Dangerous Deceptions (15 page)

My personal business concluded, it was time to set about my public duty of Being Charming. I circled the room, greeting the other guests, laughing and trading repartee and commonplaces with the gentlemen. It would not be long before I was drawn to one of the many card tables that had been set up. The men at court adored cards, and they loved, for a variety of reasons, to play with the maids and the ladies. They also, it happened, liked to cheat when they thought they could get away with it. They cheated in a positively gleeful and outrageous fashion if the stakes being played for included a kiss, or a lock of maiden’s hair, or a similar “love token.”

One could not complain about this. Men might invite one another out to a duel, but we fair maids were expected to laugh and lose. Some of these same gentlemen, however, were not safe. At all. Therefore, it was important not to lose to them during those games. The pockets that the Drury Lane wardrobe mistress Madame Rosalind had cunningly stitched into my stomacher and the folds of my skirt were my answer to this social difficulty. Subtly adding or subtracting cards from the pack is among the most popular weapons in the sharper’s arsenal. It is also, as far as I can tell, the only practical use for the acres of fabric with which the court lady is required to clothe herself.

Of course, I would never encourage anyone to study cheating, let alone to attempt to become adept at it. I simply wish to caution all delicately bred ladies that such schemes do exist. Forewarned, we are most correctly taught, is forearmed.

It was not only the gentlemen one had to be careful of at these royal card parties. The ladies could be as deadly, play for stakes as ruinous, and cheat with as much alacrity and ingenuity. I saw the Mistresses T-bourne & C-bourne taking up positions on either side of the already obviously drunken Lords of Addingford and Allendale. I hoped those men had brought full purses with them. Sophy Howe, I noted, was engaged in a game of ombre with Mary Bellenden and a pair of gentlemen I did not know. They were all laughing about something. Sophy gave me a maliciously merry look as I passed her table, and I felt a sudden tremor of nerves.

But it was when I saw Molly Lepell seated at the piquet table with Lady Bristol that I halted in my tracks.

In daily life, Lady Bristol was a broad, tall woman with a handsome face. But there was nothing handsome about her when she took up a hand of cards. Her head thrust forward on her long neck as if she were a vulture who sought to devour the cards, and her brow furrowed tight with concentration as she stared at each pasteboard revealed.

When it came to the gaming tables, Molly Lepell played because play was required as part of the persona of maid of honor. Like all things Molly did at court, she proceeded carefully. I had seen her cry off from games with the bedchamber ladies, who played in earnest for very high stakes, and I had never once known her to accept an invitation from Lady Bristol. Yet, there she sat, calmly attentive to their game of piquet. Molly had a bare handful of coins in front of her, while Lady Bristol had an entire palisade of gold and silver stacked on her side of the table. The pile of wagers in the middle was all gold and silver coins. There was even a garnet ring among the coins, and I found myself wondering with a certain amount of alarm which of them it belonged to.

“Well, Peggy.” Mary Bellenden sidled up to me, hiding her coy smile behind her silver lace fan. I’d been so intent on watching Molly, I hadn’t even noticed Mary and Sophy had finished their own game. “What do you think of Molly’s new taste in card partners?”

“I think she generally chooses better, but who am I to say?” I tried to speak lightly, but I was worried. I remembered again our conversation in the garden. When Molly thought I had suggested she might be in need of money, she had grown positively outraged. Now, her brow furrowed, she allowed her hand to hover uncertainly over first one card and then the other.

“Who are any of us to say?” Mary giggled as the doors opened to admit a cluster of new arrivals. “Ah, now!” Her eyes lit up with a keen amusement that did not bode well for anybody. “Here comes the sun himself. Let us watch and see where it sets.”

I followed Mary’s gaze to one particular guest who advanced with the others to make his bow to Her Royal Highness. He was a young man, probably only a little older than myself. His bearing was strong and straight, and he moved with a pleasing confidence. While his dark coat was rather plain, it did sport gilt buttons, and his waistcoat was fairly crusted with silver thread. He also wore a long and full wig, very much in the older style, but this served to emphasize the width of his pale brow while elegantly framing the outline of his oval face. Humor filled his dark eyes, and a smile played about his mouth, as if he’d just heard some excellent joke. Looking at him, I felt a jolt under my ribs, uncomfortably like the one that came when I looked on Matthew.

