Malice at the Palace (The Royal Spyness Series Book 9)
By: Rhys Bowen
Then I had another encouraging thought. I could always go to stay with the Dowager Duchess of Eynsford. I had been a sort of companion cum social secretary to her, hadn’t I? She had been grateful for my company earlier in the year and I was sure she’d welcome me back. Perhaps the young duke and his cousin had returned from Switzerland, in which case it might even be quite jolly. I strode out with renewed vigor along Pont Street. My head was so buzzing with ideas that I hardly noticed where I was walking. By the time I had to stop to cross Sloane Street, I realized I was in Belgravia, very close to our London home in Belgrave Square. I couldn’t resist taking a look at it, although I had hardly ever stayed there as a child and it had never felt like home to me. I crossed and entered the quiet of Belgrave Square with its elegant white-fronted houses and the gardens in the middle, with trees standing stark and bare behind their iron railings.
Two nannies were walking their charges, talking together as they pushed prams. A maid was scrubbing a front step. A milkman was making a delivery, the bottles rattling as he carried them down to a service entrance. It was all so peaceful and domestic that I found myself staring up at Rannoch House with longing. It was in the middle of the north side of the square—the biggest and most imposing of the houses.
“I wish . . .” I heard myself saying out loud, but when I analyzed it, I didn’t quite know what I wished. Probably that I had a place where I still belonged in the world. I was just about to walk past when the front door opened and none other than my brother, Binky, current Duke of Rannoch, came down the steps, adjusting the scarf at his neck as he came. He was about to walk past without noticing me but I stepped out in front of him.
“Hello, Binky,” I said.
He stopped, startled, then blinked as if he thought he was seeing a mirage. “Georgie. It’s you. Blow me down. What a lovely surprise. We didn’t know you were in town.”
“I didn’t expect you to be in town either,” I said.
“We came down a couple of weeks ago,” he said. “Fig’s aunt just died and left her a nice little legacy, so we decided to have a central heating system put into Castle Rannoch. It can be beastly cold in winter, can’t it? And little Adelaide gets such nasty croup. So while they’re putting in boilers and pipes and things we decided to come down to London. We have to look for a governess for Podge anyway so it was really killing two birds with one stone. But enough of our boring lives—how about you? What have you been doing? The last we heard you were staying with the Duchess of Eynsford.”
“A lot has happened since then,” I said. A spasm of guilt passed through me that I should have written to my brother more often. Then I told myself that Fig would probably have burned the letters anyway. “But are you on your way to an appointment? I could come to visit when you have time and give you all my news, rather than standing here in the street freezing.”
“Come in now, if you’re not too busy,” he said. “I was only going down to my club to read the morning papers and Fig would love to see you.”
This later was completely untrue, I was sure, but I wasn’t going to turn down the invitation. “I’d love to see everyone,” I said. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen Podge and Adelaide. Are you still calling her that, by the way? It doesn’t seem the right sort of thing to call a baby.”
“I call her Dumpling, because she has round chubby cheeks,” Binky said, “but Fig doesn’t like that and Nanny insists on calling children by their proper names. No baby talk and no nonsense.”
“You have a new nanny?”
“Yes. Fig’s idea, actually. She felt that our nanny was too old and too indulgent. So she pensioned her off. Must say I don’t quite take to the new one. Too modern and efficient and worries about germs.”
As we talked Binky went back up the steps and opened the front door. “Come in, Georgie.”
I followed him into the foyer. Binky had hardly had time to close the door behind us when our butler, Hamilton, appeared with that uncanny sense that butlers have when someone is going in or out.
“Back so soon, Your Grace? I hope there is nothing amiss,” he began, then he saw me and his face lit up in a most satisfying way. “Why, Lady Georgiana. What a pleasant surprise. It’s been so long.”
“How are you, Hamilton?” I said as he helped me out of my coat.
“As well as can be expected, my lady. Rheumatics, you know, and a lot of stairs in this house. Should I serve coffee in the morning room, Your Grace, or would her ladyship prefer a proper breakfast in the dining room? It hasn’t been cleared away yet although I believe Her Grace had a tray sent up this morning.”
“Jolly good kidneys this morning, Georgie. And you know what damn fine kedgeree Cook makes.”
“Sounds lovely,” I said. In an attempt to make my mother’s check last as long as possible I had been living quite simply, apart from the occasional splurge of ready-made food from Harrods. And I didn’t know how to cook kidneys.
“Go and help yourself,” Binky said. “I’ll let Fig know you’re here and then I might join you for another round, although Fig complains I’m putting on a bit of weight around the middle.” He patted his stomach, which was becoming a little like Father Christmas’s.
“Should I have fresh coffee sent to the dining room, my lady?” Hamilton asked, hovering at the baize door that led down to the kitchen.
“That would be lovely, thank you, Hamilton,” I said. “I’m sure I haven’t forgotten my way to the dining room.”