by Julia London
“Who?” Hollis asked.
“Prince Leopold, that’s who. He laughed.”
Hollis giggled. “Papa, I wish you could see how sparkly Caro is just now. At every mention of the prince, another spark shoots right off of her,” she said, squeezing Caroline’s knee. “She’s in love with him.”
Poppy gasped. “Another royal wedding!”
“Good Lord, not another one,” the judge moaned.
“Rest assured there won’t be another one,” Caroline said confidently, even if the mention of it sent a wave of shivers down her spine, just like those she’d felt at Eliza’s wedding.
“Why not?” Hollis asked. “It’s a lovely fairy tale dream to be an ordinary person and be swept off your feet by a true prince.”
“It is indeed a fairy tale, which is precisely why nothing will ever come of it. But I don’t mind, really. It’s been quite a lot of fun, and honestly, the reality hasn’t kept me from kissing him.”
Poppy and Hollis squealed at the same time.
“Heaven help you, Caroline Hawke!” the judge said disapprovingly over their shrieks of delight. “That sort of talk will see you ostracized from the very society you love to rule!”
Caroline laughed. “I haven’t yet gone out into the square and announced it, Your Honor. And really, is it so terrible? Men and women do share kisses. I’ve seen it happen time and again. I saw Lady Munro kiss Mr. Richard Williams at Kew Gardens just before we departed for Helenamar.”
“What? And you’re only telling me this now?” Hollis exclaimed.
“My point, if you will hear it, is that sort of affection should be reserved for husband and wife,” the judge said sternly. “Or at the very least, if you cannot contain your lust until you are married, for the gentleman who is to be your husband. What would Lord Hawke say to this?”
“He’d lock me away. For God’s sake, we must all swear to never tell him!” Caroline said, laughing.
“But...but aren’t you concerned about the maids, Caro?” Hollis asked.
“What maids?” the judge asked.
“Prince Leopold is notorious for a rather untoward preference for housemaids.”
“What?” Poppy exclaimed.
Hollis sighed. “Does no one in this house read my gazette? Did you not hear what happened in Arundel with the Norfolk maid?”
“No! Tell us!” Poppy said, inching forward on her seat.
“Hollis! You make it sound dreadful,” Caroline said. “The prince explained it to me. Norfolk was the one who was behaving badly. He was visiting the poor thing at night, if you take my meaning, and showering her with the sort of affections she did not want. And the prince, well...he helped her to escape. She was a Weslorian and I think he felt obliged.”
“Why would he feel obliged to help a Weslorian?” the judge asked.
“Well...” Caroline started, but paused. She didn’t quite know why.
“What did he do with her?” Hollis asked.
“What do you mean?”
“If he helped her to escape, what did he do with her? Where is she now?”
Caroline didn’t know the answer to this, either. She’d been so ready to accept his explanation so she’d not have to think poorly of him. “I...I really don’t know.” Her sparkle was rapidly dimming. What had he done with her? And the other one?
“Caro, you’d do well to keep your distance. Who knows what the man is about, really,” the judge cautioned her.
“Don’t look so distressed, darling. I didn’t mean to intrude on your joy in being the one and only Caroline Hawke,” Hollis said cheerfully. “Tell us, what’s next on your social calendar?”
“Oh, the, ah...the Pennybacker ball next week.” At the mention of the ball, she rallied out of her disappointment. “I have a new dress. The blue one, Hollis, remember?”
“It’s beautiful. I intend to wear the same dress I wore to Eliza’s ball—Oh! I nearly forgot. We’ve a letter from Eliza.” She went to the desk to fetch it and handed it to Caroline to read.
My dearest beloveds, I hope this letter finds you well and in good health. Papa, have you taken the willow-bark tea, and did it help the pain in your fingers? The queen swears it has reversed her own pain and sends her best wishes for you.
My husband and I have been at Tannymeade long enough that it is beginning to feel a bit like home. I have a dog now, a very big one. His head comes just under my hand, and there he keeps it most of the day. I’ve named him Bru, which in Alucian means loyal. It is quite beautiful here, but I will confess the ocean smells terribly briny in the afternoons and I have asked for the windows to be shut against the stench. It leaves us feeling too warm, but my prince has assured me that when the season turns to autumn, the smell will dissipate. Speaking of my husband, we’ve been trying diligently for an heir, and with God’s blessing, we might report happy news very soon.
News has reached us of Prince Leopold’s bad behavior, and the duke frets over him most days. He shall see his brother soon enough, I expect, as he said the king has sent word he is to return to Alucia at once.
The Alucians are very fond of their eel and dine on it at least twice a week. I can scarcely tolerate it, and one night, I grew so green when I saw it that my husband demanded they bring onion soup straightaway. The master of the kitchens has been terribly apologetic, and has attempted to serve that foul beast in different dishes, but alas, it does no good. I can’t tolerate it. I assured the poor man that I will delight in anything he prepares, save that wretched eel.
