Could he give up his way of life for George? Could he live with himself if he did?
"You were correct in your assessment, my lord. "
The marquess of Everleigh stood before his friend and mentor, Andrew Ramsey, the sixteenth marquess of Templeston, in the private study of Lord Templeston's London home and related the details of his audience with His Highness Prince Victor of Saxe-Wallerstein-Karolya.
Templeston frowned. "I'm sorry for that." He looked up at Ashford Everleigh. "I fear, sometimes, that I have lived too long. That I have outlived my usefulness. The world is changing, and I don't envy you the challenges with which you will have to contend." He sighed. "I've seen so much greed and envy and malice—within families and among friends—that I am never surprised anymore." He looked sad, remembering. "We are about to enter the last quarter of this century," he said. "When it began, we were fighting Napoleon—and now, we have this young pretender to the throne of Karolya to defeat."
"Prince Victor is no Napoleon, sir," Everleigh pointed out.
"That is true," Templeston agreed. "Ambitious geniuses like Napoleon appear but once in a lifetime." He propped his elbows on his desk, steepled his fingers together in thought, and breathed a heartfelt prayer. "Thank God. But petty tyrants like Prince Victor are just as dangerous as men who aspire to conquer and rule the world—perhaps even more dangerous."
"How so?" Everleigh studied his mentor. He had known Lord Templeston all of his life, having been at school with Templeston's son, Kit. There wasn't a finer man in all of England, and Everleigh was proud to be among the few chosen to work with him. Templeston still had a great deal of knowledge to share, and Everleigh was eager to absorb it.
"Men like Prince Victor are cunning and subtle and devious. They present a charming face to the world and to the people around them. They are evil disguised as angels. People rarely see them for what they are and most people would deny it if you told them. There was nothing subtle or devious about Napoleon. He was straightforward. He set goals and did what was necessary to attain them, but he was a soldier and everyone recognized that. He was a tyrant—a charming tyrant—but the whole world knew him for what he was. He amassed armies and proclaimed that he would conquer the world, and the worlds he would have conquered knew that the only way to keep from being conquered was to form an alliance and defeat him. Napoleon was a large, lone rogue wolf. Prince Victor is a wolf in fashionable sheep's clothing." He turned to Everleigh. "Do we know if Princess Giana is still alive?"
"No, sir. But I took the liberty of requesting a copy of the Karolyan Charter through our ambassador, Lord Sissingham. I learned from reading it that a coronation must take place within a year following the death of the reigning prince. In order to be crowned, Prince Victor must possess the Karolyan Seal of State and proof of Princess Giana's death. And he must marry. Our sources in Karolya tell us that Prince Victor offered for his cousin's hand in marriage, but Prince Christian refused."
Lord Templeston smiled. "Then she's still alive. Prince Christian has been dead for more than five months. The planning and execution of even a small coronation will take the better part of six or seven moths. If Victor had the Seal of State, he would most certainly have produced it by now. If he doesn't have it, it must be because someone else has it. You investigated the murders and followed the trail of the anarchists. Any sign of them?"
"No."
"No declaration of grievances against Prince Christian's government. No manifestos? No demands? No threats of violence against other royal families?"
Everleigh shook his head. "Nothing. It's as if they disappeared from the face of the earth. Just like the princess."
"The difference is that we know Princess Giana existed," Templeston reminded him. "We cannot say the same of the supposed anarchists. I suspect Prince Victor forgot to complete the fiction. Forgot that anarchists must leave a trail."
"That's because he's accused Lord Gudrun."
"Who also existed and who also disappeared from view." He thought for a moment. "What of the kidnappers? Have we heard from them?"
"No," Lord Everleigh replied.
"So all we have is Prince Victor's version of the story."
"That is correct."
"And, sir, I know Maximillian Gudrun. He did not murder Prince Christian and Princess May or incite anyone else to do it. He was as loyal to his prince as I am to you. He did not kidnap their daughter. Nothing would ever induce Max to betray his prince or his country. Certainly not forests of virgin timber or vast iron ore deposits."
"Ah, the rights to the timber and iron ore deposits. Who has them and who wants them?" Templeston mused. "They should belong to the people of Karolya. They should be held in trust and protected by Princess Giana. But we cannot find her to ask, so we need to ask who is in a position to sell them and who is willing to pay to get them?" He glanced over at his younger protege.
"His role as regent gives Prince Victor the power to sell ilirm—provided Princess Giana fails to return to Karolya and claim her throne," Everleigh answered.
Lord Templeston clapped his hands together. "All right then, let's look at Prince Victor. Do we know his plans? Where he is going and where he's been?"
"He's here in London," Everleigh reported. "He left Karolya shortly after I did."
The sixteenth marquess of Templeston grinned. "Yes, I read in yesterday's papers that he was planning a trip to Scotland to see the queen. Tell me, Lord Everleigh, since Prince Victor did not announce his arrival in London through the proper diplomatic channels or request an audience with Her Majesty, who is he visiting and why did he come?"
"He's visiting the viscount and viscountess Marshfeld," Everleigh replied, also grinning. "Just down the street. And our sources tell us that the viscount Marshfeld's name was recently added to the roster of businessmen who have formed a consortium in order to purchase and import raw materials necessary for the building of railroads—including virgin timber and . . ."
