I repeat Lady Daneska’s plot to trick the Prince.
Lady De Lieven tilts her head thoughtfully. “It might just work.”
“Doubtful,” Lady Jersey grumbles.
Lady De Lieven smirks at her. “Admit it. You are only nettled by the fact that her gambit might actually succeed.”
Lady Jersey sniffs disdainfully. “No, I dislike that the scheming minx thinks she can twist our Prince Regent around her little finger. He’s not as gullible as all that.”
“Isn’t he?” Lady de Lieven says wryly.
“I fail to see why he would trust a foreigner like Lady Daneska or even Miss Barrington when he won’t even trust one of us to be there.” Lady Jersey tilts her head apologetically in Maya’s direction. “No offense intended, my dear, but despite Lady Daneska’s chicanery, I doubt our prince will trust anyone, much less a young lady who he barely knows.”
With a slight shake of her head, Lady De Lieven steps forward. “No, no. Lady Daneska is playing her cards quite cleverly. You know how enthralled he is with Maya’s mesmerizing voice, and he fancies everything about India—”
“Ahem.” Lady Castlereagh clears her throat, putting a halt to their bickering. “There is one person he does trust. A close personal friend.”
“Ah, yes.” Lady Jane glances up from her contemplation. “Lord Harston.”
“Exactly.” Lady Castlereagh smiles with pleasure. “Suppose we were to help Lady Daneska’s stratagem along? Give it a leg-up, so to speak?”
“How?” Lady Jersey seats herself in the middle of the divan, like a queen preparing to hear out her subjects.
Lady Jane seems to have already leapt to some sort of disturbing conclusion because she is glancing at me with palpable concern, and inside she grows as silent and wary as an alerted doe. All, except Lady Jane, are gathering closer together, leaning in to hear Lady Castlereagh’s idea.
The great lady speaks gently but with a strong air of competence. “We have already decided to bring Lord Harston’s nephew, young Kinsworth, into our confidence. In fact, just this morning, our beloved Prince invited that very gentleman to come and share his uncle’s rooms at Carleton House. If we were to arrange an engagement between Lord Kinsworth and Miss Barrington, she would no longer be an unattached foreigner. She would be betrothed to a peer of the realm, who happens to be the nephew of the Prince’s closest friend.”
“Brilliant idea.” Lady De Lieven pats Lady Castlereagh’s shoulder.
I had heard what Lady Castlereagh said. Every bit of it. Every heart-stopping syllable. Each stomach-punching word. And yet, when they all turn expectantly to me, I ask an inane question, and not in a low moderated tone. “What?” squeaks out of me like a strangled cry for help.
“An engagement, dear,” Lady Castlereagh answers calmly as if it is a trifle, and I am behaving like a slightly feeble-minded child.
“No. No. No,” I whisper in mouse-sized peeps and shake my head. Or, at least, I would be shaking my head if all the feeling wasn’t draining from it and flooding down my neck like a river overflowing its banks, thundering toward my feet.
Not him!
I can’t even speak now. So much for my persuasive abilities—I cannot even save myself. This entire plan is doomed from the start. I can’t. I can’t.
I can’t marry him.
Sera is chafing my hand. “I don’t think she wants to do it.”
Her touch pulls me back to earth. I draw in an enormous breath, a great ungraceful gulp. It as if I haven’t breathed for days, and maybe I haven’t. Whatever the case, it helps.
I close my mouth and eyes and simply breathe. Steadily. In and out. My heart finally stops banging like a madman’s drum.
This time I speak with as low and as soothing a tone as I can manage. “I cannot do it.”
“Can’t do what, dear?” Lady Castlereagh looks at me with her sweet innocent bunny rabbit expression, even though I know she is as shrewd as a mongoose.
“I cannot marry Lord Kinsworth. Aside from my feelings on the matter, he’ll refuse to do it.” I know this because I heard his eloquent speech detailing his fear of losing his precious freedom on my account. I cannot tell them why, because it will expose the fact that I eavesdropped on far than needed after Lord Harston’s conversation with Admiral St. Vincent.
Lady De Lieven chuckles as if I have told a joke. “We aren’t asking you to marry the young man, Miss Barrington. Engagements can be broken. It will merely be a pretense. You needn’t go through with it.”
