Weslorian green.

Caroline stared at the girl who, relieved of her duties, had stepped back, her eyes downcast. What was it Priscilla had said? Something about foreign servants being better than English servants. Foreign servants. Weslorian servants. Did that mean... Was Tom... Caroline’s breath caught. She could hardly move as the possibilities began to crowd into her head.

“What do you think?” Priscilla asked.

“Pardon? Oh, it’s beautiful,” Caroline said. “It’s perfect for the Pennybacker ball.”

“The hem, darling.”

“Oh! Right.” Caroline sank down on her knees to have a look at the hem. She took a pin from the cushion on her wrist. “For your supper, I think you should wear the blue.”

“You think I should?” Priscilla asked.

It all made sense. Tom’s dear friend was Henry, the Duke of Norfolk. If Tom was using this girl, Caroline was determined to get her out. And the other one, at the Pennybackers’! Yes, of course! Lord Pennybacker and Tom were friends, too, and if Priscilla had a new foreign servant, Nancy would have insisted.

“No one looks as good as you in blue, Priscilla,” Caroline chirped as she put a few pins in the hem to mark where to take it up. “And do you know what else? I think you ought to have your supper after the Pennybacker ball next week, but before everyone begins to leave for the country. It will be a palate cleanser after that dreadful ball, won’t it? And you’d not want Nancy to escape to the north for the summer and not know until autumn that you had the prince to dine, would you?”

“Oh, I hardly care what Nancy Pennybacker thinks of anything,” Priscilla said, which was laughably untrue. “But if I were to have it next week, who else should I invite?” She began to rattle off names that she ought to invite while Caroline’s head spun. Somehow, she managed to chat along, agreeing that this person or that ought to be invited, when all she cared about was how to get news of this to Leopold.

“I’ll serve lamb,” Priscilla said, waving the girl over when Caroline had finished pinning the hem. “The butcher in Newgate has taken a liking to me.” She took the girl’s hand again, and Caroline leaned closer. There was no mistaking that Weslorian green.

She watched the girl go out with the stool.

“Caroline! Where are you?”

Caroline started and whirled around. Priscilla had presented her back to be unfastened out of the gown. Caroline was breathless. She’d found a Weslorian. “What about marzipan cakes?” she suggested.

How would they rescue this poor girl? They? Yes, of course, they! She and Leopold. He’d come to her for help and she was going to help him. She had to do it. For him, and for herself.

But the other thing suddenly beating in her chest was the knowledge that once Leopold had them all, he meant to leave.

He would be leaving very soon. Too soon.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX


The Pennybacker ball was held in Mayfair to much fanfare. At midnight, a light supper of ham and potatoes was served, as well as ices to keep the guests from sweltering.

The best of summer evening gowns made their appearance at the ball, the most desirable including the latest in French fashion of having elaborate bows cascading down the front of the dress.

Prince Leopold of Alucia has announced his imminent departure from England. He is expected to set sail in a matter of days and return to Helenamar to formally announce his engagement to a Weslorian heiress. It shall come not a moment too soon, as Lord Pennybacker has accused him of trying to seduce one of his maids during the ball.

—Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and


Domesticity for Ladies

LEO WAS INDEED being followed. The day after Caroline had told him about the two men from the foreign secretary’s office, he’d noticed a man walking briskly behind him. Kadro and Artur were strolling behind him, too, but either they hadn’t noticed the gentleman, or...or was it possible they were part of the conspiracy against him? Leo wouldn’t have believed it, but then again, he wouldn’t have believed there was a plot to kidnap his brother last year, either. And yet there was. What possible reason would anyone have to plant such a terrible rumor about him? To keep him from discovering the identity of these women?

He didn’t know how or what, but he knew instinctively that it had something to do with Cressidian.

He decided he would think about it when it was necessary. For the time being, he had something pressing to think about. Time was running out to find the last two Weslorian women and free Rasa from Lord Pennybacker’s shackles. He had to at least find the women he knew about. He couldn’t begin to guess how many more there were that he didn’t know about. Young women. Poor women. Helpless women.

He hoped to have Rasa in hand very soon. Tonight was the night of the Pennybacker ball, and somehow, Caroline had managed to see him invited to attend.

