Page 12 of The Secret of Flirting
She struggled to remember what more Duval had said about the fellow’s connections—and those of his friend—but that had been three years ago, and she’d been too irritated to pay attention. Still, a mere baron couldn’t be anyone of consequence. And as the count had pointed out, her costume, wig, and makeup would have disguised her. Besides, their encounter had been brief.
Yet you remember him.
Yes. But that was different. He’d annoyed her. Whileshehad probably barely raised any notice in his arrogant brain.
“So you will play Princess Aurore for us, then?” Calculation glinted in his eyes. “It’s the role of a lifetime, you realize. If you succeed, it will be a tour de force.”
True. She could never tell anyone, but stillshewould know. What actress worth her salt could resist attempting such a daring thing?
She did have one more concern. “What about when it’s done and you replace me with the princess, assuming she recovers? Surely the people I meet in London will notice the difference between us once she becomes queen of Belgium.”
“Once she becomes queen, she will be too busy ruling to meet with anyone you might have met through the conference. And I can manage that—only allow access to her for those people I know she didn’t encounter. After a few years, it won’t matter—they’ll assume that any small differences they notice are due to age. And to her being married and having children, one hopes.”
Poor Princess Aurore. They were already plotting out her future while she lay near death’s door. But that couldn’t concern Monique. She had her own family and future to think of.
“It will only be a couple of weeks at most,” he went on, obviously sensing her weaken, “and Chanceux is more than happy to look after your grandmother in the meantime. Once it’s done, you and Princess Solange can both travel back to Chanay with us to begin your new life.”
Her new life. Bound to the royal family. Expected to behave appropriately, marry appropriately, live appropriately.
Her new life free of worry about Grand-maman.
That was the important part. Once Grand-maman passed on, Monique could choose to leave, to go back to her old life and do as she pleased. But for now...
“I’ll do it,” she said.
Two
There were few things Gregory enjoyed more than royal banquets. Not because of the pomp and circumstance or even the quality of the food and drink, but because they allowed him to root out secrets about those in the highest perches of power. He could learn a great deal from what a man said about his underlings, whether he ate or drank to excess, and how he treated the servants—or his wife.
Gregory also often gleaned interesting information from the gossip that ran rampant at these events. Some of it was inconsequential or patently absurd, but some of it could change the course of history. The fun came in figuring out which was which.
And tonight St. James’s Palace was abuzz with discussions about the London Conference to determine the future of Belgium. The event was his bailiwick—his chance to change his own future.
Because of the recent English elections, the Duke of Wellington would soon be stepping down as prime minister, and Earl Grey would be taking his place. Even Gregory’s superior—the foreign secretary—would be ousted.
Fortunately, although in most cases the undersecretary of the foreign office would be expected to leave, too, Grey had already asked Gregory to remain in his position. Gregory had made himself too valuable to both parties for either to want to replace him. Indeed, there was talk that if the London Conference went well under Gregory’s management, he might even gain the position of foreign secretary under the new government. No more would he dwell in darkness as a spymaster.
He’d proved himself capable of moving behind the scenes. Now he wanted to be on the stage, to have a say in the ruling of his country. Fate had put the conference inhishands, and he meant to make the best of it.
“Look who it is,” a voice came from behind him. “I should have known you’d be here, too.”
He turned to see Jeremy Keane behind him, accompanied by his wife, Lady Yvette. In the past year, Gregory and the American had become friends, especially since the latter had proved an excellent source of information about his countrymen’s habits. Given Gregory’s present position, he figured it never hurt to be familiar with how an American’s mind worked.
“What areyoudoing here, old chap?” Gregory asked Jeremy jovially, pleased to find a fellow member from St. George’s Club in attendance.
“I had to be in town for Guy Fawkes Day,” Jeremy said. “I’m centering a whole series of paintings around it.”
Lady Yvette shook her head. “Everyone else in England is avoiding London because of the bonfires and mayhem, but of course my husband must run toward it with great glee.”
Jeremy grinned at her. “And you love that about me, admit it. My penchant for finding trouble is what drew you to me.”
“And your dashing good looks,” she said with an indulgent smile.
The couple exchanged a knowing glance that made Gregory grit his teeth. Nothing was more irritating than the sight of two people hopelessly in love. His parents had been in love once. It hadn’t lasted long, and he doubted that the explosive finale had been worth the little bit of joy they’d gained in the beginning.
“I meant, what are you doing at a royal function?” Gregory asked testily. “You’re not even British.”
Jeremy widened his eyes in mock surprise. “Do you not realize just how famous I am, sir? I’ll have you know that the king himself bought one of my paintings.”
