“We can’t let that happen.” Andrew raked a hand through his hair, mussing it up so it settled in the slightly haphazard way she loved.
Back to the urgent matter. She had to keep reminding herself to not get distracted. I’m more like Caroline than I ever thought.
“Durham had already failed once tonight,” Julia explained. “Mr. Hayward decided to take matters into his own hands.”
Andrew’s eyes had widened. “Wait. Everything you heard between them was before your turn about the gardens, wasn’t it? Please don’t tell me that you put yourself in danger by staying at his side . . .”
“I had to. I had to learn whatever else I could. He’d already thought me a silly girl who paid no attention to serious matters and had cotton in her head. What else might he let slip, especially when I knew his intentions? I couldn’t very well sit back and let the Crown Prince die.”
“Of course you couldn’t. I just don’t want you hurt.”
“I know,” Julia said. “It was good I went along; I saw Hayward slip a powder into a glass of champagne, so I had to prevent Bernadotte from drinking it.”
Understanding dawned on Andrew’s face. “That’s when you asked me for help. And when I didn’t get there before the toast . . .” His voice trailed off, and she finished the story for him.
“I had to prevent him from drinking the poison, even if that meant looking a fool.” She gestured toward her dress, which now had dirt stains from her fall onto the path. “He’s going to try again, Andrew. We must stop him.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Andrew said. “How do we stop him?”
Julia took his lapels in her hands forcefully. “You go find a way to get the message to the Prince Regent or his men. I’ll go back to ensure that Hayward doesn’t try again.”
She released his coat and lifted her skirts to help her run, but Andrew caught her arm before she could leave the alcove. “Absolutely not,” Andrew said.
“But Bernadotte! He is in danger, and even these few minutes away from him might have been too long.”
Andrew shook his head firmly. “I am not letting you out of my sight. It’s too dangerous.”
Trying to bottle her impatience, Julia stepped back. “I comported myself well before, didn’t I? And saved Bernadotte’s life to boot. All without Hayward having any suspicions that I might know a thing. I can do it again.”
He couldn’t argue with those points, and she watched his jaw work as he tried to come up with more reasons. “But—”
“No.” She placed two gloved fingers over his lips. The gesture seemed strangely intimate and made her breath catch. Once more, she ordered herself to focus. “You’ll hurry to get the message to the Prince Regent, of course, so I won’t have to pretend to be a ninny for long, and I’m entirely ready to make a fool of myself a hundred more times if it means stopping Hayward.”
“I don’t like the arrangement at all,” Andrew said below her fingers, which felt like a kiss.
She lowered her hand self-consciously. “I don’t like it either, but it must be done, and the task falls on our shoulders. Yours and mine.”
As he had before, Andrew took her hands in his, this time holding her fingers firmly and squeezing them as if doing so could bestow protection upon her from Hayward. “Very well, but I swear I will return to you as quickly as I possibly can.”
“I know you will.” She squeezed his hands in return and smiled encouragingly, hoping he’d believe her courageous. At least he couldn’t see her trembling knees, which felt on the verge of knocking against each other. Maintaining her efforts toward outward confidence, she slipped a hand through the crook of his elbow, then nodded toward the corridor. “Shall we?”
“I’d be delighted,” Andrew said, then added as they left the alcove, “or at least, I’ll try to pretend to be delighted instead of escorting a piece of my heart to what could be argued to be her doom.”
Julia chuckled quietly, though she knew he spoke the truth. His referral to her as a piece of his heart only served to warm hers. “You’re worrying entirely too much,” she said as they walked along the rug-lined hallway toward the ballroom. “Before we know it, our little mission will be complete, and we’ll look fondly upon this night as one of adventure, where good triumphed over evil. It’ll be a delightful tale to pass along to our children, one made grander with each telling.”
She suddenly choked on her voice and blushed, realizing that her words could be taken to mean two distinct families of children, as well as the children borne to the two of them.
