Twenty-Four
Gregory stood backstage at the assembly hall, his stomach in upheaval and his heart racing. Hart wasn’t here, despite having sent a message earlier saying he would arrive there soon. Where the devil was he? Something must have happened. And if he didn’t get here in time . . .
“My lord, they’re ready to begin,” a servant said.
Damn. He would have to stall the proceedings somehow.
But that shouldn’t be difficult. The conference had been full of boring speeches on the importance of keeping Belgium neutral. Surely he could manage one of those.
With a steadying breath, he walked out onto the stage. And that’s when he saw her. His love, sitting in the audience with her trusting gaze fixed on him.
Three days without her had only firmed his determination not to fail her . . . or his mother or any of the other people dependent upon him. In those three days, he’d learned much, uncovered much, and even spoken to Wellington, who’d confirmed that Danworth had made a trip to Calais around the time of Aurore’s poisoning. It had been clear that Wellington had never been involved in any of this, and Gregory had promised not to drag him into it.
So Gregory was better prepared than he had been before. But that didn’t mean everything would go smoothly. And if Hart didn’t come . . .
He refused to worry about that right now. This would work. He would make it work, damn it, with or without Hart.
He began by thanking the delegates and their candidates, stating how important this matter was, and in general stretching out the time. As he talked, he noticed Danworth looking smug and certain, as if he’d guessed that Gregory was stalling . . . except that Danworth probably thought Gregory was merely putting off the inevitable.
Then the doors in the back of the hall opened, and Gregory spotted Hart with a young woman.
Gregory stared in disbelief. It couldn’t be.
“My lord!” Hart called out, ignoring all protocols. “Before you proceed, there is someone here who must speak.”
Everyone turned toward the back of the room, and several gasped. Because standing there, dressed in a resplendent gown, was a woman who could have been Monique’s twin, if not for her pale, sickly countenance. And her less-than-prominent chin.
His heart swelled with relief. “Princess Aurore!” he announced. “Please, do come to the stage!”
With a regal manner, she swept up the center aisle, and the room erupted into whispers and furtive glances at Monique, who sat serenely, as if she’d expected this great surprise. Even Danworth looked startled, along with most of the delegates.
As Princess Aurore came to join Gregory at the podium, he stood aside to give her the floor.
“Thank you, Lord Fulkham,” she said with a kind smile for him. “And I must beg the pardon of the delegates. I would have been here sooner, but I have been very ill. A couple of weeks ago, someone attempted to poison me and very nearly succeeded in killing me.”
After a collective gasp sounded in the audience, she went on. “In my hour of need my second cousin, the famous actress Monique Servais, was kind enough to step in for me.” She gestured to Monique, who acknowledged her with a smile. “Fortunately, Lord Fulkham, recognizing the dangers of having the work of this conference thwarted by a villain, concocted a plan. My cousin would take my place here while I recovered. And in the meantime, his lordship would try to discover who the assassin was.”
Gregory released a breath. Thank God the princess had been willing to go along with their rewritten version of events. Though she would have been a fool not to, since it exonerated her people as well.
It also really started the delegates murmuring.
“From what I’ve been told,” she went on, “my poor cousin Monique has since endured two attempts on her life—first in London and then at Lord Fulkham’s estate, where he’d taken her to try to protect her from harm. Fortunately, his lordship was finally able to discover who the assassin was. Lord Fulkham? Will you tell us what you learned?” She moved aside.
Gregory couldn’t help noticing the sudden tension in Danworth’s face. “Thank you, Princess. In the past few days I have found out that only one man from the conference—other than the princess’s retinue, of course—was in Calais during the time of the poisoning.”
He narrowed his gaze on his enemy. “The prime minister’s private secretary, Mr. Danworth.”
As the room erupted into shocked cries and horrified whispers, Danworth jumped to his feet. “How dare you, sir? What possible reason could I have had to poison Princess Aurore?”
“You wanted to put your good friend Prince Leopold in the position of king of Belgium in exchange for being offered a position in his government.”
