Princess Charming

by Pattillo, Beth

  Lucy’s shoulders sagged with relief, but her stepmother mistook the movement for shame. The rumors of suicide that had haunted her for eight years had not been true after all. Her father had not abandoned her.

  Her stepmother continued. “Yes, well, imagine how it was for me, spreading lies to cover up his intentions and then the shooting. I did not wed a duke so that I might continue to smell of the shop.”

  Lucy looked at Mr. Whippet. “Murderer!” she breathed.

  The vicar drew a snuff box from somewhere within his tightly fitted jacket. He flicked the box open, removed a pinch of the shredded tobacco, and inhaled deeply. His eyes watered, and he coughed twice. Then, returning the box to his pocket, he turned his flushed face to Lucy. “Am I? What proof have you?” His look of triumph made Lucy’s skin crawl. “You realize, of course, madame, that I must request you release me from our engagement.” His eyes traveled around the squalid room, and he shuddered with distaste. “This is more than I can bear, even for my share of ten thousand pounds.”

  The duchess shot him a startled glance. “Don’t be a fool.”

  “My peccadilloes are unfortunate,” he said to Lucy, ignoring her stepmother, “but they are nothing compared to your indiscretions or those of your father. And you’re scarcely creditable now. The daughter of a duke practically in chains. Say what you like about me. No one will believe your claims.”

  “I am the daughter of the Duke of Nottingham.” Lucy straightened her spine. Confidence flooded her voice as she let go of the pain and uncertainty she’d held inside for so many years. “My friends will believe me.”

  “Daughter of the duke?” Her stepmother snorted. “A kinship that never mattered to you one whit until now. You have disgraced the family name so vilely I wonder you dare claim it.”

  “Disgraced it?” Anger, clear and true, poured through Lucy’s veins and gave her strength. “I have not been the one to shame my father’s memory with toadeating and simpering. I have not indebted the estate to remove the stench of trade.”

  Her stepmother’s neck went rigid. “I have taken my rightful place. You have renounced yours, just as your father did before you, and you will meet the same end.”

  Lucy had never felt such despair and yet such relief at the same time, as if one door had been slammed shut and another thrown open. It was finally over, this strange half-life where she belonged neither to the ton nor to the world of the working people. Of course, there would be no escape from Newgate. Her heart raced at the thought. Her stepmother would renounce her, the Selkirks were in chains themselves, and Nick . . . He would condemn her actions for his own reasons. She could not hope for help from that quarter.

  And yet . . . Her father had not killed himself, though his passion and his persistence had cost him everything. The last thought sobered her. Well, if nothing else, she was her father’s daughter.

  “There is no need to stay any longer,” she said to her stepmother. The duchess’s eyebrows rose at Lucy’s dismissive, regal tone. “You may leave me to the consequences of my actions.”

  “I had no intention of doing otherwise,” the duchess snapped. She turned to her companions. “Come, Esmie, Bertha. Mr. Whippet.” Her look of disgust told Lucy that her stepmother would not let the clergyman’s rebellion go unpunished, either. “We will leave Lady Lucinda to the gaoler’s hospitality and her chosen squalor.”

  Lucy stood in the matted straw and watched the small party make its way to the door. Esmie was the only one who looked back, her face bleak and eyes filled with regret and shame, an acknowledgement that the Duchess of Nottingham had finally gone too far. Fear squeezed Lucy’s heart, but she refused to beg them to come back. The odor of unwashed bodies rose up again in her nostrils, and she put a hand on her stomach to calm it. Her father had not been a coward after all. He had not left her of his own will.

  Lucy sank down on her blanket. Her father had been a man of integrity, a man willing to pay the price for his beliefs. She, too, was a Charming, and could do no less.

  Chapter Nineteen

  NICK SPIED THE Duchess of Nottingham and Mr. Whippet emerging from Newgate and sank lower against the squabs of the plain black carriage. The vicar minced alongside the duchess, while Lucy’s two stepsisters followed like goslings behind their mother.

