Silk and Shadows (45 page)

Tonight Charles's malice had been unmistakable, and it was easy to believe that he might have pushed his first wife down the stairs in a fit of rage. Nonetheless, though he had clearly been doing his best to hurt her and injure her marriage, Sara could not escape the horrible belief that somewhere in his tissue of lies was a grain of excruciating truth.

Ross was part of a group of men discussing colonial policy, and Peregrine had to wait a few minutes before he could separate his friend for a private talk. When they were alone, Peregrine said only, "The cat is among the pigeons."

Ross raised his eyebrows as he considered the statement. "You mean that you have shown your hand to Weldon."

"Exactly. I decided that it is time to bring the game to a conclusion. Weldon could be dangerous. I don't think he will threaten you, but be careful—the man is like a loose cannon on a ship's deck."

"What about Sara's safety?"

Peregrine smiled humorlessly. "Weldon agreed to one condition: he will not hurt Sara. In return, I will not hurt his daughter Eliza."

Ross frowned. "This is getting very ugly."

"It has always been ugly," Peregrine retorted. "But soon it will be over. Sometime in the next few days, I'd like to talk to you again. I'm hiring some guards, former soldiers, and it might be good if you took one. You've got frontier experience of your own, but no one can look all ways at once."

"Do you really expect matters to get that bad?"

"Expect the worst. That way you are never disappointed." Then Peregrine said good night and turned to look for his wife. With his height, he was able to see over the crowd, and his mouth tightened when he saw her dancing with Charles Weldon.

The music stopped and Weldon bowed deeply, then left his partner. Sara stood still for a moment, then turned and slowly made her way toward the door where her aunt had been earlier. Wondering what Weldon had said, Peregrine worked his way through the thick crowd. To his intense irritation, several people stopped him to talk, and it was several minutes before he was able to reach Sara's side.

His wife flinched when he touched her arm, then looked up at him with a blind, unseeing stare.

He mentally hurled an oath at his enemy, then said quietly, "I saw you dancing with Weldon. Did he threaten you? Frighten you in some way?"

She shook her head and managed a thin smile. "No, Charles had the admirable motive of showing people that we are on polite terms. I am merely suffering from a guilty conscience. As I said earlier, I knew it would be difficult the first time we met again. I'll be fine in a few minutes."

Peregrine frowned, sure that Weldon must have said something to upset Sara. But he would not ask her again until later. Taking her arm, he said, "Come, let us go home."

"We must take our leave of Letty first."

He would rather have ignored the amenities, but knew Sara would never be so rude. After scanning the room, he was glad to see that Lord and Lady Sanford were holding court by the main entrance, so making a polite farewell would not take long.

When they were almost to the Sanfords, a new party entered the ballroom, and there was a sudden flurry of surprise. The music stopped, and guests began turning toward the door. Lady Sanford dropped into a curtsy, and her husband bowed deeply.

Peregrine gave a soft whistle of surprise when he identified the new arrivals. "Believe it or not, Queen Victoria has just walked in with a sizable party of courtiers."

His comment pierced Sara's abstraction. "Drina is here?" she said, startled. She stood on her toes and craned her neck, but could not see over the heads of taller people. The murmur became a babble of excitement as everyone turned to the queen.

"She certainly is. Does the queen often come to private balls?"

"Almost never," Sara replied, "but the Sanfords are very active at court, and they are dedicated Whigs. I've heard that the queen is afraid that soon a Tory government will come to power. Melbourne is the only prime minister she has ever worked with, and she is very attached to him. Coming here might be a way of showing support for the Whigs."

"Clever wench," he said admiringly.

"For heaven's sake," Sara said, sounding more like herself, "don't say that to anyone else! What is happening?"

"Melbourne has joined her. Perhaps he knew she was coming?" Peregrine said in an under-the-breath commentary. "Now the queen is moving in this direction. She stops to say a few words to someone, then moves on. More like a politician than a Royal." Peregrine watched Victoria's progress with interest. She was tiny, scarcely five feet tall, but she certainly had great presence. She was also pretty, though she was already plump and would likely be quite stout in later years.

Since the queen knew Sara, probably she would stop to say a few words. A great honor, no doubt, but Peregrine could not help wishing he and Sara had left before the queen's unexpected visit.

Like everyone else, Weldon was immobilized by the queen's presence. It was rather like being at one of her drawing rooms. He chafed at the delay, then scowled when he saw that the queen was about to speak to Peregrine and Lady Sara. Not only was Victoria the ruler of the British empire, but was also a pure, modest young woman. Appalling to think that the queen would be tainted by contact with that imposter.

Then Weldon had his second inspiration of the night. He wanted to discredit his enemy; what better way to do so than by denouncing him in front of the most influential woman in England? He would not even have to lie; the truth was quite bad enough.

Yes, Weldon's luck had turned; once more the world was falling into his hands. He began forcing his way to the front of the group.

Melbourne and the Sanfords trailing behind her, the queen stopped in front of Peregrine and Sara. With a gracious inclination of her head, she said, "A pleasure to see you, Lady Sara." Her voice was sweet and very clear, like a nightingale.

Sara curtsied. "This is an unexpected honor, Your Majesty."

"Your husband was presented to me at the last Levee." She turned to Peregrine. "Prince Peregrine. I hope that relations between your country and mine will be fruitful."

