The quarters aboard the embassy were as lavish as a German baron might have expected. A bed nearly as large as my old room dominated one part of the suite, closed off from the rest by a pair of doors that would permit me at least some privacy. To the right, there was a writing table and a window of clear, unobstructed glass. The remainder of the quarters was filled with some chairs scattered about, along with a curiously lighted chandelier hanging from the ceiling which gave the suite a welcoming, social atmosphere. Before I could invite the ladies to sit, however, Charlotte and Patricia were led away to ‘more appropriate rooms’ in another part of the airship. For a time, it seemed, I was to be left to my own devices.
Of course, that meant I had only a little time before the soldiers arrived with my bags. I waited until the door closed, and then immediately went to work, searching the room for any devices that did not belong. My efforts were not fruitless. I found two recording devices of some kind, one hidden in one of the thick books on a low bookshelf near the writing desk and the other located in the chandelier. A third device—some sort of pictographic technology—was hidden in the nightstand next to my bed. It was not clear if the French had left the devices, or if others aboard the embassy had already paid my rooms a visit, but clearly my disguise as a German baron of little importance had not escaped everyone’s attention.
For a moment, I was torn over how to dispose of the items. Such devices were not cheap, and if I kept them to myself, I was sure to have the opportunity to employ them later. Furthermore, I could use them as a sort of bluff against my eavesdroppers; by filling them with lies and rumors, I could very well turn them into a tool of my own.
In the end, however, I decided that mystery and secrecy would be the highest priorities for my work. I deactivated the devices and placed them outside of my door. The Frenchmen would certainly find some way to dispose of them, and anyone who was closely watching my room would note how quickly I had discovered and discarded them. There would be no further attempts to blackmail or spy on me—at least, not by such crude methods—and they would not suspect me of being an agent of espionage myself, since I had not retained the tools for my own purposes. Perhaps that would send the message that I was uninterested in such things, and they would assume me to be some stuffy German noble more attached to his privacy than most.
I made a second search after the first, just to make sure that I was well and truly alone and without observers. Then I dropped into the nearest chair and waited for my luggage to arrive. It had already been an exhausting day, and I had not even had the chance to begin my search aboard the airship for Devonshire’s thugs. It was going to be a very, very long day.
My thoughts were just turning to the details of that search when I heard a knock at my door. I looked over at it with a resentful grimace and then stood. Careful to assume my dignified German posture, I walked over to the door and opened it, expecting the soldiers to have arrived with my suitcases. “Thank you, gentlemen—”
My tongue froze in my throat, and an eager flare of panic crackled through my heart. Staring back at me, surprise almost as evident in his expression as it most assuredly was in my own, was the Earl of Devonshire.
He looked almost the same as he had when we fought before his robbery of the Barings bank. His clothing was well-tailored, with his suit of clothing dominated by a brilliant blue color. There was a cane in his hands, though I was almost certain it contained some sort of weapon. Though he likely didn’t need it, given his…talents…the man did like to keep up appearances. As dangerous as he was, he hardly looked the part of a crime lord with astonishment contorting his otherwise handsome features.
On his arm, I recognized Lady Hermiter, his accomplice in the Barings heist and an apparent fellow leader in his criminal organization. She was dressed in a far more refined outfit than I had seen her in before—wide, flaring skirts and a clever little fan were hardly the usual mode of dress for a crime boss. Her eyes were wide with surprise as well, though she seemed to be far more pleased than Devonshire himself was.
For my part, my hand almost instantly locked itself around the hilt of Damocles. Only a conscious, desperate effort kept me from instinctively drawing the blade. “Devonshire.”
Devonshire schooled his features back into neutrality, his familiar anger and contempt filtering through his hooded eyes. “Mr. Kingsley. How interesting to find you here. I would have thought you would still be hiding underneath a rock somewhere.”
My hand twitched as I registered the disdain in his voice, and I had to spend a desperate moment forcing it to stay still. “I am happy to surprise you, sir.” I gave the man a tight grin, watching Hermiter for any sign of treachery out of the corner of my eye. “Of course, the surprises are not quite over, I suspect.”
