by Jenny Brown
Temperance nodded. “So the key to controlling him is fear and deception. Nothing out of the usual there.”
Alarm swept over Lady Hartwood’s features. “You must be careful. Our king’s Mars is in Scorpio; you must not underestimate his ruthlessness or the lengths he will go to satisfy his desires.”
“I thank you for your counsel,” Temperance said, rising. “You have been very helpful, indeed.”
Lady Hartwood’s face clouded. “I fear I’ve been overly rash in entrusting you with such sensitive information. I will never forgive myself if it leads you into greater danger. Do take care.”
“We shall. Our lives depend on it. ” Temperance stood. “But now, Your Ladyship, if you please, I must ask you to give us a moment alone.”
As the door clicked shut behind Lady Hartwood, Temperance turned to Trev and whispered, “I have it now. It’s a gamble, but it has a chance of working though it will take the two of us working together very closely to pull it off. You will need to do exactly what I tell you without asking why. Will you do that?”
He nodded. The beauty of the smile she gave him in return was worth enduring whatever might happen if he followed her plan.
“Good,” she said. “Here, then, is what we must do.”
Chapter 22
“The king has set aside five minutes for you, Captain. It is a great honor. Don’t abuse it.”
They stood before the king’s private secretary, Sir Benjamin Bloomfield. He was clad in a major general’s full-dress uniform, whose luxurious gold embroidery was outshone only by the many medals on his chest. Trev had never seen the like on any officer in the field. But despite his foppish display, the man radiated authority. No military man could doubt his power—or how slim the chances were that Trev and his beloved would be able to bend him and his master to their will.
“Who is this person?” Sir Benjamin demanded, fixing Temperance with a disapproving stare.
“She is someone materially involved in the matter that brings me here,” Trev explained. “It’s essential she accompany me when I meet with our sovereign.”
“Essential? One wonders. But it is certainly irregular. Highly irregular.” Sir Benjamin sniffed. “Though she is beautiful, I’ll grant you that, and the king has always been a connoisseur of female beauty. But even so, who is she?”
Temperance spoke up. “I’m Jedidiah Smith’s daughter.”
“The man they call the Cotton King?” Sir Benjamin asked.
“None other.”
“Is this true, Captain?”
“It is.”
“Well, the man’s rich enough. I suppose we must trust she’s not some Radical come to assassinate His Majesty.”
“We must,” Trev said, with a meaningful look at his beloved.
Sir Benjamin consulted his watch, and after reminding them of the protocol they must follow when in the king’s presence, led them down richly furnished corridors decorated with gold-framed paintings, each one more magnificent than the one before it. Crystal sparkled from the lighting fixtures above them, and ornate plasterwork completed the effect. That a man who commanded such wealth should be willing to sacrifice human lives to add a single topaz to his collection seemed even more shocking now that Trev began to grasp the magnitude of the king’s fortune.
But, paradoxically, this evidence of the king’s wealth also gave him hope. It made it more likely that it was some magical power associated with the jewel that made it so valuable to the king. And if that was the case, Temperance’s plan might work.
Footmen opened the wide double doors at the end of the hall at their approach, revealing the king, who awaited them within. George IV was a large man—one who would have been described as portly, if one was being polite, though in the mess hall they would have called him a blubberguts.
Sir Benjamin motioned them to stop at the doorway, and when they had, he took a few steps into the king’s chamber, bowed deeply, and whispered something to his sovereign. The king turned a languid gaze toward the doorway until he noticed Temperance. Then a smile lit his heavy features. Sir Benjamin motioned them in and took his place behind the king.
Temperance sank into a curtsy that would have done a countess proud, but Trev noted the saucy way she caught the king’s eye when she came up from it. She had it right there. The king was a man, and Temperance knew how to draw a man’s attention. Under her scrutiny, the king stood up straighter and sucked in the enormous belly that was barely controlled by his corsets. She rewarded him with a look that mixed appreciation with something Trev would have called challenge. Not even the king could intimidate his beloved.
