Free Dangerous Deceptions by Sarah Zettel Page A

his learned wife did not appear to be well matched. But to my eye, there was a mutual understanding in evidence whenever they met. It was partly affection, but there was more to this marriage. This royal couple needed each other, and they were not entirely sorry for it.
    I saw this now, even though not ten feet from me stood Mrs. Howard, cloaked in all her rumors.
    “It’s good, it’s good,” the prince was saying. “I, unfortunately, find myself dull this morning. I wish you could come riding with me . . .” He shrugged. “But perhaps you could lend me your Mrs. Howard instead?”
    The whole air of the gathering became charged with that subtle current created by the formation of fresh gossip. The princess surely felt it, but it caused her not a moment’s hesitation. “Of course, sir. I am sure Mrs. Howard can have no objection to riding out with you.”
    We all now strained our lowered eyes for a glimpse of Mrs. Howard as she made a fresh curtsy.
    “I thank Your Highness for the kind invitation,” she said. “I fear, however, I would only delay your enjoyment, as I am not dressed to ride.”
    In response, His Royal Highness smiled benignly but firmly at her. “You could be ready in a trice, I am sure.”
    I might only be able to see the world in slivers and glimpses, but my ears were wide open, and I clearly heard that resignation in Mrs. Howard I’d taken note of before. “Certainly, sir, if you wish it.”
    His Royal Highness waved, indicating that he did indeed wish it. Mrs. Howard dropped her curtsy another fraction of an inch and backed out of the pavilion. Careless Mary, in the meantime, trod discreetly on my foot and rolled her eyes. How she could do that from under lowered lids was beyond me, but she managed it most effectively. I could not tell, however, if she meant to indicate her delight at this apparent confirmation of the rumors about Mrs. Howard. It might have also been because Sophy Howe looked ready to expire from jealousy.
    I ignored them both and looked to the princess. Her Royal Highness continued to converse smoothly with the prince about who was likely to be present at the next drawing room. I told myself the rumors could not possibly be true. The alternative was to believe that this strong-willed, clever woman was also an ordinary, put-upon wife, and that was too depressing a possibility to entertain.
    “It’s good, it’s good,” said the prince again. “Now, I am off. Do not stay out too long, my sweet. The day is chilly.” He took his wife’s hand and kissed it, looking for all the world as if he were doing anything except going off to ride with another woman.
    To say that the silence that followed his departure was awkward would be committing a gross understatement. Glances shifted sharply sideways, and the air was thick as porridge with unspoken words and witticisms about the prince coming for a lady right under his wife’s gaze. I personally did not know who to think less of: the prince, for the fact that he had done this, or Sophy Howe, for so plainly wishing it were she he’d come for instead.
    My contemplation of this awkward conundrum was cut short by the princess herself. “Come here by me, Margaret Fitzroy. I would speak with you.”
    “Yes, of course, Your Highness.” I did not look back at Mary Bellenden. I was sure she was smirking and mustering her next set of witty remarks. For the moment, however, I did not have to endure them. Protocol dictated that all the other ladies pretend to be doing something else to lend a patina of privacy to the conversation.
    I settled on the stool beside Princess Caroline, but she did not begin to speak immediately. Instead, she contemplated me as if I were a particularly complex piece of statuary. I, of course, could not speak until spoken to. I had to stare at my folded hands and work on not fidgeting. Doing this under the gaze of a woman who has the power to send persons who displease her to assorted unpleasant locations is