“Perhaps not.” A humorless grin distorted Devonshire’s lips. “I had wondered about the identity of the unknown German lordling who decided to attend this conference. After all, I did not want to encounter someone capable of upsetting my plans. It is reassuring to find you here instead.”
I watched him silently, feeling my panic subside. Whatever his goals, he clearly had not anticipated my arrival, which was comforting. He didn’t seem likely to attack me at this juncture, either. After all, any violence could very well upset those same delicate plots. It was tempting to engage in battle right now, just to create that disturbance, but I had Patricia’s safety to consider. Without proof of Devonshire’s perfidy, both Patricia and I would end up being thrown into jail—or worse. Now was not yet the time.
So instead of drawing my sword and lashing out at the enemy before me, I settled back on my heels and smiled broadly. “I am happy that you are so comfortable, Lord Devonshire. You mentioned you have plans aboard this vessel?”
Devonshire blinked. He obviously hadn’t expected anything more than an angry tirade from me, and for a moment, he looked almost at a loss for words. Hermiter answered instead, her voice scornful. “As if he would tell you anything. What are you doing here?”
“Why, enjoying the opportunity to visit a new place, Ms. Hermiter. Or is it Lady Devonshire now?” Both of them appeared to stiffen in surprise, and I continued in a diffident tone. “Of course, that is hardly any of my business—in fact, you’re likely here as his servant, am I correct?” The question appeared to stun her, and Devonshire’s expression became a mask of rage. “All the same, I am surprised to see you here as well. Are your businesses in the warehouse district still being well looked-after in your absence? I suppose they must have to be, for you to abandon them in order to help this poor fellow.”
So far, it appeared my effort to keep them off balance was working. Devonshire’s next words were cool, almost void of emotion. “That is not your concern either, Mr. Kingsley. You should know that I am not a patient man. If you attempt to interfere—”
“You’ll condemn me to certain death? Perhaps by hanging for my supposed crimes?” I nodded amiably, keeping my voice deliberately casual. “Yes, yes, so you have made clear to me before. Rest assured, unlike your many previous warnings, I am absolutely sure this threat will do the trick.”
“Insolent scum.” The words were not so much spoken as they were growled. Devonshire stepped close. His face was now near enough that I could imagine that I could smell the sulfur on his breath. A small tendril of smoke actually appeared near one of his nostrils. “Had I the opportunity, I would—”
“But you do not, do you, Lord Devonshire?” I kept my words flat and cool, and he gritted his teeth together in rage. As unwise as it might have been to provoke him further, I continued in a low, even voice. “You have not managed anything beyond some hollow rumors and the occasional inconvenience, and I wonder if you will ever be capable of anything more in the near future. Despite your grand ambitions, there does remain some doubt.”
I turned my attention back to Hermiter, who was still apparently trying to find her tongue after our last exchange. “You may be sure of one thing, at the least. I owe both of you so very much, both for the experiences you have given me and the situation in which I currently find myself.” Letting the slightest edge seep into my words, I looked back to Devonshire, who was—quite literally—fuming in front of me. “At the earliest opportunity, I will do my best to repay that debt with interest. You may rely on that.”
Devonshire stared back at me, his hands clenching and unclenching as he stood in the corridor. It almost seemed like he was about to abandon his civilized pretenses and attack—something which seemed rather appealing at the moment, as I once again fought down the urge to draw Damocles—and then he froze. A moment later, I heard voices drifting down the corridor. I smiled and switched to my newfound German accent.
“It appears our interview is complete, Lord Devonshire. Is there anything else I can do for you before you continue on your way?”
He did not answer. Instead, he continued to snarl at me, his face contorted in anger, until Hermiter lightly touched his arm. Devonshire violently shrugged her off and then stalked away down the corridor. I met Hermiter’s eyes and raised both eyebrows in surprise, as if shocked by his uncouth behavior. She seemed to pull back from the urge to slap me and then hurried after him.