At length, the king tore his eyes from her and turned to examine Trev, giving him the kind of head-to-toe scrutiny he associated with his old commander, General Pearce—a man whose life might have ended more happily had he given to strategy the attention he put into ensuring his men’s buttons showed the highest polish.
“I’ve been told of the bravery of your regiment at Poona,” the king began. “But surely so brave a regiment could do better than to wear so lackluster a uniform. That style went out after Waterloo. And that shako—” The king wrinkled his nose as he gestured at Trev’s headgear, tucked respectfully under his arm. “I shall have to do something about it.”
The king stepped backward to get a better view. “A fur-lined pelisse over the shoulder, I should think—it’s so very manly. Silver instead of gold braid. And, of course, a Busby bag instead of that dated shako.”
Trev stifled a sigh. The king’s obsession with fashion was well-known. He’d long had the habit, hated and feared by Trev’s fellow officers, of periodically ordering sweeping changes in their uniforms, which forced them to run up expensive tailor’s bills. The last thing his regiment needed was to have to drag around a pelisse or wear a fur Busby in the heat of the Indian climate. But, if that was what it took to free Temperance, it was a small price to pay.
“So what brings you here, Captain?” the king demanded. “I’m told it is a matter of the gravest importance.”
“It is, Your Majesty. It concerns the topaz.”
The king’s erstwhile good nature fled. “The topaz, you say? Have you found that cursed Jewel of Vadha?” His avidity was frightening.
“I have. And that’s why I’m here. I came to thank you on the behalf of all your loyal troops in India for the heroic way in which you foiled the schemes of those who would have dragged Your Majesty’s valiant troops into a costly and unnecessary war.”
The king’s eyes narrowed as he tried to work out what Trev was getting at. Helpfully, Trev added, “The dispatch is already on its way to Sir Charles that explains how brilliantly Your Majesty employed sleight of hand to achieve a diplomatic coup. The Mad Nabob might have got away with his scheme had he not come up against you.”
“Yes, yes. The scheme was brilliant as you say,” the king said with annoyance. “But where is the jewel?”
“On its way to India, as you had intended it to be,” Trev said mildly. “Where it can wreak its havoc on the unfortunate Nawab of Bundilore, who, unlike Your Majesty, failed to understand its dangers.” Sir Benjamin’s brows shot up.
“Dangers? What dangers,” the king demanded. “I’ve heard nothing of any dangers associated with this jewel. Only of its power. It was Henry VIII’s jewel, you know, and served him well.”
“Of course, Your Highness,” Temperance interrupted. “But it served him so well only because it is the jewel of Mercury, and Mercury presided over Henry’s birth. For someone born under the influence of another planet, it would be dangerous. The poor Nawab will learn that soon enough. How brilliant you were to come up with a stratagem that preserved our troops at the same time that you ensured the destruction of our nation’s enemy.”
By now the king’s confusion was obvious. They’d taken a great risk by putting him in a situation where he would be forced to pretend he had done the right thing even as he learned that his scheme had been foiled. It had been Temperance’s idea,
and if it failed, Trev would never forgive himself for giving in to her. But so far, it had not failed, so he must stay silent and allow her to fan the king’s fears, on the theory that a man who could believe that a jewel would help him do away with his hated wife would be capable of believing a whole lot more.
“How could this cursed jewel harm its owner?” the king demanded.
Temperance looked down and fluttered her lashes in a manner Trev remembered all too well from the night when he had saved her from the shoemaker. He’d never imagined he’d feel this grateful when a woman he loved flirted so successfully with another man, but she was doing it for him, and it was working: The king was becoming more interested in her with every word.
“Why ’tis simple,” she said. “If its owner was born under another star, the power of the jewel might weaken him rather than give him strength. Indeed, in the worst case, it could put that owner at the mercy of his enemies.”
“That wasn’t what I was told about its powers,” the king protested. “I was told it would strengthen a king.”
