Reading sample Whiskers and Wiles

Prologue

There was no feeling in heaven or earth better than rushing through a sunny, spring morning to meet one’s lover, knowing that today was the day he would ask the question that would make your life complete. Lady Katherine Balmor could hardly contain her excitement as she left the ancient, stone building within Queen’s College where she’d taken her final exam, and done brilliantly at it, she was certain, to make her way toward where Lord Waldorf Godwin was waiting for her.

There was a rush of other students around her, all of them laughing with relief or chattering away about examination questions, which required Kat to dodge and duck out of their way. Everyone was giddy with joy, now that they were free to go on their way, enjoying the summer, and for most, beginning the next chapter of their lives.

A few of the women Kat had attended classes with were returning to their home kingdoms to enter into marriages or other domestic duties, but some, like Kat herself, were about to embark upon rare and magnificent careers. Kat’s own summons by Queen Matilda of Mercia to discuss positions within her government for which Kat might be suited, was set for two days’ time.

That audience, which Kat knew would decide the trajectory of her life, seemed outrageously unimportant compared to the conversation she knew awaited her when she reached her lodgings across the Magdalen Bridge. Waldorf was her everything, and after their beautiful days together while studying, they would finally be able to make a life together.

“Kat!”

Kat paused and turned to find her dear friend, Lady Muriel Grouse, striding down the path from the examination building, a bright smile lighting her face.

“Muriel!” Kat called in return, stepping aside to let a few other students pass, then hugging Muriel tightly once they met. “What a glorious day today is,” she laughed as she held her friend.

Muriel laughed with her, but looked astonished when she stepped back. “I assume you did well in the examination,” she said, “but ending your Oxford career well hardly warrants this sort of exuberance.”

Kat laughed again, then handed her small stack of books to Muriel so that she could unbutton her scholar’s robes and shed them to reveal her stylish, sprigged muslin gown beneath. “Today is far more than a matter of examinations,” she said, grinning as she draped her robe over her shoulder, then took her books back from Muriel.

“Is it now?” Muriel asked with a teasing smile. She hooked her arm through Kat’s and the two of them walked on toward the High Street.

“I have it on good authority that a certain someone is waiting for me at my lodgings,” Kat said, brimming with joy and certain her face had gone as pink as her gown. “He intimated that he should like to ask me a certain question when we were together the day before yesterday.”

“Together, you say?” Muriel asked, mischief glittering in her eyes. When Kat only laughed and blushed in response to the cheeky question, Muriel went on with, “Then he better had ask you a certain question to avoid embarrassment in several months’ time.”

“Shush!” Kat bumped her friend playfully. “I took precautions. All is well.”

In fact, she and Waldorf had become so utterly mad for each other that she was not certain those precautions would be enough. They were both young, passionate, and impulsive, which made for blissful nights exploring the forbidden mysteries between men and women. There had been no accidents as of yet, but that was not a guarantee for the future.

“Well, I am deeply happy for you,” Muriel said, pausing as they reached a crossroads. “I demand to be invited to the wedding.”

“You shall serve as a maid of honor,” Kat told her. “Minerva and Bernadette will join you, of course.”

“Of course,” Muriel said, her smile wide and genuine. “I look forward to your happy announcement. But for now, my brother just arrived in town last night with the intention of sweeping me home to Nailsea the moment our commencement ceremony is complete. I need to go find him and entertain him before he lands himself in more trouble than he likely already has.”

“Yes, you must keep Arnold out of trouble,” Kat laughed, hugging Muriel again. She knew she was laughing too much and at everything, but her heart was too full of joy not to express it freely.

She parted ways with Muriel and started happily down the High Street toward the Magdalen Bridge, hugging her books to her breast with a sigh. Everything was so beautiful and perfect. She was convinced that she’d been blessed with a charmed life. She had a rare man that she loved who respected her and would allow her the freedom to work. She had the promise of an important position with Queen Matilda that would, no doubt, place her in the center of the exciting turns the world and Britannia were about to take, and she had—

“Lady Katherine!”

Kat nearly tripped over her own feet at the regretfully familiar voice calling after her. She put on as much of a smile as she could as she turned to find Lord Anthony Headland hurrying toward the pedestrians on the busy street to meet her.

“Lady Katherine,” Lord Headland—who was from the Kingdom of East Anglia, and therefore addressed by his surname, rather than the much more personable styling of Wessex that allowed Waldorf to be addressed as Lord Waldorf—repeated his greeting. “You are looking particularly lovely this afternoon.”

Inwardly, Kat sighed and rolled her eyes. Lord Headland had singled her out at the beginning of the year. He had declared to anyone who would listen that he would woo her and win her and install her as his wife at his estate near Norfolk by summer.

Of course, he failed to take into account that Kat already loved Waldorf. Lord Headland barely deigned to acknowledge Waldorf. He considered Waldorf an insufficient match for Kat because he allowed her so much autonomy and license. Lord Headland failed to realize that the very things he disdained about Waldorf were all the reasons Kat loved him so.

“Thank you, Lord Headland,” Kat replied with a stiff, formal nod. “If you will excuse me, I am on my way to a prearranged meeting.”

Kat turned to walk on, but Lord Headland fell into step with her anyhow.

“Here,” he said, reaching for her. “Allow me to escort you.”

“No, thank you, Lord Headland,” Kat said, pulling away from him when he tried to grab her arm.

“A lady should be escorted by a gentleman when she is out walking, otherwise, she should not be out,” Lord Headland said, almost as if he were scolding her. “I insist you allow me to take your arm.”

“And I insist you keep your hands away from my person, my lord,” Kat said, hugging her books and her robe tighter.

“Katherine,” Lord Headland said, speaking to her overly familiarly and giving her an indulgent, reproachful look, as if she were a child being deliberately difficult. “This sort of behavior is unbecoming of a young lady. You know that when we are married, I will not allow you to behave in such a manner.”

Kat stopped immediately, just before the Magdalen Bridge, and whipped to face Lord Headland with a sharp scowl.

“Let me make one thing clear to you, Lord Headland,” she said. “We will not marry. Ever. I have refused your suit more times than I can count over the course of this academic year. I have made my lack of intentions toward you very clear. I love another and he loves me, and this very moment, I am going to him, expecting a particular question to be asked.”