Gregory shifted his stare to Leopold. There was no mistaking the shock that crossed Leopold’s face. “What?” the man cried and jumped to his feet. “I swear I had nothing to do with Mr. Danworth’s actions!”
If Gregory hadn’t already suspected as much, he might have dismissed the prince’s assertions. But as it was, he nodded to the prince. “Would you like to speak, sir? To defend yourself?”
“I most certainly would!” Prince Leopold marched up onto the stage. “Mr. Danworth, my friend there, if you can call him that, promised to use his influence with the prime minister on my behalf. And yes, in exchange I promised him a position in my government in Belgium, should I be fortunate enough to become king.”
When that started another murmuring among the crowd, he added, “But I would never have countenanced assassination! I thought he meant only to speak to the prime minister. And perhaps to make his case to Lord Fulkham, a member of his club, which is what he promised. I had no idea—”
“This is all nonsense!” Danworth cried. “I never attempted to assassinate anyone. And how are we even to know that this . . . Servais woman is actually the cousin of Princess Aurore?”
“Will my word in that regard suffice?” the count called out, to Gregory’s surprise. The older statesman rose, clearly having caught the gist of where things were heading. “I brokered the exchange—with the help of his lordship, of course. My great-niece, Monique, is third in line for the throne behind two elderly relations. She would have become the princess in truth if Aurore had died.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “If you don’t believe me, I can show you the entire line of the Chanay royal family.”
“Besides,” Gregory cut in, “I have managed to hunt down the assassin Danworth hired to try to kill Mademoiselle Servais.” That had taken some doing, but once he’d known of Danworth’s involvement, Gregory had been able to track the man’s friends and acquaintances and unearth the shooter in his hovel in Spitalfields.
As Danworth paled, Gregory exulted. “Under the threat of prosecution for attempted murder, the former servant of Mr. Danworth has been more than eager to cooperate with the authorities. He confessed to having been paid by Mr. Danworth to shoot at Mademoiselle Servais not once, but twice.”
“This is absurd.” Danworth narrowed his gaze on Gregory. “His lordship is merely trying to smear my name to avoid having his own past unveiled. I recently discovered that he was responsible for the death of his father!”
There were more gasps, more eyes turned toward Gregory.
Now came the tricky part. “I don’t suppose you have any evidence to support that claim,” Gregory drawled. “Because I was at Eton at the time of my father’s death, as anyone can attest.”
Just as he’d guessed, Danworth’s assertion that a shopkeeper had seen Gregory had been a bluff. “I—I’m sure that someone at Eton could confirm—”
“So you have no evidence,” Gregory said coldly. “Who’s trying to smear a fellow’s name now? Because, unlike you, I have ample evidence to validate my own case. I can prove your involvement in the attempt to murder Princess Aurore and her cousin.”
Princess Aurore whispered something in his ear.
“Her Highness tells me that my friend, Lord Hartley, who went to fetch the princess for this meeting, discovered that you paid a maid to put poison in Princess Aurore’s evening chocolate. Then there’s the testimony of His Grace, Wellington, that you were sent to Calais. There’s your former servant, who confessed to firing upon the princess’s representative at your behest . . .”
Danworth glanced about in a panic. “And in your case, there’s a button. A button that was clutched in Lord Fulkham’s hand. I—I mean, the previous Lord Fulkham’s hand. Ask the constable! He will tell you!”
“A button?” Gregory gave a caustic laugh. “That is your evidence? Fine, go ahead. Bring the constable down to London. Let’s see what he has to say.”
When Gregory had gone to speak to the constable, the man had professed that he didn’t know of any button, and that even if he had, it was long gone. Gregory suspected that after years of patronage by the Fulkhams, the constable didn’t want to bite the hand that fed him, and Gregory certainly wasn’t going to make him do so.
