A Matter Of Delicacy

The Reconnassaince

     The carriage ride back to Montague House was chaos. Princess Caroline had insisted that Lady Bruce and Sarah come back in her carriage, leaving all four of us squished and irritated. She was drunk, lolling against Lady Bruce's shoulder and giggling or wailing in equal measure. The footman who had held the door had shot me a startled look as she collapsed inside, one that I was not mentally prepared to deal with. I'd just shrugged and climbed in, my brain still humming in shock and hurt. Sarah had eased in with me, plucking madly at my sleeve and coughing to get my attention, which Princess Caroline then overruled with a harpy's shriek as she waved goodbye to one of her beautiful young men out of the window.
     The footman clicked his tongue and we set off, gliding out of Buckingham House's gates and back into the starlit streets of London. I could barely focus, running over tonight's events, again and again, replaying each horrible and wonderful moment until they danced out of order and sense in my head, waltzing along to the music from the ball.
     'Kate!' Sarah hissed, startling me out of my reverie. Her eyes were panicked and insistent, quite unlike anything I'd ever seen from her. 'What did you see?'
     'It wasn't him,' I said firmly.
     Sarah's face froze.
     I took her hand and squeezed it, 'it wasn't Lynton. He wasn't there. I can't tell you any more in case I'm found out, but I promise you, it wasn't him.'
     Her face remained completely still for a moment before she broke, grimacing with pain and burying her head in her hands. 'I'm sorry,' she whispered through her gloved fingers.
     I squeezed her shoulder, 'absolutely not. You have no need to apologise for how you're feeling right now. It's mad and confusing and more than a little dangerous.'
     She sniffed mournfully.
     'Listen,' I carried on, determined to my core. 'I don't know exactly how your husband's involved, or how much he knows, but I promise you that if this all ends badly, I'll make sure you're taken care of. I'm sure the Princess wouldn't think twice about protecting you, but I want you to know you can always rely on me, alright? If you ever need anything, I'll do my best to help. I promise.'
     She looked up, her face blotchy and shining in the moonlight. 'Kate, you don't have to do that.'
     'I know that, but I also know that when a nobleman rolls in mud a lot of people get dirty.' I changed tack when she gave me a dismayed and horrified look. 'Not that he's rolling in mud! I just mean if he's more involved than we think it could reflect on you, and that kind of scandal might be hard to shift.'
     She nodded, turning back to look out the window. We trundled through Vauxhall towards Montague House, and London was awash with tiny lights from houses and carriages and boats along the Thames.
     'It's going to be alright,' I squeezed her hand again and was relieved when she squeezed it back. 'Maybe I'll train you up as my apprentice.'
     She laughed despite herself and shot me a grateful smile. 'I'd be terrible.'
     'Maybe, but it would add some glamour to the whole disgraced wife reputation.'
She shoved me with her shoulder and settled back for the ride, her hand comfortably in mine. I looked back out the window and let the lights of London and the chatter of a tipsy Princess Caroline and a stoic Lady Bruce wash over me, trying desperately to ignore the aching and confused hole that was boring deeper into my heart. It would wait till the morning, I wouldn't be able to think about him until I'd slept on it, not productively. It wouldn't do me any good.                     Willoughby could wait.