“Is that so?” Lord Headland asked, going stiff with indignation.

“It is,” Kat said, tilting her chin up and keeping her back straight.

“You live just on the other side of the river, do you not?” Lord Headland asked. “In that building there?” He gestured to one of the student houses across from where they stood.

“Yes,” Kat said, feeling deeply uneasy about the man pointing out where she lodged. He’d known for some time and arrived at the house to call on her at least once a week, though she’d begun to pretend that she was not at home when he called. The servants in the house all knew he was pursuing her. They all knew she loved Waldorf as well.

Kat waited for Lord Headland to say something more about her living arrangements. Instead, without any warning, he grabbed her upper arms and yanked her close. Kat yelped in protest, but he used her startled reaction to close his arms around her and slam his mouth into hers in a kiss.

Kat shrieked louder and struggled. Lord Headland would not let her go until he’d finished imposing his kiss on her. As soon as he backed up, panting, Kat shoved him back as best she could with her books and robes in her arms. She wanted to slap the blackguard so hard he fell into the river, but her robe had tangled around her arms, and by the time she freed herself, Lord Headland had stepped out of her reach.

“How dare you?” Kat seethed. “I should call in the constable and have you arrested for assault, sir.”

“And embarrass yourself in front of all these people?” Lord Headland said, gesturing to the others on the crowded street, most of whom stared at them as if they had no idea at all what to make of the drama they’d just witnessed. They were in Mercia, but far too many of the men who had witnessed Lord Headland’s assault grinned at him, as if they approved, and far too many of the women appeared too afraid to do anything to help Kat.

Kat was livid. The day was supposed to be beautiful and magical. Lord Headland had just spit on her joy.

She absolutely would not have that.

“If you ever so much as look at me again, I will make absolutely certain that a particularly bony part of my knee makes firm, intimate contact with a tender part of your person,” she seethed. “And do not think I have not learned precisely how to administer such a blow.”

She had indeed learned. Her brother, Thomas, had taught her more than a few techniques to defend herself when she’d announced her intentions to attend Oxford. The rest of her family had railed at her and lectured her, and ultimately, her father had had her name struck from the family Bible.

Few people knew the sacrifices Kat had made to attend Oxford. Waldorf was one of those people.

“Surely, you must—”

That was as far as Lord Headland got in his continued protestations. Kat turned and marched away from him, Careful to dodge a few of the pedestrians crossing the bridge so that she could put barriers between herself and Lord Headland, in case he made the terrible decision to pursue her.

She made it across the bridge and around the corner to Cowley Place without Lord Headland bothering her again. She did not look back to see if he was pursuing her. If he was, he would have Waldorf to contend with once he reached her lodgings.

She longed to reach home and throw her books and robes aside so that she could fold herself into Waldorf’s protective embrace for comfort just then. She was not one to admit any sort of weakness, particularly in such a way that would communicate that weakness to her lover, but Lord Headland had unnerved her completely. The man’s advances toward her had grown in intensity and boldness as the academic year had wound to a close, but the man’s outrageousness was now much too much for her to manage alone. And without her family to help her mitigate the threat Lord Headland presented, she was truly alone, but for her friends and Waldorf.

“Waldorf!” It was an utter relief to find Waldorf walking down the main stairs in the boarding house, as if he’d been in her room already, despite Mrs. Cornish’s insistence her borders had no gentleman callers upstairs. Kat set her things on the nearest chair in the parlor to the right of the main hallway, then turned back, intending to throw herself in her beloved’s arms, and to, perhaps cry. “You will never believe—”

She stopped short when she realized Waldorf was glowering at her instead of gazing upon her with love and sympathy. More than that, he held up a stack of letters tied with a red ribbon that Kat had never seen before with a sharp, “What is the meaning of this?”

Kat gaped, too surprised by her beloved’s harsh reaction to find her words at first.

“I do not know,” she said as soon as she was able, shaking her head. “I have never seen those letters before.” She wanted to ask where he’d found them, but instead said, “Waldorf, I am beside myself with upset. Lord Headland followed me from Queen’s College, and—”

“Yes, I know,” he said in a low voice, narrowing his eyes. “I saw the two of you.”

Again, Kat was stunned beyond words for a moment. She recovered as quickly as she could and shook her head, stepping closer to her lover. “Then you saw the way he accosted me without provocation and in public.”

“Accosted you?” Waldorf’s brow shot up in angry indignation.

A pit of dread opened in Kat’s gut. “Waldorf, what is the matter?” she asked, her heart pounding. “This is not like you at all.”

“And this is not like you,” Waldorf said, shaking the packet of letters. “Or so I thought. Now I am not so certain.”

Tears of frustration and confusion stung at Kat’s eyes. “Please explain to me what those are and what you mean,” she said, unable to make her voice louder than a whisper.

“These, madam, are letters from your other lover,” Waldorf said, shaking the packet again. “The one you were just caught kissing in the street.”

Kat’s jaw dropped. Her confusion turned to anger, but her frustration remained. “I have no other lover and you know it,” she said, her entire body going stiff with indignation. “You are the only man I have ever loved.”

“And yet, you were witnessed just now by myself and many in this house kissing someone else,” Waldorf snapped.

Kat’s heart hardened with anger. “He accosted me, Waldorf. I was not in any way a willing party to that assault.”

He should have taken her word for it then and there. He was a good man, a patient man, for the most part. Their time together was always beautiful and enjoyable. She’d never seen him so rash or quick to judge.

Then again, that was not entirely true. Waldorf was a man of passion, like she was. He’d confronted someone who tossed a casual, teasing insult his way a time or two. He’d lost his patience with fellow students during study sessions or when at the pub. Kat had always loved his fire, though. Though he was many years older than her, she’d always considered his impulsivity to be youthful high spirits. She loved those high spirits. She’d just never expected his occasional rashness to be turned on her.

“Assault, you say?” he demanded, thrusting out the letters to her. “And was it assault every other time that he kissed you? Was it unwanted when he spent nights right here, in your bed, when I was not there to warm it for you?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Kat said, breathless with horror.

“Take them, madam,” Waldorf insisted, gesturing with the letters once more. “Though I am certain you’ve read them until each sordid word was memorized.”

