by Robyn DeHart
The two Frenchwomen put a dress on her, and it had barely brushed against her shoulders when Madame Angelique said something abrupt and the dress was quickly removed. They did the same with two others.
They had just put a fourth dress on her when Isabel heard the deep timbre of Jason’s voice. His mother had arrived. Her mother now, she reminded herself. The two dressmakers walked Isabel out into the main part of the shop and guided her up onto a pedestal so that Madame Angelique could adjust the dress. She began pinning the fabric immediately.
Jason and his mother entered the dressing room. Jason sauntered over, and Isabel’s heart thundered. He was so handsome. She sucked in a breath, surprised by her reaction to his mere presence. His intense blue eyes met her gaze. “Isabel, I’m going to leave you in the capable hands of these ladies. I have a meeting I need to attend. Mother, spare no expense on my lovely bride.”
“Of course not,” his mother said. “We have ladies’ work to do. Now off with you.” She waved her hands dismissively, but it didn’t stop him from bending and placing a kiss on her cheek. Isabel felt a pang of jealousy that he could be so free with his affection with others, but with her, he seemed completely closed off.
Isabel wanted to ask him to stay, not to leave her here with these women who were practically strangers, but the truth was, she didn’t really know him, either. Although she felt as if she’d known him for quite a while. Her life, as it turned out, had been flipped upside down. But her new reality allowed her the honor of protecting the queen.
Jason was right. Eyes would be upon her very quickly, with the newspaper story about the long-lost princess surviving and now her nuptials with Viscount Ellis. Everyone would be looking at her. She would not embarrass Jason’s good name.
“I shall leave you to it,” he said.
Isabel watched him go. His broad shoulders perfectly encased in his expertly tailored coat. He was a fine gentleman. Her fine gentleman. Well, in name only.
Jason’s mother also disappeared from view, leaving Isabel momentarily alone on the pedestal. The bell at the front door rang. Isabel waited to hear Jason’s mother. Instead she heard unfamiliar ladies’ voices.
“He is so dashing,” one girl said, with an exaggerated giggle.
“But you know it is rumored he has vowed to never marry,” another girl replied.
Isabel craned her neck and peered into the mirror to see if she could see the women’s reflections, but to no avail. Were they talking about Jason?
“All of the handsome gentlemen say that, and then they meet the woman to bring them to their knees.”
“I suppose you believe yourself to be that woman to bring Viscount Ellis to his knees?” the other girl asked with a snort.
“And why shouldn’t I be?” the first girl asked. “I’m the granddaughter of a duke. And Lady Falcon declared my manners the most refined and genteel of our Season. And”—she dropped her voice to a whisper that still wasn’t soft enough to hide her smugness—“you know my dowry is substantial. I am as perfect for him as any girl he’s ever likely to meet.”
The other girl never answered, or at least if she did, Isabel did not hear her as they’d moved to a different part of the shop. Even though Isabel couldn’t hear them any longer, her heart thundered with panic. So, those were the qualities expected of Jason’s wife. Connections, breeding, refined manners, and, of course, money. Not to mention impeccable taste in fashion. She supposed she had the breeding; after all, she was a princess. She had connections to no one of importance. Her boarding school manners were unlikely to be described as refined or genteel. As for money, she had absolutely none.
It wasn’t as though she hadn’t known she was outclassed. That was the one thing her schooling had prepared her for. But hearing it outlined so clearly was disheartening.
Before Isabel could step down from the pedestal, Jason’s mother was standing behind her. Isabel’s new mother-in-law, like her son, was perfectly presentable, with a lovely blue-and-gold striped dress that Isabel suspected was at the height of fashion. It wasn’t any wonder that Jason had brought her here to purchase new clothes. He must have thought her barely a step above a street urchin.
“Now then, where were we?” his mother asked.
Madame Angelique rounded the corner and rattled off a list of garments Isabel had been measured for.
“Excellent,” Genevieve said. “She’ll need more than one evening gown, but one, in particular, must be quite extraordinary. And must be made quickly.”