He bowed and murmured, "As do I, Your Majesty."

As Peregrine straightened up, Charles Weldon emerged from the crowd, his eyes gleaming with triumph.

After bowing to the queen, Weldon said in a ringing voice, "I beg Your Majesty's pardon, but I must tell you that this man is an imposter. He is not a prince, not even a native of Kafiristan. He is not worthy of being presented to you."

A gasp rippled through the onlookers who were close enough to hear. Startled by this departure from protocol, Victoria turned to the man who dared interrupt her. Melbourne stepped forward and whispered in her ear, probably identifying Weldon.

With a sick feeling in his stomach, Peregrine realized that Weldon had found a perfect place to discredit him. Peregrine could try to lie his way out of it, of course, and he lied very well. But who would these staid Britons believe, an English gentleman who was one of them, or a foreigner of dubious background? The answer was obvious.

For himself, Peregrine did not much mind being disgraced, but his friends were part of this world, and they would not relish being publicly humiliated for having sponsored him. Ross and Haddonfield would feel betrayed, and justly so. And Sara, dear God, what would Sara think?

Knowing that all eyes were on him, Weldon continued, "The man calling himself Prince Peregrine of Kafiristan is an imposter. In fact he is English, the illegitimate child of a cockney barmaid." He turned to Peregrine, vicious satisfaction in his eyes. With a wave of his hand, he thundered, "And this fraud, this insolent East End gutter rat, dares try to deceive the whole of British society."

The queen's jaw dropped, and for a moment she looked like a startled young girl rather than a monarch. The room was so silent that a carriage could be heard rattling by outside. Then Victoria's blue eyes narrowed to icy slits, and her head swung around to Peregrine. An insult to royal dignity was not something she would forgive. The royal voice cold and clear, she asked, "Is what Sir Charles says true?"

Peregrine should have been thinking of the best way to escape disaster, but instead his gaze was fixed on his wife. Sara's face was pale and her wide, stunned eyes regarded him with shock. Helplessly he wondered if she believed Weldon's charges. More to the point, how she would react if she did believe?

"I have spoken to you, sir," Victoria snapped, no longer according Peregrine the courtesy of his nominal title.

He turned to the queen, wondering if he had any chance of lying his way out of this. Perhaps he should just admit the truth and be done with it, but he supposed he owed it to his friends to try to avoid disgrace.

Then another cool voice entered the conversation. "I believe that Prince Peregrine is stunned at such a wild accusation, Your Majesty."

Lord Ross Carlisle emerged into the circle of open space around the queen and bowed. With his golden hair and bone-deep elegance, he was the perfect English gentleman to counter Weldon. "Sir Charles must be jesting. I myself have visited the prince's palace in Kafiristan and seen how his people revere him."

Ross's answer broke Peregrine's paralysis. "Please excuse my slowness in answering, Your Majesty. I sometimes have trouble with your language," he said in his thickest accent. "There is some justice to Sir Charles's statement that I am not a prince, for Kafiristan does not have princes in the European sense. In Kafiri, I am called," he hesitated, "I suppose 'war hawk' is closest. My title would best be translated as leader or chief. If I stay in England, I think I will drop the title altogether, since it is not formally recognized in this country."

"I was the one who suggested that he call himself a prince, Your Majesty," Ross said. "While the translation is not exact, Peregrine was the greatest and most respected man in Kafiristan. I myself can vouch for that."

His face darkening, Weldon snapped, "Lord Ross is part of the plot to deceive society, Your Majesty. Without his help, this guttersnipe would not be able to bring his masquerade off. They are both laughing at the rest of us."

The queen's brow furrowed as she weighed Ross and Peregrine's words against Weldon's accusations.

Then Sara spoke up. "You have known me for many years, Your Majesty," she said in a soft voice that could not be heard more than a few feet away. "Do you think I would dishonor my name by marrying a man who was not of suitable rank?"

The two women's gazes met, and for a moment warmth for her old friend showed in Victoria's eyes. Perhaps she was also remembering that Weldon had been betrothed to Sara and might feel malice to her new husband. Then the queen resumed her regal formality. Turning to Weldon, she said in a voice that would cut glass, "If that was your idea of a joke, we are not amused."

Victoria inclined her head to Peregrine and Sara. "Prince Peregrine, Lady Sara. I trust we shall see you at court again soon." Then she turned and resumed her progress.

His face white with rage, Weldon spun on his heel and stormed out of the ballroom, people drawing away from him as if he was a plague carrier.

The attention of the other guests stayed on the queen and her entourage, leaving Peregrine facing Ross and Sara. His eyes filled with unholy amusement, Ross said, "You are right, Mikahl, we must talk in the next few days. Good night, Sara." Then he turned and left.

Peregrine looked down at Sara. Her face was still pale, and he could read nothing in her expression. As for himself, he felt that he would explode if he stayed at this damned ball a moment longer. "Come, we are leaving," he said roughly.

He would not have been surprised if Sara had balked, but instead she just nodded.

As Sara collected her evening shawl, Peregrine summoned his carriage. Neither he nor his wife spoke on the short ride back to the Park Street town house, but the atmosphere in the coach was thick with tension. - And with every revolution of the carriage's wheels, Peregrine heard his wife's cool, aristocratic voice ringing in his head: "
Do you think I would dishonor my name by marrying a man who was not of suitable rank
?"