  “How did they learn her whereabouts so quickly?” Crispin asked. He lounged with deceptive ease on the seat next to Nick. The hackney cab had stood outside the prison for more than an hour, and it was everything Nick could do not to leap from the carriage, run to the door, and pound upon it until he gained entrance. Crispin had counseled caution, and he had been right, though Nick chafed at the restraint. Every detail of the plan must be methodically executed.

  “Someone must have sent word to the duchess from Nottingham.” Nick wondered who it had been. “Their visit will be convenient for our purposes.”

  Crispin nodded his assent “I’ll pay my respects to the gaoler now.” He snapped his fingers, his eyes alight with devilment. “I’ll say I’m acting on behalf of the duchess.” They had refined Nick’s scheme over the last hour until Nick thought it might have a chance of working.

  “Be careful, Cris. And don’t let Lucy see you. She might give away the ruse.”

  “Don’t worry, Nick. Of all the times I’ve known you to play the hero, you’ve never failed. This plan will be no different.”

  Nick felt a tightening sensation in the area of his heart. “Oh, but I have failed, my friend.” He grimaced. “I failed the most important test of all. I don’t intend to do so a second time.”

  Nick opened the carriage door and stepped down. Crispin followed. “They must move her to the State apartments, Cris, if we’re to have any chance at all.”

  Crispin frowned. “If this works, you know you’ll have to flee England. It may be doubtful that you can ever return.”

  “If this works,” Nick answered with an air of finality, “I will have no choice. Lucy must go to Santadorra, and I must go wherever she does.”

  Crispin started to speak and then apparently thought better of it. With a mock salute, he turned toward the prison. Nick watched him ring the bell at the gate and then disappear inside.

  It was a complicated plan, requiring the cooperation of far too many people, but he’d had no choice. He could only hope to complete each step as it presented itself and pray that no one would betray them. Nick was rather out of practice when it came to prayer, but since he had met Lucy, the habit was becoming far more common. He closed his eyes and addressed a few pleas to the Almighty.

  “LUCY CHARMING!” The gaoler’s voice rang out in the crowded room. Lucy jumped at the sound of her own name, for she had been lost in an impossible daydream about Nick. Her palms grew damp. So soon? Surely they could not bring her to trial yet. She had only been brought from Nottingham the day before.

  She rose, picked up her blanket, and moved toward the door. The huge gaoler eyed her with some curiosity. “Leave it,” he said, pointing toward the blanket. Lucy froze. They couldn’t hang her until she’d been called to the dock, at least that was what Anne had said, so it must mean she was to be transported.

  She shivered.

  “Come along.”

  With no choice but to follow the massive shoulders of the man who’d summoned her, Lucy stepped out into the hallway. The door swung shut behind her, and he threw home the bolt. “This way.” He jerked his chin toward the long hallway that lay to the right.

  Although conditions within the prison had been improved of late, low-pitched moans and strangled cries echoed through the passageways. The mixture of damp and stench filled her nostrils. Better to become accustomed to it, she thought. No doubt a transport ship would smell worse. They turned again into another passageway and then climbed a flight of stairs. As they went, the cries of the prisoners faded. The damp dissipated as well, and she even heard muffled laughter from behind a door.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “You’ll see soon enough.�
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  At last they stopped before another door. The gaoler opened it and thrust Lucy inside. She stumbled and almost fell. “Be thankful as ye ‘ave friends,” he muttered before shutting the door in her face and turning the key in the lock.

  Lucy spun around, prepared to face yet another scene of squalor. Instead, to her surprise, she found herself in a drawing room that could have passed for one in any respectable part of London. She had heard of the State apartments in Newgate, where wealthy and aristocratic prisoners were held. Here, they could receive food and wine from the outside and even entertain visitors. No doubt that was where she was. Who could have arranged for her to be brought here? Nick’s chocolate eyes flashed in her thoughts, but she hardly dared hope. Indeed, she would not hope. Not anymore. She would merely take each moment as it presented itself until the noose tightened around her neck.

  THE CARRIAGE rumbled through the streets of London, its circuitous route meant to lose any spies who might have followed the conveyance from Newgate. Nick frowned as he glanced at the list Crispin had handed him. In all, twelve men and one woman had been brought from Nottingham to Newgate.

