As Mother blinked at that, Lady Ursula’s face lit up. “I’ll travel with him and show him.”
“No, you will not,” he said firmly. “It’s bad enough that I must leave to take care of certain matters in London. I can excuse myself as needing to handle an emergency regarding the conference. But if you leave, who have no excuse for doing so, it will spark too much speculation. It’s imperative that no one else know of Hart’s mission—not the count, not Prince Leopold, no one—and that means you must stay here. Do you understand?”
She bobbed her head. “It’s not as if Prince Leopold and I are very friendly these days. I think he blames me for Aurore’s refusal of his suit. He probably expected me to influence her to accept.”
“Ah.” That explained why Leopold had treated her so coldly.
Taking some paper and a pencil from a writing desk, he handed them to her. “Write it down. Draw a map if you have to.”
It didn’t take her long. And as soon as she was done, Hart headed off. Gregory sent Lady Ursula back up to bed, but there was no getting rid of his mother until she learned exactly what was going on.
He’d been dreading this, but she needed to know, given that her life might be upended, too. He sat on the settee next to her.
Before he could even begin, she asked, “Is this about Danworth?”
He tensed. “What makes you think that?”
“Because the day after you warned me of people asking about your father’s death, Danworth struck up a conversation with me about it. He made some comment about how hard it must have been for you to see your father die so tragically. I told him in no uncertain terms that you were away at school.”
Hmm. What if Danworth had been bluffing about that shopkeeper? What if he’d attempted to get the truth out of Mother and hadn’t succeeded, so he’d just made something up?
“Thanks for telling me, Mother. Yes, it has to do with Danworth. And as I guess you’ve deduced, it also concerns a different princess from the one who is here—although Danworth doesn’t seem to know that. Here’s the thing . . .”
It took him a while to tell her everything. When he was done, she seemed surprisingly calm.
“Someone was bound to find out the truth someday. I suppose we’re lucky we’ve managed to hide it for this long.”
“My plan will work, Mother,” he said. “All I’m asking is that you continue to keep quiet unless forced into testifying in court. But I honestly don’t think it will come to that.”
“I hope not.” She patted his hand. “You’re a good son.”
They sat a moment in silence. Then she dragged in a heavy breath. “So you mean to marry this actress/princess, do you?”
That put him instantly on his guard. “I do.”
“Does she love you?”
“She says she does,” he said, his voice more unsteady than he would have liked.
His mother caught his tone, as always. “And do you love her?”
“You too?” he said irritably. “What does that matter? You loved Father. Look how that turned out.”
“True. But love is always a risk. Indeed, I find it strange that you will take any number of risks in your career—fomenting schemes and hiring spies and whatnot—without a thought, but you won’t take a chance on love.”
He scowled. “That’s different.”
“How?”
Because love could rip out your soul and tromp on it, leaving you with nothing. “Because when I take risks in my career, what results is by my choice. If I take a risk with my heart, the results depend on someone else’s choice.”
“On her being a good person, you mean. Unlike your father.”
Mother knew how to cut right to the point. “I know already that she’s a good person.” He’d seen it in myriad ways. That wasn’t the issue.
“Then forgive me if I’m wrong,” his mother went on softly, “but it seems to me that you have already put your heart at risk, or you wouldn’t be fighting her over sacrificing herself for your benefit. You wouldn’t be dreaming up a scheme that could ruin your future, just for the chance of being with her.”
She rose to lay her hand on his shoulder. “I think your heart has already chosen, son. You just need to let it have its way. Otherwise, you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering if, because you were too afraid to take the risk, you missed your one chance at finding the person who makes you whole.”
With a squeeze of his shoulder, she left.
Long after she was gone, he sat pondering her words and considering how he’d lived his life. Perhaps Mother was right. He’d spent twenty years thinking that insulating himself from emotion would protect him from feeling too much. And it had worked. It had made him numb. To the world, to people . . . to the realities of his own childhood agonies.
It had also kept him from living a full life. Enjoying his own estate, having friends without thinking what purpose they served. Loving a woman who might love him back.
Thickness clogged his throat. He’d been ignoring the needs of his heart to avoid having the pain of a broken one, but he had lost the joy of a full one in the process. So perhaps it was time he considered the needs of his heart.
Because if he didn’t, he might lose the only thing he’d ever truly wanted.
Twenty-Three
Wanting to be sure to catch Lord Hartley before he left, Monique had asked Flora to wake her an hour before dawn. She’d considered speaking to him the night before about letting her join him on his trip to London, where she could then catch a steam packet to Dieppe, but she’d worried that he might reveal her plans to Gregory. So she’d decided it was best to take him by surprise just as he was leaving.
She’d then packed a large reticule with a few essentials. None of Aurore’s gowns and lavish nightwear would be going with her, since they weren’t hers to take. Instead, she was wearing the clothes she’d gone to Calais in.
“Flora,” she now said, “would you please go down and ask Lord Hartley if I might have a word with him before he departs?”
“Of course, Princess.”