Which did I mean? She didn’t know for sure, but the idea of having children with any other man suddenly held absolutely no interest to her. A child of Andrew’s might inherit his crooked smile and bright-blue eyes, she thought. Imagine a daughter with wavy hair like his. She would be a cherub.
At the door of the ballroom, they paused. They both seemed to take a breath before crossing the threshold. Andrew patted her hand, released it, and whispered in an intimate tone that belied the formality of his bow, “Please be careful.”
“You have my word,” she whispered as she curtsied.
Julia watched him head for the other side of the room to find a representative of the Prince Regent. She sent a silent a prayer to the heavens, wishing Andrew success and safety. When he disappeared among the pressing throng, she turned her attention to the door to the gardens, screwed up her courage, and headed outside. With any luck, Bernadotte would still be outside, so she wouldn’t have to search for him in the crowded ballroom.
The nighttime air nipped her cheeks. Either she’d gotten entirely accustomed to the warmth inside—and perhaps the extra warmth from being so near Andrew and feeling what she had in his presence—or the night had cooled very quickly. She walked beyond the golden orb of light from the lanterns at the door. She hoped that doing so would aid her sight in adjusting to the darkness, and that she’d be able to spot Bernadotte and Hayward more quickly.
A breeze kicked up from the sea, making her skin break out in gooseflesh. She looked back, hoping for a quick glimpse of Andrew, but he’d long since been swallowed up by the ballroom. The bravado she’d put on as an act for Andrew fell entirely, leaving her feeling utterly alone and afraid. There she stood, surrounded by opulence and some of the richest and most prominent members of the ton, but none of them knew her, and she didn’t know them, either.
If things went poorly with Hayward, would anyone step in to help her, or would making an inevitable scene be below them? No matter. She had a duty to perform, and Andrew would be back at her side momentarily. She hoped.
Julia walked through the gardens, seeking out Hayward and Bernadotte, flushing with awareness at others who raised eyebrows at the sight of a young lady walking alone. Perhaps they were noting her threadbare slippers and gown, the style of which hadn’t appeared on a fashion plate in three years at least. No matter. She kept her head high, imbuing herself with pride she did not possess.
Her first hint of the men she sought was nothing she saw but rather heard: Hayward’s voice.
“Come now, Prince,” he said, “let us go for a stroll. It’s far too hot and suffocating indoors, and the sea air is so refreshing.”
“I do enjoy the sea air,” another, slightly accented voice said, whom she divined to be Bernadotte. “And when I return to the front, I will certainly miss it.”
“I can imagine,” Hayward said. Their voices began to grow fainter, so Julia hurried onward in hopes of catching up to them, careful to walk on her tiptoes to remain quiet. Hayward’s voice continued from the other side of a hedge. “I imagine that battle brings very different odors, and many unpleasant ones.”
“Indeed,” Bernadotte said with a thoughtful tone. “War is a terrible thing.”
The men continued walking, and Julia kept up, grateful for the hedge between them, yet it ended a few yards ahead. What would she do then?
Go to Bernadotte’s side, of course, she thought. That will block Hayward from trying any
thing overt. The men didn’t know that she’d overheard them, and if she played her part well, they would think she’d escaped an unwanted suitor in favor of another nation’s royalty.
On her right, the hedge came to a well-manicured end, squared off like a wall. Beyond it lay the end of the pier and the ocean, which spread out before them like a silver blanket under the stars. She stopped and waited for the men on the other side to do something, to appear, to speak, to . . . she didn’t know. Once again, she looked over her shoulder toward the pavilion, willing Andrew to hurry and find her, but she couldn’t see anything along the hedge she’d walked by; all of that was dark. All she could make out was the glowing yellow light spilling from the pavilion doors in the distance.
It’s up to me.
“I find it most interesting,” Hayward continued, “that after years of supporting France, you’ve turned your back on the emperor and have allied with England.”
“Do you doubt my loyalty to England?” Bernadotte asked. He stepped beyond the hedge, showing his profile in silhouette from the moonlight. He had a long face and a nose with a strong line to it. This was a man who did not appreciate being questioned.