Lady Castlereagh’s mouth rests in a patient motherly smile. “She’s right, dear. Although, from what I have observed, the young man is not indifferent to you.”
“For heaaaven’s sake, we must aaaall make sacrifices for the greater gooood.” Lady Jersey is affecting her drawl again, which means I have annoyed her. “Aside from that, you could do faaar worse, young lady.”
“Sally!” Lady De Lieven raps her on the sleeve with her fan. “Have a care.”
“Don’t ring a peal over my head. You know perfectly well, it’s true. There isn’t another young lady in Mayfair that wouldn’t have him. You’ve seen the way the debs drool when he walks past them at Almack’s. Not to mention the young man is plump of pocket and a peer of the realm. I simply cannot fathom why Miss Barrington should be so missish about it.”
“I could do better,” I argue under my breath. “I might marry someone who loves me. Someone who thinks of me as more than an exquisite flower to be avoided at all costs.”
I glance up. Apparently, they heard my nearly silent protest. Lady Jersey and Lady Castlereagh exchange knowing looks, and Lady De Lieven presses a finger to her lips covering a smile.
This is not a laughable matter, I want to say. This is my life. My future. Before I am able to muster those words, Miss Stranje places her hand on my shoulder protectively. “Lady Daneska put Miss Barrington through a distressing ordeal last night. She looks rather pale at the moment, and I’m afraid it is time for her to rest. That will give her a chance to ponder our . . .” She was going to say proposal. I’m sure of it. “Our suggestion.” She pats my shoulder. “Before we continue further with this plan, it might also be advisable to consult with Lord Kinsworth on the matter.”
“No!” I glance up, pleading. I don’t want them to discuss it with him. They mustn’t. The idea of these women ordering him, nay commanding him, to play the part of my fiancé is humiliating. I cringe, imagining his response, and my stomach clenches into a screeching knot. “No.”
My plea falls on deaf ears. Before I can argue more strenuously, Miss Stranje has me up and moving toward the door. She signals Tess and Sera to assist me upstairs to my room.
Except, they cannot dismiss me yet.
“Wait!” I wheel out of Sera’s grasp. “I haven’t told you the worst part.”
“There’s more?” Lady De Lieven sits down for the first time that morning.
“Yes. It is the very reason why we must proceed as if all our lives and our families’ lives depend upon it. It is why you simply cannot leave this situation at the mercy of a preposterous engagement scheme.” They all appear surprised at my outburst, but I focus on Miss Stranje.
“Go on,” she says with deadly calm.
I alter my tone, hushing the panic rising like a whirlwind, but I do not quiet the force of the wind blowing through me. “Lady Daneska warned me if the parley with Napoleon does not proceed as Ghost plans, he will burn England down. But not until after he has made us suffer. He intends to release a plague on Britain.”
They all draw back as if I have stung them.
Sound the Trumpets
“A Plague.” Miss Stranje murmurs her dread into the deafening silence. She sits beside Lady De Lieven and stares at her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Dear God.”
“He wouldn’t.” Lady Castlereagh shakes her head in disbelief. “You’re certain Lady Daneska was telling the truth?”
“Yes, that must be it. We all know how she loves to lie.” Lady
Jersey raises hopeful eyes to me.
I meet her gaze steadily. “I am not as capable as Sera is when it comes to discerning falsehoods, but I will never forget Lady Daneska’s eyes as she told me these things. Her pupils widened with dread. Her voice quavered and, during that particular confession, I did not hear one false note.” I lower my gaze to avoid witnessing their disappointment. “I wish she had been lying.”
A rustle of fear blows through them, the way wind shivers through the trees to warn of a coming storm.
“I asked Lady Daneska if he had threatened such horrific acts in a fit of anger. She assured me that, no, Ghost had calmly calculated his methods of revenge. She heard him discuss it with his men, and saw his plans.”
“But it’s impossible.” Lady Jersey bolts up from the divan and paces, her train twisting behind her. “Can’t be done! No one person can accomplish such a terrible thing.”
Lady De Lieven pales considerably. “He is master of the Iron Crown, Sally. He has a secret army at his beck and call.”