"Iron ore." They spoke in unison.
"Why Scotland?" Templeston asked. "What, or shall we say, who, does Prince Victor want to see in Scotland?"
"Besides the queen?"
Templeston nodded.
Everleigh shrugged. "I haven't the foggiest."
"We need to find out," Lord Templeston said. "For I suspect she has done a Margo."
"Pardon?"
"Princess Giana has done a Margo." He looked at Everleigh, expecting him to recognize the name and when Everleigh failed to do so, Lord Templeston explained. "Years ago my wife had a pet fox named Margo. She had reared Margo from a kit, and Margo was as tame and nearly as well mannered as a pet dog. That often made it hard for us to remember she was a fox. But whenever Margo felt cornered or threatened, she behaved as any threatened or cornered fox would behave. She went up a tree or to ground. Now, if our missing princess sought to escape her enemies by going up a tree, she would have turned to her godmother, our gracious queen. But if for some reason, she couldn't go above her enemies, she would have to go to ground, to hide and bide her time. Princess Giana has gone to ground."
"How do we go about clearing the way for the princess to come out of hiding?" Everleigh asked.
"We kennel the hounds," Templeston answered. "Pay a visit to the Marshfelds and extend an invitation to visit the queen at Balmoral. She begins her Scottish holiday in a sennight and Victor won't be able to resist an opportunity to present his case."
"Sir?"
"Don't worry," Templeston said. "I'll arrange it with Her Majesty. Just remember that any kenneling we do must take place on Scottish, rather than English soil."
Lord Everleigh frowned. "The Act of Union unified England and Scotland as Great Britain, a single nation under one rule— the rule of our gracious queen."
"That's true," Lord Templeston agreed. "Our gracious queen rules Great Britain, but she is first and foremost, Queen of England and the Queen of England must not be perceived by other countries, or the sovereign heads of those countries, as meddl
ing in Karolyan affairs or assisting in the overthrow of Prince Victor's government. He may be a murderer and a thoroughly despicable male specimen, but the rest of the world isn't privy to that information. The rest of the world only knows that Prince Victor is the last surviving male member of the Karolyan royal family, acting regent, and heir presumptive to the throne. We cannot kennel the hounds in England, but Scotland retains a measure of autonomy in its domestic laws and policies, religious practices, and its system of education that can be used to our advantage."
"Meaning?"
"That a usurper like Prince Victor is guaranteed a certain level of protection under English law that does not necessarily have to be extended to him in Scotland."
"What about Princess Giana?" Everleigh asked.
"As the queen's goddaughter, Princess Giana will be guaranteed protection throughout the whole of Great Britain." Templeston sighed. "Provided we locate her before Victor does."
Chapter 29
Jn years to come, women of the West will sing the praises and tell the tales of the Bountiful Baron the way Englishmen sing the praises of King Arthur and his knights of the round table.
—The Second Installment of the True Adventures of the Bountiful Baron: Western Benefactor to Blond, Beautiful, and Betrayed Women written by John J. Bookman, 1874.
It had been three days since he held her in his arms. Three long miserable days he had given himself to consider her offer.
He tried to stay away, to give himself time to think about her proposal, but Adam couldn't look at George without wanting her. He couldn't pass her in the corridors without wanting to kiss her, to take her in his arms and promise her everything would be all right. But he had no right to make promises unless he intended to keep them.
"Sir?"
Lost in thought, Adam looked up to see Max standing beside his desk. "Yes?"
"A telegram marked urgent was just delivered from the village." Max held out the telegram.
Adam frowned. Max's manner had become distinctly cold and distant during the last three days. There could only be one reason and Adam decided now was as good a time as any to broach the subject. He set the telegram aside.
"Your pardon, sir, but the telegram from London is marked 'urgent'," Max repeated.
"It's not as urgent as the topic I need to discuss with you." Adam smiled. "Close the door, Max."
Max did as instructed.
"I want to thank you," Adam said. "You have my undying gratitude for saving Princess Giana's life."
Max turned so white, Adam was afraid the older man would faint from lack of blood.
"S-s-sir?" Max stammered, not quite certain if Adam were fishing for information or if the princess had confided in him.
His worst fears were confirmed when Adam replied, "George told me what happened."
"Happened, sir?" Max's voice trembled.
"In Christianberg," Adam told him.
Max groped for the leather chair in front of Adam's desk as his knees threatened to give way.
Adam stood up, rounded his desk and ushered the older man onto the seat. "What I say to you now goes no further than this room. If as Giana says, Victor's spies are everywhere, I cannot promise that some of them aren't working here now. I can promise you that I haven't spoken to anyone about this except O'Brien—"
Max groaned. Why was it that gentlemen felt compelled to tell their secrets to their tailors and valets?
Adam meant to set the older man's mind to rest, but may-have succeeded in upsetting him further, so he hastened to add, "—who is not a valet, but is my closest friend and a detective with the renowned Pinkerton National Detective Agency in America. Murphy O'Brien is the very soul of discretion."