“Yes, of course, mademoiselle,” Madame Angelique said. “Do you have a color in mind?”
“I believe a shade of green would look quite lovely with her eyes.”
Madame Angelique sprang to action, leaving the dressing room.
“Lady Ellis, I thought that was you,” a beautiful girl said, coming into view in the mirror’s reflection. Another pretty girl was with her. These must have been the two who had been speaking about Jason. They were dressed in nearly identical gowns, one lavender and the other pink. Although one woman was fair-haired and the other dark, they both had flawless, milky complexions. Isabel wished she wasn’t standing upon a pedestal where they could all stare at her.
Genevieve smiled warmly at the girls. “Lady Candace, how lovely to see you. And you too, Lady Whitney.”
The girls focused on Isabel and waited for an introduction.
Genevieve leaned toward the women and lowered her voice. “If you ladies can keep a secret, I shall tell you one.”
They both nodded enthusiastically. “Of course, you can trust us,” Lady Candace said, placing her hand over her heart.
“This is Viscount Ellis’s new wife, Lady Ellis. They’ve just returned from their romantic elopement.”
Lady Candace’s face fell. She eyed Isabel with disdain, which made Isabel all too aware of the old woolen gown she wore, of its faded fabric, frayed hem, and outdated stylings.
“You must be quite special to have caught the viscount’s eye,” Lady Whitney said. “He has told many that he planned never to marry.”
“Indeed,” Lady Candace said.
Isabel’s mind went blank and she could not think of a suitable response. She had not realized that Jason had been so sought after. He’d made it clear to her that he had no girl waiting for him here in London, that he hadn’t planned on marrying at all.
“We shall, of course, have a ball to celebrate and make the formal announcement,” Lady Genevieve said.
“I do hope we’ll be invited,” Lady Whitney said.
“Certainly,” Genevieve said.
Madame Angelique returned at that moment. The petite Frenchwoman carried a bolt of shimmering pale green fabric. “I only recently got this in, directly from Paris. It is the finest of silks, and I was hoping to use it on something special.”
“Now if you’ll excuse us, ladies,” Genevieve said, “we must get back to purchasing Lady Ellis’s new wardrobe.”
Both girls nodded and walked off without another word.
If that was how most of the women in London looked, then it was no wonder that Jason had not found her attractive, with her ill-fitting clothes and unfashionable features. Perhaps that was why he had not been interested in consummating their marriage. Perhaps he needed her to be more attractive, in finer clothes.
He didn’t seem the sort to put such emphasis on aesthetics, yet he did take impeccable care of himself: not merely his appearance and clothing, but his physical self as well. He moved with the precision and strength of an athlete. She both recognized and admired that. And in doing so, she realized she missed her own physical exertion. At St. Bart’s, she used to scrub the floors and climb up ladders to make the windows sparkle. It wasn’t so much the tasks she enjoyed, but the movement of her muscles and the exhaustion it brought. It had been far too long. Perhaps after this shopping excursion, she could take a long walk.
The bell at the front door rang again, and Genevieve smiled. “Thank goodness they’re gone.”
; Isabel returned the smile. “Why did you tell them our marriage was a secret?”
“Because I knew that that would be the quickest way to spread the news through London.” She gave Isabel a wink.
“Thank you for being so kind to me.”
“Of course, my dear. It is my hope that you will not see it as mere kindness, but affection for family,” Genevieve said.
Tears pricked at Isabel’s eyes.
“Now then, let us get a look at this fabric,” Genevieve said.
Madame Angelique climbed onto the pedestal with Isabel and held the fabric against her, just below her throat.
“Splendid,” Genevieve said.
Isabel wanted to argue. To insist that she never wore such pale colors, because anything that light only emphasized her darker complexion. She knew that fashionable English beauty standards demanded an alabaster complexion, while she most assuredly appeared as if she were from somewhere else. Plenty of the students at St. Bart’s had commented on her coloring over the years. She knew that compared to the fair beauties of London, she would stand out. Yet another way she would not quite belong. But as Madame Angelique held the fabric across her bodice, Isabel could see the tears glimmering in Genevieve’s eyes.
