Page 68 of The Wallflower Ruse

Restive was almost out the door when Yolanda sidled up to him and took his arm. “Isn’t this fun, my lord?” He leaned close and said softly, “Miss Belair tells me it was Mrs. Spence who ordered Pearce to find a young lady of questionable morals.”

“Damn fool woman,” Restive said. ‘I suppose she’s Columbine.” He glanced back at the horde of guests moving toward the doors. Fortin had gone out ahead of him...or had he?

No, for there he was in the entourage behind the Prince, along with the equerry, Pearce, Athena, and Columbine. What the devil? He could have sworn Fortin had passed him two minutes ago. The Frenchman was involved in the plot somehow. Restive wanted to trust him, but...

“We have to play a waiting game,” he said. “Our men know enough to surround the Prince while not appearing to do so, but what the devil is the plan?”

“Assassination?” Davis ventured. “No, that would be suicidal. These plotters aren’t the sort to sacrifice their all for a cause. They’ll want to see the results of their handiwork—and if necessary, they’ll claim they were duped by French spies.”

“I have my doubts about Fortin’s friend Beaudry, who came to Mrs. Haraldson’s salon,” Restive said. “His recent arrival in England seems a mite too opportune. He’s similar in height and coloring to Fortin, but that’s not much help if he’s in costume.”

“I’ll keep my ogles peeled,” Davis said.

“And don’t let goddamned Wharton get in the way.” Restive left the method of dealing with Wharton open. One of these days, Davis would kill Wharton. If today was the day, so be it.

Together, they went onto the terrace.

A circle of torches outlined the area by the embankment where tables and chairs awaited the guests. Servants, some of whom were Restive’s men, scurried about with platters and trays, while others lit the bonfire. Flames licked up at the base of the pile of debris, but before long the whole garden would be a blaze of light.

Like a whale followed by a school of fish, made up of the plotters and the motley crew of guests, the Prince descended the stairs, then moved slowly toward a cluster of tables with a splendid view of both the bonfire and the Thames. The tide was high, and the water rippled and gleamed in the firelight.

Lucinda, in her shining gown, was like a beacon for the location of the Prince. Almost anyone could take a shot at him and, with luck or guile, remain undetected. If they missed, they would likely hit Lucinda.

Damn, damn! Restive forced his mind to think of anything but her, and realized what he’d missed earlier—that there were two Harlequins here tonight. Same hair color, same height, but one costume fit better than the other. Fortin and Beaudry? Were they co-conspirators or merely old friends? It was hard to imagine Fortin being made a fool of by anyone. Worse, though, to think that they might be working together, in which case Restive himself was the fool.

~ * ~

Lucinda had to warn the Prince, make him resist and choose his own way forward, not blindly go where the traitors steered him. “Sir,” she whispered. “I must speak with you.”

“Eh? What’s that? I can’t hear you properly with all this clamor.”

“I must speak to you,” she said, raising her voice a little. “It’s frightfully important.”

“Yes, yes, little darling, but not here. This is a private matter, I collect? I suppose you want me to help you escape your mama’s clutches, but unless you want to become a lady in waiting for one of my sisters, I don’t see what...”

The equerry hurried forward, jolting Lucinda as he passed. “Make way, make way for King Charles the Second, the Merry Monarch!”

He’d bumped into her on purpose; of that she was sure. Did he suspect her of knowing about the plot, of trying to foil it?

Drat it, what was the plot? If they sought to assassinate the Prince, why didn’t they just get on with it? Restive likely had plenty of men here, but anyone might possess a gun or a knife. She knew a craven urge to run away, to leave the Prince to his fate, but she couldn’t do it. She had to at least warn him first.

They were ushered to the best seats. Footmen scurried about, dark figures in the flickering light of the flames, offering cakes and wine. Lady Delworth flitted from table to table, overwhelmed by an honor she evidently hadn’t expected at her party. Mr. Pearce hovered anxiously; Mrs. Spence gazed about her, sharp-eyed; and Lady Tollister, an unlikely Athena, sat on the Prince’s other flank. After an annoyed glance, the Prince pointedly ignored her.

Lady Tollister glared at the Prince with hatred in her eyes. Lucinda flinched at that venomous stare. Did Lady Tollister have good reason to loathe him? Perhaps; he was not known for consideration of others.

She was definitely involved in the plot. If the intention was to assassinate the Prince, would she endanger herself by sitting so close to him?

Perhaps, if she not only wanted revenge for whatever reason, but meant to see it happen up close. Lucinda shivered. Revenge was never sweet, and it could so easily turn into something foul...

Meanwhile, the Harlequin stood in the semi-darkness off to the side, gazing out upon the River Thames.

~ * ~

“There are two Harlequins,” Restive said to Davis. “Fortin and perhaps Beaudry.” Where were they? “One’s over to the side, watching the river...”

A ship—smallish and squat—slid darkly into place by the embankment. Ropes flew through the night. A man on shore knotted the mooring ropes around the bollards.

“Where did that boat come from?” Davis squinted into the night.