so this very evening.”
It would be himself, of course, who would speak to the queen and arrange for Irenna to look over the collection.
“That’s very kind,” Irenna said. She gave him a shy smile. “Will you be staying for tea?”
“Alas, I must fly,” he said. “My haberdasher is expecting me. He has a new shipment of beaver top hats and promised to save the best ones for me to look over.”
The truth of it was that he had to return to the palace to make his report, not to mention put in a word for Irenna’s library skills. He’d far rather stay and take tea, and hope for a few more chances to coax a smile from her lips. But it was not his choice to make.
“Of course.” She sounded disappointed, and it made him ridiculously glad.
Chapter Six
To Irenna’s surprise, the very next day she was summoned to Buckingham Palace to meet with the queen.
“Viscount Percival’s lady friend must be very influential indeed,” Aunt Sophie said, looking over the note that had arrived by special courier that morning. “I’ll accompany you, of course. Will you be ready to depart by two?”
“I will,” Irenna said. “I’m not completely unaccustomed to royalty, as you may recall. Mother has been in the empress’s inner circle for years.”
It didn’t mean she wasn’t apprehensive, however. But the fact that she’d be there to consult with the queen about books helped steady her nerves. It wasn’t like an official audience, after all.
In fact, once the palace guards admitted them to the opulent halls of Buckingham Palace, a liveried steward took them directly to Queen Victoria’s private parlor. Irenna was glad. She didn’t know how far gossip about her had spread, and not having to endure the sharp eyes and sharper tongues of the court was a relief.
Two red-coated guards stood before the paneled door of the parlor. They nodded at Irenna and her aunt, and one of the guards opened the door.
“Your Majesty,” the steward said, making a bow to the lady seated within. “Countess Dietrichstein and her niece, Miss Irenna Brunner, as requested.”
“Show them in,” the queen said. Her voice was sweet and gentle, and Irenna reminded herself that Victoria was barely a decade older than herself.
What must it have been like, to ascend the throne at the age of eighteen, and then reign over a country that held such power in the world? Certainly the brown-haired lady awaiting them wasn’t overly majestic. She wore an afternoon gown of sprigged muslin with a blue silk sash, and her hair was styled into a simple bun. Her gaze was direct and confident, however, and she tipped her chin up regally as she greeted them.
“Welcome to the palace, Countess Dietrichstein, Miss Brunner,” she said. “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance. When I heard of your specialty, Miss Brunner, I knew you must come and look over my collection directly.”
“It is an honor, Your Majesty,” Irenna said, dipping a low curtsey.
“Indeed.” Aunt Sophie followed suit.
“As you must know,” the queen said, rising, “most of the King’s Library is housed in the British Museum, and is well tended there. But I have a small library of my own, and no librarian to look after it. You’ve come well recommended, Miss Brunner. I’d welcome any suggestions you might have as to the care of my volumes, Miss Brunner.”
“It would be my pleasure, Your Majesty.”
The rest of the afternoon was spent inspecting the queen’s collection and identifying which books needed repair and cleaning. There were several collections of letters that should be bound into folios, and it would be advisable of her to make a catalog, as their appeared to be no list of the exact titles in the queen’s library.
She ran her fingers over a slim volume of Byron, and noted several of Shakespeare’s comedies, both of which made her smile. It had been kind of Viscount Percival to put in a word for her.
He was a puzzle, indeed, but his kindness could not be denied.
Chapter Seven
Irenna perched on a chair in the drawing room of Chandos House, apprehension fluttering through her. The ambassador had called the entire household to a meeting. Aunt Sophie sat next to her, and the servants stood behind them.
Count Dietrichstein paced before them, more agitated than Irenna had ever seen him.
“I’m very sorry to tell you all,” he said, “that two days ago Sardinia declared war on Austria.”
Irenna pulled in a breath and glanced at her aunt, who nodded, but didn’t seem surprised by the news. Clearly her husband had confided in her immediately upon receiving the information.
The ambassador’s gaze went to the staff. “I know that most of you, being British, are not unduly affected by this news. But it is best if everyone knows that the tensions between our embassy and the Sardinians will be high. I trust you all to behave in a most circumspect manner.”
“We shall, my lord,” the butler said, and the rest of the staff nodded their assent.
“You may go,” the ambassador said. “Fetch some coffee for the ladies, however. They look in need of bracing.”
Irenna certainly did. While not completely unexpected, the knowledge that Austria was at war made her feel oddly vulnerable.
“Should I cancel my tea with Lady Henstoke this afternoon?” Aunt Sophie asked.
