the ring is upon your finger, we can call an end to this useless war with France. The
King is old, and his only son a useless fribble, ripe for rule by his betters. A Catholic
England is no threat to Imperial France, but her natural ally – “
„Anyone would think the chit understood what you were saying – are you so
desperate for an audience as all that, dear brother?“ Geoffrey sneered. „You might
as well talk to a parrot as to a girl – she cannot possibly have any interest in your
plans. Can you, niece?“ he asked sweetly.
„No, Uncle Geoffrey,“ Meriel whispered to her clenched hands.
„But you’ll do your part?“ Ripon insisted. „If I am to take you to London and put
you in the Prince’s way, I will not have your mouse-hearted missishness spoiling
everything I have worked so long to bring about.“
„Oh, she’ll do what she’s told,“ Geoffrey said, turning away from the window
and slapping his crop against his high black riding boot. He glanced once at Meriel,
and smiled. „I shall see to it.“
In the spring, no one but the foolish and the desperate ventured forth upon the
highways of England with any expectation of arriving anywhere at all, for the
surfaces of even the main roads were neady divided between axle-breaking stones
and horse-crippling mud, rendering anything more than the passage of a rider on
horseback a matter extremely problematical.
But possible… with patience, planning, and several good heavy coaches.
Jocasta Sybella Honoria Masham Dyer, Dowager Duchess of Wessex and
grandmother of the present Duke, had no interest in the beauties of the English
countryside. When her son Andrew was alive, she had endured the country for his
sake, but when Andrew’ had vanished in France thirteen years ago, she had closed
Wessex Court and begun to divide her time between London and Bath.
The practice of many years had enabled the Dowager Duchess to determine the
earliest moment in the spring that the roads might be practicably navigated, and as
soon as her lady-companion had returned from her errand in Wiltshire, Her Grace of
Wessex had set forth for London. A week’s hard traveling had seen the Dowager
Duchess settled into the family’s cramped and ancient townhouse that stood on
Knightrider Street, within the shadow of St. Paul’s and the sound of the Thames.
Although the word „Tenebrae“ was picked out in letters of age-blackened silver
above the lintel, the house’s name was Dyer House; it had belonged to the Dyer
family long before the dukedom had. Through the years, fashionable addresses had
changed; Dyer House was almost within the City, and very far from Oxford Street
and the western expansion that had made the open fields between Soho and Tyburn
into the new resort of Society. But Dyer House had belonged to the family since time
out of mind, and the Dyers were slow to change customs that suited them. Though
the late Duke – Wessex’s father, Andrew – had been a provident enough
businessman that his son was now landlord to much of Piccadilly, the Dowager
Duchess had resisted all blandishments to have a London residence built for her
upon one of the spacious new squares. And so, though it lacked a fewjdays of May,
the Holland covers had been removed from the formidable Jacobean furnishings and
the brightly polished knocker had been hung upon the door; the Dowager Duchess
of Wessex was officially in residence.
* * *
„Where is the boy?“ the Dowager demanded of her companion.
Dame Alecto Kennet smiled fondly at her mistress. Alecto had served as the
Dowager’s eyes and ears ever since Her Grace of Wessex had retired from the
world – as well as performing those tasks from which the Dowager’s rank barred her
– and she was quite used to the older woman’s moods.
„I’m certain he’ll be here as soon as he feels himself presentable,“ Dame Alecto
chided gently. „He must call upon the Horse Guards, after all, as well as speaking
with those other gentlemen he thinks you to be in ignorance of.“
The Dowager Duchess of Wessex laughed sharply. „Between the Horse Guards
and the White Tower, I wonder that I shall see Wessex any day before the Season is
over. Still, we must put the best face we can upon the thing, and it would be a
kindness to let him know of our plans. Alecto, you have spent time with the girl –
will she do?“
„I could not spend so much time with her as I should like,“ Dame Alecto
responded slowly, gathering her thoughts, „for when Wessex arrived, I did not like
him to see me, lest he wonder wfiat I did there.“
„Yes. It would have caused questions,“ the Dowager agreed dryly. „My grandson
asks too many questions, and this one may still arise, if the matter of your visit
comes up in conversation….“
„Or if Dr. Falconer pursues his suspicions about Lady Roxbury’s so-convenient
recovery. The disobliging man attended Roxbury – the knew she was dying,“ Dame
Alecto said. „Now Dr. Falconer suspects Roxbury made an unnatural bargain to
save her life.“
„As any might, who had the connections to do so,“ the Dowager said. „Dr.
Falconer can do nothing to hinder us, for he cannot possibly suspect the truth – that
the Roxbury he knew is indeed dead.“
The Dowager sighed, and pushed away the letter she was composing at the tiny
chinoiserie writing desk that occupied one corner of her cluttered sitting-room. The
Dowager was something of a jackdaw, and the room was crammed with exotic
mementos of friends’ trips abroad.
„Poor child. She was my goddaughter, and I must admit that I did not do my
duty there. But we do not have time to grieve over what cannot be changed,“ she
added briskly. „The Marchioness of Roxbury is needed, and England will have her,
by fair means or foul.“
„I think it will be only a matter of time until the girl forgets her qld life in the world
from which we took her,“ Dame Alecto said slowly. „The cordial I have concocted
for her will suppress her old memories, and every day she will be prompted with the
details of Roxbury’s life. Soon she will know its every detail as though it had always
been her own.“
„And she will have Wessex, and continue the line,“ the Dowager finished. Though
her face was serene, there was a faint note of worry in her voice. „He must not
oppose me in this – our families have planned this marriage since the girl was both;
the Gonynghams have always had close ties to the Stuarts, and King Henry will want
Roxbury to support him when Princess Stephanie arrives – he will want Roxbury to
help the Princess make her way in society, and Roxbury cannot be Princess
Stephanie’s chaperone unless she is, herself, married.“
„So the Duke of Wessex must marry his Duchess – and soon,“ Dame Alecto
said. „And pray that the Oldest People will forgive the substitution of one Roxbury
for another.“
„They must,“ the Dowager Duchess of Wessex said.
