Ian did not want to think about how long it had been since his needs in that particular area had been met. Too long. He shot a warning glance at the servant. “Harper, that’s enough. Any more impudence from you, and I shall begin a search for a new valet.”
The manservant, who had been valeting him since his fifteenth birthday, wasn’t the least bit intimidated. The censure in Ian’s voice slid off him like water off a duck. “Do you a world of good to loosen your cravat once in a while, sir, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“I do mind.” Ian drummed his fingers against the table, focusing his thoughts on important matters. “Why fetch me to Gibraltar?” he wondered again as he considered and rejected various possibilities. “Morocco is stable. Things in Spain are quiet. As for the French, well, our relations with them aren’t good, but that’s nothing new. I cannot imagine what the trouble is.”
“Something to do with those Italians again, I say.”
Ian hoped not. “I don’t see how that is possible. The Italian situation is resolved. The Treaty of Bolgheri has been signed, the Congress of Vienna remains intact, and Princess Elena will be marrying the Duke of Ausberg when she reaches the age of twenty-one.”
“Talk is, she doesn’t want to marry him.”
“She will do her duty. She has no choice.”
Harper shrugged. “That’s as may be, but girls are most unaccountable, sir. Especially the Italian ones,” he added with feeling. “It’s the temperament.”
If there was anyone who ought to understand the Italian temperament, it was Ian. He’d spent a lot of time in that part of the world these past few years, pouring the soothing words of diplomacy over the Prince of Bolgheri and the Dukes of Venezia, Lombardy, and Tuscany, to preserve peace in the region and keep Italian nationalists from rebelling against the Austrian Empire, but despite his many trips to the region, he did not understand the Italians. He found their passions too dramatic and their moods too volatile for his fastidious British nature.
Ian gave up his speculations as a futile exercise and rolled up the map. Regardless of where they proposed to send him, he would do his duty. He always did. Nonetheless, when the Mary Eliza arrived at Gibraltar, and Ian presented himself at Government House, he could not help being surprised by his next assignment.
“You’re sending me to London?”
“Not I, Sir Ian,” Lord Stanton corrected him. “These orders are from the Prime Minister himself. You are to depart for home at once. I have dispatched Sir Gervase Humphrey to Constantinople to take your place and deal with the Turkish situation.”
Sir Gervase hadn’t enough experience. The Turks would make mincemeat of him. Ian, of course, refrained from expressing his opinion of his colleague. “What is the purpose of sending me to London?”
“This isn’t any sort of demotion or reprimand. Quite the contrary, in fact. Consider this assignment a reward for all your hard work.” Stanton clapped him on the shoulder, smiling. “You’re going home, man. I’d have expected you to be overjoyed at the prospect. I’m going home myself in a couple months, and I’m delighted.”
Ian wasn’t delighted, and he was far more concerned with the reasons than the destination. “What diplomatic matter in London requires my attention?”
Stanton’s expression became serious. “Sir Ian, you worked long and hard on the Italian situation, then there was that whole Dalmatian debacle, and then we sent you straight on to handle the Turks. You’ve only been home half a dozen times in the past four years and never for more than a few weeks. That’s asking too much of any man, even you. So, the Prime Minister consulted with His Majesty, and they decided to send you back to England for a bit. It’s almost June, the midst of the London season, you know. You’ll have the chance for some pleasant company and good society. Think of it as a holiday.”
“I don’t need a holiday,” Ian said, the sharp reply out of his mouth before he could stop it. Remembering the words of his valet, he pressed two fingers to his forehead until he regained his composure. It wasn’t like him to be so testy. Perhaps he did need a rest, but that was hardly a reason to send him home.
He lifted his head and let his hand fall to his side. “William, we’ve known each other a long time. Between ourselves, could we stop doing the dance of diplomacy and come to the point? Why are they sending me home?”
“It’s not a crisis by any means.” Stanton pulled out a chair from the table and sat down. “But it is important. Prince Cesare of Bolgheri is coming for a three-month state visit in August, and they want you to handle the preparations. But this is really about Cesare’s daughter.”
