“They have not yet gone out,” Princess Augusta said. “I am sure you are on the guest list. As is the rest of the ton . . . both sides, I think?”
Agatha just shook her head. “I do not know, Your Highness. I have not seen Her Majesty in several weeks.”
Princess Augusta’s mouth clamped into a straight, irritated line. “I suppose you heard what happened at Parliament.”
“Only that His Majesty was not feeling well,” Agatha said carefully. “A throat ailment, I heard.”
She had heard nothing of the sort, but she had a feeling it was what the Princess would most want to hear. Agatha’s knowledge of the King’s condition had led her to all sorts of terrible speculation as to what had actually happened. But she would never ask the Queen. It was not her business. And it was certainly not her place to discuss it with the King’s mother.
“What do they hope to achieve with this ball, I wonder,” Princess Augusta said.
“Again, Your Highness, I could not begin to speculate. Until this afternoon, I did not even know a ball was being planned.”
The Princess eyed her suspiciously. It was clear that she was not sure if she believed her. “Well,” she said, “how unfortunate that you will not speak freely to me. We had a very fine arrangement, did we not? Were not all your needs met? Would it not be a shame for you to lose the very fine estate in which you now reside?”
Agatha’s breath caught. She had not thought she might lose her home. Granted, she had no money, and there was every possibility that Dominic would not inherit the Danbury title, but it had never occurred to her that the Crown might swoop in and repossess Danbury House.
And then . . .
Oh no . . .
Please God, no . . .
She burst into tears.
Ugly, loud tears.
Augusta stared at her in patent horror. “Hush,” she said awkwardly. “Stop that. Do not do that. No. No.”
But Agatha couldn’t stop. All the stresses of the past year. All the stresses of her entire life . . . They had somehow coalesced into this single, mortifying moment, and she could no more stop the tears than she could stop her very breath.
She cried for her years with Herman, who never once saw her as an actual person.
She cried for all the work she’d done to support the Great Experiment, for which she’d never get an ounce of credit.
She cried for the fact that all that work would be for naught, because Princess Augusta and Lord Bute and the rest of them were too damned selfish to open their hearts and minds to people who did not look as they did.
She cried for her son, and she cried for herself, and she cried because she just damned well needed to cry.
“Go, go,” Augusta was saying, waving the servants out of the room. And then back to Agatha, “You must stop this.”
Agatha couldn’t. She had years of tears inside her. Decades.
Augusta pulled a flask out from under a seat cushion and poured some liquid into Agatha’s tea.
“Pear brandy,” she said. “I have it shipped in from Germany. Now drink. And cease crying this instant. Please.”
Agatha drank. “I am sorry,” she managed to get out. “I—”
“No,” Augusta said firmly. “I do not want to know your burdens or hear what problems plague your life. Nor do I care.”
Agatha stared at her with watery eyes. The Princess was the strangest creature. Acting maternal and then speaking with harsh finality.
Agatha drank more of the brandy. It was good. And it actually helped. Augusta refilled her cup.
“I want you to listen to me,” Augusta said. “When my dear husband died, I had to throw myself on the mercy of his father, the King. George II. I expect you did not know him. He was a cruel, evil man. My husband loathed him. I loathed him. He was vicious with Georgie. The bruises. I had bruises as well. But there were no other options.”
Agatha had never thought she’d feel a kinship with this woman, but just then, just a little bit, she did.
“I endured,” Augusta said. “And over the years I learned I need not be content to surrender to the uselessness of female pursuits. Instead, I secured my son as King. I found a way to control my own fate.”
She held out the brandy again. Agatha nodded and accepted another splash.
“I do not like you,” Augusta said starkly. “However, you have been an admirable adversary thus far. Our battles bring me satisfaction. So this?” She waved her hand in the air, motioning toward Agatha’s tearstained face. “Will not do. You are not allowed to come here and sob. You may not quit. You are a woman. Cover your bruises and endure. Do not lose control of your fate, Agatha.”
Agatha nodded, taking a few breaths to compose herself. Maybe there was a way. Maybe she didn’t have to betray Charlotte. Maybe she could keep Augusta happy with tiny bits of nonsense. Or at the very least, maybe she could buy herself a little time.
“Now tell me,” Augusta said, “how goes life at Buckingham House?”
Agatha lifted her chin. She could figure out something to say that would not compromise her devotion to the Queen. “I believe that news depends on what is to become of my son’s title, Your Highness.”
Augusta smiled. Her adversary was back.
Danbury House
The Sitting Room
23 September 1762
“You are quiet today,” Adolphus said.
Agatha smiled up at him. The Queen’s brother had called upon her quite frequently since the birth of the little prince. They had formed a friendship.
“I do not mean to be,” she said. In truth, she was still thinking about her conversation with Princess Augusta. She had spun a tale about having heard gossip that the King had laryngitis, but she did not think it was enough to persuade the Princess to act on her—and Dominic’s—behalf. After all, Agatha had not provided any real intelligence about the King and Queen. It had been nothing but gossip, and false gossip at that.
“Come,” she said to Adolphus. “Tell me of your week’s adventures.”
“I made some headway with trade agreements,” he said with some pride. “The British are an obstinate lot.” He tipped his head flirtatiously. “I do not speak of the ladies, of course.”
She nodded graciously. “Of course.
He smiled, but her mind was still on Princess Augusta. She did not like that woman. She likely never would. But she respected her. How long ago had Prince Frederick died? It had been more than ten years. During that time, Augusta had fought for her family, and for herself. She was surrounded by men who were constantly telling her what to think and what to do, and through it all, she had remained fundamentally independent.
Agatha didn’t necessarily agree with Augusta’s methods or opinions, but she could not help but admire the way she had carved out a place in this world that was ruled by men.
“Agatha,” Adolphus said, “my business is complete. My nephew is born. I am to return home soon.”
“I did not think you would stay,” Agatha said. “But I do hope we shall see one another again on your next visit.”
“No,” he said. “That is to say . . . I was hoping . . .”
She watched him curiously. He normally carried himself with such style and confidence. His stammering was highly out of character.
“Agatha,” he said again, “would you consider returning home with me? As my wife?”
“I—I—” She shouldn’t have been surprised. He had quite clearly stated his desire to court her, and she herself had told Coral that she saw him—and his inevitable proposal—as a solution to her problems.