Page 4 of The Duchess Curse

“Excellent. Let’s be quick.” She retrieved her parasol from a brown puddle and set her steps once more westward. She’d dressed with such care that morning; all ruined now. Not entirely, though. She could recover the cloth stretched across the parasol’s skeleton. The cherry handle was unscathed.

Ned fell in behind her, shaking out his arms and cracking his neck from side to side. “Let’s hope we don’t meet with more mischief today. The attacks are growing more frequent.”

They were. But she could do nothing about it. She’d angered the male half of London, and while half of that set was pleased simply to see her shop burnt to a crisp, the other half wanted her burnt to a crisp. Or stabbed or shot or strangled, merely dead by whatever means their hired murders most preferred.

They arrived at Buckingham Palace with no further incident, and a servant led Guin through the front and right out the back, moving at such a clip she could barely note the marble and gold of it all.

The gardens behind Buckingham Palace were little more than skeletons bowed beneath a winter wind. A troop of evergreens lined the walkway, but even they seemed cold in their deep green finery. The conservatory at the end of the path, though, pulsed with heat. The glass windows steamed, and large, vibrant palm fronds splashed color into a gray world against the inside of the glass.

As soon as she entered the building, the servant took her pelisse, and Guin was happy to peel herself out of it. My. She should have dressed for warmer weather. Here it was summer.

Ned tried to join her, one arm already out of his greatcoat, but the servant stepped in front of him.

“Your guard must remain outside, Lady Guinevere.” The servant lingered on the lady, clearly distrusting the moniker. And Ned.

“Ned comes with me everywhere.”

“Only you were invited into Her Majesty’s presence. He must remain outside.”

“S’alright.” Ned stepped backward into the cold, slipping back into his greatcoat. “I need to walk the perimeter.”

“If you’re sure.”

Ned nodded, hunched deeper into his popped lapels and began his inspection of the gardens.

“This way.” The servant strode off without her.

The air was heavy with heat and the bite of citrus, and Guin had to push back branches to follow the servant deeper into the conservatory.

At its heart was a round table with four chairs, one of them larger than the others.

“You may have a seat,” the servant said as she busied herself with a tea cart. “Her Majesty will arrive shortly.”

Guin sat and smiled when a steaming cup of tea was set before her. “Thank you.”

The servant set another cup before the chair opposite Guin, then disappeared into the foliage.

Quite literally disappeared, faded from existence one body part at a time as another body faded in. Short and pretty sitting straight as a poker across from Guin.

Guin jolted to her feet and dropped into a deep curtsy, stayed there. “Your Majesty.”

The queen’s laughter reminded Guin how young the monarch was, still a girl in many ways. But terribly powerful.

“You may rise. And join me.” The queen gestured to the empty seat.

“Yes, ma’am.” Guin sat, more conscious of her posture than before.

Queen Victoria’s eyes glittered below dark brows and hair parted sharply down the middle. She had an imp’s grin. “I am delighted to finally meet you, Lady Guinevere.”

“And I am honored to be in your presence, ma’am. You’re rather different in person.”

“As are you. I must say the newspapers are not kind to you. Your nose is a perfectly fine size. As are other bits of you.”

Guin raised a brow. The other bits the newspapers’ caricatures of her liked to embellish were currently modestly covered by a high neckline. “The press adores depicting me in a rather harsh light.”

“Hmm.” Queen Victoria sipped her tea, contemplated the glass roof of the conservatory. “Are you at all worried, Lady Guinevere, about why I’ve summoned you?”

The continued emphasis of her self-styled title certainly worried her. Of all her sins, she’d not thought to be raked over the coals for that one. “I admit to some anxiousness.”