Kat took the packet, now eager, though deeply wary, to learn what the letters were all about. “I told you, I’ve never seen these before in my life,” she said.

Waldorf humphed as she pulled at the ribbon, then tore open the letter on the top of the stack. It bore a date from the previous autumn at its top and immediately leapt into a salacious recounting of a supposed liaison the author had had with her. The descriptions of wicked acts was poetic, but it was clear that the intent of the author was to make Waldorf believe he had engaged in sexual congress with her. And, of course, the letter was signed with effusions of love and the name Anthony.

“These are lies,” Kat hissed, her anger now warring with fear within her. “You know full well that Lord Headland has attempted and, might I add, failed miserably to win me this past year. I have never, not once, encouraged him, and I most certainly did not engage in this sort of correspondence with him.”

“Are you telling me these letters are false?” Waldorf said, pulling himself to his full height, like he was looking down on her.

“Yes! That is precisely what I’m telling you,” Kat shouted at him.

“Mary!”

Kat blinked in surprised as Waldorf turned to one of the house’s maids, who Kat only just noticed was watching the entire confrontation from just around the corner in the hallway.

“Yes, Lord Waldorf,” Mary said, rushing into the room.

“Did you or did you not serve as messenger to deliver letters between Lady Katherine and Lord Headland all this past year?” Waldorf demanded.

To Kat’s horror, Mary nodded and said, “Yes, your lordship, I did.”

Kat gaped. “You liar! How could you?” A thought occurred to her, and she narrowed her eyes to ask, “How much is Lord Headland paying you to lie?”

“I ain’t lyin’,” Mary said, tilting her chin up stubbornly. “You and Lord Headland have been carrying on this entire time.” She flushed a dark shade of red as she spoke and her eyes darted anxiously to the window and everywhere but at Kat.

“Liar!” Kat repeated.

“You are the liar, madam,” Waldorf said, his voice growing cold. “You are the false, deceitful, wicked liar that led me on this entire time, thinking you were the only woman for me, that you were the only woman I could ever see myself wed to. You are the harlot who was just seen kissing another man in the open.”

“He assaulted me!” Kat cried out in indignation. “And she is lying. I’ve never seen these letters in my life.”

“I suppose you will deny that you wrote to him as well,” Waldorf said.

“Yes, I deny it, you blithering idiot!” Kat shouted, throwing the letters to the floor. “How can you be so blind to what is transpiring here. Lord Headland has conspired to turn you against me because he could not win me away from you. He has clearly paid Mary to further his deceit.”

“You are the deceitful one, madam,” Waldorf shouted at her. “I saw your deceit myself.”

“Then you are a fool, sir!” Kat shouted.

“And you are a whore!” Waldorf snapped in return.

The only thing that kept Kat from slapping him, hopefully to slap sense into him, was the genuine hurt in his eyes. He believed the lies he’d been told, and they had wounded him to the core.

Kat was hurt, too, though. “How dare you not believe me when I tell you I am true?” she seethed. “Do you think so little of me? Or are you simply stupid?”

“How dare you question my intelligence?” Waldorf gasped.

“How dare you question my fidelity?” Kat snapped at him in return.

“I will not stand here and be insulted,” Waldorf bellowed. “Good day, madam.”

“Get out of my sight!” Kat shouted, pointing to the door. A small voice within her whispered that now was not the time to let her anger get the better of her, but she was too wounded by the callousness of the man she thought loved her more than any other to listen to it.

Waldorf glared at her one last time, then turned and marched out of the room. As he left, Kat’s ferocious gaze turned to Mary. Mary yelped and hurried out of the room, looking as guilty as sin as she did.

Once she was alone in the room, all of Kat’s fight and bravado left her. She burst into tears, slumping to the side and sitting heavily on one of the room’s settees. She’d never fought with Waldorf before, not like that. They’d had their little disagreements from time to time, but nothing serious. And yes, Muriel was forever telling her that she was too impetuous and hot-tempered. Bernadette had observed once or twice that Waldorf was a bit young for his age, particularly as he chose to associate with students at Oxford when he was approaching thirty himself.

That voice of reason in Kat’s mind warned her that both she and Waldorf were young, and that both of them were likely equally foolish. She didn’t want to hear that voice, though. She merely wanted to cry and rage and vent her emotions as loudly and fiercely as she could.

Except when Cromwell, the house’s cat, entered the room and leapt onto the settee with her. He seemed to sense Kat’s upset and came to her purring.

“Oh, Cromwell,” Kat lamented, pouring everything into her tears as she pet the sweet, soft thing.

Cromwell nudged his head against her leg, encouraging her to pet him more.

“You are the only true man in the world,” Kat wept. “You and your like.”

Cromwell merely purred harder, rubbing his face against her side.

As if to prove her words to Cromwell, Lord Headland’s quiet, “Oh, Lady Katherine, I am so sorry,” sounded from the doorway to the hall.

Kat jerked straight and snapped her head up to glare at the bastard.

“I’ve just heard,” Lord Headland said, dripping with false sincerity as he entered the room. “Allow me to comfort you in your hour of need.”

Kat rushed to her feet, displacing Cromwell, who hissed at Lord Headland, proving that he was wise as well as affectionate. “Do not come near me,” Kat warned Lord Headland.

Lord Headland ignored her. “This is, of course, a trying time for you,” he said. “But rest assured, I will not forsake you in your hour of need. My offer of marriage stands and always will. We will be married before the end of June, and—”

Lord Headland made the fatal error of stepping to within arm’s reach of Kat and reaching for her. Kat reached back to him, but only so that she could gain purchase and sway near enough to him to do exactly as she’d promised before. She brought her knee crashing up into his groin so hard and so precisely that Lord Headland let out a cry that would wake the dead.

The blackguard doubled over as soon as Kat stepped back, clutching his bruised pride and eventually sinking to his knees. He groaned and gasped, as if the pain were so great he had trouble catching his breath.

“Do not ever come anywhere near me again,” Kat seethed, her anger hotter than any fire ever could be. “I do not wish to see you, or Waldorf, or any other man who thinks they can master me ever again for the rest of my life. You are all liars and deceivers, and I want nothing at all to do with any of you.”

Lord Headland could only crumple forward, rocking as he protected his wounded delicates.