Barely restraining the urge to laugh, I watched both of them retreat until they were out of sight. It was hardly a victory to write about in stories, but the fact was that it was the first conversation where Devonshire had been off balance, where I had not had the feeling that he had planned out the results of our exchange four days in advance. I was no longer a minor inconvenience or a pawn to be manipulated. From his threats and his restraint, it was clear I was a danger to his activities aboard the embassy. It was a position I intended to retain, right up until the moment arrived when I could bring him down.
Once he was out of sight, I stepped back to close the door and gloat over my minor victory, only to stop. Further along the hallway, opposite the direction that Devonshire had taken, there was a pocket of darkness that had not been there before. It looked as if one of the lamps fixed to the bulkheads of the airship had malfunctioned—an oddity, considering I distinctly remembered seeing the lamp working when I arrived.
Glancing back in the direction of Devonshire’s retreat, I decided it was unlikely that the man had arranged for an ambush so quickly after his initial visit. Carefully locking my room, I made my way to where the shadows waited.
There were no rough thugs waiting for me, but I did find evidence of mischief there. Shards of broken glass had been swept into the corners of the corridor; the lamp had been deliberately shattered by someone. When I examined the light fixture, a close look told me that the damage had been done with some kind of blunt weapon, possibly a club or the butt of a pistol. There was also a smudge of something below the broken lamp, possibly where someone would have laid a hand to boost themselves up to strike it.
I sniffed at the spot, and discovered the scent of tobacco, possibly from some sort of cigar. It wasn’t a type I was familiar with; though I did not partake in the habit, many of London’s criminals were fond of smoking, and I had become quite well educated in the many varieties. This one, however, was either a new brand introduced to London, or of foreign make.
“Trouble, sir?”
Blinking, I took a step back from the lamp and confronted my new visitor. He was a sturdy-looking man of African descent, but his accent hinted at a more American lineage. Curiously, he was dressed in a way that seemed somehow familiar, with a long grey overcoat and a wide-brimmed hat. A thick, bushy mustache completed the look, and he regarded me with a disconcertingly steady gaze.
I paused, more out of a desire to reassert my German accent than to gain time to think. “No. I only saw it was broken.”
“I suppose it was.” The man stepped up to look at the lamp, giving it a quick look. He reached up and brushed his hands across the edge. “Looks smashed. You see who did it?”
It was a clumsy move, something that had smudged the cigar traces. His high-heeled cavalry boots had marred any traces in the dust beneath it as well. I smothered my disappointment. “No, I did not.”
“That’s a shame. Might have been a vandal or a criminal of some kind.” He turned back to me, his gaze still quite level. “Better to catch that kind of man before they do something serious, don’t you think?”
I felt a sudden burst of suspicion. Had he recognized me? If he had, why conceal his intentions? My fingers inched toward the hilt of my sword, dully aware that one of the man’s hands had drifted inside his long coat. “It is always better to avoid trouble, I believe.”
For a long moment, the stranger continued to study me. All pretense of friendliness had deserted him, and I half expected him to draw some sort of firearm on me. My fingers touched the sword hilt, and I started to tense for the action I knew would soon come.
Then there was a burst of laughter from further down the corridor, and I glanced away to see a group of French debutants being guided to their rooms by an escort of soldiers. When I brought my eyes back to his, the moment was passed. His hands drifted away from the inside of his coat, and I felt myself relax. Apparently, whatever his goal, this man was not willing to stage an incident in front of the embassy’s garrison, a fact that I sincerely appreciated.
He watched me a moment more, and then abruptly nodded. “Well, I’ll be seeing you, sir.”
I gave him a silent, frigid nod in return, and his lips twitched as if he was fighting the urge to grin. He turned and began to saunter down the corridor in an infuriatingly familiar way, tipping his hat to the ladies as he passed them.
For the second time that hour, I watched a potential foe walk away from me down the corridors of the embassy. All sense of victory had vanished, now, and I was forced to reckon with the fact that yet another complication had arisen. Then I shook myself free of such dark thoughts and walked back to my rooms. I had too much to do to let myself get distracted, and for all I knew, time was already running out.
