Airborne - The Hanover Restoration (33 page)

Whose head would sleep in the royal bedchamber?

And whose heads would adorn the Tower walls?

Enough!
I fixed my gaze on
Aurora
as it veered west, heading toward its landing site in Hyde Park.. As planned, the airship would be on the ground before the crowds reached the site. Before the Horse Guards or Foot Guards could reach the site. Unless they had no qualms about trampling the crowd. (Tales of the Peterborough Massacre in 1819 whispered through my mind. My stomach lurched, bile rising in my throat.) But surely Wellington had not anticipated our every move. Or were there closed carriages on Rotten Row, harboring soldiers of less aristocratic blood, eager to put down the monarchist cause?
Foolishness!
We’d discussed it a hundred times. Julian’s vantage point in the sky allowed him to view Hyde Park all the way to Kensington Gardens. And how many times had he stated he would not land if he saw anything suspicious?

I slowed to drifting speed as I approached the palace and took the time to crank my engine. It was good for ninety minutes, Julian had promised, but I was taking no chances. Who knew what lay ahead?

Aurora
was coming down, flying the Union Jack at bow and stern, with four more red, white, and blue flags canted at angles from her wicker sides.
Oh, dear heavens!
Someone had affixed a giant gilded crown, f
our or f
ive feet across, to the roof. Matt! It had to be Matt.

I didn’t bother to wave to the surging masses in front of the palace gates. They were already turning their heads west toward Hyde Park, pointing, shouting . . . Like a giant wave on a stormy sea, those on foot and horseback began to move toward the possibility of an even greater bit of entertainment. The crowd surged, flowing irregularly around two- and four-wheeled vehicles struggl
ing
to turn around in the midst of an undulating sea of people.

Until now, I had kept a leisurely pace, keeping the crowd’s attention fixed on me, giving
Aurora
time to reach her goal without hindrance. Now, however, I
moved the small lever
that increased
Maia
’s speed, soaring over Green Park, over busy streets with traffic brought to a standstill by the tide of humanity rushing toward Hyde Park. Past Apsley House . . . the blue water of the Serpentine loomed ahead on my left.

For a moment I took my eyes off
Aurora
, where men on the ground were reaching for her tether ropes. Grass, nothing but grass. I was ahead of the crowd. And not a soldier in sight. We’d done it!

I slowed
Maia
, my heart attempting to slow with it. Not successfully. In these final moments before Lexa appeared before her people, my pulse pounded, my thoughts raced, refusing to coalesce into coherent thought. I scanned the group of dignitaries waiting to greet Her Royal Highness, Princess Alexandrina Victoria. At the forefront, the Marquess of Carlyon, the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Lord Chancellor, the Lord Mayor of London,
and
Lord Melbourne, the future Prime Minister
. J
ust behind them, thanks be,
a surprisingly high number of the House of Lords willing to risk all to restore what was essentially a continental dynasty to the throne of the British Empire.

But I had no instructions for this moment. I was to keep the crowd’s attention, then lead them to Hyde Park. Beyond that, nothing. And yet . . .

I was here, I was airborne. I could see what others could not. A single urgent thought stabbed its way through t
he excitement of the moment. P
erimeter search. I should do a perimeter search. Although there were a few carriages stopped on Rotten Row, gawping at the spectacle like everyone else, I saw only one closed coach that might contain soldiers, and I knew we had enough of our own men on guard to handle any threat a single carriage might hold.

Yet the area was rimmed by trees and bushes . . .

They were tying off Aurora’s four tethers. Next, the door would open, the steps would be lowered . . .

So little time . . . were our guards on the ground enough . . .?

I mustn’t fall into the trap of thinking we’d succeeded just because
Aurora
and her balloon hadn’t been shot full of holes before she landed. Nor should I fall into the trap of counting my chickens before they were hatched. Truth was, I had descended to about forty feet as I approached
Aurora
, staring at the reception committee like some baconbrained idiot just off the farm. Quickly, I increased both speed and height in a scramble to rise above the trees. My job wasn’t done.

