“What has become ofmyqueen?”
She pressed her lips together to stem the mirth that shook her shoulders. “It is somewhere upon my person,” she said sweetly. “And if you are very lucky, I’ll let you find it.”
Chapter Twenty Six
Henry lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, simultaneously exhausted and thrumming with exhilaration. The party had continued even after he’d at last given up the ghost and made his excuses to leave, and Grace had been correct—everyone had known immediately, even if they had made no announcement. It had gone over better than he might have hoped; he’d been struck with two peas, received seven handshakes, and Mr. Moore had even clapped him upon the back in a fashion that was more congratulatory than threatening.
Grace’s sisters had been gracious, if reserved. But Grace had assured him that they would come around eventually, and he believed her. They only wanted her happiness, and that was to their credit.
Tansy had followed him home, and Grace had rolled her eyes in exasperation and allowed it, owing to the fact that the poor girl had been all but banished from his garden in recent days. She was even now tucked up against his side, purring madly as she kneaded the mattress beside his hip, swishing that fantastically long and fluffy tail against his chin.
She wasn’t exactly the bed companion he would havepreferred, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and at least she was soft and warm and amenable gentle scratches down her back. Wherever it was they moved once they’d married—whether to the estate that had been left to him in Hampshire, or to a smaller residence somewhere in London—it would have to have a garden suitable for the planting of a great quantity of catmint.
The life that stretched into the future now would be fundamentally different than the one he had expected to live. How very strange it was to think that only weeks ago, he had been so frantic to safeguard his title, to protect his possessions and his place in society, desperately seeking Grace’s help to save him from looming disaster.
Gracehadsaved him. Perhaps she had not been able to save what he’d thought he’d wanted, but what she had given him instead felt—cleaner. Softer. Kinder. A life made freer than the one he had lived thus far, one where the pursuit of perfection no longer mattered. One with a ready-made family so large, so robust, that even when the scandal inevitably descended upon them, they would still have a place. Mother would have company again, people who would not cast judgment upon her, who would be kind to her. Eliza would have honorary cousins near her own age with whom to socialize.
A different life. But a goodone.
A sound from floors below crested above the sonorous drone of Tansy’s purr, a rapid pounding designed to attract attention from those within a household that had clearly already retired for the evening. Henry lifted his head from the pillow. “Who could be calling at this hour?” he asked as he scratched Tansy between the ears.
Tansy offered no opinion other than to shove her head into his hand.
“Hell,” Henry muttered as the pounding redoubled and Tansy flattened her ears in annoyance. “Bound to wake thewhole household at this rate.” And that was hardly fair, since everyone else had long retired, while he remained sleepless still.
Tansy let out a long, warbling meow of displeasure as he climbed out of bed. As he shoved his feet into a discarded pair of trousers and threw on the banyan robe he’d left draped over the foot of the bed, she arched her back in a trembling stretch, padded toward his pillow, sank her claws into the plush, feathery softness of it, and began to knead. A promise of retribution, he thought, if he failed to return promptly.
But for the continuous rapping below, the hall was quiet and dark. No one else had yet roused to it, and so he headed for the stairs, jogging down two at a time, hoping to reach the door before the knocking woke anyone else.
The foyer was lit only with the faint glow of the moon pouring in from a high window, the darkness seething with shadows. The knocks had escalated into a frenetic pound, which reverberated off of the ceiling and walls, seeming to come from all around him. Henry crossed to the door, twisted the lock, and cast the door open.
A shadow-cloaked figure nearly tumbled into the foyer, overbalanced by the weight of a large object which had been half-braced against the door. “Henry!” The relief in the familiar voice, tremulous and shrill, was palpable. “Henry,thank God.”
“Aunt Alicia?” Henry scrubbed one hand across his jaw in confusion. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting; do come in,” he said, swinging the door wider. “Has something happened? You know you have always got a place here.” Well, perhaps nothere, not for much longer—especially not if there was the remotest possibility that she wished to evade Uncle Nigel. But a place wherever they happened to be, nonetheless.
Her breath came in quick, heavy puffs, and she skittered through the door as if she were being chased. Before he had even fully closed the door behind her, she was shoving something athim, something large and metallic, cold to the touch as she pressed it into his arms. “What is this?” he asked as he took it from her.
“I couldn’t open it,” she said, her teeth chattering with nerves, with fear. “I tried, I swear I did. I had to take the box entire, and he—he will have noticed by now. He’ll know exactly where I’ve gone. We haven’t much time; he’ll be along any moment, I’m certain of it.”
He? Did she mean to say Uncle Nigel? “He’ll have noticed what?”
She didn’t seem to have heard him—or if she had, she prioritized her rambling explanation over answering his question. “I couldn’t tell you,” she babbled as she caught hold of his arm and yanked him toward the stairs. “Grace said we had to keep our distance from one another.”
Grace? His brow furrowed in bewilderment, even as he began to climb after her.
“There is no time to lose,” she said, her voice quavering. “Henry, we havegotto get this strongbox open. Nigel is meant to go before the Committee of Privileges tomorrow. We cannot let him have what is inside!”
Henry’s head swam with a sudden surge of dizziness, and he nearly missed the following step as he knees trembled. He sucked in a wild breath, feeling as if all of the air had been driven from his lungs. “Do you—do you mean to say—”
She stamped her foot upon the step. “Hurry!” she hissed as she raced up the stairs.
“My study,” he grated hoarsely, striving to collect his scattered thoughts as he bounded up the stairs behind her. Grace had planned for this, he realized, with a dawning sense of awe. Probably before they had even visited the tavern. She had spoken to him, once, of how she had learned from her mother always to have a contingency plan—hoping for the best, butpreparing for the worst.
She had made Aunt Alicia her accomplice, and promptly put distance between all of them once it had become necessary to pull the wool over the mark’s eyes. The same as she had done in the past when running street swindles with her mother.
He’d thought he was certain to lose everything, while Grace—consummate swindler that she was—had rigged the game in his favor even without his knowledge. Uncle Nigel had never suspected the accomplice lurking within his own house, and Grace had made certain he would have no reason to do so.
Until now, at least.