It was only a few hours later that a runner from the embassy delivered the invitation to the opening gala. The event would be a formal opening of the negotiations, and while I was loath to mince about with a bunch of high-born ambassadors and toadies, it would be an ideal time to meet with Patricia and Charlotte without raising any eyebrows. After all, if Baron Krongesetz met with his fiancée too often in her quarters, tongues would wag, and I would not want to deal with the extra scrutiny it would bring.
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The ball had been set for just a half hour later in the afternoon, and the card carried a rather helpful map on the back which would lead me to the ballroom of the embassy. I studied it intently before tucking the invitation away.
There remained only one real decision left to me. Would I take Damocles with me to the dance, or no?
Under most circumstances, the answer would have been readily apparent. A wise man does not leave himself unarmed, especially in situations where enemies are already in abundance. The sword would fit quite well in the manner and custom of a German noble, too isolated and asocial to note the general disapproval of dueling in high society. It would even help to solidify the weapon as part of my regular dress, encouraging the French to assume I would have the sword with me, rather than giving them cause to remark on it later.
However, there was too much that disturbed me about the blade. At first, I had assumed that the urge to practice with it would fade with time, and that I would easily be able to ignore it as I grew accustomed to its unusual pull.
That hope had proved false, as I had grown more and more attached to the thing the longer I wore it. The difficulty in resisting the urges had increased, not abated, as time went on. Worst of all, I had nearly lost control of myself when confronted by Devonshire. It was a dangerous weapon, and effective as I knew it must be, I did not want to be consumed by it—least of all in the middle of an informal party, where I knew I needed to keep myself to the best of behavior.
I sat across from the blade, considering it over my steepled fingers. Even from this distance, I could feel the draw of it, the hunger to pull it free of the scabbard. Licking my lips, I glanced at the clock on the writing table, and then looked back at the blade. It would be rather useful if Devonshire’s thugs made an early appearance. Perhaps if I drew it, just once? Would the pressure then abate at last?
Cautiously, befitting the uncertainty of the moment, I stood and crossed over to the blade. I could almost hear a whisper of exhilaration in the air as I bent over it and laid my hand on the hilt. I paused, wrapping my fingers firmly around the handle, and then I drew the sword in one sharp motion.
It was as if the sun had dimmed. The blade was just as I had imagined it, a solid, heavy length of steel that glimmered as I moved it. There was weight, but I could lift and balance it easily; a surprise, given how men like my father had always complained about the heaviness of the blade and the crude manner of attack necessitated by its construction. Still, there was a beautiful simplicity to how it moved through the air. The lack of subtlety was calming in its own way, letting me move through the sword forms my father had taught me with an ease that I had never experienced before. Had I a shield or buckler to counterbalance, it would have been absolutely perfect, but even without it, I could imagine myself fending off countless crude thugs, cutting through their ranks like a man harvesting wheat.
I caught myself flourishing with it, lashing out at imagined foes. My grip on the hilt intensified, and sweat broke out on my brow. What was I doing? Had I suddenly regressed to the mindset of a young schoolboy? There were other concerns to attend to now, things more pressing than a fight against shadows and pretended enemies.
Unbidden, the image of Lord Devonshire rose in my mind. I could almost see him standing in the doorway of my chambers. A mocking smile on his lips, he beckoned for me to attack. I lifted the sword, ready to swing the blade straight through his chest—and then stopped myself again, resisting the urge. The image faded from my sight, and I was once again left trembling at the sword’s influence.
Gritting my teeth, I turned the blade back toward the sheath. It was like sliding the tip into my own heart, but inch by inch I forced the sword back into the metal container which had kept it leashed. My fingers were locked around the handle, and it was another terrible effort to remove them, one by one.
The moment I no longer touched the hilt, I fell to my knees, gasping. What exactly had Daniel given me in this blade? The way I had moved was beyond any skill I had previously possessed—even Patricia had known I was more a bludgeon than a duelist, and yet with Damocles in my hands, I felt I could have held off a small army. Yet the madness that came with it, the casual need to fight, was overwhelmingly dangerous.
I looked down at the blade, feeling the sweat cool on my brow. Already, my fingers tingled with the need to touch the hilt again, a need that I knew would intensify again.
