Now that she had his full attention, she felt compelled to add, “The potential client is a duke, actually. Lachlan, he’s called. A friend of the prince’s. He has twin girls that he wishes to bring out—that is, to launch into society for the next Season.”
The man narrowed his eyes. Was he intrigued? Fascinated? Her stomach flipped. She continued, “He is in need of help with the girls, and it ishisbusiness I’ve come to solicit. The duke’s. For his girls.”
Still, the man said nothing, but he was staring at her with intense interest. Drew was made a little dizzy by the attention.
She kept talking. “The duke in question was the cause of some scandal several years ago. His reputation was so damaged, he was forced to leave London.”
And now, Drew could actuallyhearherself saying too much, but she couldn’t seem to stop.
“It was a pity, really,” she went on, saying it all, saying things she didn’t even know to be true. “He’d shown great potential in the House of Lords. But he was responsible for an early Luddite riot. He incited the march and then betrayed his own tenants to the authorities. It was widely reported in the broadsheets. It ruined him really, which will make the debut of his girls very challenging, indeed.They’ll need to tread very carefully. But never fear, I specialize in these scenarios. It is my favorite sort of project.”
She had just said it, the words barely out of her mouth, when the doors to the Throne Room were thrust open. A liveried footman appeared.
“His Grace, the Duke of Lachlan,” the footman intoned, half question, half proclamation. A summons.
“Aye,” answered the man beside Drew. “Lachlan.”
To Drew’s great horror, the man beside her—the Duke of Lachlan—stepped around the footman, strode through the door, and disappeared into the Throne Room.
He did not look back. The doors slammed shut.
Drew stared in horror at the thick gray wood while her words revolved in her head like a swarm of Dartford warblers.
Chapter Two
“Mystery solved,” muttered Ian Clayblack, the Duke of Lachlan, coming to a stop before Prince Adolphus. He affected a stiff bow.
“What was that, Lachlan?” called Prince Adolphus, sitting on a throne that looked very much like an upholstered wingback chair. Beside him on a matching wingback-like throne was a young woman in streaming pink ribbons and bouncing yellow curls.
“Good morning, Your Highness,” Ian corrected in a clipped voice.
To the woman he said, “How do you do, Princess. Felicitations on your nuptials.” The words were pleasant but his tone was not.
“What mystery?” demanded the prince.
“The mystery of why you summoned me.” He looked around.“Here.”
“I summoned you because you amuse me, Lachlan.”
“Yes, but typically I amuse you over a pint of lager at the Ferryman Public House in Cumberland Road. I wasn’t aware that Kew Palacehada Throne Room. Nor that you held court.”
The prince made a dismissive gesture. “It’s no small thing to share the royal family with fifteen siblings, Lachlan. I must fight for my stake in this family. This is Mama’sembroidery room, if you must know. She allows my wife and me to use it the second Monday of every month to entertain causes that interest us.”
“So I’m a cause?” asked Ian, frowning.
Ian and Adolphus had served together in the army. They’d slept in a field and eaten gruel and roots and spit-fired salamanders. Ian considered Dolph an ally and a friend, but it was possible to cause real offense here; he was a bloody prince. He should force himself to tread lightly.
“Of course you’re not acause,” the prince was assuring him. “And we shall drink together at the Ferryman soon enough. But now that I’m properly married...” he reached for his princess’s small hand, “...I am endeavoring to take my royal duties more seriously. We’ve a friendly history, it’s true, but let us not forget our larger roles.Myfather is Sovereign;youare a duke. You have goals in parliament, and I want to help you achieve them.”
“Right,” said Ian, not believing it for a second. This meeting was not about Ian’s goals, it was about—
“Pray tell me,” ventured the prince, “how are Evelyn and Ava?”
And there it was. Ian swore in his head. “Who?” he asked, knowing the answer—hatingthe answer.
“Yournieces, Lachlan.”
“Oh,” said Ian.“Imogene and Ivy.”
