Jahleel comes to my side. “Will you not join us?”
“They didn’t announce my name correctly. They left out Charles. I was Katherine Charles once, the former Viscountess Audben. That name is important.”
He offers me a full, warm smile and straightens my necklace. His fingers linger just long enough to heat my skin and race myheart. “Tonight, your greatest title is mother to our child and the dealmaker of my heart. I’m so pleased we get to celebrate another birthday together.”
Before I can tell him how much Lydia wants us to be normal, Mr. Steele nods to him. The light leaves Jahleel’s eyes. His smile disappears. He whispers, “Our enemies are here. Be on guard.”
Jahleel has set everything in motion to finish the game. He used the vices of the men who served on the Court of Chancery to destroy them. I wonder who’s the target tonight. I tuck my arm about his. We go forward together. I’m not leaving. I will fight and win at his side.
Chapter 42
KATHERINE—THEBEATGOESON
Georgina in yellow and Scarlett in ruby red come to where I and the princess sit. We are in a withdrawn part of the room with tables and seating. I almost wish she had her dais and throne.
“This is phenomenal.” Georgina’s eyes are as big as gold-rimmed teacups as she points to the large woven tapestries hung from the wall. “The weavers must’ve worked the whole year to produce all this silk. And the duke made this happen in a few weeks?”
“How long has the duke been planning—” Scarlett turns her head, seeming to follow a young blond woman wearing a poppy-colored gown of muslin and satin—not quite regal, but the height of Parisian fashion.
“Scarlett?” Georgina tugs her arm. “Scarlett, do you know her?”
My sister’s mouth opens, then puckers shut. “Yes. From Bridewell. She’s given money to help women, particularly the courtesans who end up there.” Scarlett changes her expression. “It’s good to know everyone is truly welcome.”
Georgina whirls around. Her gown floats in the air, which now smells heavily of rose water. “This is beautiful.”
Fanning my nose, I don’t blame her excitement. It’s breathtaking to see the transformation—cream-colored walls strewn with burgundy and bronze busts. She stops and points to a tapestry depicting a great hunt with trackers and armed men.
“Why hang a banner with armed men? At a ball?”
“Well, runners are here, too,” Scarlett says. She’s not pointing to art but to men observing from the far ends of the drawing room and by the doors.
More footmen stand along the walls but in Russian-styled mantles of smoky dark blue with silver frogging. Each bears matching cutlasses that hang from their side. I nod. “He’s found a way to be a tzar in Mayfair.”
My bravest sister looks tense. Scarlett gets close to my ear. “Sis. Do I need to have worries?”
“Not yet.”
My stomach tenses, but the princess leans over and grabs my hand. “Faith, my dear. Jasha said he’d defeat evil minions tonight. All will be well.”
I offer her a smile and return to count the exits and runners.
“Lord Mark’s favorite picture,” Georgina says. At the far side of the room, tall wax tapers highlight the portrait of Dido Belle and her cousin.
“It has returned. Didn’t it once hang in the music room?”
Nodding, Georgina says, “I should’ve worn my hair in a turban. That would keep his attention now that I’m changing.”
Glowing like dew sparkles on her countenance, she rubs her abdomen. The looser fit to the lacy bodice suggests my Georgie is with child. Oh my goodness. I hadn’t noticed. All the tumult in my life, and I’ve missed that my sister has been preparing to expand her family. I’m out of my chair, making her sit, but not before hugging her, sandwiching her between Scarlett and me.
“Do you need something?”
“Ginger biscuits.” Her gown has been fitted with an inner pocket, from which she draws one of her famous treats.
The princess shakes her head but then smiles. “Sisters should be close. Raise your children like siblings.”
Taking Scarlett’s hand and claiming Georgina’s, I quite agree. “Together. Patsy and Cesar Wilcox would be proud. And Elizaveta and Andrew, too.”
The princess beams. She peers across the room toward her son and granddaughter. The pair makes their way to the center. The tune is slow, and they dance in their usual formation, Lydia standing on his toes. The two of them, with her pink skirt whirling as they turn in a waltz, look like a sketch for the magazineLa Belle Assemblée. Lydia laughs and holds tightly to his legs. His cane barely touches the floor. The strategist ensures his best little girl feels like the world revolves around her.