The matter was decided, then. I set Damocles aside, very careful not to touch the hilt for even a heartbeat. Instead, I fastened Icarus around my wrist and take a small cane from among the belongings Charlotte had packed. Then I made for the door, trying desperately to ignore the itch in my fingers for the sword. Patricia was waiting for me, and I could not fail her now.
I arrived, to my chagrin, a little earlier than I had expected, and was thus forced to wait in the antechamber of the ballroom. It would not appear well for a gentleman to arrive at the ball unescorted, not when he had a fiancée to meet, and so I lingered and watched as other, more coordinated couples made their entrance.
It was quite a list of attendees, ranging from Continental aristocrats to French officers, British officials and American merchants. The invitations must have been especially broad to include some of the attendees, a fact that gave me some pause. Perhaps the peace conference was meant to be as much a theatre for the aristocracy as well as a diplomatic conference. The idea set me ill at ease; Charlotte and Francis had both been vocal enough about the various theatre disasters they had experienced, and in those instances, all of the actors had agreed to follow the same script. The idea of our leaders putting on a show in the middle of their delicate negotiations was not a comforting one.
The other attendees did not appear to have similar misgivings, however. None of them gave me a second glance as they made their way inside, a fact that I was deeply satisfied with. After all, I was there to observe them, not the other way around. One and all, they appeared to be smug, self-absorbed, and enthusiastic about the ball, a fact that I hoped indicated that none of them were cooperating with whatever disruption Devonshire had planned.
“Enjoying the scenery, Baron Krongesetz?”
The voice almost instantly stiffened my spine, and it took some extra effort to freeze my expression into one that would not reveal the sudden concern boiling up inside me. I turned to face Louis Napoleon, still in his simple infantry officer uniform, and bowed slightly. “I suppose I am, Your Majesty.”
To my surprise, the man looked somewhat abashed. He glanced about as if nervous and quickly gestured for me to straighten. “Now, now, good Baron, let’s not make a scene.” I blinked, and he gave me a somewhat uncertain smile. “I’m not supposed to be recognized, of course. You could call it something of a family tradition.”
I nodded slowly. There had always been stories that the first Emperor had preferred a simple colonel’s uniform above more elaborate costumes. His son had continued the practice, and expanded it, to the point where he often walked among his own troops in basic military dress, imitating a common soldier. The story was so patently ridiculous that I had always dismissed it, but perhaps there had been some merit to it after all.
I spoke slowly, as much to maintain my false accent as to think through my words. “So how, then, should I address you?”
“Call me by my false name, Louis Delasicile.” He grinned broadly, as if he was doing both of us a favor. “I really shouldn’t have told you who I was, but I just couldn’t resist the chance. It was an unexpected event, wasn’t it?”
Despite myself, I gave him a slight smile. “It was quite…unexpected indeed, Monsieur Delasicile.” I glanced back at the parade of dignitaries and officials, all fluttering past on their way to the ball. “Are you here, then, to watch over the proceedings, or to participate?”
“I am, you might say, here as insurance, Baron.” Louis’ face turned grave for a moment. “The Emperor, in his wisdom, places a very large amount of importance on this lasting peace, and should something unfortunate happen, I have been instructed to carry on the negotiations in his stead.”
Then he offered me a tight little smile. “Of course, I would much rather that things proceed smoothly. I have seen the strain upon my imperial cousin, and would rather not shoulder the burden he bears.”
“A wise choice, Louis.” I did not quite believe that the Frenchman was so devoid of ambition that he would set aside his own chance to ascend the throne, but he seemed sincere enough. Skepticism would not earn me any more information from him, in any case. “Are there any…concerns about such things? I was assured that the conference was quite safe.”
Louis nodded and turned his own gaze back towards the others. He seemed to grow even more somber for a moment, and there was an unusual pause before he replied. “There is always uncertainty, Herr Baron. No matter how well we prepare, there will always be something new to challenge us.”