While I scolded my fickle self for this most inappropriate reaction, Mary, who had no such qualms, stared hungrily over the edge of her fan. The object of her attention threaded his way across the room, nodding to various acquaintances. He paused at the table where Molly Lepell played, but not at Molly’s side. Rather, he laid a hand on Lady Bristol’s shoulder. I noted the similarity in their faces. It was too great to miss. This young man must be Lady Bristol’s son, which meant he was the Honorable John Hervey.

Lady Bristol patted Mr. Hervey’s hand without looking up from her cards. While noting this display of maternal affection, I might have missed the other bit of the show, had Mary not helpfully elbowed me. For a single eyeblink, I saw Molly glance at the handsome Mr. Hervey. In that instant, the most remarkable change overtook her. The polished courtier faded away and it was only a simple, shy, pretty girl who looked up at John Hervey.

“You cannot be serious,” I murmured, only partly aware I spoke at all.

“When have I ever been serious, Peggy?” Mary giggled in answer. “But I am right. I’ll wager you a guinea our Molly has fallen in love with the divine Mr. Hervey.”

Molly’s eyes had already dropped back to her cards, but John Hervey’s gaze was still fixed on her with an intensity that sent goose bumps crawling up my arms. It did not last. John Hervey moved away, taking the moment and its intensity away with him. But like Mary, I knew that moment for what it was.

“Have you said anything to anyone else?” I asked more sharply than I meant to.

“You mean to Sophy?” Mary tossed her head. “Sophy isn’t listening to me at present. If she wants gossip, she can find her own.”

“Well, this is news,” I murmured. “Especially since you were just her card partner.” I waited for an explanation, but Mary merely let her gaze wander about the room, looking for less inquisitive company. I decided not to be deterred. “What has Sophy done to you?”

“Not a thing that I’m aware of.” Mary’s shrug was eloquent and yet vacant. It was an astounding accomplishment. “But she seems to think I’ve done something to her. Perhaps she takes it ill that I would not back her in your latest quarrel.”

I would have been more grateful if I had not known this would change the moment Mary decided it would be more fun to quiz me than Sophy. Still, any reprieve was to be cherished. “Mary—”

“You’re about to tell me to beware the Howe, aren’t you? Oh,
lud,
Peggy, how dull.”

“Courting trouble is never a good idea.”

“Better you give that warning to our Molly. Or take it for yourself. A little bird . . .”

But I was not to hear what information that little bird might have to impart, because a gentleman in a coat of a truly amazing shade of blushing rose silk raised his glass toward us.

“
Oh,
there’s Lord Blakeney!” As easy as that, Mary slipped away to greet her current favorite, all but skipping up to his side—quite a sight when the girl in question was wearing a heavy court mantua, with train.

“Ha!”

This exclamation came from the piquet table. Lady Bristol laid her cards down with a flourish. Despite her heavy powder and paint, I could see the bright color that triumph brought to her sagging cheeks. Molly smiled wanly as Lady Bristol raked in the pile of coins and the garnet ring.

Molly, what are you doing?
I found myself looking for Mr. Hervey. There he stood by the fireplace, ostensibly listening to the gentleman beside him, but his gaze was fixed on the piquet table, and his mother, and Molly.

“Not joining in the games tonight, Miss Fitzroy?” inquired a voice very close to my ear.

I bit my lip to muffle my startled squeak, and turned. Really, this was too much. As both maid and agent, I could not have people sneaking up behind me.

This time, my sneaking inquisitor was a man who stepped up close enough that my hems were in grave danger of being trod upon. I recognized him as Mr. Robert Walpole. Mr. Walpole was a frequent guest at Her Royal Highness’s gatherings, but he did not flirt (too much), or play cards. His were deeper games. Rumor said that Mr. Walpole was all but taking control of the House of Commons and, by extension, the Parliament. Some suspected that had birth permitted, he would have played for the crown itself.

I allowed myself a mental sigh. I had in the space of half an hour gone from arranging to sell my jewels, to uncovering a secret love affair, to gaining the attention of a man who sought to run the kingdom.

Another simple, informal card party for Peggy Fitzroy.

