Much of the work had been tedious and he had felt himself quite out of patience at times. It had taken all of his self-control when some matron who thought very highly of herself would lecture him on some matter, or some fellow who was only an earl thought to air his politics. They would learn to bow before him.
There had been one bright spot, though. Miss Wilcox. How charming! How elegant! What a head suited for a crown. Did she not have the delicate features of a Mary Queen of Scots? Did she not even have something of a Scots nature? She was direct and sensible, so unlike those other flitty ladies who fanned themselves as if a constant breeze were necessary to keep them alive. He was also convinced there were interesting hidden depths to Miss Wilcox. The day he’d seen her launched over her horse and onto the ground, he’d known precisely what he was viewing—the lady was a fine horsewoman, but she’d never been on a sidesaddle in her life. He had first sought out her acquaintance only because of her residence in the same house with Langley, he had never imagined he would be so struck by her.
Miss Wilcox was also delightfully unlike the Hurko sisters he had left behind in Russia. Of course, at the time, the Tsarina thought she did him a great favor by making the match between him and Marianna Hurko. He’d even thought so himself. But then, he’d seen her sister, Evelina, who was far more pleasant to look at. Promised elsewhere, unfortunately, but could that not be undone?
As it happened, it could not. To add salt to the wound, his dwindling fortune had been entirely lost to an incompetent financier. The Hurkos were irate, the Tsarina furious. It had seemed as if all was up with him. Where would he go? How would he live?
He had fled with only his manservant, Marcus, to accompany him. But then, during the long journey out of that frozen wasteland, his real purpose had become clear to him. On a particularly dark night, their carriage struggled through the snow as they made their way toward the border. As he watched the endless flakes beat relentlessly against the windows, a sudden lightness overcame him.
God had not forsaken him! Of course God had not allowed him to marry Evelina! He was the rightful king of England. God had maneuvered him away from a pointless existence in Russia. God was sending him back to his realm.
He had always avoided thoughts of reclaiming the throne and tried to convince himself that he was content as he was. It was never true, though. Now that he knew his purpose, that he was born to rule, he would not be as stupid as his grandfather. He would not hang about Europe begging for armies. It had been a silly idea then and was even sillier now, there were far better methods available. He had watched how the Tsar and Tsarina managed their people—they controlled what the people understood. A hint of criticism and the unlucky criticizer was seen no more. He did not have the power to control everything just yet, but he could influence enough to turn things his way.
Once the English people were convinced that the Hanover’s mental malady was inherited, combined with their visceral dislike of the fat and indulgent son, they would welcome a Stuart back to the throne.
At that glorious moment, he would reveal all to Miss Wilcox. The English people would rejoice to have one of their own made queen. The lady would be shocked when all was known, but not unpleasantly so, he was sure. He had cleverly dropped her some hints that she might reflect on when she understood who he really was. In that way, she would know she had always been his choice, long before his prospects had been raised to the skies.
In the beginning, his plan had unfolded smoothly and with little effort. Nothing had stood in his way. That was, until he became aware of Jasper Stapleton’s, or Lord Langley as he styled himself, activities. At first, it had only seemed that he was a confidant of the queen and might perhaps funnel information. However, it turned out the lord was spending his time attempting to identify the author of the various reports in the newspapers.
Fortunately, his valet had recently decamped to America and it was no trouble to slip Marcus into the role. He was kept well apprised of Langley’s activities and had even garnered a few reports he could use.
But now, the rogue had found a way to stir up more trouble for him! The man had composed some sort of list for the queen to peruse. Marcus had copied it down, and his name was on it.
He did not fool himself that the list was a recommendation for any sort of accolades. No, not when he thought of the others on the list. It was an assortment of odd people that one only ran into at the less discriminating routs. And himself. Why should he be included in this list of mediocrity?
He was under suspicion and Langley was leading the charge.
