Free Dangerous Deceptions by Sarah Zettel Page B

an improving but exhausting exercise. I do not recommend it to the social novice.
    “Your dinner last night,” she said finally. “It was successful?”
    Now she spoke in her native German, a language in which I was reasonably fluent, more so at least than those gathered around us.
    “It went about as well as could be expected, Your Highness,” I replied, a remark that had the benefit of being polite, noncommittal, and true.
    It also earned me a fresh frown, and I blushed. By now I should know better than to try such a maneuver with my mistress.
    “It sounds as if you might have had unexpected company as well. Is this so?”
    I didn’t even consider lying. “Yes, ma’am. I did.”
    “It was not Mr. Reade?”
    “No, ma’am!”
    “Someone else, then?”
    “Yes.”
    She sighed, and for the first time that day, I saw her looking tired. Guilt, ever at the ready, stepped up and presented itself. “You have far more important things to do than providing food for gossip, Miss Fitzroy.”
    “Yes, ma’am. I do know it.”
Tell her,
urged some part of me.
Tell her about Sebastian now.
“I . . . please believe me, this was not my idea.”
    “Then you will have ideas to spare as to how to finish it.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    She waited for me to go on. I almost did, but I let the moment fall away. I could not tell her here, not now, when I understood so little and could do even less about it. I owed my living, and my life, to this woman. I could not cause her to regret giving me either.
    For her part, my mistress evidently decided I could be allowed my little secrets, for now. Her tone became brisk and far more sympathetic. “Now, I understand you will be visiting Mr. Reade this afternoon in regard to his commission?”
    “Yes, ma’am. He writes that it is finished.”
    “Good. Then you will have time for another commission afterward. There are rumors being put about that the king intends to stay in Hanover permanently. We need these confirmed as soon as may be. You will write your Mr. Tinderflint. Quietly, of course.”
    There are those among my readers who might find it odd that the princess was resorting to such circumlocutions to obtain this information. If anyone could make an inquiry of the king, it would surely be his daughter-in-law. Unfortunately, the sniping between palace residents neither began nor ended with the maids of honor. The Prince of Wales did not get along with his father the king, and the king did not get along with him. That some members of the cabinet and government actively exploited this rift should not surprise anyone. Like ambassadors, they were ready to tell their own set of lies in answer to any given question. As was King George himself.
    “I will write today, ma’am.”
    “Good.” Then Princess Caroline’s face softened. “Do not neglect this other matter, either, Miss Fitzroy. I dislike discord for its own sake, but especially where it interferes with necessary business.”
    “That, Your Highness, is a sentiment I entirely share.” I let my eyes drift toward Molly Lepell, knowing full well my mistress would make note of this lapse of attention. That I had succeeded in gaining her attention was signaled by a fresh arching of the royal brows.
    I steeled my nerve and hoped my mistress felt up to taking a hint. “But your hands are quite blue, Your Highness,” I said, in French, becoming a perfect model of maidenly concern. “May I fetch you a shawl?” I gave several wide-eyed, rapid, and exceedingly innocent blinks for added effect. The tight twist of Her Royal Highness’s smiling mouth accused me of overplaying the scene.
    But she did let out a guttural “ooof,” and massage her rounded belly. “Oh, very well, Margaret. You seem to have designated yourself my duenna for this day. Go. And take Miss Lepell with you.”
    Molly started. For a moment, it was clear she would have refused if she could. But bounded as we all were by the dictates of service and protocol, she