Adam paused, allowing Max a moment to digest that bit of information. "She told me everything. I know about Prince Victor and Prince Christian's dying request that you take the Seal of State of Karolya to Giana and that you protect her with your life. I want you to know that I have seen the Seal of State suspended from a gold chain that encircles your princess's waist."
Max leapt from the chair. "You have seen ..." He sputtered. " How is that possible?
Adam lifted one eyebrow.
"You, sir, are a scoundrel!" Max's body shook with outrage. He removed one of his white gloves and slapped Adam across the face with it. "You deliberately set out to seduce an innocent!"
Adam didn't flinch at the insult. He didn't move a muscle. He simply accepted the old man's right to demand satisfaction. The way Max said it, seduced sounded shoddy and lecherous. Something of which to be ashamed. But he wasn't ashamed. Seduced was a word that had nothing to do with what had happened between him and George. "No, sir, I did not."
"How would you characterize it?"
I made love to her. The thought popped into his brain, but Adam wisely kept it to himself. He straightened his shoulders, pulling himself up to his full height. "However I characterize it, it is between Princess Giana and me." Adam looked the older man in the eye. "I'm not defending myself or excusing my actions. What's done is done and I will not embarrass your princess by discussing the intimate details of our relationship with you—except to say that I did not know she was a princess until after ..." Adam let his words trail off, then cleared his throat and tried again. "Had I known, I could have prevented ... But there was nothing I could do after the fact."
The older man gasped and turned even paler. "She revealed her identity after she allowed you to ... ?"
Adam nodded. "Now that you understand, shall we face off with pistols or sabers drawn at dawn? Or will you help me?"
Max began to pace and wring his hands. "You do not know what you have done." He stared at Adam. "Prince Victor will kill her if he finds out."
"That's why I came to you," Adam told him. "I need you to help me make damn sure Cousin Victor doesn't find out— until after she's safely married and beyond his reach."
"Married?" Max was stunned. "Princess Giana cannot get married."
"Why not?"
"Prince Victor will never allow her to marry anyone except him and Princess Giana would never marry her parents' murderer."
"Why does she need Victor's permission to marry?" Adam asked.
"Because she is female. Under Karolyan law, females may not marry without the consent of their nearest living male relative," Max explained.
"Even princesses?"
"Especially princesses. Because there is so much more at stake."
Adam swore beneath his breath. "What if there is no living male relative? Who grants consent?"
"The Ecclesiastical court. But everyone knows that Princess Giana has a living male relative in Victor."
"Victor is her cousin, right?" Adam knew the answer, but lie needed confirmation.
"Yes."
Adam smiled. "Tell me, Lord Gudrun, what do you know about George Ramsey, the marquess of Templeston?"
Max was genuinely shocked. Only Princess May, her parents, Lord and Lady Barracksford, Prince Christian, the fifteenth marquess of Templeston and he had known the truth about Princess May's conception. Princess May had insisted that her future husband be told before they married and Lord and Lady Barracksford had complied with the request. As Prince Christian's private secretary, Max had been asked to record the audience and to file the papers in Prince Christian's private archive. In the unlikely event that anything happened to Prince Christian to force Princess May or any of her children to request assistance from the marquess of Templeston, she would have the locket as proof, but she would also have a document to prove to the Karolyan people or government or any other court or government that Prince Christian had been made aware of her heritage before he married her. Max had retrieved that document from Prince Christian's private archive the night the prince was murdered. He had kept the bloodstained document hidden safely inside the heel of his boot in the event that the princess needed it.
Max had never breathed a word of what he knew and everyone else who had known was dead. Except, it seemed, P
rincess Giana. Max was stunned. He had had no idea that the princess had known. "There is a likeness of George Ramsey, the fifteenth marquess of Templeston inside the locket the princess wears about her neck."
"That would mean that the fifteenth marquess of Templeston was her maternal grandfather and that the current marquess would be her uncle."
"That is correct."
"An uncle who could grant her permission to marry?"
"Yes," Max confirmed.
"Where do we find him?" Adam asked.
"In London. He is one of Queen Victoria's most trusted advisors. But having permission to marry is not the only requirement our princess must meet in order to marry. If she chooses to marry any member of a royal house, Princess Giana must undergo a doctor's examination confirming that she is a virgin." He looked Adam in the eye, challenging him. "As she is no longer a virgin, who can we find who would marry a princess knowing that she is not a virgin, knowing that she may be carrying someone else's heir? What man would be willing to give up his personal identity in order to marry a princess who would have complete and utter jurisdiction over him?"
"I will," Adam said.
"You do not possess a title, sir," Max told him. "Under Karolyan law, the princess may marry a titled commoner, but not an untitled one."
"Will a baron do?"
Max frowned. "A baron ranks below a viscount, an earl, a marquess, a duke, and a prince in the order of precedence. On state occasions, a baron would be required to walk behind all personages above his rank."
"I don't care about any of that," Adam said. "Can she marry a baron?"
"Most assuredly. The style of baron is an ancient and honorable one." Max faced him, his expression, unreadable. "What baron did you have in mind?"
"The Bountiful Baron Adam McKendrick."