“That should not be necessary,” the ambassador said, watching the staff file out. “But make sure to take an extra footman along when you go.”
When the room was empty, he turned back to Irenna and the countess.
“There is more bad news. The Sardinians who attacked Irenna have been let go by the police.”
“What?” Aunt Sophie rose, one hand to her chest. “But Wren and Lord Percival identified the miscreants! How could the authorities be so remiss? Where is the justice?”
&nb
sp; Count Dietrichstein blew out a breath. “Since they are relatives of Count Rossi, I’ve no doubt bribery was involved. Don’t fret, my dear—we will not let this stand. For now, take your coffee and try not to let this all overset you.”
“It is a great deal to take in stride.” Aunt Sophie glanced at Irenna. “We will keep our heads high, however, and carry ourselves through the day as best we can.”
“I know you shall.” The ambassador kissed his wife on the cheek, tipped his head to Irenna, then strode out of the room.
With a discouraged sound, Aunt Sophie sat down again, her backbone not nearly as straight as usual.
“So distressing,” she said. “How are you bearing up, Wren?”
“Well enough.” Despite the pit of worry in her stomach. “I don’t think I’ll accompany you to tea later. Will Vienna come under attack, do you think?”
“Highly unlikely. Austria is safe enough. Likely the fighting will be confined to the parts of Italy under our rule, just as the uprisings were. And our forces are stronger. All will be well.”
“And what of the Sardinians who attacked me?” In truth, Irenna found the fact that they’d been let go far more distressing than the distant threat of war.
Aunt Sophie patted her knee. “The ambassador said he will take care of it, and I believe he shall. Now, here comes our coffee. Tell me more about Queen Victoria’s book collection.”
Though it was difficult to muster up much enthusiasm, talking about her work did serve as distraction enough. By the time they finished their coffee, she felt a bit better.
“Now that I’ve drunk two cups of coffee, I must make ready to go to tea.” Aunt Sophie grimaced slightly. “Well, it can’t be helped. Will you be all right staying home this afternoon?”
“Of course. I’d rather stay in.” Remaining at Chandos House felt safer than going about the streets of London, where her assailants might be lurking around any corner. “Besides, I’ve bookbinding supplies to order, and a few sundry items to send out for. I’ll keep busy, Aunt. Don’t fret about me.”
Aunt Sophie rose and gave her a determinedly cheery smile. “Very well then, if you insist. I’m off to change.”
In the now-quiet drawing room, Irenna finished her coffee, then went to the writing desk. She could compose her shopping list upstairs in her room, but it was comforting to hear the bustle of the household around her.
A maid came in and took the tray of coffee away, and Irenna could hear the butler issuing orders down the hall. After a half hour, Aunt Sophie came in, dressed in a deep green tea gown, to bid her niece farewell and inquire once more about the state of her mind.
“I’m well, truly,” Irenna said. “Enjoy your tea.”
Her aunt bustled off, and soon after, Irenna heard the rumble of the carriage pulling away. Finally finished with her list, she rang for a footman and directed him to visit the various shops that stocked the supplies she needed. They were nothing out of the ordinary: hide glue, waxed linen thread, and a small awl.
A thin ray of sunshine crept across the Aubusson carpet, and she glanced out the window to see patches of blue mixed with the pewter clouds. Thank heavens it had stopped raining, for she was not certain her mood would be able to bear a day full of leaden drizzle.
Still, all she wanted to do was curl up before her hearth with a book. She was currently reading a historical novel by Henriette Paalzow, and finding it interesting enough.
With that comforting prospect in mind, Irenna headed down the hallway for the stairs. Tense voices from the ambassador’s study made her pause.
“I will go answer Count Rossi at once,” the ambassador said.
“Is it wise?” That was his secretary, Hans. “We’re at war, after all.”
“All the more reason I must reply to his message in person. He has made the first overture, and it’s true that both our countries are better served if the opposing diplomats are at least able to converse. Now is not the time to hold grudges, and I’m glad the count has recognized that fact. But be assured, I’ll insist he send away those ruffians he calls his nephews.”
“Let me go, sir. You oughtn’t risk yourself.”
“Nonsense. Of course I’ll go. But you may accompany me.” There was a note of finality in the ambassador’s voice. “Go arrange for the carriage.”
“The countess has taken it, I believe.” Hans sounded relieved.
“Then we’ll take the barouche. Go, go.”
Mind whirling, Irenna slowly continued to the stairs. She was partway up when she heard the study door open. Pausing, she glanced at the secretary as he went to the front door.
Count Dietrichstein must not go into that pit of vipers. She knew it down to her bones. The young men who’d attacked her were filled with bitterness, and hatred of her people. She’d seen it in their eyes. They would not hesitate to set upon the ambassador if he were unlucky enough to come across them.