“I said nothing of the sort.” Hayward chuckled, a sound coming from his chest, as if the laugh masked a secondary emotion. He, too, stepped farther out onto the pier, and Julia held her breath, praying that neither man would turn around and see her, or that if they did, the shadows would conceal her presence. Even so, she leaned closer to the hedge to decrease the odds that they would spot her.
“I would have thought my decision would be one that a man like yourself would have supported,” Bernadotte said. “But truly, I am not here to discuss politics or even the war. I should return to the ballroom so as not to be rude to the Prince Regent, my most gracious host.”
“Alas,” Hayward said, looking out toward the sea, “I have other plans for you.”
His hand slipped into his coat pocket, and he withdrew a gun. He pointed the barrel at Bernadotte, who raised both hands in the air. Somehow, Julia kept herself from gasping aloud, but her eyes widened to the point that they felt as if they might burst.
“Now see here . . .”
Hayward didn’t lower the weapon. “I was amazed to hear that you’d come tonight without any guards.” He tsked and shook his head. “Foolish to think that you’d be safe even in the heart of your ally.”
“What do you want?” Bernadotte said. His nostrils flared slightly, but his voice remained steady. “I can offer you money. Anything you wish for.”
Hayward raised his other hand so that he gripped the gun with both. His chin jutted forward as he said, “I want my mother back.”
“Where is she?” The Crown Prince’s voice wavered, but so slightly that unless one was listening carefully, it would have been missed.
“She is dead, thanks to English doctors who would not listen to me, a fatherless boy trying to translate my mother’s complaints. She spoke only French, and I learned the tongue at her knee. But no one would listen to a mere boy, so she died. All thanks to the arrogant English.” He shoved the gun forward slightly; Bernadotte took half a step backward.
“What is that to me?”
“You were France’s last hope for winning, for defeating the wretched refuse that is England. Now you have allied yourself with them. You’ve betrayed me and every other man with French blood in his veins.” Hayward seemed to realize that he’d lost control and lowered his voice. “So long as England does not get your military strength—or your rockets—France can still win this war. And I can guarantee England gets neither by getting rid of you.”
Julia watched in horror as Hayward slowly cocked the gun with a click. She could not allow this to happen, but what could she do? She’d assumed that spilling more champagne would be the greatest act she’d have to perform, not facing a loaded gun. Andrew was nowhere to be found. She couldn’t merely appear from the hedge to flirt with Hayward; he would know she’d seen and heard too much and would simply kill her too. Her body, followed by Bernadotte’s, would be washed out to sea with the tide, never to be found.
With the strength of urgency, Julia ran as hard as she could, driving her shoulder into Hayward’s stomach. The shock was her greatest strength; he bent over with an oof and landed on his behind, tumbling backward with Julia landing atop him. The gun fired, but the shot went wild, and the bullet landed harmlessly in the water with a barely audible plop.
Hayward swore, first at the stray shot, then again at Julia. “Stupid girl!” He tried to pry her off of him, but she held on. “Look what you’ve done! Release me, you fool!”
Julia would do nothing of the sort. Under any other conditions, she would have scrambled off a man she’d found herself atop of, but this was no ordinary night. Her blood pumped through her veins, giving her strength beyond what should have been within her. Using his distraction with the gun to her advantage, she pressed her forearms against his neck, putting her entire weight and might into cutting off his air. Hayward looked stunned, staring into her eyes for a second as he tried to push her arms away and gasp for air.
Bernadotte leapt into action, wrenching the weapon from Hayward, whose arm was outstretched and flailing as he tried to aim again and get free at once. After seizing the gun, Bernadotte threw it off the pier, sending it spinning into the distance until it slipped below the surface and vanished forever. Then the Crown Prince dropped to his knees, seemingly unaware of potential damage to his expensive trousers, and helped Julia subdue Hayward. Already the scoundrel was losing strength, but neither Julia nor Bernadotte let up for a moment. Only when he fainted altogether did Julia climb off his still form.
