Page 31 of A Problem Princess

He could have easily passed the princess’s protection off to Marcus for the evening.Shouldhave done, in fact, and spent the night tracking Scepter. His gut told him the group had been involved in the attack on the princess, but so far he’d turned up no connection. Questioning the palace staff had led nowhere. He might have had better luck simply prowling the streets of London for answers. Even being out in the cold and damp night would certainly have been more fun than suffering through an opera.

Furthermore, being close to Cordelia was damnably disconcerting. He kept forgetting that she was a princess, and that couldn’t be allowed to continue.

Pulling in a deep breath to gather his resolve, Clayton strode up the wide front steps. He dismissed the other arriving theatregoers without a thought as he went inside. They would be no threat except to the musicians and performers by the grumbles and mutters they’d unleash when the lights were dimmed. Having spent a small fortune on tickets and finery to stand out from the crowd, they would be disappointed to learn that the prince regent wouldn’t be in attendance tonight.

Or perhaps not, given the excitement that the princess’s visit seemed to be generating.

As if to prove his point, he heard a lady comment to her husband, “Why can’t our royals be more like Monrovia’s?”

Indeed.Clayton would gladly substitute Princess Cordelia’s striking presence for Princess Sophia’s vapidity any day. More—Cordelia was fearless even with a knife pressed to her throat, while Sophia would have fainted a dozen times over at the sight of a spider. Cordelia was compassionate, too. She had come to the defense of that little girl at yesterday’s garden party, even knowing she would anger her uncle. That was something none of the British royals would ever have done for a foundling. He’d also seen her at other moments when she’d spoken kind words to servants or complimented those people who were clearly not of aristocratic rank.

She warmed her way into hearts as naturally as the summer sun. So why would anyone want to harm her?

Not knowing the answer kept him up nights.

Clayton spotted his guards positioned inside the theatre lobby. He gave them a curt nod as he slipped through the excited crowd and hurried up the sweeping stairs toward the private boxes. Tonight, the princess would be seated in the royal box at the very center of the theatre where everyone in attendance could see her. He didn’t like Cordelia being exposed like that, but he’d taken every precaution.

Tonight, at least, she would be safe, both from outside attackers and her own royal contingent.

A high-pitched voice warmed up backstage, loudly enough to cut through the noise of the arriving crowd. Clayton winced. He, on the other hand, might not survive.

“Clayton! Over here.”

He smiled gratefully at Marcus when he spotted his old friend on the landing. Tonight was all due to Marcus and Danielle, who had arranged the evening’s excursion to the opera in order to remove Cordelia from the watchful eye of the palace for a few hours. The two had even escorted the princess from Buckingham House to the theatre. A good decision. Marcus would have protected her well if any trouble had arisen, and Danielle would never have allowed the comtesse inside the same carriage with them.

Cordelia’s evening of freedom had already begun. Clayton’s only concern now was to make certain she enjoyed herself.

He slapped Marcus on the shoulder. “No trouble on the way, then?”

“None. And the two ladies hit it off well.”

“Glad to hear it.” Knowing the duchess, she most likely carried a pocket pistol in her reticule tonight to surreptitiously help with protection duties. “They’re already in the box?”

Marcus nodded. “Along with the Comtesse de Marseille and Danielle’s aunt Harriett, who both came in a second carriage. Prince Ernest stayed at Carlton House with the regent.”

Clayton wasveryglad to hear that. Having the comtesse here was bad enough. Cordelia wouldn’t have had any chance of enjoying herself under her uncle’s watch.

“The guards are all placed, I see,” Marcus commented quietly so none of the crowd around them could overhear.

“I’ve taken care of everything.” Right down to substituting former soldiers who had served with him on the Peninsula for the box’s attendants. The service might be less sparkling than usual, but Clayton trusted them.

Excitement rippled through the opera house as the attendants began to usher the audience members toward their seats. Marcus and Clayton moved slowly down the hall that ran behind the boxes, scanning the thin crowd around them. Even here, jaded lords and ladies lingered in hopes of catching a glimpse of the visiting princess before slipping reluctantly into their boxes. Their curiosity wasn’t sparked only because she was a foreign princess but also because they hoped she’d become an English one.

Clayton bit back an irritated curse. In the eyes and hearts of the English, Cordelia had become another version of their beloved Princess Charlotte. Wealthy, antiroyal merchants and troublemaking Whigs had already spilled pamphlets and bills through London’s streets in which they offered Monrovia their support and declared their preference for Cordelia and her uncle over their current royals. Caricatures portraying her as an angel and the royal dukes as little devils filled printshop windows.

None of Farmer George’s family could have been pleased about that.

Neither was Clayton. The last thing he needed was more attention to be drawn to the princess.

The two men paused outside the door to the royal box. Neither would step inside until the hallway was empty and every lord, lady, and attendant in their places.

“Have you learned anything more about the princess’s attacker?” Marcus asked.

“Nothing.” And that worried him.

“You still believe he was connected to Scepter?”

“I do.”