I nodded again, and let some concern filter into my accent. “I was afraid of such things. Not everyone here may wish for the success of the negotiations.” Louis’ expression suddenly grew alarmed, and I turned to see what had so surprised the man. Half-expecting to see Devonshire, I was instead confronted by a giant.
Not a literal one, of course. He was tall, but showed no signs of the Change in his features. His uniform indicated that he was a member of the French air cavalry, and unless I misunderstood the symbols of rank on his chest, one that was fairly high in their command. His features were proud, though they seemed rather fixed in a grim expression at the moment. He stepped forward and extended his hand, moving in quick, angry jerks.
“I am Capitaine Lorraine Chatelain. You are the Baron Krongesetz?”
It was impossible to miss the edge of hostility in the man’s voice. I grasped his hand and was somewhat unsurprised by his attempt to crush it to a pulp. “I am Baron Krongesetz, yes.”
“Good.” He gave my hand one last punishing squeeze and looked briefly disappointed when I did not react. “We have a matter of honor to settle between us, Baron.”
Louis stirred at my side, and I barely avoided glancing at him. “We do?”
“We do.” Chatelain’s jaw clenched, and the accent in his words grew far more pronounced. “I have read many opinions circulated in your name, Baron Krongesetz, and I would call you to answer for them. Your slander of our Emperor and his motives are inexcusable.”
“Is that so?” I fought down a burst of panic and thought quickly. If it turned into some sort of argument over an opinion I didn’t know, my disguise would be heavily compromised. An easy out would be to make some apology, but I found it hard to consider the option. Would not a German baron be more resolute than that? “Might I ask which criticism has so hurt your feelings, Capitaine?”
The muscles along Chatelain’s jaw bunched even tighter, and he spoke as if he was fighting the urge to bite me. “You called our Emperor a monster, a tyrant of unspeakable arrogance. He has done nothing but for the glory of France, and you know it.” He grimaced. “Your father may have fought us in the past, but you have no right to speak such ill-mannered rubbish. Such uncouth behavior must be answered for.”
His words nearly caught me off guard. For a moment, it seemed he had guessed my true identity, as my own father certainly had participated in the War. Yet it had also been part of the carefully crafted background of my disguise, one of the pieces Benjamin had deliberately advertised throughout the city to his remaining contacts. Apparently, it had been quite a good decision to do so.
Apparently, it was not the only rumor that had been circulated. I wondered briefly if Devonshire might have added his own fuel to the fire, hoping to use me to increase the disruptions to the negotiations. It was something very much like him, to try to utilize me as his own gullible pawn.
All the same, I found myself unable to mitigate my response. I narrowed my eyes, and my hand moved reflexively to where Damocles would have hung had I brought the blade. “If you call me to account, Capitaine, I will be ready to answer.”
The response appeared to surprise both Frenchmen, with Louis even staring at me in shock. Chatelain, however, leaned forward again, his eyes blazing with anger. “Do not think that I will hesitate out of some concern for some petty English law. A man must have honor.”
“And courage too.” The cool, unflinching words came unbidden from my lips. I watched with some satisfaction as his face reddened with anger and smiled. “Or does the Grand Armee somehow breed the one without the other? Either challenge me, or withdraw, but I have no time for your bluster.”
Chatelain was nearly purple with rage, and I could feel some tiny part of myself advising caution. My mission was too important to throw aside just because of some pompous French officer, but to back down was completely unthinkable. Yet just as Chatelain appeared to ready himself to throw down the gauntlet, Louis spoke up, in a low tone.
“The Emperor, my friends, has made it known that he disapproves of dueling. Moreover, he would not want us to spoil so great an occasion with violence.”
Chatelain glared at him, his face still contorted with anger. “Watch your tongue, Lieutenant. This is no affair of yours.”
“The honor of the Emperor—and obedience to his commands—are always my affair, Capitaine.” Louis met the man’s stare with a firm look. “Further, he has entrusted me with the security of this event. I would not wish to lock both of you in a cell.”
