Georgiana felt she must be somewhat satisfied with the excursion. It had not gone perfectly, but she had survived and gone on to master the sidesaddle. She could only hope that Lady Annabelle would not spread the tale of her flying over her horse far and wide. She did have the hope, at least, as that lady would be far too taken up with how her hair must be a fright or her dress the wrong color for her complexion.
*
Jasper had setoff for Buckingham to see the queen, leaving in good time on horseback. Though it was not a great distance to travel, at this season the London streets were crowded. Worse, they were almost always crowded with at least one person he knew who would wish to blather on about something with no regard for how they blocked other people trying to reach a destination.
He was not at all surprised that he failed to get to the palace without one of these encounters, though he found himself annoyed that this time it was Lady Annabelle and her unpleasant mother, Lady Kerster, who were the culprits. They rode in a carriage as a bevy of grooms took care of their horses, having just come from the park.
Amidst the shouting of cart drivers for them to move on, Lady Annabelle told the alarming story of Miss Wilcox somehow getting thrown clear over her horse. Jasper might have almost thought she invented the tale, as Lady Annabelle was no stranger to insulting other women, had it not been for Lady Kerster’s grave nodding.
He was to know that Miss Wilcox stood and shook herself off as if this were an everyday occurrence for her. He was also to know that Lord Asturt had been so alarmed by the scene that he had insisted on escorting Miss Wilcox in case she were to throw herself to the ground again.
Jasper could, at least, confirm from this report that Miss Wilcox had not come to any serious injury. He was rather relieved to know it, though he found himself irritated by the idea of Asturt coming to the rescue.
Asturt was such an odd fellow! His accent was a mishmash of he knew not what. He had not been in Town for a season before this one, apparently squirreling himself away on some remote Irish estate, which was an exceedingly odd thing to do, as he was apparently not short of funds. He’d somehow got himself admitted to Brooks’s and then when he’d overheard Jasper complain that his valet was packing off to America, he’d leapt into the conversation with a recommendation.
Marcus had worked for an old cousin of Asturt’s who had spent his last remaining years on a property he owned in Germany. Because of his extensive travels, Marcus spoke a number of languages—French, German, and even some Russian and Italian. Jasper had thought it might come in handy some day and so had hired him. That was all well and good. But Asturt could not seem to let the thing go—he was forever inquiring about Marcus as if Jasper had forgotten to pay him a finder’s fee for the valet. It was all very ridiculous.
As he entered the palace, he determined to put the matter aside. There was nothing to be done about it and he had far more serious matters at hand than a fall in the park.
Queen Charlotte receivedJasper in their usual room. It was not by any means the largest receiving room in the palace, but it had the advantage of only one set of doors on the far side and no connecting rooms. This prevented anybody nosy enough to wish to overhear from listening at keyholes or through walls.
The room was sumptuously decorated in all manner of fine furniture and expensive fabrics, but the decorations paled in comparison to her two ever-present companions—a pair of very unpleasant Pomeranians. The dogs were odd-looking piles of fur who were surprisingly vicious, given their laughable stature. They had no hope of overcoming anybody, unless a person could be killed via ankle nip, but they considered themselves exceedingly ferocious.
They both growled and eyed Jasper with some mixture of suspicion and contempt after the queen had invited him to sit.
“I have had a report,” Queen Charlotte said, shaking an indulgent finger at her bad-tempered dogs, “a most alarming report.”
Jasper waited to hear what it was, though his trepidation led him to think all manner of things.
“The Stuart has fled Russia and may well be in our own neighborhood. Scotland, perhaps, or even closer.”
In that brief moment before she had spoken, a hundred thoughts had crossed his mind. That had not been one of them. Of all the concerns he’d had, the Stuart had been perhaps the most farfetched, and by far the most serious. He waited for the queen to go on.
“It seems,” she said, pouring tea, “that the Tsarina found something worthy in the man and contracted him to marry an heiress. The fool then proceeded to proclaim his love for the lady’s sister who was contracted to another. At the same time as he was causing that scandal, his banker failed. All but penniless and having caused outrage, he fled. He has always seemed a far-off danger, but now he seems rather closer.”
Jasper nodded. “Because he has nothing to lose,” he said.
“Precisely,” the queen said. “I was confident that you would grasp the situation instantly. If he had weighed his chances over the years, he would have considered it not a gambit likely to run in his favor and with much to lose. Now it is still not in his favor, but nothing in particular holds him back.”
Jasper thought the timing could not be worse. That the Stuart might be convinced to make some sort of bold move just when it appeared the king was incapacitated for good and the regent was less than regal. The prince was so disliked—so flagrant in all his habits—spending, consuming, and conjugating. The Stuarts still held a place of fondness in some people’s hearts, whether or not it was earned. Distance always did wonders for reputation. Even Henry the VIII, an absolute despot-murderer, was looked upon far kindlier than he ought to be or than he ever was in his time.
Further, every monarch throughout history was ruled by the will, or at least the apathy, of the people. Were the people to turn away from the Hanovers in a decisive wave, they might turn toward the Stuarts of old. The House of Lords might be convinced to do something, as they had no love for or faith in the current regent. The armies might throw in with a scheme. The generals might love their king, but they were hardened men that had an abiding distaste for the regent’s foppishness. All those parties might point to inherited madness to excuse whatever they would do.
He had vaguely wondered if the reports about the king were somehow connected to the Stuarts, but it had seemed such a far-off possibility. Now it was a deal more credible a threat.
“There is nothing to be done at this moment,” Queen Charlotte said. “We must bide our time until the Stuart resurfaces somewhere. If he dares make a move, though, he will be dealt with speedily.”
Jasper only nodded, but his mind raced. Where would the Stuart go? Who would be his allies? Scotland, of course, would still house those who’d never really given up on a Stuart claim. But he would need more support than that. France, perhaps? France had just broken with Russia and the Stuart had just caused a ruckus in St. Petersburg. It seemed a flimsy argument, but he could not know what else went on behind the scenes. Deals may have been struck.
“Now tell me of this Miss Wilcox I must have for tea,” Queen Charlotte said. “Lord Ryland tells me she is exceptionally clever and is one of your mother’s latest projects.”
“Yes,” Jasper said slowly, “you will find Miss Wilcox charming and direct. I would only caution you to pay close attention to what she inquires about. As you know, she encountered the king on the road during that unfortunate incident, but when asked about her travels she said nothing about it.”
“I see,” Queen Charlotte said thoughtfully, “so she is either a marionette of one of my enemies or a young lady with particularly fine sensibilities.”
“Precisely,” Jasper said.
“And which do you think it is?”