The Italians again. Blast Harper for being right.
“Princess Elena is in London?” Ian also sat down, taking the chair opposite.
“No, not Elena. The other one.”
“What other one?”
“Cesare’s illegitimate daughter.”
Ian raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know he had one.”
“I’m sure he has a dozen, but this girl, Lucia, is a special case. Her mother was Cesare’s favorite mistress. Seems he actually loved the woman. Years ago, of course.”
“He fell in love with his mistress? Hard lines for a prince.”
“He was quite a young man at the time—rash, hot-tempered, unmarried, and still sowing wild oats. A few years later, when he married Sophia of Tuscany, he set his mistress aside and sent the daughter off to live with her mother’s relations in the countryside. He paid for her support, but he never publicly acknowledged her as his daughter.”
“Cesare embarrassed over a bastard child?” Ian could not credit it. “Surely not.”
“Not Cesare. The Duke of Tuscany demanded it during the negotiations of Sophia’s marriage settlement. Later, Lucia was put in one of those academies for young ladies somewhere in Europe under her mother’s name. She’s been to half a dozen schools in Switzerland and France, but the girl’s wild as a gypsy. Three years ago some scandal happened with a young man—a blacksmith—and right under the noses of the governesses at Madame Something-or-Other’s Academy outside Paris.”
“How old is this girl?”
“Twenty-two. She was nineteen at the time. Anyway, nothing untoward happened to her, if you understand me.” Stanton actually blushed. “The incident was all hushed up, Cesare got the young man married off to someone else and had Lucia locked up in a convent.”
“To ensure there were no blacksmiths in the future.”
“Exactly so. Problem was, the girl kept slipping out, doing God knows what. Cesare decided the only way to control her and avoid a public scandal was to have her right under his nose. He had her brought back to Bolgheri about six months ago and put her in an isolated wing of the palace until he could figure out what to do with her.”
“And?”
For an answer, Stanton pulled a folded newspaper out of his dispatch case and tossed it across the table. It was clearly a scandal sheet. Ian scanned the article, quickly translating the Italian words, then he set the paper down without a change of expression. “So much for keeping the girl a secret. How accurate is this description of the incident?”
“They got their facts straight for the most part.”
“What about Elena?”
“Nothing happened to either of the girls. They wanted to go out for Carnival, just for a lark, you know. The guards, who were off duty at the time, escorted them back to the palace.”
“They were not physically harmed?”
“No. Doctors examined them, and both girls are still…” His voice trailed off in acute embarrassment.
“Virgo intacta?” Ian supplied, Latin being the most tactful way of putting it.
Stanton gave a stiff nod. “Deuce of a mess if they hadn’t been. Anyway, Cesare banished her, sending her off to live with cousins in Genoa, and he decided it was high time to find her a husband, one as far away from Bolgheri as possible.”
“He acted for the best. The girl is clearly a bad influence on her sister.”
Ian fingered the edge of the three-month-old scandal sheet in front of him. “No success hushing up her indiscretions this time, however.”
“Unfortunately not. Cesare was hoping to keep the incident quiet until he could get the girl married off, but as you can see, the story got out, along with rumors of her wild behavior. Like you, no one knew about this girl, and now word of her existence and this Carnival escapade is spreading throughout Italy. Prince Cesare finally admitted the girl was his own and granted her his surname of Valenti. His wife, Princess Sophia, is furious about it.”
“Perhaps, but Cesare has no choice. His acknowledgment makes the girl better marriage material.” Ian shoved the scandal sheet aside. “What about the Duke of Ausberg? Does he wish to back out of marriage to Elena for her part in this?”
“No, no. Elena is being seen as the victim of her half sister’s influence. The marriage is going forward, and every aspect of the treaty remains intact.”
“Then what is the problem?”
“Lucia wasn’t in Genoa a month before she ran off. We have word she got herself to London and is living with her mother.”