Last week, a footman from the house on Upper Brook Street had delivered a note. It said simply, Please do accept any and all invitations you might receive. He’d thought it odd advice, seeing as how he wasn’t receiving any invitations, his name having been struck from all the rolls of suitable guests. But then, curiously, an invitation to dine at the Farrington home arrived a day or two later. In spite of Caroline’s note, he was rather surprised by it—he scarcely knew Lord Farrington. Nevertheless, Lord Farrington had issued his invitation and seemed eager to make Leo’s acquaintance. The date was set for Saturday next.

The invitation to the Pennybacker ball arrived the day after that, along with a personal note from Lady Pennybacker, begging His Royal Highness’s forgiveness for not having sent the invitation sooner. The ball was to be held in just four days’ time, and three days before the dinner at the Farringtons’.

The note said the invitation had been “inadvertently misplaced.”

“Inadvertently misplaced,” Leo repeated. How the devil had Caroline managed it?

“Shall we accept?” Josef had asked, his expression inscrutable. “It is Wednesday evening, and your calendar is free.”

Leo resisted directing a withering look to Josef. He wanted to say of course they would accept, as he was being followed and suspected of treason against his own father and appearances were desperately important. “Je,” he said simply. “I should appreciate the diversion before we depart this land. You should take the night for yourself, Josef. Take in the theater, perhaps.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

It was the sort of vague response Josef always gave him. Neither a yes or no, but a simple thank you. Would he take in the theater? Or would he plot against his employer?

Leo had been looking at Josef a little more closely of late. He suddenly didn’t trust him. Josef had always been unreadable, but now that enigmatic posture seemed suspect, especially in light of the fact that Josef had been the one to suggest Cressidian to him.

Leo recalled how Bas had felt in London those days after Matous was murdered—he trusted no one but Leo, and a pretty woman who lived in a modest town house who liked to repair clocks. He was becoming more like his brother every day.

“I shall notify Freddar that you will need formal clothing for that evening,” Josef said, making a note in his leather journal.

Leo wondered about that leather journal. What other notes did it contain? “Thank you. You may go.”

Josef glanced up. Leo rarely was the one to end their appointments—generally Josef was bustling off to take care of this or that. But he gathered his things and stood, then bowed his head. “Send Kadro to me,” Leo added, his gaze once again on the invitation.

“Je, Your Highness.”

Kadro entered a few minutes later and bowed.

Now Leo studied his guard. Kadro had been with him for six years now—surely he would have noticed something along the way if Kadro was involved in something nefarious? Or had he spent so much time at the bottom of a bottle that he wouldn’t have noticed anything at all? Entirely possible. “Have you noticed anyone following me?” he asked.

Kadro looked confused. “No, Your Highness.”

“Perhaps on the street as I’ve trundled about,” he said, gesturing lazily with his hand.

Kadro’s brows knit into a frown. He shook his head.

Leo slowly stood. “Well, someone has been following me. I’ve seen him, and I wonder why you haven’t. I should like to know who he is.”

Kadro’s feelings about this flashed across his face in a look of confusion, then alarm and then doubt. But he nodded and said, “Je, Your Highness. Artur and I will keep watch.”

“And keep an eye on Josef,” Leo added.

Kadro blinked. He looked as if he wanted to speak. He clearly wanted to understand what had prompted this warning. But Leo wasn’t going to tell him more.

Kadro nodded curtly.

“Thank you. You may go,” Leo said, and turned away from his guard.

He felt unlike himself. A wholly different person from the man who had occupied this skin for twenty-nine years. He didn’t like living with dull suspicions and the need to look over his shoulder. He didn’t like it at all.

Yesterday, a note had come from Hawke:

Your Royal Highness, greetings and salutations. I am writing to invite you to attend the Pennybacker ball with Lady Caroline and myself. She assures me an invitation has been extended to you and feels very much that you should not enter that “den of rumormongers and anxious mothers” all alone. I have suggested that my sister is chief among the rumormongers, and she has said some very unkind things to me in return. But it is her wish, and I extend this invitation because I have proven time and again that I am powerless to deny her. Therefore, it would be our great honor if you were to attend the ball in our company, if for no other reason than to keep brother and sister from maiming each other. We look forward to your favorable reply. B.H.