     But of course my brain didn't quite do its part there. All night I tossed and turned, images running around my head. Images of Beresford's cold appraisal, the Prince Regent's medals, Willoughby's hopeful face, Willoughby's curled smile, Willoughby's desperation at losing me, Willoughby Willoughby Willoughby. It was like I still couldn't accept it, still couldn't rationalise what I'd seen in my head, even though I'd watched it happen right in front of me.
     At 5am I gave up and got dressed in slack sparring clothes, the worn linen of Father's old shirt bringing me so much comfort I almost cried then and there. I ran a few circuits of the garden and outer walls, checking for any weak spots or anomalies again. There were the same morning greetings from the same guards as every day, but today all I felt was apprehension and dread and bone-deep confusion. It was as if I'd been shoved out onto the stage of the Globe Theatre dressed as the main role but with no idea as to which play I was in. The script had changed, and I was tired of playing catchup.
     I slumped onto the grass and watched as the sky above me lightened and the birds started about their day. Alright Kate, I thought. Start from the beginning. What do you know?
     So the Prince Regent wanted a divorce from Princess Caroline. That one was so well known no one even tried to keep it a secret anymore. But after months of failed proceedings, he had resorted to other methods. Lady Bruce had told me of the assassination attempts, going back months, and this had been corroborated by the Prince Regent himself last night when he had complained about Beresford's failures. So there had been soldiers, assassins, mercenaries, and now street acrobats sent into Montagu House to do his dirty work.
     Where exactly did Beresford fit in? A mercenary for sure, hired to coordinate? It didn't seem like he's had any practical involvement himself, wasn't one to get his hands dirty. So did he just arrange the whole ordeal? Was Beresford even his real name or was it Henry Davenport? I lent more towards the latter being an assumed identity to make his place at court less suspicious, and if Paulette had referred to him as Beresford in private that made more sense. But Paulette himself was another mystery. Where had he been last night? And was he just playing the part of Beresford's second or was there something more to his role?
     And who was this Grenville fellow? He'd clearly been antagonistic towards Beresford, and the Prince Regent had alluded to his role in 'matters of state.' A politician then? I made a mental note to ask Lady Bruce later.
     Then Willoughby. Willoughby. How had I been so blind? Everything fit together so simply it baffled me. That's why he'd been there at St Paul's that day. To talk to Lennox with Beresford and Paulette. He'd seen me, recognised me from the ball, and distracted me so I didn't have a chance to tail his compatriots. And his attentions at the Princess' ball itself? It made sense for him to ingratiate himself with the household so he could learn about any comings and goings. I'd bet everything I owned that that was how Beresford had known when I'd arrived at Montagu House. It all made so much sense. Numerous attempts on the Princess' life had very nearly succeeded, then the Princess' best friend disappears in the dead of night, and returns with a mysterious girl that no one has heard of. Then a reconnaissance mission had ended in the maiming of Lennox, and the same girl had appeared in costume at the meeting point the next day. It must have been Lord Ashgrove's babbling to me that put the final nail in the coffin, or perhaps it had been something at the Prince Regent's ball last night. There had been a moment, a slight change when I'd noticed a shift in Beresford's face. Had I stepped wrong? Had I said something out of place?
     Willoughby's face swam to the surface of my mind, that gentle, easy smile when we'd danced, only a few hours ago. You're an enigma, Miss Wentworth. A beguiling mystery. I scoffed to myself, what a hypocrite. Had anything he'd said been true? He'd played me from the very beginning, and with such an expert hand I bet he'd done it numerous times before. And I'd fallen for it like a heroine from one of Princess Caroline's penny novels. It was hardly me who was the beguiling mystery. But I supposed it didn't matter now. I'd been seen. It was over.
     I was suddenly angry. Not at Willoughby, or Beresford, or even the Prince Regent. I was angry at Princess Caroline, at Lady Bruce, at Father. What had been the end goal here? What had been the plan? I could hardly eliminate the threatening force when that force was the future king. I was not about to commit treason. Was I just supposed to stay here for the rest of my life, battling away more and more killers coming our way? What did they expect me to do?
     I sighed deeply and rubbed the heels of my hands deep into my eyes, forcing myself to focus. Well, if no one else had a plan then I guess it fell to me to figure it out. I couldn't remove the ultimate threat, at risk of full-scale political upheaval and the installation of a child to the throne. So I'd just have to eliminate Beresford, Paulette, and Willoughby. Perhaps if the instigators of the plots were removed the Prince Regent would see that his plan was ultimately doomed to failure. I needed evidence. Something to hold against him in the future, should he ever try again.
     My heartbeat slowed, and I picked myself up off the grass and headed back to the house. It wasn't a plan, as such, but at least it was a direction. Find Beresford, find Paulette, find Willoughby, and eliminate the threat. I imagined the blade of my smallsword piercing the cream of Willoughby's waistcoat, his face stilling under my blade. It made me shake, but with fear or anger, I couldn't tell. He'd had no problem with trying to kill Princess Caroline, now wasn't the time to form a moral compass on such things.
     Not a plan, just a direction. But it was one I could handle for the moment. And for now, while the nobility slept, I had another job to do. I'd almost forgotten my plan to scout Rothwell House this morning, but now that it had come to it, I was glad. Glad for the distraction it would bring, glad for the return to control. I strode back to the house, leaving my snarled up thoughts on the grass behind me.