  “You are certain that the gaoler moved her?”

  Crispin nodded. “Lucy is comfortably ensconced in a State cell, and I spoke with all of the Nottingham prisoners.” He nodded toward the list and flipped Nick the empty purse. “Conversation in Newgate is not to be had cheaply. The guards must retire at a young age to the seaside with the bribes they receive.”

  “Mr. Selkirk?” Nick asked.

  “He was worried for Lady Lucy and concerned that Tom was nowhere to be found.”

  “Why was Tom not taken by the soldiers?”

  “Evidently he slipped away before they could catch him. In the confusion, it was several hours before they noticed he was missing.”

  “What of Mrs. Selkirk?”

  “Taken to the gaol in Nottingham but released.”

  Nick rubbed his forehead. At least Mrs. Selkirk had been spared the humiliation of Newgate.

  The carriage pulled to a stop in front of a familiar shabby edifice. Crispin nodded toward the building. “Do you think she’ll help us?”

  For the first time that day, Nick smiled. “When has she not, my friend? If it were not for her, we’d both have been fleeced of our purse, if not our fortunes, the moment we came down from university.”

  The two men climbed from the carriage and strode up the walk toward Madame St. Cloud’s. Halfway to the door, Nick stopped. Seated on the steps of the brothel was Lucy’s stepsister, Esmerelda Fortune.

  At the sight of Nick and Crispin, the girl rose to her feet. Deep shadows beneath her eyes dominated her gaunt face.

  “Your Highness,” she began, her lips, hands, and knees all trembling uncontrollably.

  Anger, thick and fierce, filled Nick’s chest. The duchess had no doubt sent her unfortunate daughter on some errand of extortion, but he would not listen. Without so much as a lift of a finger of acknowledgment, he brushed by her.

  “I know where Lucy is.”

  Nick continued up the stairs, refusing to listen. He already knew anything the girl had to tell him.

  “And I know where Tom Selkirk is as well.” Esmerelda Fortune raised her chin in defiance, and Nick stopped in his tracks.

  Crispin looked puzzled. “How could you possibly know that?”

  The girl blushed. “I was there, when he made his way to Nottingham House.”

  “He is there? At your mother’s?” Nick moved back down the steps and planted himself in front of Esmerelda.

  “No. He is in Newgate, just as Lucy is.” She cringed when she delivered the information, as if expecting him to strike her. As much as he disliked her, Nick felt a brief flash of pity. Was she truly there to offer information or had she simply yet to name her price?

  “Why should I believe you? Perhaps your appearance here is part of some stratagem that the duchess has conceived?”

  The girl had the grace to blush. “I have been complicit, Your Highness, in many sins against my stepsister, but even I know that my mother has gone beyond the pale this time.” The determined set of her jaw lent conviction to her words.

  Nick stood silently for a long moment, his eyes boring into the girl’s as he waited for her to tear her gaze away. Her eyes, though, held his steadily until even he was satisfied of the veracity of her statement.

  Crispin stepped forward. “This information may help us with our plan.”

  “Yes.” Nick rubbed his chin. “Tom’s presence may be just the thing to help us free Lucy.” Lucy. He ached to hold her, and he did not dare allow his mind to imagine what might have happened if Crispin’s bribes had not worked. As it was he could barely remain inside his skin thinking of her in the relative safety and comfort of a State apartment.

  “You will free her, then?” Esmerelda asked. “She does not deserve this.”

  “You have my word, madam.” Nick could perhaps have been more kindly to the girl, but he was still too appalled at the family’s treatment of Lucy to be very forgiving.

  “Then I will go.” She stepped between the two men and walked toward the street.

  “A moment, madam.” Nick might despise the girl for her complicity in her mother’s sins, but he could hardly let her go traipsing across London alone. “My carriage stands ready. It will convey you to Mayfair and can set you down near Nottingham House without undue notice.”