Eliza continued on about Tannymeade, and a clock she’d found in one of the staterooms that was not working properly, and how everyone around her had twittered with unease when she insisted she would like to fix it. She reported that the clock now resided in her dressing room, and she was spending her spare time in the repair of it. There was more, but for once Caroline did not hang on Eliza’s every word. The words relaying the message that they knew of Leopold’s “bad behavior” and the king had sent for him danced before her eyes.
When Caroline finally took her leave, she grew steadily despondent in the carriage ride home. She wasn’t ready for him to leave, in spite of all the questions about him. What a strange, perplexing feeling it was to have doubts and questions about a person and still desire them. But when she thought of his leaving, the doubts gave way to complete despair. How would her life be then? What would amuse her? And how could she ever hope to look at another gentleman and feel the same sort of excitement and anticipation she did when he was near?
Caroline was such a fool. She’d known since Eliza’s wedding that it would lead nowhere, and after his treatment of her in Helenamar, she hadn’t even liked him very much. But oh, how she’d kept at it until she did like him. Until she loved him. And she did love him, she could feel it deep in her bones.
The truth was that she’d be desperately wounded when he left and she’d be forced to marry a stranger and pretend to esteem him and wish every waking day that that stranger was Leopold.
It was the most dreadful fate she could imagine.
Caroline was so lost in thought that she didn’t really notice the two gentlemen standing outside her home when she disembarked from the carriage. She smiled and nodded and moved to pass them on her way to the gate of her house. But then one of them said, “Lady Caroline?”
She paused and glanced back at them. “Yes?”
“Mr. Drummond, at your service,” said one. He looked like someone’s kindly grandfather, tall and stately. He touched the brim of his hat as he handed her a calling card. She looked at the inscription. The gentleman was from the foreign secretary’s office. She frowned with confusion and glanced up.
Mr. Drummond’s smile turned kinder. “Oh—this is Mr. Pritchard,” he said, nodding to the silent man behind him. “Same office.”
She stared at them, trying to understand this intrusion.
Mr. Drummond stepped forward. “If you would be so kind as to indulge us, Lady Caroline?”
“Shouldn’t you speak with my brother?”
“Oh, undoubtedly. But we would like a word with you, as well.”
Caroline’s pulse began to race. She glanced uneasily toward the gate.
“We could speak here, if you like. It won’t take a moment. We should like to ask a few questions about an acquaintance of yours.”
“Who?”
“His Royal Highness Prince Leopold of Alucia.”
Caroline was stunned that she gave no reaction to his name at all, because in her mind, she shrieked and fell back against the gate. She didn’t know what this was about, but she was certain she didn’t want to have this conversation. “What of him?”
“An...accusation has been made against him.”
Good God, what had he done now?
“It’s a bit complicated, but to put it succinctly, there is some suspicion that the prince might be plotting with the Weslorians. With his uncle Felix, specifically.”
She had no idea who they were talking about. Who was his uncle Felix? Plotting what? Oh, how she’d wished she’d listened more carefully to Hollis on the voyage to Helenamar, when she’d tried in vain to educate Caroline about the history of Alucia.
“His uncle is the half brother of his father the king. I am sure you are aware of the rift between the brothers?”
She did know something about that, but at the moment, she could hardly say what.
“Recently, here in England, we’ve uncovered a plot by the prince’s uncle in Wesloria to dethrone the prince’s father. You may recall the unfortunate murder of an Alucian gentleman last year?”
Caroline stared at this man in disbelief. Of course she remembered it. “Yes.”
“There is some...speculation that Prince Leopold has aligned with his uncle.”
“Impossible,” Caroline said immediately.
“Oh, I should think so,” Mr. Drummond agreed, all too readily. “But so that we may end any speculation, might we ask you a question or two?”
Caroline’s head was spinning wildly. The maid in Arundel was Weslorian. But what could a Weslorian maid possibly have to do with this?
“Lady Caroline?”
She started.
“Have you known the prince to have met with or mentioned any Weslorian nationals?”
Caroline slowly shook her head.
“No one? A woman, perhaps?”
Her pulse was racing so quickly now that she couldn’t seem to breathe. She shook her head again.
Mr. Drummond was still smiling his grandfatherly smile and stepped closer. “If I may, Lady Caroline...this plot, if it exists, could have far-reaching implications for England, and especially for the Duchess of Tannymeade.”
Caroline’s breath caught. “What? How?”
“Imagine if there were to be a coup in that country. How do you think the rebels would treat the duchess?”
Caroline gasped softly. She slowly lifted her hand and gripped the gate handle to steady herself.
“Do you think you might keep an open ear to his conversations? We’ve noted that he calls here more than any other house.”
A cold shiver radiated through Caroline. What else had they noted? Were they looking in windows?
“If you could see what you might learn for us?” he asked, smiling in that strange, grandfatherly way, while his eyes remained as hard as flint. “Think of it as helping the duchess.”
Caroline could hardly get a breath. This was all so confusing and alarming...but she knew when she was being manipulated and whirled about to the gate. She fumbled with it, fearing they would try to stop her, perhaps even attempt to take her with them. She managed to get through the gate and closed it resoundingly shut behind her.
The two men hadn’t moved from their spot on the sidewalk. Mr. Drummond tipped his hat again.