“Scandal sheets notwithstanding, if Elena suffered no harm from the incident, the Duke of Ausberg still wants to marry her, the treaty remains intact, Lucia’s living with her mother, and all’s well that ends well, where do I come in?”
“Cesare has a great deal of admiration for your diplomatic skills. He feels you are the perfect person to resolve the situation.”
“What situation?”
“It’s going to be tricky.”
Ian leaned across the table, striving for patience. “What situation?” he repeated.
“While you are in London, you are to arrange a marriage for Lucia.”
Ian stiffened in his chair. “You must be joking.”
“You know I never joke about international relations. Cesare wants to get the girl married before she can cause the House of Bolgheri any further embarrassment. You are to find a suitable husband for her, make the diplomatic arrangements, and assist with negotiation of the marriage settlements.”
“I have been removed from an important diplomatic mission in Anatolia to play matchmaker for some chit of a girl?”
“She is the daughter of a prince,” Stanton reminded him. “And you played matchmaker for her sister.”
“That was different. There was a treaty involved. The Congress of Vienna was at stake. Damn it, William—” Ian could feel his temper fraying, and that would never do. He bit back the frustrated words on the tip of his tongue and took a deep breath.
“Cesare does not want the girl back in Bolgheri for obvious reasons,” Stanton went on. “Arranging a suitable marriage for her is the only alternative. Give her a strong-minded husband and a few children, and she’ll settle down.”
“And if she doesn’t, she’s her husband’s problem?”
“Quite. Prince Cesare also desires to strengthen his alliance with us, and feels an English husband for her would be best. Catholic, though, of course. We have agreed to assist. She’s already in London anyway. Get the girl launched into English society and find some suitable Catholic peer to marry her. Cesare gives you carte blanche. You will then assist his government’s envoy and the groom’s family in making the negotiations of the marriage settlement. They will be substantial, for the prince is providing an enormous dowry and income to get her off his hands. Before he goes home in October, Cesare expects a wedding. You will make that happen.”
Lovely. A long and illustrious career of preventing wars, negotiating vital trade agreements, and preserving treaties had come to this. “Finding a husband for her could be handled by anyone in the diplomatic corps. She is rebellious and troublesome, I grant you. She’s illegitimate, and her reputation has now been a bit damaged, but she does possess royal blood. The House of Medina isn’t the richest principality in Europe, but it isn’t the poorest either. Is she homely?”
“Quite the contrary. I’m told she’s very pretty.”
“Well, there you are. The girl’s pretty, the father’s a prince, there’s plenty of money for a dowry. Despite her indiscretions, I’m sure there are prominent Catholic families in Britain who would be willing to connect with the House of Bolgheri through marriage. Especially with such a generous income from Cesare.”
“Yes, but the prince insists that the girl’s husband be a peer and possess substantial estates. No fortune hunters.”
“I daresay, but surely there is someone already at Whitehall who could arrange all this. Why do you need me?”
“Cesare has asked for you specifically. He holds you in very high esteem and trusts your judgment. You are also well-respected by every peer in Britain, and you would facilitate matters nicely. Bolgheri is a desirable alliance for us, as you are well aware, and this marriage would further strengthen our influence on the Italian peninsula. We agreed to put your skills at Cesare’s disposal. You do need a holiday, and you’ll be in London anyway. It’s perfect all round.”
Perfect was not how Ian would have described it. “Ten years of faithful service to my country, and I am reduced to this.”
“There’s more.” Stanton gave an apologetic little cough. “You won’t like it.”
“I am now a marriage broker for wayward girls,” he muttered, jerking at his cravat. “I already don’t like it.”
“Her mother is Francesca.”
“Good God. You mean to tell me that this girl’s mother, Prince Cesare’s former mistress, is England’s most infamous courtesan?”
“Not quite so infamous nowadays. She’s nearly fifty.”
“She’s been the toast of London for years. She has bedded more peers and ruined more fortunes than I can count. From what I hear, she’s bankrupting Lord Chesterfield nowadays.”