She firmed her lips and turned about, descending the stairs once again. Even though she hated to admit that she had eavesdropped, the ambassador’s safety was paramount. She tapped on the half-open study door, then stepped inside.
“Good afternoon, Irenna,” the count said, giving her a preoccupied frown. “Is something the matter?”
“Forgive me,” she said, “but I couldn’t help overhearing that you plan to visit the Sardinian embassy. I know it’s not my place, but I beg you not to go. They hold no love for the Austrians, and I fear you’d be placing yourself in grave danger.”
“While Count Rossi and I have our differences, I trust that I’ll be safe. No need to fret on my account.”
“But the young men—”
“I’m sincerely sorry that they were let go, and I understand that you’re afraid of them. They won’t be a nuisance after this, however, as I shall insist Count Rossi send them packing. Now, don’t worry yourself any longer. Perhaps you ought to go have a lie down.”
The young men were far more than a nuisance. The ambassador hadn’t seen the rage in their eyes, or heard their vows of revenge. But she’d been clearly dismissed, and attempting to argue further would be taken as the worst impertinence. Even though she suspected the letter from Count Rossi might have been forged, the ambassador clearly did not share her worries.
She dipped a wordless curtsey to Count Dietrichstein, nodded at Hans as he returned down the hall, and went up to her bedroom.
Instead of taking to her bed in a fit of the vapors—and what a ridiculous suggestion that had been—she paced back and forth, thoughts racing. There must be something she could do, someone she could go to.
Viscount Percival.
His name came unbidden into her mind, and she halted. Although some people might find it a laughable idea, she’d seen hints that the foppish Lord Percival was, perhaps, an elaborate façade. There were so many little inconsistencies in his behavior: his rescue of her and the way he’d handled the Sardinians, the flashes of melancholy she’d seen in his eyes, the way he danced. And kissed.
She let out a breath. Was she romanticizing him, imagining there was more to the man because she’d foolishly become infatuated?
The sound of the front door closing was a distant thud. She must act.
She could send a footman to Lord Percival with a note, but that would take too long. The ambassador was heading into immediate danger, and there was no time to waste. If the viscount was not the man she suspected, proving to be only a fool, then she would go directly to the police and attempt to enlist their aid.
And if Lord Percival was, indeed, more than he appeared to be? Then once again she had been misled and deceived by a handsome gentleman. The thought twisted inside her, but she stuffed it down and hastily rang for a maid.
Not that her reputation would remain intact if anyone discovered she’d paid a call upon the viscount without her aunt as chaperone. Still, taking someone else along was better than going alone, which would surely brand her as a harlot.
It was a risk she could not afford, but neither
could she sit by as the Austrian ambassador put himself in peril. Dear heavens, she hoped her instincts were correct. Despite the fact that she’d been badly led astray by them in Vienna.
The maid arrived, and Irenna quickly explained the situation. Although the girl’s eyes grew wide, she didn’t protest, only ran to get her cloak.
Irenna donned her pelisse, then went to the servants’ staircase. She listened a moment, but heard no footsteps. Satisfied there was no one about, she hurried down the narrow stairs and let herself out the servants’ entrance with none the wiser.
The maid met her outside a moment later.
“Now what, miss?” the girl asked.
“We must hire a cab to Mayfair.” Luckily, Irenna had some pin money—not that she’d ever dreamed she’d be using it to illicitly visit a gentleman.
Her breath plumed in the damp air, and for a moment she wanted nothing more than to return to the safety of the house. But it was too late to turn back now. She would discover who Lord Percival truly was—a fool, or a liar.
Keeping out of sight as best they could, she and the maid gained Regent Street and hailed a cab.
“Percival House, in Mayfair,” Irenna told the driver as he went to open the door for them.
He gave her an incurious look. “Right you are.”
The clop of the horse’s hooves echoed her pounding pulse. As they went past St. James’s Park, she tried to imagine how the meeting with Viscount Percival would go. Would he let his mask drop—if indeed he wore one? And would her heart survive the truth?
The cab rocked to a stop outside a townhouse with a white façade. Feeling as though the pounding of her pulse was going to engulf her, Irenna disembarked and paid the driver. Then, exchanging a quick look with the maid, she strode up the walkway. It was edged with yellow crocus in bloom, which lifted her mood not at all.
The knocker was an ornate brass bird, heavy under her fingers as she lifted it and let it drop. Please, let him be home, she thought, even as the other half of her wished mightily that he would not.
Her Majesty’s Scoundrels Page 27