Langley must be disposed of. The Hanover king was incapacitated and with Langley gone, dumpy old Charlotte would be left with no man at her right hand—there was not even a Lord Chamberlain at her disposal. One might think the son might be of some use, but Prinny, as they called him, was a pointless and cowardly specimen. That fat fellow would be on a fast boat out of England at the first sign of trouble.
Perhaps he would even find an opportunity to get rid of his problem this evening. He had been made aware that Langley went to the masque as Poseidon and so would be easy enough to identify. But then, he could hardly claim Miss Wilcox’s supperandkill off Langley so perhaps that venture would have to wait.
Once Langley was got out of the way, he would be free to see that more and more outrageous reports appeared in the newspapers, and those reports would be about the regent. The public was already convinced of the king’s madness, let them become convinced of the son’s too and the final nail in the Hanover coffin would be hammered in. After that, subtle rumors of the good sense and grace of the Stuart, and then a report that the Stuart planned to visit England. He would sail to France and come right back again to be met at the docks by the masses and escorted to the palace. It would be a peaceful and quiet transition. He’d thought of killing off the Hanovers but that would be a mistake. They were stupid, uninspiring, and mad—why make martyrs out of them? They could go back to Germany and farm, it was all they were capable of and all they deserved.
It was a plan far beyond any his grandfather could have dreamed up and it was a plan that would work.
In the meantime, Lady Tredwell’s masque was hours away. His costume was a private joke that none would understand until he took the throne. He would drop some further hints regarding it to Miss Wilcox though.
He would be delighted to see Miss Wilcox.
*
Georgiana had noclear idea of how she was to be dressed until the very day of the masque ball. Lady Mendleton had taken great pains to have their costumes made, hiring a certain Mrs. Turnerton who was known for her skill in that direction. The lady had arrived at the house a week prior to take Georgiana’s measurements, and had even pressed a sheet of softened wax across her nose and her eyes for an impression so that her mask would fit flawlessly. Lady Mendleton had taken delight in keeping her plans secret until the costumes were delivered for a final fitting.
Georgiana could not say she was disappointed with the result. Lady Mendleton had styled her as a damask rose for its message of purity. The mask itself was soft, dusky pink silk. Though it had a fine silk string attached to tie the mask round her head, Georgiana found that hardly necessary. There was a piece of thin metal cleverly sewn inside the mask that was bent to conform to the bridge of her nose to hold it securely in place.
The dress itself was a marvel. Made of a pale rose velvet, it had a fitted bodice and then a wonderfully full skirt. The skirt was made of rounded pieces of velvet sewn one atop the other and meant to resemble petals, with layers of petticoats underneath lifting the whole thing up. The effect was remarkably reminiscent of a blooming rose.
Lady Mendleton was to go as Leto, the Greek goddess of motherhood. Her mode of dress was a simple white silk, but the draping was exquisitely done. According to the lady, she had arranged for Lord Langley’s costume too, as he could hardly be bothered with it.
This was the first definite confirmation that Jasper would attend and Georgiana felt her stomach flutter in nervousness. Would he avoid her there too? Or perhaps he would not. But then perhaps he would. He was to be dressed as Poseidon and so it would not be hard to spot him and understand whatever he chose to do.
How was she to act when she saw him? Should she pretend it was no great matter? Ask him if he avoided her? Assume indifference if he did not secure a dance?
She thought the likelihood of carrying off indifference if he did not ask to be low to nothing. If she was not careful, she’d end up weeping in the retiring room just as Lady Annabelle had done before her.
It had taken some doing to get herself and her voluminous skirts into and out of the carriage, and she was not at all sure how elegant she would look at supper with the massive skirt on her lap, but she had no thought for that now. She must see if Lord Langley had arrived.
Before leaving the house, it became apparent that nobody seemed to be certain what he was doing. She had assumed he would leave the house near the time they did, she even hoped she might encounter him on the stairs, but Perry had reported that he’d left long ago. The butler had some idea that he planned to change at his club. Lady Mendleton only hoped he had not forgotten his trident, as it was absolutely crucial to the effect of the costume. Georgiana had no such concerns about the trident, only wishing to know what was to be his attitude toward her.