“It’s perfect.” She glanced at Isabel. “You shall be stunning. A perfect way to introduce your marriage to London.”
…
Jason was so thankful to be done with the shopping excursion. He couldn’t bear to look at any other swaths of fabric, or imagine Isabel in the myriad of filmy materials intended to entice a man’s baser needs. Besides, with him gone, his mother would have a chance to instruct Isabel in the ways of Society so she would feel more comfortable at their ball.
He could now turn his attention to more important matters—getting back into his work with the Brotherhood. The day that Jason had taken Isabel out of London, there had been some sort of confrontation, and their leader, Potterfield, had been killed. The murderer was still unaccounted for, and one man remained unidentified, which meant that the direct threat against Isabel and himself was not gone. He’d already increased security at his townhome and had three men following Isabel and his mother on their shopping trip.
Upon arriving in London, Jason had sent word to Somersby notifying him of his elopement with Isabel. Shortly thereafter, Jason had received a response that the Brotherhood was temporarily meeting at Somersby’s London townhome.
Jason climbed the steps to Somersby’s home and tapped the knocker. He fully intended to avoid any conversation about his marriage until after the announcement hit the Times. That should have been today’s edition, but it seemed unlikely anyone would have seen it yet. The Brotherhood could find out the way everyone else in London did. He hoped that Somersby would not goad him too much about his impromptu nuptials.
“Ellis, I was hoping you’d make today’s meeting,” Somersby said as he entered the parlor. “Wasn’t certain you’d be willing to leave your new bride,” he said so that only Jason could hear, then gave him a lascivious wink.
“Welcome back,” Lynford said.
“Thank you.” He took a seat at the far end of the large table.
Every seat around the table was occupied, save one. Somersby left the seat at the head of the table empty, out of respect, Jason suspected. But seeing it made Potterfield’s death a reality. He had been the man to recruit Jason many years before, after seeing him ride. Jason had respected the man, considered him a friend. Now he was gone, and his absence reminded Jason how very serious their work could be.
“We should begin,” Somersby said. He stood at the edge of the table. “I know you’ve all likely heard about the recent tragedy. Potterfield served us and England selflessly for years.”
Jason knew Somersby and Potterfield had not always gotten along, but he also knew that his friend had respected their leader implicitly, despite their disagreements.
“He will be missed,” Somersby said.
“What did he leave in the edict?” Johnson asked.
The edict traditionally held instructions from the current leader bestowing the position onto his successor. It was the Brotherhood’s way for the previous leader to select the one to come after. Jason had suspected that was the reason for the meeting today.
“Lord Lynford is here to read the edict,” Somersby said.
Gabriel Campbell, the Duke of Lynford, came to his feet. “I, Percival Potterfield, do hereby charge Bennett Haile, Earl of Somersby, as my successor and leave the Brotherhood of the Sword in his capable hands.”
Somersby dropped into the chair behind him. Johnson gave an unsportsmanlike snort of derision.
“I didn’t think he trusted me,” Somersby muttered.
“No one here is surprised,” Adrian said. “Disappointed, perhaps.” He gave a slight nod toward Johnson. “But not surprised.”
“We all knew better,” Jason said. “He was hardest on you because he knew you were the only one to lead us, so lead forth.”
Somersby chuckled.
“Has anyone seen the Speaker of the House of Commons since the night Potterfield was killed?” Lynford asked.
“No,” Somersby said. “We have men looking for him all over the countryside, though. We’ll find him.”
“On Lynford’s suggestion, Peterson and I went to St. Bartholomew’s school and went through every paper and book in the building,” Adrian said. “We definitely found some relevant records but nothing that indicated the name of the mysterious man involved in Potterfield’s death. But between everything we discovered and the drawings of the tunnels that Thornton had in his belongings, we know for certain that he was involved in the plot to kill Her Majesty.”