The French officer, clearly unaware of the man’s true status, continued to glare at him. For my part, I felt my resolve lessening somewhat. Why on earth had I even allowed myself to be goaded into such foolishness? It can’t have been simply to maintain my disguise as a nobleman—even the most stubborn of German princes must have some measure of good judgment and self-preservation. What had I been thinking? I was about to open my mouth, either to accept Louis’ decision or to make some other excuse, but then I heard someone clear their throat behind me.
When I turned, it was as if Chatelain, and most of the rest of the world, had ceased to exist.
Patricia, dressed in a gown I had never before seen, was standing there. She had to have changed since arriving onboard, for it was far more elaborate than her traveling clothes. A vibrant green, bordered in gold, she still wore the Sibyl on a chain around her throat. The hue of the dress appeared to set her hair apart, as if the red mane had been set afire. Simply put, she was beautiful, in a way that utterly defied explanation or description.
I stared, unable to help myself, until another polite cough alerted me that Charlotte was also present. Remembering my training, I bowed low and captured her hand. Before she could react, I brushed my lips over her knuckles. “Forgive me, my lady. I was not aware you arrived.”
Patricia’s cheeks were stained with a blush when I straightened up. Her stance spoke of an odd blend of amusement and uncertainty, as if she felt ridiculous, but did not wish to provoke laughter by pointing it out. She cocked her head and glanced at the other two men. “Why Baron, have you forgotten your manners? Introduce me.”
“Again, forgive me.” I glanced at the two Frenchmen, considering my options. Would being introduced first insult or gratify the Heir to the throne of France? With no memory of the correct precedence, I took a gamble. “This is Capitaine Lorraine Chatelain, of the Grand Armee, and Lieutenant Louis Delasicile, also of the Grand Armee. They were…keeping me company as I waited for you. Capitaine, Lieutenant, this is my fiancée, Ms. Amy Bingham, of America.”
Patricia quirked an eyebrow at me, and for a moment I wondered if she would abandon her role as an heiress already. Then she smiled brightly. “Oh dear, not another batch of soldiers! You always are finding ways to hang around them, aren’t you?” She offered her hand to the Capitaine, who bowed over it. “You’ll have to forgive him, gentlemen. I often think he wishes he’d been old enough to fight in the last war. Men will do the silliest things just to be thought a hero.”
I heard something very much like a snort of amusement from Louis and had to restrain myself from glaring at him. Chatelain, for his part, straightened and nodded stiffly. He looked as if he was unwilling to continue our squabble in front of her, at least, though the fire in his eyes suggested I was far from finished with the man.
Louis bowed as well and then smiled with considerable aplomb. “You needn’t worry, madame. The dear Baron was only engaging in a bit of discussion with us, but now our duties call us elsewhere.” He bowed again, and after a rebellious hesitation, so did Chatelain. “If you’ll excuse us.”
Patricia curtsied, and the Frenchmen withdrew. She waited until they were some distance away before she turned back to me and slid her arm through mine. “Want to tell me what that was about?”
I lowered my voice. “Nothing to concern you. Just some trouble that our adversary might have prepared for us.” Keeping my voice low, I explained about the supposed articles I had written, and about the visit Devonshire had made to my rooms.
When I had finished, Patricia shook her head. “Well, at least we know he’s here.” Patricia fidgeted with her dress and grimaced. She glanced over at Charlotte. “I don’t know how you walk in these things all the time. I always feel like I’m tripping over my own skirts.”
“You move quite well, madame.” Charlotte’s voice was low and heavily accented, as if trying to remind us to remain in character. She looked back at me. “Have there been any issues, my lord?”
The question immediately made me feel vaguely uneasy. Impersonating a lord was already a rather uncomfortable fit, but even if I knew the deference was an act, it was an odd fit for the son of a very common man. “Nothing else of note.”
She curtsied deeply and then went off to the servants’ chambers. We had already decided that whatever gossip might be circulating there would be of great use to us, and she would not want to miss the chance to gather information on Devonshire’s plans. Any scrap of knowledge might lead to our eventual victory—or our final defeat.
Those thoughts lent an extra bit of weight to my steps as I led Patricia toward the entrance of the ballroom. One way or another, I felt the great conflict between the duke and I was drawing to a close.