Monique had just finished dabbing perfume in all the important spots when Flora came back in, sooner than she’d expected.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” she said, looking a bit anxious, “but his lordship left for London some hours ago. I believe Lord Fulkham asked him to leave earlier than planned.”
Monique stared at her, stunned. Gregory must have seen the letter earlier than she’d anticipated, and then packed Lord Hartley off to prevent her from leaving. Why, that . . . that devious canaille! How dare he! He knew perfectly well she couldn’t just set off for Dieppe on her own.
Ooh, she would give him a piece of her mind!
She marched out her door and down to Gregory’s bedchamber. She didn’t even have to burst in, for his door was open and he was ordering some footmen to carry out his trunks.
She waited until they had disappeared downstairs before she marched in and slammed the door behind her.
He turned, his face lighting up. “Ah, there you are. I was just coming to—”
“Take your leave?” she snapped. “Which you would not allow me to do?”
A shadow crossed his features. “Hear me out, my sweet. I have a plan to save us.”
“I have one, too.” She stood there, shaking with anger. “But you won’t let me implement it because everything has to be your way, in your time, even though it will mean . . .” She choked up, thinking of him burning his future down about his ears.
Afraid that she might burst into tears, she turned on her heel and headed back for the door. “Well, you follow your plan. But I am going to the count and demand that he return me to Dieppe. He can do as he wishes with me, but at least—”
“Wait, darling, please—”
“I will not!” she cried, and reached for the door handle. “There’s no reason to!”
“I love you, Monique. Isn’t that reason enough?”
For a moment, she thought she had imagin
ed the words. She froze, her hand still on the handle. “What did you say?”
He came closer. “I love you. I’m in love with you. Or, in case you don’t understand it in English, je t’aime.”
Wary, she turned to face him. “You’re just saying that to keep me from leaving.”
“No. I do want to keep you from leaving. But that’s not why I’m saying it.” His eyes shone with sincerity. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”
Her pulse began to race. “How can that be?”
Uttering a self-deprecating laugh, he said, “I’m not sure. I’m still . . . getting used to the idea myself.” He neared her with caution, as a rider might approach a spooked mount. “I always said that love was reckless, unwise. Because my career—my ambition, as you call it—had always been about assuring outcomes, measuring risks, managing the future. Being in control.”
“The way you weren’t in control with your father,” she whispered.
He glanced away, naked vulnerability in his face. “Right.”
It should have occurred to her before. The rigid rules, the iron restraint he kept over his emotions, were necessary to him because he’d had no say over his father’s abuse, no way to change it. “Your ambition has always been about not being that little boy at the mercy of a cruel father with an unpredictable fist.”
His gaze shot to her unerringly. “Right again. About not being that little boy who’d persisted in hoping for some crumb of affection, even when the man whom he wished would offer it was incapable of that.”
A lump lodged in her throat. He was opening his heart to her, and she had never thought it would happen. Despite the frantic beating of her own heart, she kept very still, eager to hear him say it all, needing to know that he meant it.
“After Father . . .” He dragged in a ragged breath. “After I killed him, I swore never to let myself be that vulnerable again. Never to let my emotions guide my actions. I thought if I just worked at it, I could control how I felt, as I controlled everything else.”
A faint smile crossed his lips. “But if I’ve learned anything in the past few days, it’s that controlling one’s heart is impossible. The heart takes its own course, no matter how hard one tries to guide it. And mine . . .” He reached for her, his eyes luminous with emotion. “Mine set a course for you from the moment I met you. I just . . . didn’t want to admit it.”
“Oh, Gregory,” she whispered, lifting her hand to his cheek with the first stirrings of joy in her soul. “My heart set a course for you, too. No matter what path I take, my heart will always be yours.”
He caught her hand in his, then turned it to kiss the palm. “Then put your faith in me, mon amour. I meant it when I said I had a plan that I think will work. I’m rather adept at scheming, as you’ve noticed. But you must trust me. Can you? Because without you, my plan will surely fail.” His voice dropped into his usual ironic drawl. “And then you and I will have to escape to the Continent and leave my mother’s lovely gardens behind just so we can be together.”
“I wouldn’t want that,” she said through a voice thick with tears. Choking them down, she tried to match his tone. “You wouldn’t like living on the Continent. Too many comedies and operas being performed, and not enough tragedies.”
“I will live the rest of my days in an opera house if that’s the only way to have you as my wife,” he said fiercely, gripping her hand in both of his. “But I think we can do better. Will you let me do this for you? For us both? Will you take a chance on me?”
She hesitated only a moment before nodding. “But only if you tell me the plan. We do this together, or not at all.”
A brilliant smile broke over his face. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now, here’s what we’re going to do . . .”
Monique paced the London town house, scarcely able to contain herself. It had been three days since she and Gregory had professed their love and he’d left for London. Two of them she’d spent at Canterbury Court, pretending to be Princess Aurore, to be unaware of the treacheries swirling beneath the surface around them. She’d fended off the flirtations of both the Duc de Pontalba and Prince Leopold while praying that Gregory could make his mad plan work.