“Then there is no reason to believe that the queen is safe, at least from this plot,” Somersby said.
“No,” Lynford said. “Nor is Isabel.”
Jason’s skin prickled. He’d be damned if anything happened to her. He was glad he’d left guards on Bond Street watching and protecting her from any would-be attacks, but perhaps next time he’d stay with her himself, despite how tempting it was to be close to her. At least he knew that the assailants after her wanted her alive rather than dead, but it didn’t mean they wouldn’t attempt to harm her.
“Ah, yes, the lost Princess Isabel. Where is she now?” Johnson asked.
“She is safe,” Jason said.
“What of Her Majesty?” Johnson asked.
“You know very well where she is,” Lynford said.
“That is not what I meant.” Johnson glanced around the room, then rolled his eyes heavenward. “I am not the only one to see the truth here.” When no one said anything, he continued. “That girl, that princess, is a threat to our queen’s life. The plot to use her to usurp the Crown…” He shook his head. “As long as that girl draws breath, Queen Victoria’s life is in danger.”
“What the devil are you suggesting, Johnson?” Adrian St. James asked.
“Because you do know that the Brotherhood is not in the habit of disposing of innocent people,” Lynford said.
“She might be innocent, but her birthright is a threat,” Johnson said.
“Her claim to the throne is tenuous,” Lynford said.
Johnson nodded. “Perhaps, but many would see it as legitimate. The risk is unacceptable.”
“There will always be someone with a claim to the throne,” Somersby said.
This was ridiculous. Isabel was his wife, and Johnson was coolly suggesting they simply dispose of her. “There have always been people with legitimate claims. We can’t kill them all. That was never the intention of the Brotherhood,” Jason said.
“I realize that, but if she were a man, we would likely not be having this discussion,” Johnson said.
“You are being ridiculous,” Somersby said. He met Jason’s gaze and gave a slight nod. “The threat with Princess Isabel has been resolved.”
Johnson glanced from Jason to Somersby as if expecting a further explanation. “That evasive language might h
ave worked with Potterfield, but I want answers,” he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “You might be the official leader, Somersby, but we all work equally for Her Majesty.”
“It’s simple logic, Johnson. The princess cannot be forced into a political marriage to stake a claim on the throne if she is already married,” Somersby said.
“So you are planning to simply pawn her off on one of us?” Johnson asked.
“It has already been taken care of,” Jason said, coming to his feet. “Isabel is my wife, and there will be no more discussion on whether she gets to live. Is that understood?” He leveled his gaze on Johnson, who eventually held up his hands in defeat. Jason took his seat again, and Somersby went back to the agenda.
“It seems as if this is merely a temporary solution,” Johnson said. “What is to stop these men from simply making this princess a widow and therefore freeing her up again for marriage?”
“I can take care of my own protection,” Jason said. Although certainly the same thought had crossed his mind.
“There will be a large celebration ball for the happy couple,” Somersby said. “That much public attention should deter them. Having to wait out a public mourning period would overcomplicate their plans.”
“They have tried to assassinate the queen,” Johnson said. “I doubt a frivolous thing such as a mourning tradition would deter them overly much.”
Jason paid little attention to the remainder of the discussion because he was already thinking of what needed to be done to continue to keep Isabel safe. Regardless of how much he disliked Johnson, Jason couldn’t deny that the man had a good point in his concerns. Ultimately, it was decided that the Brotherhood would increase security at Jason’s townhome as well as on Queen Victoria.
When the meeting ended and most of the men had filed out, Lynford cornered Jason. “You married Isabel?”
“I did. It seemed the best way to protect both her and Queen Victoria,” Jason said.
Lynford nodded, but his tight expression did not change. “Do not hurt her.”
“What has gotten into you, Lynford?” Jason asked. “Why do you even care what happens to Isabel? You seemed pretty damn pleased to rid yourself of her on my doorstep.”