“It might strengthen a king who was born under the influence of Mercury, Your Majesty. But only such a king.”
“My mother has some small knowledge of the stars,” the king said. “I was born when the Sun was in Leo. So my ruling planet must be the Sun. Would such a jewel be dangerous to me?”
“It isn’t the sign of your Sun that would determine that, Your Majesty, but the sign that was rising at your birth.”
The king thought for a moment. “The rising sign, is it? What was mine, now?” He muttered to himself. “What did she say? ’Twas my Sun in Leo makes me a king, my Moon in Taurus an artist, and—what was the third thing, damme—oh, yes—my Aquarius Ascendant that makes me such an original. If I have Aquarius rising, would that make the jewel dangerous to me?”
Temperance’s angled eyebrows shot upward. “Dangerous? Worse than that—catastrophic. Aquarius is ruled by Saturn. Its gem is the sapphire. To wear a topaz when under Saturn’s sway would be to unleash its other propensity.”
“Which is?” The king’s face had become flushed, and his hand trembled. Perhaps there was something to the rumors that he had inherited more than a tinge of his father’s madness.
Temperance’s voice had dropped to a seductive whisper. “The topaz is also the gem of Scorpio, and everyone knows the nature of that sign: Its natives are consumed with lust and willing to go to any lengths to satisfy it. They have no appreciation for beauty, no sense of refinement. They are crude and vicious. Your Majesty, a powerful topaz would strengthen anyone who fit that description no matter who owned it—unless its owner was born under the influence of Mercury, as Henry was. But for someone born under Saturn’s sway, as you were, to possess the Jewel of Vadha would put you completely in the power of your worst enemy.”
The king’s face had turned deep purple, and he was breathing so quickly it seemed likely he might have a seizure at any moment. “My worst enemy,” he shrilled. “That bitch, Caroline! The man who told me of the jewel’s powers must have been one of her agents. He showed me the old manuscript from the royal archives, where old Dr. Dee had praised the power of the gem. He sounded so convincing. And all along he must have been working for her. This scheme—it has all the marks of her handiwork, for the bitch will stop at nothing to thwart me!”
“But you foiled her,” Temperance reminded him, “for the jewel is on its way to India, where the foolish Nawab will learn too late of its powers. You weren’t taken in; though anyone else would have been. How clever you were to send the jewel to the Nawab.”
“Of course,” the king said, recalling the role they’d decided he would play. “Tell me though. What gem would give power to a man whose chart was ruled by Saturn?”
“The sapphire, Your Majesty.”
“No wonder I prefer sapphires to all other stones.” He slapped one massive thigh. “Always have. And I shall give orders to ensure no one prevents that pestilent topaz from reaching the Nawab of Bundilore.”
The king turned to Sir Benjamin. “Make a note of this. I want you to seek out the finest sapphire to add to my coronation jewels. Spare no expense—and buy it—none of your cheapjack loans for this jewel. It must be mine.” He paused. “A sapphire will suit me so much better, and the color will go well with the robes I’m having designed. Topaz is such a dark and lifeless stone, but a sapphire has sparkle.”
“Just like Your Majesty,” Temperance said.
The king’s preening reminded Trev of nothing so much as that of an old turkey cock. It was time to step in. It would be a pyrrhic victory if Temperance won her freedom at the cost of having to yield to His Majesty’s all-too-well-known lust.
He spoke up. “Your loyal troops will thank you, sir, for years to come. It was an inspiration to send such a fatal jewel to this pestilent Nawab.”
“Of course, of course.” The king, was calming down. “But I thank you for informing me of how narrowly I escaped disaster. Could it have been the influence of the topaz that helped that dreadful woman get off scot-free in Parliament?”
Temperance considered this for a moment. “It might have, if Caroline was in cahoots with its previous owner, Sir Humphrey Diggett.”
“That must have been it. There’s no other explanation!”
Trev’s appreciation of his beloved’s powers went up another notch. She had figured out how to make the Mad Nabob pay for the outrageous way he’d treated them. Fanshawe had nothing on her when it came to making one plot serve several purposes.
