“No, something else—I need a rather large favor. I need you to take in two young women and a boy. But only temporarily,” she hastily added.

Hollis dropped her foot and sat up. “Caroline? What have you done?” she asked gravely.

“Nothing. At least not yet.”

Hollis leaned forward. “Tell me.”

Caroline told her everything. Hollis said not a word as she talked—she gaped at her, her eyes round with shock. When Caroline finished, Hollis leaned back in her seat and stared at the ceiling for a very long moment, taking it all in. “I wouldn’t have thought Prince Leopold of all people would be the one to save them from that.”

“No,” Caroline said with a sheepish laugh.

Hollis suddenly surged to her feet and began to pace again. “This is precisely what I was talking about, Caroline. This level of corruption among government officials can’t be allowed to continue! It should be exposed. I mean to write an article—”

“Hollis? The girls?” Caroline asked.

“What? Yes, yes, Caro, of course,” she said with a wave of her hand. “But do you see what I mean? Instead of publishing who has worn what, or the invitation to whose soiree is the most coveted, I ought to publish the real scandals—Oh! Donovan, there you are. We’re to have guests. Two young women and a lad.”

Donovan had come into the salon with wine. He put the bottle and two glasses on a table between the two chairs. “Very well.”

“Shall we put them in adjoining rooms? How long will they be here, Caro?”

She squirmed a little. “Until the prince sails?”

“Ah. Yes, adjoining rooms.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Donovan said, and turned about and walked out whistling under his breath.

Hollis continued giving Caroline her very firm opinions about what a gazette ought to be until ten past eight o’clock, when at last, a knock was heard at the front door.

“They’re here!” Caroline whispered, and she and Hollis leaped from their seats and smoothed their skirts as if they were meeting royalty.

Moments later, Donovan came into the room with two women and a lad. “Is this who you were expecting, madam?”

“I think they are. Thank you, Donovan.”

He said, “I’ll just take their things up to their rooms, then.”

Thank heaven for Hollis, as Caroline was quite speechless. The two women looked exhausted. They were both terribly thin, but it was the sort of thin that didn’t come by choice, judging by the pallor of their skin and the lankness of their hair. And the boy, oh! The poor lad was swallowed in the coat he wore and clung to the hand of the woman—girl, really—Caroline recognized from Arundel.

The three of them looked frightened and wary, and Caroline’s world of experience did not extend to the sort of life they must have led so far. To try and imagine what they’d endured made Caroline feel ill.

Hollis laid her hand on Caroline’s arm. “Would you mind terribly, Caro, darling, to run and ask Emily to bring tea and sandwiches? I think our guests are hungry.”

“Yes!” Caroline said, grateful for something to do. She hurried out of the room, tears blurring her vision for the second time today. She felt such sorrow and despair for those women. But she also felt a swell of pride. Not for her—for Leopold and all that he’d risked to help them.


CAROLINE HARDLY SLEPT that night, her mind wandering back to Leopold, and the women who were sleeping under Hollis’s roof.

The revelation of what was happening in the very houses she visited left her feeling sad and strangely shallow. When she thought of all the hours and days she’d spent worried about nothing more than what to wear to this party or that supper, while women in meaner circumstances worked hard to just be safe, she felt angry. With life, with herself, with her bubble of privilege, with the meanness in the world.

She desperately wanted to help Leo find the other women. To help in some way. And she desperately needed to turn her mind to something other than the idea he would be leaving soon.

Caroline called on Priscilla that afternoon to finish the fit of the ball gown she’d made for Priscilla to wear to the Pennybacker ball. It was a yellow gown, which, in hindsight, had the effect of making Priscilla’s skin seem sallow. But Priscilla didn’t seem to notice and was thrilled with it.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

“You will be among the most envied, Priscilla.”

Priscilla turned her attention to the mirror, admiring herself. “Nancy is wearing lilac. It’s not a good color for her. Makes her appear chalky.”

Caroline suppressed a roll of her eyes and busied herself with arranging the skirt around Priscilla’s ample frame while nudging curious little dogs out of her path.

“She thinks she is better than all of us, you know,” Priscilla confided in a whisper. “You should have heard her at Madam Brendan’s.”

“Madam Brendan? The hatmaker?”

“We ordered gloves from her and had gone in to be measured. And as we waited for the lady before us to finish, Nancy began to talk rather loudly how all of London looks forward to this ball. ‘We never meant it to be the most anticipated event of the summer, but here it is,’ she said, as if she were the queen herself.”

“The hem is too long in the back. I should pin it,” Caroline observed. “Have you a box or a stool?”

Priscilla rang a delicate little bell next to her vanity. “She claims not to have a single regret offered. All the replies were affirmative.”

“Not everyone will be in attendance, will they,” Caroline said. “The Alucian prince has not been invited.”

Priscilla snorted. “No one cares about him, darling. You yourself told us that.”

Yes, she certainly had. There was never a time she wasn’t prattling on about something and it occurred to her that she perhaps ought to learn the art of prudence. “Well,” she said airily as she shooed another dog away with her hands, “it happens that it wasn’t entirely true. The prince dined with the queen’s husband just last week.” That was an absolute falsehood, and one Caroline instantly hoped was not easily proved as such. She felt awful for lying to her friend...for a full minute. But then, it had the desired effect. One must never underestimate the power of royalty upon those who wish to be included in that vaulted circle.

“Did he? I haven’t heard that said. Tom would know if he had, I should think.”

Caroline flushed with a bit of panic. “Yes, but...but how could Tom know, really? Prince Leopold is not receiving invitations from anyone but Buckingham, so I think no one really knows what he is about. That is, besides Beck.” She pretended to study the hem of Priscilla’s gown.

“Really,” Priscilla said.

“Mmm. I’d have the prince to dine myself were it not for Beck. He goes back and forth between Sussex with that blessed horse of his. I never know when he will be home to have guests to dine. I think he prefers to dine with horses.”

Several moments passed. Caroline feared the subtlety of what she was suggesting was lost on Priscilla. But then Priscilla said, “I could have him to dine.”

Caroline almost let out a shout of small triumph. She glanced up, wide-eyed. “What? You could?”

“Yes, why not?” Priscilla asked airily.

“But...his reputation?”

“Darling! If the gentleman is good enough to dine with Prince Albert, he’s certainly good enough for me.”

Caroline crouched down and petted one of the dogs to hide her smile. “But you haven’t any suppers planned, have you, darling?”

Priscilla lifted her chin. “Tom’s been very keen to have all the right people to dine since he’s taken his seat in Parliament. He has very big plans, you know.”

Oh, yes, Caroline and everyone else in Mayfair knew. His ambition was well-known. “What a clever man, your husband. The prince is precisely the sort of connection he’ll need, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Priscilla said, as if she’d thought it all along. “Where is that girl?” She rang the bell again.

A young woman with dark brown hair hurried in. “Beg your pardon, mu’um,” she said with a slight accent.

“A stool, girl, and be quick. We haven’t all day,” Priscilla said.

The girl went out but reappeared a moment later with the stool and two dogs trotting behind her. She set the stool in front of Priscilla. But because of Priscilla’s ample figure, and the many dogs milling about, she couldn’t quite see the stool, and commanded the girl to give her a hand up. The girl lifted her hand so that Priscilla might take it, and when she did, Caroline’s eye was drawn to the linked hands—and a flash of forest green. It was scarcely even a patch of green at all, but there it was, on the cuff of the girl’s dark service gown.

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?