Caroline ran up the steps and into the house. She closed the door and pressed her back to it, breathing deeply, her hand to her chest, then two hands to her face as she tried to make sense of what had just happened.
What they said wasn’t possible. She could believe many things about Leopold Chartier, but she would not believe for a moment this was true. He was a lothario, but he was not a traitor.
But what of the maid? Was it really mere coincidence she was Weslorian?
What if it wasn’t coincidence at all?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Sources report that a summons from King Karl of Alucia for his son to return home has been delivered to the prince. Those with knowledge of the situation expect the prince will depart London in less than a fortnight.
The repercussions from the ventures of a rail enthusiast continue to be felt across London. Some of the gentleman’s investors have lost as much as two hundred pounds in the scheme.
Married ladies with fragile constitutions who wish to prevent a rapid increase in the growth of her family may consult Madam Bessor of Greenwich Street, a female physician, for a preventive powder.
—Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and
Domesticity for Ladies
BECKETT HAWKE HAD apparently determined he wanted to maintain his friendship with Leo, as he sent word to the Clarendon Hotel asking him to come round for tea that afternoon. Leo was relieved. He enjoyed his friendship with Beck and didn’t want to lose it over the incident at Arundel. But moreover, he was desperate to have an excuse to see Caroline.
Leo had enough to keep him occupied what with his imminent departure to Alucia. He had noticed in the course of preparations that Josef, Kadro, Artur and Freddar all seemed quite eager to go. Of course they were—these men were not Britons. They were Alucians, and they wanted to go home.
Leo was not eager to go for obvious reasons. Three things kept him up at night: One, that he hadn’t found a way into the Pennybacker house to find Rasa. Two, that he still didn’t know where Nina or Eowyn were. And three, he could hardly bear the thought of leaving Caroline.
It really had come down to this—of all that he loved about England, she was the thing, the person, the feeling he would miss the most. He desperately needed to steal a few moments with her. He desperately needed to kiss her again.
But first, he had decided to pay a visit to the ladies he had tucked away at Cressidian’s and probe their memories. Hopefully, one of them might remember something that would help him find Eowyn or Nina.
He sent word to Cressidian in advance of his departure that he intended to call.
But when he arrived at the Mayfair mansion, the butler coolly informed him in Alucian that his master had gone out for the day. Leo was taken aback by that news. He would think that the gentleman would accommodate his prince. Would accommodate the man who had paid him to see after the ladies. “I should like to see the maids, then,” he said flatly.
The butler’s eyes widened slightly. “I beg your pardon, Highness, but—”
“But,” Leo quickly interjected and stepped into the doorway, crowding the smaller man, “I am your prince, sir, and you will allow me to see the Weslorian women who are housed here. Assemble them at once.” And then he pushed past the man and strode into Cressidian’s house. Like a bloody prince, thank you.
The women and one lad assembled in a small room near the back of the house that looked to be used by servants, judging by the mean furnishings. None of the rich upholsteries or fine rugs or marble or gold seen in the public parts of the house were evident here. They had a plain wood floor, a long table with six wooden chairs and two more before the hearth. The women entered in service clothes, which Leo didn’t like. He’d paid for their keep. They didn’t need to work for it.
With his hands on his hips, he surveyed the three of them. Isidora and Jacleen stood side by side, and the boy before Jacleen, her arms securely around him. T
he three of them viewed him warily, which Leo found disconcerting—he had rescued them, after all. Did they think he was like the men who had bartered and sold them?
He sighed. He pushed his fingers through his hair. “There is no need to look at me like that,” he said, gesturing at them. “What are you afraid of?”
Isidora and Jacleen exchanged a glance. Isidora stepped forward. She cleared her throat and ran her hands down the sides of her skirt. “Your Highness,” she said in Weslorian, “may we inquire...what you mean to do with us? Mr. Cressidian doesn’t want us here, and he said...” She paused and glanced at Jacleen and her brother. Jacleen nodded, encouraging her. “He said you mean to take us to Alucia.”
She did not seem to be pleased with the prospect, but seemed rather alarmed. “Don’t you want to go home, then?” he asked.
She bit her lip. “There’s no work in Wesloria, Your Highness. Our families...they won’t have the money to return.”
“Your families will not need to return the money. After you speak against the men that did this, you—”
Jacleen gasped so loudly that she startled Leo. She and the lad and Isidora were suddenly talking at once—to each other, to him—in Weslorian and broken Alucian and English. The cacophony of voices was reaching a fevered pitch, and he threw up his hands and demanded they stop. “All right, then,” he said when he lowered his hands. “One at a time, if you please. What is it that causes you distress?” He pointed at Jacleen.
She gripped her brother’s shoulders before her. “We don’t want to speak out.”
“Why not?”
“They will kill us.”
He recoiled at that. “Who will kill you?”
“The men who done this,” Isidora said.
“They said they’d kill us if we told the truth,” the boy said.
“What? What is your name there, lad?” Leo asked.
“Bobbin,” he said softly.
“Bobbin, they will not kill you,” Leo said. But the two women started talking to him at once. “Ladies!” he said loudly. “Have you no faith in me? In my word?”