Rage filled Danworth’s face as it dawned on him that he was not going to win this fight. “You bloody bastard. You always have to succeed, no matter who you trample upon. You couldn’t let one crumb fall from the table for a mere private secretary like me, who has served his country well until now. All you had to do was vote for Leopold, but because some whore of an actress whispered in your ear about attempted murder—”
“Some cousin to the princess, you mean,” Gregory hissed, unable to keep his temper one minute more. “And I was with her when your man shot at her. Both times! If she had died—”
Realizing that everyone was gaping at him, he fought for control, then continued in a more measured tone. “If Mademoiselle Servais had died in the place of Princess Aurore while in England, it would have been a heinous blot on these proceedings and the country you claim to be serving. So yes, I take issue with your actions.”
Danworth’s gaze shot daggers. “Well, you will hear from me further! I have not yet—”
“All right, gentlemen!” Gregory cried to the police officers waiting in the back. “You may place Mr. Danworth under arrest now.”
As the buzz in the assembly hall grew deafening, the officers marched forward with grim intent. Nothing like a bit of official theatrics to seal the fate of a blackmailing arse. Danworth could rouse questions about the death of Gregory’s father all he liked, but the image of him being dragged away in shackles would take precedence in the minds of the delegates.
Or so Gregory hoped. This had always been a risk. He glanced over at Monique, who ventured a smile in return. A risk well worth taking.
He steadied his breath, then turned to the business he was good at. He brought the gavel down on the podium enough times to gain quiet in the room. “Now that we’ve taken care of that,” he said, “perhaps we should go on with the vote.”
Princess Aurore put a hand on his arm. “If you don’t mind, my lord, before you vote, I have something else to say.”
Gregory tensed. This he hadn’t anticipated. “Of course, Your Serene Highness,” he said, and stepped back.
“While I am enormously grateful to my cousin for putting herself in my place, nearly dying has given me a new perspective on life. So it is with great regret that I must withdraw as a candidate for ruler of Belgium.” She slid a quick glance and a smile toward where Lady Ursula sat. “I prefer to continue my uneventful life in Chanay, with the people I know and love. And Belgium deserves a ruler who would put it first. That would not be me. Thank you.”
As she left the stage, Gregory stood there stunned. The irony did not escape him. If the princess had said that in the beginning, he could have voted for Prince Leopold without going against his conscience.
Except that he would never have known for sure if Leopold had been part of the scheme. And Danworth would have gotten away with trying to kill Aurore and Monique.
That wouldn’t have passed the demands of his conscience. How refreshing to know that he still had one.
Curious to see what the Chanay contingent thought of Princess Aurore’s announcement, he glanced to where the count and Lady Ursula sat beside Monique. Lady Ursula was beaming; no surprise there. But the count wore a rather pensive look on his face, and that was a surprise.
What the devil was that about?
The room had gone very quiet, and it suddenly dawned on Gregory that they were waiting for him to guide the proceedings.
He stepped once again to the podium and cleared his throat. “Well, then, it appears we have one less candidate to vote for.”
Pontalba rose. “Two less, don’t you mean, Lord Fulkham? How do we know that Prince Leopold wasn’t behind Danworth’s actions all along?”
“Because in my investigation of this matter, I didn’t find one shred of evidence supporting that. Nor did Danworth ever say that he was acting at the prince’s behest.”
As Pontalba took his seat, it was clear his words had still had some impact on the assembly. There was nothing Gregory could do about that. But the fact was, with Princess Aurore out of the running, it was in England’s best interests to put Leopold in place. And the Dutch would never vote for a Frenchman, nor would Austria, Prussia, or Russia.
So, with that in mind, he called for a vote.
Monique wasn’t entirely surprised when Prince Leopold was chosen in the end. She’d had a chance to get to know him over the past few days when Gregory was gone, and it had become apparent to her that he would make a good ruler. Putting aside his flirtations, which she chalked up to his attempt at making a sound political alliance, she judged him reasonable, responsible, and eager to serve. No one could fault those qualities in a king.