Lady Jersey kicks her train angrily out of her way and takes another vicious turn across the carpet “Even so, to inflict a plague on an entire country—impossible!”
“Sadly, it isn’t,” Georgie says, matter-of-factly. “There are dozens of ways to do it. Ghost will have studied history. Ancient Scythian archers wiped out enemy camps by dipping their arrows into diseased corpses. Greeks and Romans contaminated water supplies with animals carrying the plague. Genghis Kahn catapulted diseased dead over the walls of besieged cities.” Georgie’s head is bowed in concentration. “Do you know which plague he intends to use?”
“I didn’t ask.” I shake my head, stunned at how easy spreading a plague might be.
“What does that matter?” Tess’s fists knot tight. “A plague, any plague, will devastate our entire country.”
Georgie dives in to argue the point. “Don’t you see? If we know what disease is coming, we can anticipate the type of infirmaries to set up and how many. We’ll know which treatments might be most useful to keep it from spreading, and—”
“What we need to do is find Ghost.” Tess grips the top of Lady Castlereagh’s chair, squeezing it until her knuckles bulge. “And kill him before any of this happens!”
“Ideally, yes.” Georgie is still hunting for solutions, oblivious of Tess’s agitation. “But in lieu of—”
“Stop!” Miss Stranje holds up her hand, and we all fall silent. “This news changes everything. Everything.” I’ve never seen her look so pale. “Ladies,” she says, taking a deep breath and glancing pointedly at the patronesses. “I’m afraid this scenario goes beyond the scope and means of our sisterhood.”
“Agreed.” Lady Jersey speaks now without even a hint of a drawl.
Lady De Lieven nods solemnly.
“It most certainly does.” Lady Castlereagh chews her bottom lip for a moment. “I shall apprise my husband, and he will undoubtedly bring Captain Grey and Lord Wyatt into the matter. We will need all hands on deck, and that includes all diplomatic operatives. I don’t see that we have any alternative, Miss Barrington, but to go ahead with the engagement. I’m sorry, my dear, but it is more important now than ever.” She raises a finger. “Moreover, you are all sworn to absolute secrecy regarding this wretched plague.” She winces as if even speaking the word stings her tongue. She turns to Lady Jane, Tess, and Georgie. “You do understand, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course,” Lady Jane answers for all of us.
“We know how to keep a secret,” Tess grumbles.
“No doubt.” Lady Castlereagh stands, short in stature and older than the rest of the patronesses, but the fortitude that rings through her is unmistakable. “Nevertheless, you must use extra caution this time, even when discussing it amongst yourselves. Be wary of any servants who may be within earshot. We must take care no one catches wind of this terrifying threat. It would spread like wildfire. The panic would be catastrophic.”
With that warning, we are all dismissed; I am sent to bed to recuperate, and the others to the ballroom for a defensive arts class with Madame Cho. I am curious as to what deadly technique she’ll be sharing today behind those locked doors. Whatever it is, it will be useless against the plague.
The Patronesses stay to confer with Miss Stranje for a half-hour longer, before leaving in a loud clattering flurry. “See to it immediately,” Lady Jersey orders. I had wanted, in the worst way, to eavesdrop on their conversation, but this bland London townhouse has no secret passages. If I had leaned outside the door, Miss Stranje might have suspected and caught me. More likely, since I am still weak from last night, collapsing or dripping blood on the floor would have given me away.
So, I remain in bed, laying here wondering about a great many things. None of which I can do anything about. Plagues are too ghastly to dwell on, Napoleon’s negotiations with Prince George twist my stomach into a boiling lump. Hours pass, and my thoughts drift and tangle around an imaginary conversation between the Patronesses and Lord Kinsworth.
I picture him pressed into a straight-backed chair, surrounded by his uncle and the three great ladies. Miss Stranje may even be there. The minute Lord Kinsworth protests their outrageous scheme, as I know he will do, Lady Jersey shall puff up like a scalded cat. I can almost hear her caustic tone.
“Listen here, young man,” she will say, and bustle closer to him, leaning in until she is only inches away from his face. “I don’t give two farthings about your dreams of freedom and adventure. Fah!” She will rap him on the forehead with her fan. “Your whims are nothing compared to the lives of thousands of British citizens.”