  Esmerelda’s cheeks flushed with gratitude, and Nick saw a glimpse of what the girl might have been like, had she not been so worn down by her termagant of a mother. Esmerelda murmured her thanks and then disappeared into the waiting carriage. Nick turned to Crispin once again.

  “I’ve half a mind to find my gardener’s smock and bribe my way into Lucy’s cell tonight.”

  “You can’t, Nick.” Crispin laid a hand on his arm. “Not unless you want to jeopardize her freedom. I know patience appears to be a very small virtue at present, but you must be high-minded a bit longer.”

  Nick’s shoulders slumped as they turned toward Madame St. Cloud’s door and lifted the knocker. Patience had never been numbered among his strongest attributes. A moment later, the door opened, and Henny squealed with delight at the sight of her two favorite customers.

  IT TOOK THE better part of two days to put the plan into place, and Nick felt every hour of the forty-eight as if they were his last. The only thought that saved his sanity was the knowledge that Lucy rested comfortably in two well-furnished rooms inside the prison. Nick’s plan was costly, and his debt to Crispin mounted with each passing hour. A basket of food, a dress, a bottle of brandy—one by one each found its way to Lucy Charming’s new abode.

  At long last, though, the preparations were complete. Late in the morning of the fourth day since Lucy had been imprisoned, Nick and Crispin emerged from Madame St. Cloud’s, hailed a hackney, and set off for Newgate.

  THE SUMMER sun grew increasingly warm as the day lengthened, but Nick’s restlessness had passed. Now that the rescue had begun, his nerves were as calm as the surface of a Santadorran mountain lake on a still day.

  “There’s another one,” Crispin said as they watched a young boy, dressed in the familiar black clothes of a chimney sweep, slip through the doors to the prison.

  “How many in all?” Nick asked.

  “Fifteen. Mr. Cartwright said that every boy in the school demanded to be a part of the rescue.”

  Nick glanced at Crispin. “Are you sure you want to be a part of this? It’s quite illegal.”

  Crispin laughed. “Illegal it may be, but I began this bumblebroth with my matchmaking schemes, and I will see it through.”

  Nick could not match Crispin’s lighter tone. “Thank you, my friend.” He forced a smile. “Perhaps someday I might play matchmaker for you.”

  “You always were the vengeful type,” Crispin shot back with a grin, and then his face grew serious. “Be happy with her, Nick. She was made for you, you know, and you for her.”

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sp; A knot formed in his solar plexus. “I’m quite aware of that, my friend. I can only hope that the lady has come to the same realization, along with a generous measure of forgiveness.”

  A sharp rap on the carriage interrupted their exchange. Nick glanced around and came face-to-face with his father. Without waiting for an invitation, King Leopold wrenched open the door and vaulted into the hackney.

  “Cris!” Nick knew who the culprit was immediately.

  Crispin did not flinch. “Humor me. I seem to be having a streak of good fortune when it comes to furthering alliances.”

  “Good morning, Wellstone,” his father said, nodding to Crispin. “Nick.” The one syllable managed to convey a lifetime of parental disapproval.

  Crispin cleared his throat. “I know what you said, Nick, but be reasonable. Your chances of leaving the country greatly improve if you can use your father’s consequence as a smokescreen.”

  The king regarded Nick with concern. “Lord Wellstone has told me everything.”

  Nick wanted to ignore his father, but the truth of Crispin’s words rang in his head. Which mattered more, his pride or Lucy’s life? He’d already answered that question when he’d accepted that he must return to Santadorra.

  “Splendid.” Nick tried to keep the sarcasm from his voice, but old habits died slow deaths. “Then we shall have plenty of time for you to lecture me regarding the proper behavior of a prince. It will be another half hour, at least, before all of the climbing boys are inside the prison.”

  “Good. Then that will give me ample time to say how pleased I was to discover that my son had married a reform-minded hoyden in an Anglican ceremony, without consulting his sovereign and father.”

  Touché, Nick thought. “You wanted me wed. You and Prinny concocted the scheme. I merely saw it through to its completion.”

  The king barked with laughter. “You give no quarter, do you, lad? But then, by Jove, you ask none either.”