Free Poetic Justice by Alicia Rasley

acquaintance wasn't worth pursuing if he couldn't help her win the collection.
    Still, he was intriguing, from all the hints Ada had let drop so far. A new title, a dark past... "Perhaps he does look a bit piratical," she allowed, aiming her fork randomly at the display of food, her sideways gaze fixed on him. "So tanned, and those devilish winged brows. I can imagine him with a patch over his eye and a ring in his ear. Oh, Ada, tell me more. What's his name?"
    Ada added another lobster patty to her plate, and frowned. "Oh, I can't remember. Manning, that's it. John Manning. Of course, he hasn't called himself that since he took up his illicit profession."
    "Piracy? Come, now, Ada. I agree, he would make an impressive pirate. But he's here, at the princess's ball, and look, she's coming to greet him. I just don't think she'd welcome a pirate."
    Reluctantly Ada gave in. "Oh, all right, he's not a pirate. That's just so much more romantic than a free-trader, for there are dozens of those around here. Not around here," she amended, as Jessica looked around the ballroom with renewed interest. "I daresay he's the only free-trader at this ball. But the South Coast just crawls with them. It is a sign of moral decay, my papa always said, how the villagers make heroes of outlaws like that John Dryden. And now he's Sir John Dryden. Papa must be spinning in his grave."
    Jessica took another quick look at the elegant outlaw talking to the princess, and remembered where she had heard that name. "You don't mean that's really John Dryden?"
    "Not the poet, dear. He's a century dead. I told you it was an assumed name."
    "I know precisely when the poet died," Jessica said impatiently. "The collection has three copies of his last volume of poetry—'None but the brave, none but the brave, none but the brave deserve the fair.'" Jessica took Ada's plate from her hand before she could heap it even higher with lobster patties, and led her to a little table in a silk-draped alcove. There they could nibble and watch without observation. "But this is the new John Dryden, the art dealer?"
    "Well, that's what they say he used to smuggle. Isn't that unique—a smuggler who deals in art. But," Ada added reluctantly, "I gather he's gone respectable, and does everything legally now."
    "I should say so. He's the Prince Regent's consultant on books, also, I think. They say he has the most extraordinary contacts on the Continent! And I know he's in the Royal Society of Antiquaries, and you must believe me, Ada, they are the stuffiest group. My father never applied to join, because he knew they would object to his handling of the collection. So that is John Dryden," she mused, pulling back the silk drape for a better look. "I wonder what he's doing here at the princess's party."
    "I should think it would be obvious. He's very close to the family."
    Jessica watched as Sir John Dryden smiled down at the princess, and realized with a sinking heart what Ada's implication must be. "He loves her, doesn't he?"
    Ada made an exasperated sound. "Jessica, you were always one to suspect the worst! Of course he's fond of the princess! But it's not at all what you think." She leaned over and peered out around Jessica. Oblivious to propriety, she pointed her fork at Lord Devlyn, who had come up beside his wife. With the dark earl, Jessica recalled, he had seemed every inch the jealous husband. But he greeted Sir John with a smile and an outstretched hand. And then, while they clasped hands, Jessica blinked and the images of the two men seemed to merge. They were of a height, similarly slim, with the same dark brown curls, the same square-cut jaw. "They are brothers."
    "Half-brothers. It was Devlyn's father, not his wife, who was indiscreet, you see."
    Now that Jessica understood their connection, she could also see the distinctions too. They weren't identical, by any means. Devlyn was plainly English; Dryden still looked exotic, foreign, with those winged brows and the cool