Kat didn’t care whether he answered or not. She didn’t care if Waldorf ever saw sense. She took a large step, walking over Lord Headland and into the hall.

“Come along, Cromwell,” she said, calling to the one creature who had shown her kindness and sympathy when she needed it. “You can help me pack my things. I am leaving this house and its deceitful staff tonight, and I’m taking you with me.”

She vowed to herself that she would always take what she wanted, from that day forward, and she would never forgive Waldorf Godwin for breaking her heart beyond repair.

Chapter One

Lord Waldorf Godwin had a great many regrets in his life, some due to his own actions and some because of things that were beyond his control. He regretted that he was forced to spend so much time away from his family as he worked in the service of King Swithin III of Wessex. He regretted that, as a cousin to the royal family, he was forced to spend so much time in the presence of men he disliked.

“I think you need to put your foot down firmly, father,” Waldorf’s cousin, Prince Cuthbert, said with his usual petulance as the king presided over a small meeting of key ministers and counselors a fortnight before the Joint Parliament of the New Heptarchy was to convene. “We need to show those Mercian bitches their place in no uncertain terms.”

Mumbles sounded from around the table where the twelve men King Swithin sought council from were seated, some of them approving and some, like Waldorf’s, muttering about how much of an ass Cuthbert was.

Waldorf regretted that his uncle, the king, had insisted he attend the meeting and sit next to Cuthbert.

“Yes,” Lord Jeremy Liskeard agreed, banging his fist on the table. “Those Mercian cats must learn their place like every other woman.”

Waldorf sucked in a breath at the unexpected reminder of the greatest regret of his life. A sizzle of sharp, conflicted emotion shot through him, as if he’d been struck by lightning. Lightning wasn’t supposed to strike twice in the same place, but he rather felt as though that particular bolt coursed through him, causing pain and frustration, nearly every day of his life.

But now was absolutely not the time to think about such hopeless, long-passed things.

“Those Mercians are some of the strongest and cleverest people in the New Heptarchy,” Lord Desmond Andover, Waldorf’s cousin on the other side of his family, said in much more measured tones. “They cannot simply be ignored, as so many Wessex gentlemen are inclined to ignore their female kin.”

Lord Desmond glared at Cuthbert in particular as he spoke. It was no secret to any of the important gentlemen at the table that poor Desmond had been in love with Cuthbert’s wife, Lady Kendra, before Cuthbert had bullied his way into marrying her instead, or that Cuthbert cared little for Lady Kendra, now that she’d given him an heir and a spare. The poor woman would have had a much happier life if she’d been allowed to decline Cuthbert’s suit and marry Desmond, the man she actually loved, instead.

“Female or male, Mercians are some of the brightest and most innovative people in all of Britannia,” Desmond finished.

Cuthbert snorted in derision. “They are women, damn them. How clever can they be?”

“I hear that a team of Oxford Society ladies have been developing a means of using steam power, such as is currently employed in textile mills throughout Mercia, to provide propulsion and power to mining carts,” Lord Gideon Taunton said, his face lighting up. He turned to King Swithin and said, “It is said that if they succeed in their endeavors, they could revolutionize transportation.”

The king grunted, but before he could speak, Cuthbert rushed in with, “Balderdash! No such thing is possible. Besides, they’re women. They’re probably lying about their accomplishments in any case.”

Another burst of emotion that felt a great deal like the steam that powered machinery blasted through Waldorf. Yes, women could be liars, alright. The course of his life had been changed by a single lie.

The trouble was, twenty years later, he still could not work out whose lie it had been, Kat’s or Mary’s.

“Steam power is beside the point,” Lord Jeremy said, pinching his face, like someone at the table had broken wind odiferously. “If those Mercians continue to hold Britannia hostage with their demands of unity under the Mercian Plan, then we will all suffer for it.”

“Hear, hear!” a few of the councilors called out in support.

“There is nothing inherently wrong with the Mercian Plan,” Waldorf said, stroking his ridiculously oversized sideburns. That was another major regret of his. He regretted having joined a secret society whose members were required to grow their whiskers long in order that they might identify each other.

“Everything is wrong with the Mercian Plan,” Cuthbert protested so violently that his voice cracked as if he were a chorister reaching the end of his career. “It grants ridiculous rights and freedoms to women, for one.”

“And it contains contingencies for the American colonies to separate from Britannia entirely,” Lord Jeremy added, nodding at Cuthbert, like the two of them were in accord.

“The American colonies should have been granted separation decades ago,” Desmond said, keeping his voice at a level, as if he were trying to be reasonable about a matter that had upset a great many people. “Their economy and self-governance is equal to any of the kingdoms of the New Heptarchy, and disputes over which of the colonial kingdoms belongs to which of the New Heptarchy Kingdoms threatens to damage our attempts at unity.”

“It is clear that the Plymouth Kingdom should fall under the Purview of East Anglia while the Kingdom of Virginia should—”

“That is not what we are here to discuss,” King Swithin cut Lord Jeremy off before he could take the side discussion too far. “We are here to discuss whether to encourage the First Minister, Lord Walsingham, to introduce debate about the Mercian Plan or whether we should align with Northumbria to block any consideration of the thing.”

“Clearly, we should side with Northumbria on this matter,” Cuthbert said, sitting back in his chair, crossing his arms, and sniffing like a spoiled child.

Waldorf was just about to roll his eyes at his cousin when he subtly noticed the king doing that very thing. It was a surprising enough show of emotion and the king’s true thoughts about his son that Waldorf held his tongue instead of joining the discussion.

“I say we should encourage debate about the Mercian Plan,” Lord Gideon said.

“And I say it would be a disaster,” Lord Jeremy snapped, not letting Lord Gideon say anything else about it.

“I think we should encourage debate on the plan,” Lord Edward Winchester, who had been silent up until that point, said. Waldorf was on the verge of smiling and agreeing with the old man, until he said, “That way, we can have the whole thing struck down, and we never have to hear a word from those Mercian upstarts again.”

Another round of murmurs of both agreement and disagreement went around the table. Waldorf clamped his jaw shut and frowned at the gentlemen around the table. Every time he and his fellow members of the Badger Society thought they were getting somewhere in the cause of uniting the New Heptarchy into one Britannia, something came along to push them back to where they’d started. Last time, it had been the interruption of Bonaparte’s wars. Now it was simple misogyny. At the rate the kingdoms were going, they would never unite.