Coming to her aid, he added, “Sir Humphrey would be all too likely to back Caroline since he must fear what would happen if Your Majesty’s attention was drawn to the irregular way he earned his wealth.”
The king turned to Sir Benjamin. “Order an immediate audit of the man’s finances. If he’s diverted money that should have gone to the royal treasury, I want every penny of it back—with penalties.”
Sir Humphrey’s goose was cooked. A government audit would be worse for a man like the nabob than mere physical torture. It took all Trev’s discipline to keep from smiling.
Sir Benjamin gave his watch a meaningful glance and muttered quietly to his master, “Time’s about up, Your Majesty. Lady Conyngham will be here any moment.”
The king waved him off. “I owe you my thanks, Captain, for the intelligence you brought me. I’ll send word to Sir Charles commending you for your helpfulness. I’ll also have a word with the commander of your regiment about that uniform. Not right that men so brave should make such a sad appearance.”
Now it was time for Trev to make his final move. “Your Majesty is too good, but if you would, there is a service you could perform that would cost you nothing and be of infinite value to Miss Smith.”
“It would be my pleasure,” the king said with a smug smile. “What can I do for you, my dear?”
“Your Majesty,” she said, taking a deep breath, “I am the woman your enemies blamed for the theft of the Jewel of Vadha, though, as you know, it never was stolen. Your enemies have put a price on my head.”
“By gad, Sir Benjamin, I thought you told me this was the Cotton King’s daughter.”
“I did, sir.”
“But I was told the jewel was taken by a pickpocket.”
“A terrible misunderstanding,” Trev interjected. “You see, my intended refused Sir Humphrey’s advances. That’s why he accused her of theft, to get back at her.”
“Cad,” the king said. “But that’s just the sort of behavior I’d expect from the kind of man who would put his influence behind that bitch who pretends to be my queen. If he’s behind this accusation, I shall take even more pleasure in pardoning Miss Smith. See to it, Sir Benjamin. Though, in return for my clemency, I must ask you one indulgence, my dear.” He turned back to Temperance.
Trev braced himself.
“I am a collector, my dear,” the king said, with a sparkle in the eye that, in his youth had been charming enough to win him the sobriquet, Prince Flori
zel. “As the world knows. I collect fine paintings, statuary, and the exquisite palaces that will remain as a testament of my taste for generations to come. But I have a secret collection from which I take far more delight.” His voice dropped. “My dear, may I ask you to give me a single lock of your lovely hair to add to that collection? I have garnered tresses from every beauty in the kingdom. My collection would be a sorry one if it did not include yours.”
Trev let out his breath. It could have been a lot worse.
Sir Benjamin discreetly withdrew a pair of shears from the royal desk and handed it to the king. With a look at Trev, Temperance unpinned the back of her coiffure. When one long tress came free she held it out toward the king, who snipped it off.
“Beautiful,” their monarch said, stroking it with one pudgy finger before handing it to his private secretary. “I shall treasure it. See to her pardon, Sir Benjamin. We can’t have the hangman’s rope defile such a swanlike neck. Then, thank God I can put the whole pestilent business of that jewel behind me.” He paused, and added, “Sapphire is so much more fitting for a king, don’t you think, Sir Benjamin? And it goes so much better with my eyes.”
And with that, Sir Benjamin motioned to them that their audience was over.
It had been too easy. As grateful as he was that the king had pardoned Temperance, Trev knew what must come next. The king might be a fool—but his private secretary was not, and the man’s expressions as they had played out the farce they’d just concluded showed it was only a matter of time until he paid the price for their effrontery.
The department would learn he’d betrayed their plot to His Majesty, and what would follow would be only what he’d expected. But it mattered not. He’d achieved the end for which he’d intended to sacrifice his life. The king had ordered that Temperance be pardoned. Sir Benjamin must honor that command. Whatever happened next, she would be safe.