“We have to catch him, Mrs. Petersham. We have to. Mrs. Crell was a lonely woman, lonely and ill, and she did not deserve whatever fate befell her.”
Mrs. Petersham nodded. “I agree. Men believe this is their world, and that we women simply must exist in it. I do not agree with that. Women have a right to be here, to exist the same as any man. It is cruel to let whatever happened to this woman never be discovered. We owe it to Mrs. Crell to fight for the truth of what has happened.”
“I agree. Shall we collaborate on the wording for the letter?”
“Yes. Darius is out for a few hours, so we have a bit of time to craft the letter without fear of being disturbed.”
Meredith was glad for the opportunity to focus on something other than Darius. She pulled out a sheet of paper and retrieved her inkpot and prepared her quill. She and Mr. Petersham made several drafts of the letter until they agreed upon the final wording.
Crell,
I know what you did. I have proof of your crime. Your careless butler left something behind in the garden. Meet me in two days at seven o’clock in the evening. Bring a thousand pounds as payment for my silence, or I will take the evidence to the Bow Street Runners.
She did not sign the note and was careful to write it with her left hand. She folded the note once, sealed it with no identifying mark and wrote only the name “Crell.” Once that was done, she hid the letter in the pocket of her skirts to keep it safe until she had a chance to get it to Warren without Darius knowing.
“There is not much more we can do until I can entrust this letter to Warren.”
“I see no reason to stay here and fret. Perhaps we should go to Gunter’s for ices?” Mrs. Petersham volunteered.
Meredith agreed. If she stayed, she would only think about Darius and how he was acquiring their marriage license.
License or no, she intended to refuse him until he proved he wanted her not out of duty but out of love. Since coming to London, she had begun to see herself in a new light. She now believed that she deserved love and respect, and she would not marry without both, no matter how much Darius spoke about duty.
Darius stormed out of the Doctors’ Commons, wishing he could slam a thousand doors.
“Well, that did not go as I expected,” Warren said as he followed on Darius’s heels.
“It certainly didn’t.” Darius growled. He jerked his gloves on and set his hat on his head a bit too hard. The Archbishop had denied his application for a special license and without any reasonable grounds. It wasn’t because the match was unsuitable or inappropriate. No, the Archbishop had informed Darius that any application for Miss Meredith Montague must be approved by the Prince of Wales himself. Such things happened from time to time. The crown could intervene to prevent licenses if it wished to, in rare situations. And it seemed this was one of them.
“Does this mean we are bound for Carlton House?” Warren asked.
“Yes.” Even Prince George would not prevent Darius from doing right by Meredith.
Darius hailed his waiting coach, and the pair climbed inside once Darius informed his driver they were bound for Carlton House, the preferred residence of the Prince of Wales. It faced the south side of Pall Mall with its gardens abutting St. James Park, which is where the coach stopped.
At the moment, a fair number of people lingered near the gardens, hoping to catch a glimpse of the prince, but Darius didn’t spare the onlookers a glance. He was all too aware of his rude behavior as he pushed past the onlookers and strode to the entrance to Carlton House, but at the moment he could not be made to care.
Darius was still fuming when he and Warren were granted entrance to the royal residence on the main floor. They entered a two-story, top-lit entrance hall decorated with Ionic columns of yellow marble scagliola. A servant had them wait there while he went to inform the prince.
Warren clasped his hands behind his back and admired the decorations around them as though he were in a museum. “You know, I’ve never been in Carlton House before.”
As a favorite of the Crown, Darius had attended many dinners and meetings here over the last few years , but never a private audience with the prince. A small part of him warned caution, but he ignored that sensibility in favor of the side of him that raged at being denied his license.
After a wretched stretch of time, the servant returned and waved for them to follow him.
“His Royal Highness will see you now. Please, follow me.”
The white-wigged servant dressed in royal livery led them down an octagon shaped hall, which was flanked by the grand staircase on the right and the courtyard on the left. They were taken down to the Circular Room. The room was adorned with a vast, glittering chandelier that hung from the wide, cloud-covered painted ceiling.
George, the Prince of Wales was seated in a chair by the fireplace, a newspaper spread open in front of him. He was the very picture of tranquility which only irritated Darius more. A footman stood close by, guarding a tea tray that was ready for whenever the prince wanted some refreshment.
The servant who had escorted Darius and Warren cleared his throat before speaking. “His Grace, the Duke of Tiverton and Mr. Warren Burville.”
They approached and bowed…then waited for the prince to acknowledge them. The prince turned another page, ignoring them as he continued to read. He had to know why they were here. Darius stared directly at the prince while Warren politely examined the room as though he could wait all day.
They waited for what felt like an eternity before the prince lowered his paper. He passed the paper to the footman, who folded it and placed it upon a nearby table. Only then did the prince stand and walk toward them.
“Tiverton, let me hazard a guess as to why you are here. You sought out a license from the Archbishop for your ward to marry someone and were denied your application.” The prince’s voice held a note of disapproval, and Darius could not understand why.