If they didn’t, Waldorf’s entire life would be a complete waste. From the moment he’d grown into his title as Viscount Amesbury and joined the Badger Society, his sole aim in life had been to bring the kingdoms together and to unite Britannia under one banner. It had been clear to him from his earliest days of study that Britannia would be able to be more and achieve more as one nation.

Separate kingdoms had worked in earlier, simpler times, but it had become clear a hundred and fifty years ago, when Oliver Cromwell had attempted to wage war and force the kingdoms together, and through his spectacular failure, that Britannia would not effectively advance unless it was one nation.

Someone else of his old acquaintance believed the same thing, if the whispers and evidence he’d stumbled across at various points in the past twenty years was anything to go by. He knew full well that Kat was a spy in service to Queen Matilda of Mercia, just as she knew, or at least thought she knew, that he was a spy in service to King Swithin. They each knew what the other was fighting for, and often in the past few years their paths would cross. But part of Waldorf despised the idea that his worst enemy was working to achieve the same goal that he was.

“Enough, enough!” King Swithin shouted, banging his ringed hand on the table.

The startling noise shook Waldorf out of his thoughts and silenced the other men around the table, who had continued to debate while he’d drifted off to the past.

“I’ve had enough of this discussion,” the king went on. “We’re not getting anywhere, and I’m hungry. This meeting is adjourned until such a time as one of you can bring me something more interesting to add to the discussion than you’ve already brought.”

The men around the table glanced to each other in surprise, like they couldn’t imagine anything new to add to the topic.

“What more do you need to hear?” Cuthbert asked. “It’s a simple matter of keeping the men in charge, the way God intended. God is a man, after all.”

“I believe there is a growing movement in Mercia to return to the old religions, where a Mother Goddess is worshiped,” Desmond pointed out.

“Blasphemy!” Lord Jeremy gasped. “The Bible says—”

“No, no, no!” King Swithin cut him off, grimacing and waving his arms as he did, before the man could go on. “Take your theologizing somewhere else. I’m not interested. Go! All of you!” After a few blinks and a moment of hesitation, the men at the table pushed their chairs back and stood. “Not you, Waldorf,” the king added in the midst of the din of scraping chairs, causing Waldorf to pause halfway through rising.

Waldorf glanced across the table to find Cuthbert staring peevishly at him. A few of the others looked jealous that Waldorf had been asked to stay while they had not. At least one of the others sent Waldorf a sympathetic look, like he was about to be dressed down for something, before rushing from the room.

“What a bunch of buffoons,” King Swithin said, pushing himself to stand once everyone else had gone and he and Waldorf were alone. “The whole lot of them doesn’t have a pair of brains to rub together.”

Waldorf arched one eyebrow at the unusual metaphor. “If you say so, your majesty,” he said.

“I do,” King Swithin said. He finished standing and gestured for Waldorf to follow him over to a much more comfortable set of chairs under one of the windows that looked out onto the streets of London below.

Even though Joint Parliament did not begin for another fortnight, all of the monarchs of the New Heptarchy and most of the important nobles in Britannia had already flocked to London. The city-state increased in size fivefold during the winter months, when Joint Parliament was in session. Waldorf could hear the hustle and bustle of merchants whose yearly livelihood depended on commerce during the next few months and smell the delicious scent of baking bread that wafted up from the bakery across the street from Wessex’s embassy, where King Swithin stayed while in London.

“I’m through with all this unity talk,” King Swithin said, as grouchy as ever. Waldorf nearly choked on his own spit in shock at the king’s seemingly divisive statement until he went on with, “I want unity for Britannia and I want it now.”

“That is good to hear, your majesty,” Waldorf said.

“Furthermore, I do not care if Britannia is united under the Mercian Plan or some other plan,” the king continued.

That shocked Waldorf almost as much as the idea of Swithin not wanting unity at all.

“You wish to see unity under Mercia’s laws?” Waldorf asked to be clear.

Swithin sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m not as young as I used to be,” he said. “I’m tired. I would like nothing more than to retire to my estate near Winchester and to live out the rest of my days shooting and napping in the sunshine.”

Waldorf couldn’t decide whether to frown or smile at that picture. “Why not simply abdicate to Cuthbert, then?” he asked.

“Because Cuthbert is a dolt who would drive Wessex into the ground,” the king answered quickly and loudly. “I would rather live forever and be forced to remain as king than have that idiot become king.”

Waldorf truly did want to laugh then, but he refrained.

“The only way I see myself gaining the peace I desire in life is if Britannia is unified and Wessex falls under central rule,” Swithin went on. “And the only way that is going to happen is if the Mercians get their way.”

“I agree,” Waldorf said cautiously. He did agree, and he believed the Mercian Plan was the only way Britannia would unite. But to hear his uncle say he wished to covertly support the plan, which was what he was essentially saying, came as a surprise in so many ways.

It was a welcome bit of news, though. All these years, and at last, Wessex was about to comply with the mission of the Badger Society. Waldorf never would have thought that the deciding factor would have been King Swithin’s reticence to have his own son assume the throne of Wessex.

“What do you wish me to do next, your majesty?” Waldorf asked.

King Swithin sighed impatiently. “I don’t know, man,” he said. “That’s your mission, not mine. I simply want you to ensure that debate about the Mercian Plan begins when Joint Parliament does in two weeks. Once that happens, I should be able to order Wessex’s ministers to vote for it.”

Waldorf could hardly believe his ears. “Yes, your majesty,” he said, pushing himself to stand. “I shall begin my efforts immediately.”

“Go on with you,” the king said, making shooing motions with one hand while rubbing his temples with the other.

Waldorf left, feeling a bit sorry for his uncle. He didn’t truly like the man, but he didn’t wish any ill on him either. Swithin was his beloved, late mother’s brother, and for her sake, he wanted to help the man get his way.

Part of that mission meant rushing to inform some of his fellows in the Badger Society about the astounding turn of events.

The Badger Society had existed for ages, long before Waldorf was born, let alone before he joined. It was highly secretive, especially when it came to who had founded the society—Waldorf’s money was on Cromwell himself—and about who was currently the leader of the society. As with many secret societies, it was all about symbols and codes. The unfashionable whiskers were just one symbol. The black and white handkerchief he carried with him was another.

