“For now, perhaps it’s best for both of you to allow your emotions to cool. And in the meantime, why don’t the two of us take a very careful look at Taviot’s consortium? If we discover that something unsavory is going on, Kit will listen to reason.”
Cordelia managed a crooked smile. “Thank you for not thinking me a peagoose to worry over such things.”
“You are one of the most sensible people I know.” Charlotte emphasized her words with a reassuring squeeze to her friend’s shoulder. “Now come, let us go back and listen to what Lady Kirkwall is saying in answer to queries from her potential investors. Indeed, I have a few questions of my own to ask of her.”
* * *
“Milord . . .”
Wrexford turned, hat and gloves still in hand, as Tyler entered his workroom.
“A letter arrived while you were out, and I thought you would want to see it right away.” The valet held out a gilt-edged rectangle of folded paper festooned with a large ornate seal. “It was delivered by a servant whose gaudy livery was an affront to anyone who possesses a grain of taste or refinement,” he added with a sniff.
“Not everyone is blessed with your discerning eye for fashion,” drawled the earl. He took a moment to study the scarlet wax wafer and then pursed his lips. “Hmmph.”
“What is it?”
A discreet crack, followed by the whisper of paper. “An invitation,” answered Wrexford. He looked up. “To attend a gala outdoor soiree in St. James’s Park tomorrow evening—including a fireworks display and midnight supper—in honor of the Prince Regent’s brother-in-law, King Frederick of Württemberg.”
Tyler made a pained face. “That explains why the servant looked like a street fiddler’s pet monkey. Prinny is a man of thoroughly vulgar tastes.”
Another sniff. “Surely you’re not going to accept?”
“On the contrary. Our future sovereign’s tastes and temperament may leave much to be desired, but King Frederick’s librarian is a very sharp and observant gentleman.”
Wrexford re-read the note. “It is Herr von Münch who is inviting me to attend the festivities. He says that he has discovered some important information which may have relevance to Greeley’s murder.”
CHAPTER 13
St. James’s Palace, the king and queen’s official residence in London, sat just a stone’s throw from Piccadilly Street and looked like a fading spinster in the deepening twilight, its age-dark brick walls and austere lines overshadowed by the flash and glitter of the colorful silk pavilions rising up from a screen of trees bordering the park behind it.
“As if the royal family hasn’t frittered away enough money this summer on extravagant entertainments,” muttered Wrexford as he and Charlotte descended from their carriage. “This mindless pomp and pageantry are an egregious waste of funds that would be better spent on the common people rather than a gaggle of overfed aristocrats.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Charlotte had accepted the invitation in order to have a close look at the details of the party and who was attending. If ever there was a perfect event for her to skewer with her pen . . .
A line was already forming to pass through the gated entrance of St. James’s Park. As they joined it, the quartet of gentlemen just ahead of them began grousing about the fact that no footmen had yet appeared with trays of champagne. But their ire rapidly turned to the latest drawings of A. J. Quill.
“How dare that scurrilous scribbler imply that the government isn’t doing enough for the soldiers returning from the wars,” ranted one of them, a jowly fellow with a sheen of Macassar oil highlighting his silver curls. “It only stirs the masses to feel discontent and question the powers-that-be.”
His three friends all nodded in agreement.
“The fellow is devilishly dangerous,” muttered one of them. “The government ought to hunt him down and put his head on a pikestaff at Traitors’ Gate as a warning to those who question their betters.”
Charlotte waited for them to march through the entrance. “Pompous popinjays,” she said softly. “But it’s good to know that I’m ruffling their feathers. It means I’m doing my job.”
Wrexford smiled. And yet she noted that it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Come,” he said, “let us join the festivities.”
A myriad of flickering torchieres lined the footpaths, their fire-gold flames accentuating the jewel-tone hues of the dinner pavilions and refreshment tents that dotted the lawns.
She squeezed her eyes shut for an instant, the surfeit of decorative gilding, crimson silk, and countless candle flames glittering in the twilight an assault on her senses. Prinny did everything to excess.Rich food, lascivious friends, extravagant parties, profligate spending on his personal pleasures while the poor are starving. . .
Charlotte forced her attention back to the moment. “Ah, I see that Alison is chatting with her friend, Sir Robert,” she observed, indicating one of the park benches by the main walkway. “I’ll go join them and leave you free to find Herr von Münch.”
The earl nodded and moved off to join a group of German diplomats gathered around a pair of liveried servants who were serving champagne.
The dowager waggled her cane in greeting. “Sir Robert and I were just discussing A. J. Quill’s latest drawing.”