Nor had she been entirely surprised when Princess Aurore withdrew as a candidate. Clearly, the princess had known that becoming ruler of Belgium would seriously damage any future between her and Lady Ursula. And it was obvious, at least to Monique, that the two women were thoroughly in love. Monique only hoped that their life together would be a happy one, despite their not being able to publicly acknowledge their affections.
Now that the vote had taken place, the conference attendees were dispersing to attend a lavish reception being held at St. James’s Palace. Gregory came over to greet them.
It was all Monique could do not to run up and throw herself into his arms. But he and she had agreed that the best thing for his career and her future as his wife would be a sedate courtship conducted in full view of society. Gregory insisted that he wouldn’t have any trouble selling that to the press after her heroic actions.
And judging from the delegates who kept stopping to say how appreciative they were that she had risked her life for the good of the conference, he might be right. She seemed to be the woman of the hour.
But she knew better than anyone how swiftly such adoration could turn to scorn. It was the only fly in her ointment. Danworth’s words some whore of an actress still rankled.
Not that you could tell from the heat in Gregory’s eyes as he met her gaze. He banked it swiftly, though, and turned to hold out his hand to the count. “Thank you for supporting me in this endeavor. I’m only sorry that things did not turn out as you had hoped.”
With a snort, her uncle shook Gregory’s hand and glanced over to where Princess Aurore and Lady Ursula were conversing in low voices. “One can never predict what the young will do. I try to give them the benefit of my years of experience, and this is how they thank me.”
Then he gave a Gallic shrug. “On the other hand, I am getting rather old to be guiding an obstinate princess. I’m not sure how I would have liked being a queen-maker in Brussels. Indeed, I may wish to do some traveling instead.” A gleam lit his eyes. “I may even extend my visit to England, assuming that your lovely mother would be willing to show me some of the countryside.”
Gregory’s shock was comical. “My mother.”
“Yes.” The count looked almost mischievous. “Lady Fulkham. I do believe you know her?”
“Apparently not as well as I thought,” Gregory mumbled.
Monique stifled a laugh. “I’m afraid my uncle and your mother have become even friendlier in the days you were in London.”
Her uncle glanced about the room, which had now emptied out to leave only the five of them standing there. He stared Gregory down. “Since you left Canterbury Court, I have also learned that you knew of Monique’s subterfuge all along.”
Gregory cast her a lingering glance. “I saw her play Suzanne in The Marriage of Figaro.” He smiled warmly. “I never forgot her. Hard to forget a woman of her talent and beauty.”
She eyed him skeptically. “I seem to recall your not being quite so complimentary then, my lord.”
“I was a fool. Fortunately, I’ve had three years to regret that.”
The count narrowed his gaze. “Very touching, sir. That does not mean, however, that I shall let you blithely marry my great-niece without a number of meetings between my solicitor and yours to hammer out a suitable settlement.”
“Uncle,” she chided under her breath, shocked and embarrassed that he meant to step in on such a thing after all these years.
“I would think less of you if you did,” Gregory told him. “Bring the solicitors on, old man, though I’m not sure you need them. I will agree to anything as long as it means that your great-niece can be my wife.”
Monique swallowed, especially when Gregory followed that pronouncement with a wink at her.
“Very well,” the count said. “Then I will consider giving my consent to the match.”
She stifled the urge to tell him what he could do with his consent. He was being very magnanimous about everything, after all, especially considering the surprise her cousin had dropped into his lap.
Gregory stared him down. “There is one thing more I need from you. In the weeks to come, a number of news accounts concerning my courtship of Monique will appear. I ask that you stand behind whatever I’m quoted as saying in those accounts.” His gaze hardened. “If you can do that, then I will consider consenting to your being ‘friendly’ with my mother.”
To her surprise, her uncle chuckled. “Touché, my lord. Say what you please. I will support it.”
Monique rolled her eyes. Men! They always had to brandish their spears and thump their chests as they laid claim to their women. Though she suspected that Lady Fulkham would have something to say about all this. Gregory’s mother would lead the count a merry chase, no doubt. Monique looked forward to seeing it.