The Badger Society had its headquarters in a small building that masqueraded as a hotel on the north side of Hyde Park. That was where Waldorf intended to go straight away, to inform his brothers in the group of the startling new development. But before he could so much as collect his hat, cane, and jacket from the footman in the embassy’s front hall, he ran straight into his father, Lord Gerald Godwin, Duke of Amesbury.

“Ah. Waldorf. There you are,” his father said, shuffling forward from the side parlor where he’d evidently been waiting.

Waldorf huffed out a breath, then turned to his father with a tight smile. “Father,” he said, putting on his coat in the hope it would signal to his father that he had more important things to do.

“Freddy, fetch my coat as well,” his father asked the footman. “It appears as though my son is going out for some air, and I will join him.”

Waldorf clenched his jaw. “I have business, Father.”

His father shrugged. “Lovely. I’ll accompany you on your business and we can discuss mine.”

“Your business?” Waldorf asked, dreading what that might be.

He didn’t receive his answer until his father’s coat had been fetched, and until he’d been helped into it by the footman. There was nothing to do at that point but to leave the embassy at his father’s side.

“Now,” Lord Gerald said as the two of them walked down the embassy’s stairs and headed toward Hyde Park at a much slower pace than Waldorf would have liked. He was relying on his cane more and more of late, which made Waldorf wonder if his father’s assertions that he was nearing the end of his life were actually true after all. “Tell me what you think of your brother and your cousin’s new wives.”

Waldorf scowled. He had half a mind to pick up his pace and leave his father behind. The only problem with that was that if his father truly was growing feeble, he would be a complete louse for abandoning him. The man wasn’t asking for his opinion about his kinsmen’s wives either. He was asking why Waldorf had made so little progress finding a wife of his own.

The answer to that question was bitterly obvious.

“I like them well enough,” he said gruffly. He nodded to a gentleman on the other side of the street with whiskers as big as his own, assuming he was a member of the Badgers. Not all of the Badgers knew each other, but that was part of the nature of the secret society.

“They have friends, you know,” his father went on.

“Yes, I assume that all women have friends,” Waldorf grumbled.

“You misunderstand,” his father said as they crossed the street into Hyde Park proper. “Cedric’s and Alden’s wives have friends whom you know.”

Waldorf sighed and rubbed his free hand over his face. “We have discussed this before, Father,” he said. “Lady Katherine is a shrew who wronged me. That our paths have recently begun to cross again is of no consequence.”

“You were an impetuous, young arse,” Lord Gerald barked, startling a pair of young ladies promenading through the park as he did. “You stupidly took the word of a coward and believed a good woman was false. You’ve spent the last twenty years of your life suffering from your pride because of it.”

Waldorf paused and pivoted to face his father. “I’ve spent the last twenty years of my life in service to Britannia,” he growled in a low voice, conscious of who might overhear. “Are you not pleased with that?”

“Yes, very pleased,” Lord Gerald said. “And now I want you to right the wrongs of the past and marry the woman you should have married all along.” He sniffed and added, “You should be a grandfather by now. I should be a great-grandfather. And I would be too, if not for the curse.”

Waldorf huffed impatiently. The bloody Curse of Godwin Castle. It was the reason his father now had a bee in his bonnet about forcing his sons and nephews to marry. It was the reason Cedric and Alden were both wed now, both with babies on the way as well.

“I do not believe in the curse, Father,” Waldorf insisted.

“Blasphemy!” his father gasped, very much the way Lord Jeremy had balked at the idea of Mercian women returning to goddess worship. “The curse is real.”

“It is not,” Waldorf said. “If it were, greater calamities would have befallen me by now.”

“Great calamities have befallen you,” Lord Gerald insisted. “Though if you ask me, those were all your own damn fault.”

“I’ve had enough of this, Father,” Waldorf said, turning away and walking on. “I have very important business to attend to. I do not have time to debate an imaginary curse that brings misfortune to our family. It is silly. Curses do not exist. Nothing bad is going to happen to me if—”

Waldorf stopped dead, blinking at the specter that had just appeared before him. In his haste to get away from his father, he’d charged on and nearly barreled headlong into Lady Kat herself.

Chapter Two

“There can be no doubt in anyone’s minds. There can be no remaining question at all in what passes for the minds of the ministers who will discuss the matter this winter. The Mercian Plan must and will succeed.”

“Hear, hear!” Kat called out in response to Queen Matilda’s statement, raising her teacup as she did.

Several of her fellow operatives joined her outpouring with their own words of encouragement and support for their queen.

“It would be an unforgivable tragedy to allow any other plan, such as the Scottish Plan, to succeed,” Miss Plover, the young, scholarly woman who had most recently joined their cohort added, pushing her spectacles up the bridge of her nose.

“Indeed,” Kat agreed. “Women under Mercian law have thrived these many centuries while our unfortunate counterparts in other kingdoms of the New Heptarchy have been reduced to mere property, their intelligence and talents wasted. We cannot let another one of our British sisters remain unappreciated and undervalued for another moment.”

“Absolutely,” Lady Eileen, one of the Scottish women in service to Queen Matilda agreed, saluting Kat with a biscuit.

It was, perhaps, odd to some for the Queen of Mercia to host a meeting of her most trusted spies over tea and cakes in the parlor of the Mercian embassy in London, but Kat had always admired Queen Matilda’s ability to accomplish more than one thing at a time. They were engaged in the work of empires on the one hand, and enjoying each other’s company in a rather delicious way on the other. And if anyone were to gaze through one of the windows in an attempt to ascertain what the lot of them were up to, they would only see a group of ladies taking tea together.

“You must all be forever on your guard, my dears,” the queen went on, taking up one of the miniature tarts that were her personal favorite from the plate offered to her by a maid. “We are outnumbered in the halls of government, and men are notorious for being unwilling to share their power. We must remain vigilant at all times, working for the respect and inclusion we deserve. Otherwise, the very men who claim to want nothing more than to protect and care for us will use us to wipe their boots instead.”