At least in the country, she’d been able to avoid the count, since he and Gregory’s mother seemed to have struck up a friendship. They’d been very chummy, though Monique wondered if they would stay that way once the count found out she meant to marry Gregory and not some fellow of his choosing.
On the drive back yesterday evening, however, she’d been closeted with the count and Lady Ursula for hours, and the enormity of what was about to happen today in London had hit her.
Everything could go to hell in a short while. Not knowing how Gregory’s machinations had gone while he’d been in London was driving her mad, but he’d insisted they not see each other until the vote today. He couldn’t risk Danworth’s catching wind of their plans. Better that the wretch not know what had hit him until it happened.
The count entered the drawing room. “It’s time to go, niece. Ursula awaits us in the carriage.”
With a nod, she followed him out the door. But as soon as the carriage set off with the three of them, she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. If this went wrong . . .
“Are you all right?” Lady Ursula asked.
“Just . . . nervous,” she said.
The count reached forward to pat her knee. “Relax, niece. It’s almost over now.”
His faux kindness was too much to be borne, given all that had happened and the way she was strung tight as a wire over the stage. “Almost over for you, perhaps, Uncle.” She couldn’t hide the resentment in her voice. “But if the delegates vote for one of the other candidates, I will be returning to Dieppe forthwith, no better off than I was before.”
At least that was what she would have been doing, if not for Gregory.
A flush rose in his cheeks. “Actually, I should have told you before, but . . . well, I still intend to bring you back to Chanay once this is done, no matter what the vote is. I always did.”
She gaped at him. “What?!” Then she shot Lady Ursula an accusing glance. “Did you know this?”
“No, I swear!”
The count crossed his arms over his chest, looking sullen. “I had to make sure you saw the charade out to the end. That you put the full force of your ability into it.”
Rage roared up inside her. “You mean you only threatened to abandon me and Grand-maman to spur me on? To make sure you got your money’s worth out of me?”
He shrugged. “You could look at it that way.”
Oh, that was . . . She couldn’t believe . . . She was going to kill him! All of this had been avoidable! If she’d known that the count was predisposed to help her, no matter what, she could have told him about Gregory from the beginning, and they could have worked matters out to determine how best to proceed. If Gregory had known the reasons for her masquerade, he might better have countenanced it. He might not right now be preparing to lose everything, if necessary, to gain her.
That brought her up short. She couldn’t regret that. Or the circumstances that had led to her finding love with Gregory. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t still furious with her great-uncle.
“What a truly awful thing to do,” she snapped. “I don’t want you to take care of Grand-maman. She would be better off in a garret somewhere than with the likes of you, damn you!”
“Now, niece—”
“No! I shall not listen. When this is over, I want nothing more to do with you. I shall marry Lord Fulkham, and Grand-maman will live with us.”
Lady Ursula smiled, having obviously already figured out how things were going with Gregory.
But the count scoffed. “Marry Fulkham? He would never marry an actress. It would hurt his career.”
“But I’m not just an actress, am I?” she said bitterly. “I’m third in line for the throne behind Grand-maman and some great-aunt of mine.”
She had the great sati
sfaction of watching him blanch before his gaze shot to Lady Ursula. “You told her?”
“Not I. Lord Fulkham told her.”
Confusion clouded his features. “But then he would have had to know—”
“My true identity,” Monique finished. “Yes, he knew from the beginning, because he’d met me years ago. And I was too afraid to tell you because of your stupid threats. Instead, I lived in terror that he would expose me.”
She glanced out to see them pulling up in front of the assembly hall where the conference had been held. “Oh, why am I even bothering to tell you? It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“But truly, niece,” her uncle said. “He means to marry you?”
A footman opened the door to the carriage and bowed to her. “Your Highness. They’re waiting for you inside.”
She paused to stare at her uncle. “Yes, marry me. But before then, he means to risk everything for me. So just stay out of our way, will you? Because if you ruin this for him and me—”
“No, no, I won’t,” he said hastily.
“Good. Because if you do, Uncle, I swear I shall never speak to you again.”
Then, lifting her head and taking on the mantle of Princess Aurore for the last time, she descended from the carriage and went to meet her fate.
Twenty-Four
Gregory stood backstage at the assembly hall, his stomach in upheaval and his heart racing. Hart wasn’t here, despite having sent a message earlier saying he would arrive there soon. Where the devil was he? Something must have happened. And if he didn’t get here in time . . .
“My lord, they’re ready to begin,” a servant said.
Damn. He would have to stall the proceedings somehow.
But that shouldn’t be difficult. The conference had been full of boring speeches on the importance of keeping Belgium neutral. Surely he could manage one of those.
With a steadying breath, he walked out onto the stage. And that’s when he saw her. His love, sitting in the audience with her trusting gaze fixed on him.
Three days without her had only firmed his determination not to fail her . . . or his mother or any of the other people dependent upon him. In those three days, he’d learned much, uncovered much, and even spoken to Wellington, who’d confirmed that Danworth had made a trip to Calais around the time of Aurore’s poisoning. It had been clear that Wellington had never been involved in any of this, and Gregory had promised not to drag him into it.
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