“Less than nothing!” She’ll rear back with her hands on her hips. “This is utter foolishness. Snap to it, young man. We expect you to do your duty for King and country. No matter how onerous you consider the task, you must pretend to be engaged to Miss Barrington. We need you to do it. Your Prince needs you to do it. And so, you shall!” She will fan herself as if his pigheadedness has overheated her. “And there’s an end to the matter.”
Lady Castlereagh will pat his hand. “Cheer up, young man. Miss Barrington is not as bad as all that.”
Lord Harston will clamp his hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “Chin up, lad. You said you wanted into the business. This is the price. It isn’t as if you actually have to get leg-shackled to the chit. This engagement is only a pretense after all, not the end of the world. Play along for a few months or so, until this matter with the Prince is resolved. Then, as agreed upon, she’ll give you the heave ho. You’ll be free. Nothing to it.” He’ll snap his fingers. “A piece of cake.”
“Cake?” Lord Kinsworth will respond, as droll as ever despite the sweat beading on his brow. “Wasn’t it on account of cake . . . that they sent Marie Antoinette to the guillotine?” He’ll follow that remark with a comical expression and whisk of his hand across his throat.
Lady De Lieven will laugh aloud.
Lady Jersey will tap him with her fan again, this time on his shoulder. “Don’t be cheeky, boy.”
“Not cheeky. Clever.” Lady De Lieven will defend him, because the rogue will have charmed her with his wit.
His uncle’s brow will furrow. He knows Ben hides behind humor when he is troubled. “If it’s going to be that distressing, my boy, you needn’t go along with it. I’ll take your place. I can pretend to court the girl for a week or two, and—”
“No.” Lord Kinsworth will shake his head. “No, you’re right. I asked to be a part of your world. If this is the price, so be it.” He’ll probably stand and grasp his uncle’s arm. “I’ll do it! I will make this sacrifice to prove my loyalty to you, and to King and country.”
“We all have to make sacrifices.” Lady Jersey will sniff disdainfully, thinking she is the one who brought the misbehaving young pup to heel.
Lady Castlereagh will smile proudly at him. “Very good of you, Lord Kinsworth. Most noble.”
Noble.
I grit my teeth. Oh, yes, how very noble.
Ergh!
My stomach begins to weave and bob as if I’m aboard a ship at sea. I squeeze my eyes tight and try to imagine a less odious scenario. Except, no matter how hard I try, it always turns out with him doing his duty, sacrificing himself for the good of mankind, being so very noble, nauseatingly noble, as if the prospect of pretending to be in love with me is horribly revolting.
I have the most ferocious urge to rap him over the head for it. And, with something much bigger than Lady Jersey’s fan.
The cad.
This whole situation is his fault. He is the one who wanted into the diplomatic spy business. He is the one who offered to sing with me. It is he, who as if he is Romeo in the flesh, and continues to tease me mercilessly.
Scoundrel.
I will make him pay for his wretched nobility. If he thinks this is going to be some easy little farce, he is sorely mistaken.
“What are you thinking about?” Sera has slipped into the room and I didn’t even notice.
“Nothing.” My face reddens at being caught daydreaming about him. It must be red because my cheeks grow dreadfully hot. Maybe she won’t notice.
“It’s him, isn’t it? You’re thinking about your fiancé, Lord Kinsworth.”
Drat. Sera notices everything.
I sigh loudly. “He isn’t my fiancé.”
“Not yet. But I expect he will agree to it.”
“He is such a scoundrel.”
“Really? I wouldn’t have thought it. He seems a perfect gentleman. He impressed me as such when he came to your rescue that first time you sang at Carleton House. What has he done? Did he try to—”
“No. No. Nothing like that.” I smooth the bedding out from where I have twisted it into knots. “He flusters me. That’s all.”
“Oh.” She lowers her head and her beautiful white hair falls forward like a silk curtain. “I know that feeling.”
She must be thinking of Mr. Chadwick. It’s not the same. She can’t possibly understand the humiliation I will face. “It’s mortifying.”
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