“Indeed I will be joining in, Mr. Walpole.” I fluttered my fan and turned a flirtatious shoulder toward him. With the same motion, I gave myself and my hems a few inches more of breathing space. “But it is important to pick one’s game and partner with care, as I am sure a man of your experience knows.”

Mr. Walpole chuckled. “So it is, Miss Fitzroy. I hope you will not be put out if I watch with you awhile.” His eyes measured the increased distance between us, but he stayed where he was.

“I could never be put out in your company, sir,” I lied with a smile from behind my fan.

Mr. Walpole’s nod said he understood exactly. Whatever else he was, this man was a veteran of the little drawing room skirmishes that occurred daily.

“Do you hear much from Lord Tierney since he left us?” Mr. Walpole inquired.

“A little,” I said. “He was rather delayed by the weather in the channel.” Mr. Walpole nodded, and I decided to take a risk and pose my own question. “I expect you, sir, hear of him nearly as often as I.”

“I hear some. I hear some.” This time the nod was judicious. “As you may imagine, Mr. Townshend and I take a particular interest in his business.”

Mr. Townshend’s name was tightly linked to Mr. Walpole’s. In fact, the pair were supposed to have entered into a partnership of sorts—uniting behind the Prince of Wales as part of Mr. Walpole’s bid to consolidate power in Parliament while King George was away in Hanover. It occurred to me Walpole and Townshend were probably the Misters W and T whom Mr. Tinderflint named in his letter as “reckless beaus.” My gaze darted to where Princess Caroline sat laughing with a tiny group of ladies and gentlemen.

Mr. Walpole followed my glance. He smiled, just a little, and he leaned in, also just a little. “If there is anything you need while your patron is away, Miss Fitzroy, you may speak to me on any subject,” he said in a tone meant to be both confidential and comfortable. “You know that I am a great friend of Her Royal Highness.”

I did know that, and it rendered me distinctly queasy. What was I to make of a man who was a friend to Princess Caroline, but not to Mr. Tinderflint?

“Friendship is a scarce commodity in our circles,” I said, striving for neutrality.

“Well put.” Mr. Walpole snickered. It was not a nice sound. I reminded myself to avoid eliciting it again, ever. “But should you care to inquire of the Princess of Wales, she will certainly vouch for me.”

“But why is it you choose to form an acquaintance with me now?” If Mr. Walpole cared to engage in a game of Hint and Innuendo, he could not object to my taking a turn. “Lord Tierney has been away from court for some weeks. You could have addressed me at any time.”

“I was informed you were observant, especially for so young a girl.” Mr. Walpole’s eyes flickered up and down my person once more, and I made ready to move another few inches away. “In the past few days . . . there have been certain . . . stirrings. Certain matters of business, I’m sure you understand.”

“Northern business?” Olivia would have been proud of me, speaking spy’s cant like I’d been born to it.

“Just so,” agreed Mr. Walpole pleasantly. “I thought a word to the wise might be in order, especially as these stirrings coincide with your patron’s departure.”

That was disconcerting, but the emotion I felt most strongly at that moment was annoyance. Couldn’t the Jacobites keep themselves amused elsewhere while I sorted out my own life? As it was, I stood in need of a confidential secretary to keep track of my various suspicions and troubles. I might have to tell Olivia there was no time left for housebreaking.

“Thank you for your notice, Mr. Walpole.” I smiled as if he’d just said something remarkably flirtatious, and curtsied. This effectively signaled the end of our conversation. Mr. Walpole bowed over my hand. He had warm and clammy palms.

I watched Mr. Walpole flow effortlessly between the clusters of people, card tables, and servants. He was circling slowly, casually, ever closer to Her Royal Highness—the center of the gathering and the center of power.

At another time, I would have indulged in a strangled sigh and some muffled cursing. But the lioness ladies of the bedchamber, Mistresses T-bourne & C-bourne, were both watching me with narrowed eyes from their card table. I did not want them whispering to Her Royal Highness about me later. So I shook myself, took as deep a breath as my stays allowed, and prepared to get back to being charming.

I was, however, frustrated in this plan, because the footmen opened the doors again, and this time it was Sebastian Sandford who sashayed through.

FIFTEEN