A burst of old, cold fury shot through Kat at those words. She felt too keenly the sting of having loved a man who turned out to be no better than the rest of them. Twenty years had passed, and she still felt the misery and betrayal of the day when Waldorf had cast her aside because of vicious lies. Twenty years, and the fire of her hurt had barely diminished.

Of course, it did not help that she continued to see Waldorf in the course of her duties to Queen Matilda far more often than not. Since his betrayal, Kat had devoted herself to the queen’s causes, performing perfectly as her most trusted spy. The trouble was, Waldorf was also a spy, for King Swithin, Kat assumed, and the course of their duties often saw them attending and observing the same events.

She longed for the day when she would not have to encounter Waldorf ever again.

“Would that we could rid ourselves of those troublesome men entirely,” Kat grumbled, stroking Napoleon’s back in an attempt to calm herself. Her beloved feline companion, Napoleon, yawned, showing his teeth, and went back to the nap he’d been enjoying.

“No, no,” Queen Matilda said, turning a concerned look to Kat. “Men themselves are not the enemy. My own, beloved Charles has been my closest ally these last fifty years. It is what they do when they gather together and throw sense out the window that we must fight against.”

Kat’s face heated, and she used the excuse of gazing down at Napoleon to avoid her queen’s censorious stare. She wanted to believe Queen Matilda. She wanted to feel as though male-kind were, indeed, allies waiting to have their full potential unlocked. Part of her even wished that she had enjoyed the sort of beautiful, life-long love story that the queen and her consort had enjoyed, and that she, too, might live to the wise, old age Queen Matilda had, happy with her spouse and happy with her life.

Waldorf had ruined all that, though. He had taken more from her than he could ever know, and for that, she would never forgive him.

“Let us return to the matter at hand,” the queen said, perhaps wisely seeing that she had touched a nerve where Kat was concerned. She let her compassionate yet calculating gaze rest on Kat for several more seconds before turning to the others and saying, “We are all deeply aware that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and the way to his mind is through his wife.”

Several of the others laughed and exchanged knowing glances. Many of the queen’s spies were married to prominent men themselves and knew from first-hand experience how to influence leaders.

“We must see to it that the Mercian Plan is brought up for debate in Joint Parliament this session,” Queen Matilda continued. “To do so, a majority of ministers must agree to open the debate. At present, we do not have enough men committed to our plan for that vote to go in our favor if it is called for.”

“We do not even have any certainty that First Minister Walsingham will allow the plan to be introduced for debate,” Miss Plover pointed out.

“Correct,” the queen said, nodding to her. “Which is why Lady Walsingham is one of our primary targets to influence.”

“Lady Walsingham rarely comes to London,” Miss Gilchrest, another of the younger spies, pointed out.

“She does not,” the queen agreed. “But I may have a plan to reach her. In the meantime, Lady Ryman’s ball is less than a week from now.”

Kat frowned slightly at the apparent change in conversation. She did not particularly care for balls, but everyone else in London seemed to lose their heads over them at this time of year, when everyone from every corner of the New Heptarchy had just come together in London and company still felt fresh.

“The quickest way to have the most influence with the largest array of people is through conversations at a ball,” the queen said, almost as if she sensed Kat’s reticence on the matter. “There is no better setting for not only conversations about political topics of the day, but for key ministers, or more importantly, their wives, to see that others hold opinions that may be different from theirs and to be exposed to those opinions. Never underestimate the power of popular opinion to sway someone who might think differently.”

“Too many ministers already believe the worst about Mercians and about our plan because they see so many other men professing negative opinions,” Miss Plover pointed out.

“Precisely,” Lady Eileen agreed. “And if enough men and their wives see that the Mercian Plan is favored by the majority, they, too, will sway their opinion in our favor.”

“You are correct, my dear,” Queen Matilda smiled at Lady Eileen. “Which is why our most pressing mission of the moment is to convince as many of the recalcitrant ladies whom Lady Ryman has invited to attend her ball, even though they have said they will not.”

“Why would anyone refuse an invitation to what will surely be the biggest ball this month?” Miss Gilchrest asked, blinking rapidly, as if not attending a ball were sacrilege.

“People have more reasons for being foolish than the ocean has fish,” Kat said with a frown.

At the mention of fish, Napoleon raised his head and looked at her hopefully. Kat smiled down at him, scratching behind his ears affectionately and promising herself she would purchase fish for him before they returned to their rooms at the Oxford Society Club that afternoon.

“They do,” Queen Matilda agreed with a nod of her head. “Which is why they must be convinced that their social standing for this season depends upon not only their attendance, but the attendance of their husbands. Martha.” She turned to her maid, holding out her hand.

The maid rushed to the side, taking up a small stack of what looked like calling cards and bringing them to the queen.

“Each of you will take one of these cards,” the queen said, handing them out as each of the ladies present stood and approached her. “On them, you will find the names of prominent ladies who are currently in London, who have received an invitation from Lady Ryman, but who have either declined or have yet to respond to the invitation.”

Kat shifted Napoleon to the side, and received a disapproving stare for doing so, then stood to take a card from her queen. On it were three names, Lady Honoria Thistlewhite, Lady Olivia St. Alban, and Mrs. Thomasina Bowman, who Kat recognized as the wife of one of the wealthiest mill-owners in London.

“Lady Ryman’s ball is next Friday,” Queen Matilda said as she finished handing out the cards. “I expect every lady whose name is on these cards to arrive at the ball with her husband on her arm. From there, we will use every bit of influence we have to sway their opinions to what they ought to be.”

Kat smiled as she resumed her seat, studying her card, even though it appeared as though the meeting was nearly over. For those who believed being a spy was a matter of danger and daring deeds in the middle of the night, they would have been surprised that the majority of her clandestine work in the past twenty years had been attending social functions and having particular conversations with the right people.

“And what about Lady Walsingham?” Lady Eileen asked, tucking her card into her reticule.

Queen Matilda looked momentarily frustrated. “I am still formulating the best way to reach and influence her. I shall let you know what I have determined after the ball.”

That truly was the end of the meeting. The assembly of ladies stood and gathered their things, curtsying to the queen and offering her words of continued allegiance.

“Come along, darling,” Kat said, scooping Napoleon into her arms and placing him in the special basket she’d had constructed so that she might walk about town with him.