“All that’s quite true, I’m afraid.”
“Well, there you are.” Ian tried to dredge up the discretion for which he was so well-known and the diplomatic finesse that had made him such a valuable asset to the British Empire, but for the life of him, he could not manage it at this moment. “What gentleman is going to want England’s most notorious demimondaine for a mother-in-law, especially when the odds are he’s bedded her himself? As to the daughter, from the way she’s managed her life thus far, that scandal-ridden girl seems more suited to follow in her mother’s footsteps than to become the wife of a British peer. At least that’s what any gentleman I approach on her behalf is going to think. With a mother like Francesca, where am I going to find the daughter a titled husband with money, and a Catholic one, at that?”
“Cesare’s orders are that the girl be removed from her mother’s house and that there be no further contact with the woman. Seems the mother visited Lucia often when she was in those French finishing schools, and Cesare feels her influence is part of the reason the girl has turned out so wild.”
“No doubt, but—”
“Lucia is to be placed with a suitable chaperone and launched into English society while you search for an amenable groom and facilitate introductions.”
“What of the girl? Does she have any say in the choice of her bridegroom?”
“No. His position, suitability, and willingness to marry her are what matter. Cesare trusts you to find the best match.”
Ian was not flattered.
Stanton held out a sheaf of documents to him. “Here are your official orders from the Prime Minister, along with the specifics of Cesare’s dower and a dossier of the girl’s life.”
“Such a coup for my diplomatic career,” he muttered with a tinge of bitterness as he took the documents.
“We have every confidence you will fulfill this assignment with your usual skill, Sir Ian.” Stanton stood up with an air of finality. “We know you will do your duty.”
Those words were a sharp reminder. Ian rose to his feet. He cleared his throat, straightened his cravat back to its original perfect knot, and with an effort, recovered his poise. “I always do my duty, Lord Stanton.”
With a stiff bow, he departed, but his duty did not stop him from spending the journey from Gibraltar to London cursing troublesome Italian girls and international politics.
Lucia loved living with Francesca. They shopped and talked and spent countless hours together. Deprived of her mother for all but a few short visits each year throughout most of her life, she felt that she and Mamma were a real family at last.
Francesca was a charming hostess with a small, intimate circle of friends. Her current lover, Lord Chesterfield, a confirmed bachelor, won Lucia’s approval at once because he was so obviously besotted with her mother. Being of the demimonde, Francesca cared little for the conventions of society. She also liked nothing better than scandalizing the respectable ladies of the ton.
For her part, Lucia was thoroughly enjoying herself. She was allowed to do what she liked and go where she wished, and she found that freedom lived up to all her expectations. Her mother gave her a generous allowance and all sorts of delightful suggestions on how to spend it. If anyone knew how to spend money, it was Francesca.
But one afternoon when Lucia had plans to go to Bond Street, she entered her mother’s bedchamber to see if Francesca desired to accompany her and found the other woman already occupied. She was being fitted into a blue velvet riding habit by her modiste.
“I’m afraid I can’t go with you today, darling. I have all sorts of plans. For one thing, my new riding habit has just arrived.”
“So I see.” Lucia studied her mother for a moment, appreciating how well the royal blue color complemented Francesca’s dark auburn hair. She also noticed that the modiste was not simply fitting the riding habit, but was in fact stitching the pieces of it together right on Francesca’s still-slender body, thereby achieving a skintight garment that would surely cause a scandal. “Are you wearing anything underneath that, Mamma?”
“Not a thing,” Francesca answered, lifting her arm so that the modiste could stitch the side seam of the bodice into place over her bare skin. “Shocking, aren’t I?”
Lucia walked over to the bed and fell back into the soft pillows lining the carved headboard. “Very shocking,” she agreed in amusement. “But that won’t stop the English ladies from rushing out to copy it. They’ll all be getting stitched into their riding habits within a week.”
Guilty Series Page 84