So many leaves—how could I spot a man with a gun? For that’s all it would take. One well-placed shot from a rifle and Lexa would be gone, leaving Wellington—

No, never. Our Lord Protector would not stoop so low.

I had no such benign thoughts about Ernest Augustus, King of Hanover.

The trees were in a widely spaced ring, but each sported thick summer foliage. I swooped down as close as I could, but caught no hint of skin, fabric, or the gleam of metal.

On to a large cluster of low bushes. I was vaguely aware the noise level had increased. The crowd had caught up, and were being held back by a stout ring of our guards.

Again, all I could see was a mass of green leaves. I zipped behind
Aurora
, barely looking at the trees some distance away. Any assassin waiting in that area would have abandoned his post in search of a clear line of sight. Another glance at
Aurora
showed I was right. Crowds had surged in from both sides, ringing
Aurora
in a semi-circle, making a shot from the bushes impossible. Only from a tree . . .

And there it was. A glint of metal, a glimpse of something flesh-colored.

Around me, silence. Complete, awed silence. And I knew Lexa—my friend Lexa, Princess Royal of the House of Hanover—had made her appearance, every crystal
on her gown
sparkling in the sun as brightly as the diamonds in her tiara.
Alas, I dared not look. I could only picture
her in my mind,
for
my eyes
were fixed on
the man in the tree. The man who was about to bring our revolution to a tragic end.

Only one thing to do. I shoved the controls to speed, attacking him from the side like an avenging fury. He was so concentrated on the princess, he never saw me coming. Shielding my face with my arms against the tearing branches, I steered my precious
Maia
into the tree, using both feet as a battering ram, sending the man catapulting to the ground. His shot went wild as my basket crashed against branches too sturdy to break. Air whooshed out of me, pain everywhere as twigs penetrated my skin even as rough wood scraped me raw and leaves filled my mouth. My basket cracked, spilling me half out, clinging madly to an eight-inch branch. My balloon struggled to go airborne, cracking my head against a thick branch above me.

Was that the sound I heard?
H
ad there been a second shot?

I swayed, the remains of my basket swayed. The balloon kept up its insistent tug, determined to go airborne. Dizzy, I kept a death grip on the branch the assassin had chosen for his vantage point.

Julian!

As my head cleared, I became aware that the screams and shouts from below had dulled to a low roar. Whatever had happened was over.

“My lady! My lady!”

Matt. Of course it was Matt come to my rescue. Why should I expect Julian when his duty kept him at Lexa’s side?

With Matt’s calm encouragement, I disentangled myself from the remains of my beloved
Maia
, crawled along the branch, trying not to look at my bloody hands and arms. A dozen willing hands helped me to the ground. I looked toward
Aurora
, but the crowd blocked my view. I could, however, clearly see the assassin, flat on the ground with two burly men sitting on him and two constables breaking through the gawking crowd, heading straight toward them.

Good! My surge of satisfaction wavered as reality hit me almost as hard as I’d hit the tree. Matt’s grip tightened as my knees threatened to buckle. I had attacked a man with a rifle. I had saved Lexa’s life. Lexa, my friend and sovereign.

“Listen to me, my lady.” Matt, lips to my ear, broke into my self-congratulations. “You’ve no cause to panic, but there was a second assassin. What you did warned the Guv and he stepped in front of the princess, taking the bullet meant for ’er.”

Black burst over my world, obliterating triumph, blotting out the sun. “He’s d—?”

“Not by a long shot he ain’t. The doc’s with ’im now, but he refuses to be put in a carriage ’til the deed’s done, just as we planned.”

“Take me to him this instant!”

“Truth to tell, m’lady, seein’ you all bloody will likely be more of a shock than the Guv should have. In his condition and all.”

“
Now
, Matt!”

To my amazement, the crowd parted like the Red Sea before Moses. Vaguely, I heard cries of, “Huzzah for the little lady!” “Bless you, my lady!” “You’re a right one, Baroness!” And then a loud, “Three cheers for Lady Rochefort! Hip, hip, huzzah!” The shouted refrain propelled me forward, my ears ringing, my feet floating over the grass as I spotted what I hoped was Julian at the end of the opened path.

