“How?” Alice asked.
Ruby thought that was quite a bit more encouraging a question—but then, Alice was always the first to fall in line with one of Ruby’s schemes. “The princess has never visited Pomeroy House, not once since she bought it. If we go there, we can tell the staff in residence that we are her ladies-in-waiting. They won’t know any better.”
“But the princess will know we are not,” Alice protested.
“I don’t think the princess is ever coming.” She had not thus far. And if Ruby’s father’s recent interest in the machinations of the royal family was any indication, the political situation within Monfalcone was not likely to become more stable within the next few months.
Ruby hadn’t quite sorted out all the details—such as how she would ever persuade her father to let her go—but together, she, Alice, and Tamsin could make the scheme work. Sheknewthey could.
Each of them brought something critical to the task. Ruby had the ideas and the enthusiasm, and enough stubborn persistence to bring her plans to fruition. Too much stubbornness, perhaps: Had she been a trifle less determined, she might have realized that conquering society the way her sister Cassandra had was never going to happen.
Nor was pleasing her father.
But she shook that thought off. If they went to Cornwall, she no longer needed to worry about society or the Earl of Hangleton.
Tamsin, for her part, was the practical one. Tamsin had only to look at luggage and it packed itself; postilions rushed to do her bidding, and carriage traffic seemed to fall away in front of her steely blue gaze. And Alice—
Alice smoothed Tam and Ruby’s rough edges. Everyone who met Alice adored her. If the house was full of Monfalcone royal stewards and servitors, Alice would have them all wrapped around her little finger in a heartbeat.
They had knowledge, and expertise, and a connection to the Monfalcone royal family by way of Ruby’s father. They had money of their own to fund the trip; Ruby and Tam were both possessed of substantial inheritances, and Alice’s father had never said no to her in his life.
And—it was exhilarating and a little painful to consider—they had some measure of freedom now. No one in London would mind terribly much if the three of them vanished for the rest of the Season.
Alice touched her fingers to the ribbon threaded through her black curls. “Ladies-in-waiting?” she repeated. “For the Princess Serafina?”
“Yes,” Ruby said. “I can use my father’s name and seal.” Guilt flared at the thought of lying to the earl about her intentions, but she quashed it firmly. Sherefusedto falter. The moment called for decisiveness, not for foolish regret. “He’s the ambassador to Monfalcone. No one would question our right to be at Pomeroy House.”
Alice’s cheeks had gone pink, and her neat striped gloves were locked together somewhere at the level of her breastbone. “Don’t ladies-in-waiting generally possess some sort of... skills?”
“We have plenty of skills. Tamsin’s been running her aunt’s home for years. I can manage the rooms, the art, the princess’s wardrobe—pineapple debacle notwithstanding—”
Alice, who had not borne witness to the pineapple dress, blinked.
Ruby waved off the question on Alice’s face. “You can do everything else, Alice. Etiquette, dancing, music, all the relevant languages. Even butterflies, if the princess is fond of those.”
Before her father’s disgrace, Alice had been the Diamond of the Season, the most popular and sparkling debutante of 1814. She’d been poised to marry a duke’s heir—the gossip columns had already started to speculate about which modiste would be selected to fashion her wedding gown. And when her father had been accused of treason and only barely escaped a trial by his peers in the Lords, Alice had lost everything.
Everything except Ruby and Tamsin.
The pale column of Alice’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. She was staring at the newspaper in Ruby’s hands, and there was something bright and hopeful in her face. Though she would not admit it, Alice had chafed horribly these last years under the censure that had been heaped upon her and her father. “Do you really think we could do it? Leave London? Live in Cornwall together?”
Ruby directed a beseeching glance at Tamsin, who had not yet spoken. She too had her eyes fastened on the headline, and her freckled face looked very stern.
“Tam?” Ruby said cautiously.
“Yes,” Tamsin said. Her hands made fists at her sides. “Yes. I think we should do it.”
Ruby attempted not to gape. She had supposed that Tamsin—clever, pragmatic Tamsin—would be far harder to convince.
“It’s a good idea, Ruby. Well—no, it’s an outlandish idea that needs significant refining, but—yes. Let’s go.” Tamsin’s dark-blue eyes were fierce when she looked up and met Ruby’s gaze. “I want to go.”
“You—do?”
There was a hint of something strange on Tamsin’s face. In some other woman, Ruby might have called it hesitation. “I have been thinking about leaving London myself lately.”
“Youhave?”
“Mm. But I did not want to leave the two of you.” Tamsin’s wide mouth crimped at the corner. “Aunt Frankie is getting married, you see. To her childhood sweetheart. Who’s finally persuaded her to move home.”
