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 imagined 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 satisfaction 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.