“Hip, hip, huzzah!”

Someone was sitting on the ground, propped against
Aurora
’s steps, but almost obscured by what I could only hope was a doctor kneeling beside him, plus the broad skirts of four ladies—his mama, Lady Carlyon, Lady Wandsley, and the sparkling white glory of Her Royal Highness, the Princess Victoria. Behind them hovered the Marquess of Carlyon.

“Hip, hip, huzzah!”

I plowed through them all, even laying hands on the girl who was about to be queen. My knees hit the ground. “Julian!” I gasped, eyes wide with terror as I saw the gaping wound in his shoulder.

“Good God, Minta, you look worse than I do!”

I’d forgotten the blood. “’Tis nothing, just scratches, but you—”

“I’ll mend.” I wasn’t so sure about that. A pain far worse than slamming into the tree stabbed through me. What a fool I’d been not to recognize how much I loved him until threatened by his loss.

The doctor spoke up. “He needs to go home, my lady, where I can properly tend his wound, but he won’t budge. Says ‘it’s not over yet,’ whatever that means.”

I glanced up to find the dignitaries, still in line and staring intently in our direction. “Oh. Have you not been acknowledged, Lexa–ah–Your Highness?”

“I fear not. I was whisked back into the airship and allowed out but a moment ago.”

I looked over the princess’s head to the marquess. “Then it’s time,” I declared. “Lord Carlyon, will you please present Her Highness?”

The temerity of giving orders to a marquess, however politely worded, was not lost on me. And Julian’s lips definitely curled into a tight smile. My fate in life—to amuse my husband.

The marquess stepped forward, offering the tips of his gloved fingers to the princess, and escorted her to within a few feet of the men who had risked their lives, their titles, and their fortunes to greet her.

“Your Grace.” Carlyon inclined his head to the archbishop before including the others. “My Lord Chancellor, my Lord Mayor, my lords”—he took his time as he surveyed the array of peers of the realm. Making a list, no doubt. These were the men who would find favor with the new government. “I have the great honor to present to you Her Royal Highness Alexandrina Victoria of Kent, rightful heir to the throne.”

I could only see her back, but I knew Lexa looked radiant. Providing the promise of something young and fresh and wonderful. Hope for a nation that was surging to the forefront of world power.

“Your Royal Highness,” the archbishop acknowledged, and went down to one knee before her. The other dignitaries did the same.

Now the huzzahs were for Victoria, as they should be. I clutched Julian’s hand tight as tears filled my eyes.

Behind me, the final huzzahs faltered, dwindling to shocked whispers, followed by silence. The rest of the crowd gradually quieted, aware that something was wrong, but not knowing what.

An opening appeared in the tightly packed crowd, another parting of the Red Sea. And through it walked a tall, lean, elderly man, wearing not the uniform of a Field Marshal in the British Army, but a blue tailcoat, similar to the one he had worn during the Peninsular War and at the battle of Waterloo. I blinked, used my sleeve to wipe away my tears. Wellington, the Lord Protector. Behind him walked Prince George and an array of generals.

The silence was palpable. I’m quite certain we all held our breaths, from the archbishop right on down to the lowliest crossing sweep. I couldn’t even imagine what Lexa was thinking. I could only pray the best traits of the House of Hanover would prevail, keeping her upright and unquailing.

And then it happened. The Lord Protector of the realm, the man who had saved the nation from conquest by Napoleon Bonaparte and from the profligacies of George the Fourth, and the venal tendencies of Ernest Augustus, King of Hanover, dropped to one knee before the Princess Victoria and bowed his head. Despite his age, his voice had lost none of its power. “Your Royal Highness, for eleven years I have stood caretaker to this realm. I now gladly relinquish my authority to the rightful monarch. May God bless the reign of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria.” Prince George helped the old man to his feet, and peers of the realm surged forward, enveloping all the chess pieces in the long-term match to restore the House of Hanover.