“I’ll go fetch help,” she said, and she held up her skirts as she raced back up the path she’d come down from the pavilion.
She ran headlong into a figure hidden by the darkness and, in her panic, fought to be released, certain that Durham or another accomplice had caught her.
“Julia, are you well? The royal guards are coming.”
Relief drained all her strength from before. “Oh, Andrew,” Julia said, suddenly shaky and leaning against him so she wouldn’t topple. “It’s Hayward. He—he had a gun, and, and—” She couldn’t say more; she gulped for breath and felt lightheaded from the exertion.
Andrew helped her to a bench, where she gratefully dropped. “Is the Crown Prince safe?”
“For now,” Julia said. “He and I subdued Hayward, but he’ll wake up soon.”
“And the gun?”
“In the sea.”
“The guards are on their way. I’ll go meet them and show them where to find Hayward and Bernadotte.” Andrew seemed to be bursting with energy, ready to gallop away to finish their mission for the night, but first he leaned in and kissed her forehead. “You are remarkable, Julia. Remember that.”
Then he ran off into the darkness, calling for help.
An enormous ruckus ensued, during which Hayward was dragged into the pavilion. A pair of guards escorted Crown Prince Bernadotte back to the pavilion, ensuring his safety in a manner that Julia felt should have been in place all evening. Hayward, now awake but looking unkempt and worse for wear, was soon restrained with metal cuffs, and he was dragged off to the jail on Market Street.
Julia stood beside Andrew and listened to a member of Parliament on a dais at one end of the room, addressing the crowd, with Bernadotte at his side. They stood near a large, slightly warped mirror, in which she checked her reflection, hoping her appearance didn’t show evidence of her unladylike scuffle. Not that she regretted a second of it, but she didn’t precisely wish others to think she’d arrived at the ball with her hair sticking out every which way either. She patted her hair, hoping to smooth out a few strays, and realized that she’d been perspiring; her fingertips came away wet.
“The Prince Regent has been informed of the events of this evening, most especially of the assassination attempt upon Crown Prince Bernadotte of Sweden, who is a valued friend and ally of
England,” the MP said. “His Royal Highness will recommend to the court that the would-be assassin receive a sentence of at least twenty years’ transportation.”
The crowd clapped in approval.
“His Highness also wishes to acknowledge the role of Mr. Andrew Gillingham in apprehending the accused.” Applause followed, and the MP gestured for Andrew to join him on the dais.
Andrew took Julia’s hand and tugged it. “Credit for this evening’s success belongs far more to you than it does to me.”
Together they went up the steps and stood beside the MP, where Andrew acknowledged the applause. “I aided in capture of the accused, but this gentle lady at my side, Miss Julia Hughes, deserves our gratitude far more than I do. It is thanks to her wit and willingness to risk danger to herself that the assassin was identified and captured.” He released her hand and clapped, and the room followed suit, quickly showering Julia with praise.
She blushed, not particularly liking the attention, yet pleased beyond measure that Andrew had acknowledged her part. One more reason to adore the man. They left the dais, and the MP addressed the crowd once more. “As much needs to be done into investigating the crimes of those involved, His Highness deems the festivities to be over for this eve. Thank you for your cooperation, and good night.”
With the ball thoroughly disrupted, the men and women murmured with a hum that almost sounded like the waves of the sea, a collective volume so loud that it would have drowned out the band, had it still been playing. But the musicians were putting their instruments back into their cases, and palace servants were trying to usher the throng out of doors. The guests seemed understanding, if disappointed, and they obeyed by gradually filing out. Julia wondered what her parents and Caroline would think when they realized she hadn’t left with them.
She scanned the ballroom, hardly able to believe how utterly different this night had turned out from what she could have predicted. Now that the dangers of Mr. Hayward had passed—Julia herself was safe, as were England and Sweden, for the time being—her heart rate began to return to normal. She still felt hot, though; the events of the evening had definitely put a strain on her.
A Week in Brighton (Timeless Regency Collection Book 13) Page 15