“And speaking of Lady Fulkham,” the count went on, “shall we adjourn to the reception? Your mother had promised to attend.”
“An excellent idea,” Gregory said. “A carriage is outside to take you and Lady Ursula and Princess Aurore—the real one. Monique will be riding in my equipage.” When her uncle bristled, Gregory added, “Suitably chaperoned, I assure you. Flora is waiting in the carriage.”
That soothed her uncle’s sudden chivalric impulses, though she wanted to tell him how hypocritical they were in light of the way he’d been behaving for the last two weeks. It seemed that having a baron want to marry her had altered his feelings considerably.
The group walked out together, and she and Gregory watched as their companions drove off in one coach. Then his carriage arrived and they climbed in. They had scarcely settled into their seats, and Monique had just registered that they were alone, before Gregory pulled her into his arms and gave her a long, heartfelt kiss that sent her pulse racing and her knees melting.
As it dawned on her what he was doing, she pushed away. “You told my uncle we’d be suitably chaperoned!”
“We will be . . . as soon as we fetch Flora from the park where she is indeed waiting in the carriage. Just not this one.” His eyes gleamed at her. “And if we happen to take an hour or so touring the park beforehand, who will know? Certainly, Flora won’t say anything. She works for me, after all.”
When he reached for her again, she pressed her hand against his chest. “You said we had to behave above reproach until the official announcement of our betrothal!”
“We do. And when we arrive at the reception, you will be perfectly presentable, with your maid following right behind you.” His voice lowered to a husky rasp. “But it’s been three days, mon amour. If I don’t have you to myself for at least an hour, I will die.”
She eyed him askance. “A rather extravagant claim for a man who only last week couldn’t bring himself to say the words ‘I love you.’ ”
He grinned. “People change.”
“Forever?” she asked, wanting to be sure. “Once all the furor is over, there will still be people who remember I was once a ‘whore of an actress,’ who will refuse to invite us, who will—”
“I don’t care.” Taking her hand, he stripped the glove from it with clear intent. “And I believe I told you never again to call yourself that.” He tongued her wrist, reminding her of the last time he’d done so.
When a thrill shot through her, she caught her breath and had trouble remembering what she’d been saying. “O-other people may still . . . call me that.”
“Not if they want to keep their teeth,” he said, nipping at her tender skin as if to emphasize the teeth part. “Because I will tolerate no insult to my wife.”
“You might not be able to . . . to stop them. If it costs you your career—”
“Enough.” He cupped her chin in his hand. “I am going to say this only once. Unless you don’t wish to marry me—and if that’s the case, please tell me immediately—we are getting married. Because I love you, now and always. And nothing short of an act of Parliament will prevent me from making you my wife. So there will be no more worrying about the future or my career. Understood, ma fiancée?”
Fiancée. Oh, she did like the sound of that. And if he was mad enough to risk all to marry her, who was she to protest? “Whatever you say, mon coeur.”
He arched one eyebrow. “Why do I get the feeling that this will be the last time I ever hear those words again?”
She blinked. “Mon coeur?”
“No. ‘Whatever you say.’ ”
“Oh, monsieur.” She reached up to untie his cravat. “I can think of quite a few things you might tell me where I would respond with that phrase.”
Need flared in his face. “Ah. Things like ‘Take off your stockings, my love.’ ‘Lift your skirts, my love.’ ” He bent to whisper in her ear, “ ‘Come to bed, my love.’ ”
“Whatever you say, mon coeur.” She lifted her skirts enough to unfasten her garters. “Whatever you say, mon coeur. And . . . I see no bed here, mon coeur.”
A chuckle escaped him. “I knew it. You could never be entirely biddable.”
She smirked at him. “If you wanted ‘biddable,’ sir, you would have married long before now.”
He laughed outright. “True. Then I suppose I must put this in terms you will accept. Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, mon amour?”
“Whatever you say, mon coeur.” Then, pulling his head down to hers, she showed him precisely how biddable she could be for the man she loved.