“Indecency? No,” assured Madewood, “it’s nothing like that. He was involved in a Luddite riot. Got a man killed and injured several others—a youth, I believe? That is, hismismanagementof unruly tenants...ledto a riot... that killed a man... and injured the youth. Lachlan rabble-roused alongside his tenants, going so far as to join their ranks as if he was one of them. After whipping them into a fevered pitch, he played the turncoat and gave them up to the guard in Portsmouth.”
Drew considered this, weighing the risk of attaching herself to a family with a direct link to Luddite rioters. The so-called Luddites were skilled craftsmen—weavers or stockingers or lace makers and the like—angry that new textile mills were putting them out of work. Lives were lost, men were hanged.
Still, rabble-rousing and “mismanagement” didn’t sound so very bad, did it? Hardly ideal but it wasn’t as if the duke was a marauder, or a letch, or a highwayman. This was a situation with which Drew could do some real good—for the daughters, if nothing else. She had to begin somewhere.
“But perhaps enough time has passed,” suggested Drew hopefully, “and gossip about the riot will have died down? It was three years ago, did you say?”
“Yes, ’15. But, it was fuel to the fire for so many subsequent uprisings. It has not been forgotten, I assure you. Ask anyone about the Honiton Uprising and you’ll get an earful. There was outrage on every side. The villagers were furious that their landlord warned the garrison; and the regiment in Portsmouth was angry that a duke had aligned himself with peasants. Poor leadership, that’s what it was. He pitted the two sides against each other out of sport. Or he was out of his depth. Either way, he was too inexperienced and too arrogant.”
“Yes,” said Drew absently. She was thinking again of his daughters. What challenges would they face if their father was considered a rabble-rouser, turncoat, and instigator of civil unrest?
I can help them, she thought.
I can be of very great help to the lot of them.
Drewsmina Trelayne was in the business of—or rather, shewould embark uponthe business of—coaching young debutantes through their coming-out Season in London society. Her specialty was—or rather,would be—outsiders. Outcasts. So-called ugly ducklings. Girls who hovered on the margins of society life.
In short, exactly the type of girl that Drew herself had one time been.
She would specialize in snipe-prone, screechy girls; silly, giggling girls; or silent girls forgotten in the back of the room.
She would coach slouchy girls to stand up and quiet girls to speak up and chatty girls to pause and silly girls to listen. She would polish brashness and embolden shyness.
She would take on girls with scandal-shamed fathers who needed to rise above gossip and enjoy an untarnished debut.
She would do for her clients exactly what heartbreak and resilience had forced Drew to do for herself.
And she would charge a fee for the service, which would finally allow her to leave her miserable situation as a spinster sister in the home of Anastasia and the tedious Lord Madewood.
But first she required this client.
“Not very quick-like with the visitors, are they?” asked the old woman who stood beside Drew in the airless antechamber outside the Throne Room. She and her companion held a birdcage between them. The weight of the cage, not to mention the twelve or so Dartford warblers flapping about inside it, was heavy and unwieldy.
Drew had avoided the couple (in as much as anyonecould be avoided in the tiny room) because it pained her to see any animal caged, especially birds, especially Dartford warblers. She’d developed a fondness for bird-watching these last five years, and she was familiar with the beautiful, reclusive warblers. They were partial to the dense, scrubby heathland in Surrey and not at all given to captivity.
Doubtless, the couple meant well. If Drew had to guess, they’d brought the birds as a gift. Later, when Drew and Cynde were alone, she could urge her stepsister to release them.
“We’ve been waiting an hour at least,” said the man holding the other side of the cage. His wife nodded indignantly.
“Well, that cannot be,” remarked the stern-looking charity woman. “Subjects are meant to call to the palace gate no sooner than a quarter to eleven. And it is currently a quarterpasteleven. So you could not have been waiting an hour. If you’ll recall, I arrived to the palace gatesbeforeyou lot. So. When Their Royal Highnesses Prince Adolphus and Princess Cynde admit the next caller, that caller is certain to beme.”
“If we’re splitting hairs on the matter,” declared one of the scientists, “I arrived before all of you.” He stroked his stuffed mouse.
“Surely you are mistaken, sir,” said the charity woman. “I was undeniably the first to arrive, not to mention my appointment has been scheduled with the prince’s secretary for weeks.”
“I amnotmistaken,” the scientist replied, digging in his satchel for some proof.
Drew sighed and cast a glance around the small, dim room. Had the duke arrived? She saw no young women who might be the twins, so she assumed the girls would not be present. But the duke himself was meant to be a caller, just like her. Presumably he would be in the company of awife. But surely a duke and duchess would not be subjected to the antechamber with orphans and birds in a cage?
She looked again. Perhaps he would be the officer? Although the military man looked very old, indeed. The twins in question would have to be granddaughters, if not great-granddaughters.
Or could Lachlan be one of the scientists? Also likely no.
Her gaze fell on the still, silent man slouching in the shadows. Theoretically, hecouldbe a duke and theoretically hecouldbe the correct age; but he could also be an undertaker who was ninety. Everything about him invited Drew to redirect her gaze... but curiosity caused her to glance back.
He stood so far from the lamps, she could make out little more than a voluminous overcoat, a face obscured by the brim of his hat, and tall boots. He shouldered against the wall, arms crossed, the posture of someone who was present in body but whose consciousness was far away.
Not that any of these details mattered, because he appeared too informal to be a friend of the prince’s. And again: dukes did not convene in antechambers with the masses. Lachlan would arrive by another door; he would not cue, nor would he slouch. The slouching, in particular, unnerved her, and Drew had enough reasons in her life to be unnerved. She had no wish to invite more.