She noted that the queen was watching her as she secured Napoleon so that he could poke his head out the top of the basket and observe the world around him without leaping free and getting himself into trouble. The way Queen Matilda watched her made Kat nervous, if she were honest. The woman, her employer, her liege, and her mentor, clearly had something to say, but she was biding her time and holding her tongue.

“Good day, your majesty,” Kat said once Napoleon was secure, his basket looped over her arm, curtsying deeply.

“Good day, my dear,” the queen said, smiling. “Do be careful,” she added, a look of motherly concern in her eyes.

Something in that look caused a lump to form in Kat’s throat. Ever since her own mother died, far too shortly after Waldorf’s betrayal for her poor heart to have handled, Queen Matilda had filled the maternal role for her. They were not as close as Kat had been with her own mother, before her father had forced all contact to be cut off. Queen Matilda was mother to everyone in Mercia, after all. But Kat felt a deep sense of affection and loyalty to her queen, and she was loath to let the woman down.

With the fire of loyalty and a determination to fulfill her queen’s will filling her, Kat left the parlor and made her way downstairs so that she could leave the embassy entirely. She had three women to locate and influence, and she fully intended to have all three of them sending effusive letters of acceptance to Lady Ryman in no time.

Her mind went to work at once, conjuring up ideas and arguments to convince the recalcitrant ladies to attend the ball. She put every bit of her thought into it as she crossed into Hyde Park, intending to take Napoleon to his favorite spot by the Serpentine so that he might amuse himself chasing after the waterfowl for a bit before supper. It still felt deeply ironic that the queen had entrusted her with the mission of convincing ladies to attend a ball when she herself would rather have dunked her head in the Serpentine than gad about, pretending she found the conversation of odious gentlemen of the ton interesting while they trod on her feet during the steps of a—

Her thoughts were cut short as she suddenly and without warning found herself all but slamming directly into none other than Waldorf.

Within an instant, Kat’s insides were a mess. Her traitorous heart conjured up affections that she had long ago tried to bury. Her ferocious soul burned with the anger of betrayal that had not been doused in all of the intervening years. And a certain sense of the ridiculous had her laughing once more at the absurd facial hair that Waldorf had maintained with laughable male pride for the last several years.

“You,” Waldorf said, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Yes, me,” Kat said, standing taller and tilting her chin up so that her neck appeared longer and her bearing regal.

“Oh, God,” the elderly gentleman standing beside Waldorf said, rolling his eyes.

Kat softened her demeanor for Lord Gerald Godwin’s sake. “My lord,” she greeted the man with as much kindness as she dared with his odious son standing right there. “It is a delight to see you again.” She emphasized the word to make clear that it was not a delight to see Waldorf. Ever.

“And you, Lady Katherine,” Lord Gerald said. He smiled a bit too widely and jabbed his elbow into Waldorf’s side. “We were just discussing you.”

“We were not,” Waldorf snapped, glaring at his father.

A sense of excitement and the thrill of an impending battle swirled through Kat. She refused to acknowledge that the feeling was akin to what she’d once felt as Waldorf kissed her and plucked at the ties of her gown.

“Oh?” she asked, sending Waldorf a superior look. “Pray tell, what were you saying? I cannot imagine it would be anything good.”

Waldorf looked surprised at her appraisal. “So you admit there is nothing good that can be said about you, madam?”

“Not at all,” Kat said with a smile. “I was merely assuming that you are incapable of stringing together words to form a sentence of any grace or meaning.”

“Oh, I can assure you, my sentences are brilliant,” Waldorf growled at her. “It is only those of very little understanding who fail to see that.”

“Ah. That explains why you have a habit of talking to yourself,” Kat said, stroking Napoleon’s head as he poked it from the top of the basket, as if to join her in the verbal joust. “I have heard that having those of weaker mind repeat things aids in their understanding.”

“I assume you know this from your own personal experience?” Waldorf asked.

“Yes,” Kat said, her smile sharper than ever. “I spent two years of my life during my time at Oxford attempting to educate a rat. I was unsuccessful.”

“Well, as they say, those who cannot do teach,” Waldorf fired back. “So I am not at all surprised that you would attempt to teach comprehension and communication, not at all.”

Kat fully intended to go on until she won the battle, but Lord Gerald burst into uproarious laughter. “Do you see what I mean?” he asked his son, thumping Waldorf on the back.

Kat’s heart sank with wariness. What had they been saying about her?

“Father, please,” Waldorf said through gritted teeth, as embarrassed as if he were a lad of fifteen and not a man of nearly fifty.

Lord Gerald continued to laugh. “I have half a mind to let you inherit Godwin Castle and its curse after all,” he said. “The curse has already afflicted you with blindness.”

Kat’s back went stiff. So that was what this was about? Lord Gerald had been matchmaking? Kat knew full well from Muriel and Bernadette, who had recently married into the Godwin family because of Lord Gerald’s pronouncements about the curse, what the older man meant by his words.

She would not have any of it. Not even the enticement of being related to her closest friends through marriage into the same family could convince her to waste another moment of her affections on a fickle, ignorant blackguard like Waldorf.

Fortunately for her, she spotted a way out of the annoying conversation walking along the path that circled the Serpentine. Lady Thistlewhite and her daughter, Beata, seemed to be out for an afternoon stroll, enjoying the sights and sounds of the park. They were first on the list that the queen had given her, and by the look of the way they were posing to attract attention, Kat felt it would be a simple matter to convince them that Lady Ryman’s ball was the best place for them to make the connections they seemed to be after.

“If you will excuse me,” she told Waldorf and his father pointedly. “I see someone I must speak with. Good day to you, Lord Gerald. It was lovely meeting you again.”

“And you, Lady Katherine,” Lord Gerald said, laughing.

Kat sent Waldorf a nasty, sideways look as she marched past him, directing her steps toward Lady Thistlewhite and her daughter. She did not care what Waldorf or his father had to say about her. Their opinion of her did not change what she chose to do with her life in the least. And if Waldorf thought he could prevail upon her to avoid a family curse, then he had another—

“Kat, wait!” Waldorf’s voice called after her.

Kat froze for a brief moment, anger flaring through her. She did not even deign to turn and glare at Waldorf for whatever he wanted. She would not let him humiliate her again. Ever. She had a mission to accomplish, so she walked on.