„We had no choice – not if the Throne is to be preserved.“
They ought to take pity on a poor man, Wessex thought groggily, and not let the
sun off its leash so early in the morning. He might, in fact, have successfully
rejoined my lord Morpheus, had Atheling not chosen that moment to
ever-so-discreetly make his presence known.
Atheling was His Grace’s most superior and long-suffering manservant, who kept
His Grace’s Albany rooms precisely as they should be kept, and His Grace’s
wardrobe perfectly fit to embrace any occasion from a Royal Drawing Room to a
night spent steeplejacking across the roofs of London Town.
In addition to those undeniable proficiencies, Atheling also rejoiced in a singularly
remarkable absence of curiosity.
But despite such a sterling and acquiescent disposition, Atheling knew his duty
when he saw it. And so, surveying his master in his master’s disordered bed,
Atheling coughed.
Rather than movement, there was a cessation of movement beneath the thick
woolen blankets. Encouraged, Atheling essayed a slight clearing of the throat.
„Very well, Atheling,“ the mounded counterpane announced. „I’m awake.“ There
was a creak of the bedstead, and his grace made his delinquent appearance.
The night had been long and the play had been deep; he and Koscuisko had
returned to Town with the assassin known as Gambit – revealed, when all was said
and done, to be a man called Charles Corday, born in the French colony of
Louisiana, who despite his ragamuffin appearance was a confidential agent high in
Talleyrand’s councils. The partners had left Corday to Misbourne’s tender mercies
and decided to celebrate their success; weeks of sleeping in ditches and sheltering
beneath hedgerows were still vivid enough in Wessex’s mind to make the hells and
fleshpots of Town a powerfully seductive lure.
Wessex ran a hand through his hair, restoring it to as much order as the current
mode called for. He gazed down at the bosom of his impeccable linen nightshirt as if
he could not precisely recall to mind the occasion upon which he had donned such a
garment, and then turned his regard upon his valet with a levelness that was in itself
accusatory.
„Will Your Grace take tea or chocolate this morning?“ Atheling asked austerely.
Wessex winced.
„My Grace will take an explanation of the crise de coeur that causes you, my
good Atheling, to cry the view halloo through my bedchamber before two of the
afternoon.“ An unpleasant possibility took strong possession of his grace. „I was
not promised to anyone this morning, was I?“
„Indeed not, Your Grace; as Your Grace has often instructed me, I am to take
measures to restrain Your Grace from engaging himself to any party commencing
before the late afternoon. I shall heat the shaving water at once, as Your Grace will
wish to peruse the morning’s post before breakfast;“
His objective achieved, Atheling retreated from the. chamber. Unsatisfied
curiosity finished the task of bringing the young Duke to full wakefulness. Now what
could have come in the post to warrant this display of amateur theatrics on
Atheling’s part? Wessex wondered.
Before he could arrive at any particular conclusion, Atheling returned to the room
with a basin and a can of hot water, the case containing his grace’s razors tucked
beneath one arm. Wessex swung his long legs out of bed and reached for the
dressing-gown laid ready to hand upon the chair. He shrugged himself into it.
Through the open door to the dressing-room, a pier-glass caught slivered and angled
impressions of the tall blond man with the swordblade face.
Atheling set the basin down upon the battered oak sideboard and placed the can
beside it. He ladled a stoup of the water into a small bowl ready to hand, then
labored soap and brush until the bowl was filled with stiff lather. When that was
ready, Atheling poured the contents of me can into the waiting basin. Steam began to
rise in opaque spirals, covering the mirror behind in a brief mist.
„If Your Grace will – “
„My Grace will not, Atheling. As you know.“ Wessex opened the case and
picked up the razors.
It was an ongoing affront to Atheling’s sense of fitness that his charge continued
to insist upon shaving himself. All Atheling’s pleas upon the subject were in vain,
merely causing his grace to assure Atheling that Wessex dared not become used to
Atheling’s ministrations, lest he lose the barbering knack entirely and be thus forced
to present himself at foreign courts unshaven.
Atheling believed none of this patent nonsense. He believed, merely, that his grace
was obstinate, as his grace’s father had been before him. On the other hand, such
obstinacy was a character trait in which Atheling took secret pride, as only a most
superior manservant could manage such a stubborn man.
When at last Wessex presented to his mirror and me world a clean-shaven
countenance, he entered his dressing-room, where Atheling stood ready to assist him
with such sartorial details as the rigging-out of a gentleman of fashion required.
The morning post, as yet, was nowhere to be seen. That, Wessex knew, would
come with breakfast, and God help any man who attempted to remove things from
what Atheling conceived to be their proper order.
So be it. His grace turned to matters of dress.
Contemplating an afternoon trot through Green Park, Wessex approved white
doeskin inexpressibles and high-top oxblood Hessians with bullion tassels, the latter
an exquisite product of Hoby’s workroom. A shirt of dazzling white lawn,
moderately pleated and ruffled, was eclipsed by a waistcoat of pale yellow Egyptian
linen ornamented with buttons of Russian enamelwork that glimmered russet and