The Greatest Challenge of Them All Read online

  Nagle’s face drained of expression. “Trial?”

  “Why, yes.” Drake rose and straightened. He looked down at the old man who, driven by his obsession, had so very nearly succeeded in plunging the country into utter chaos. “You can’t possibly have thought that attempting to assassinate your sovereign wouldn’t result in a public trial.”

  Some emotion flitted across Nagle’s face. “But what about the Young Irelanders? The Chartists?”

  Drake shook his head. “All innocent victims of yours, drawn into acting as pawns in your great game.”

  “You, Chilburn, and Griswade,” Sebastian stated. “Chilburn and Griswade are dead. That leaves you to answer for the crimes committed—all of them.”

  Drake had nodded to Crawford. The inspector, flanked by the two constables, came forward. Crawford halted by the Bath chair and stared at the old man who was, ultimately, responsible for a total of twenty-four deaths. “Lord Hubert Nagle, I’m arresting you for the attempted assassination—”

  “No!” His expression suddenly panicked, Nagle gripped the chair’s arms and looked wildly around, then his gaze fixed on Drake. “This isn’t how it works. You know that. Give me a damned pistol, and I’ll do the gentlemanly thing.”

  Drake held Nagle’s gaze for a long moment, then quietly said, “No.”

  Nagle blinked. “What?” Confusion filled his face. “But…you can’t put me on trial.”

  “I assure you, we can.” Drake held Nagle’s gaze. “You’ll be tried for treason, sedition, and numerous counts of murder. And whatever other charges the authorities think to press.”

  Nagle’s expression set in mutinous lines. “No—you can’t do that. That isn’t the way things are done. Good God, man!” Seeing no hint of any softening in Drake’s expression, Nagle came close to sneering. “Your father knew how to deal with matters such as this—he understood the ways of the upper echelons. He would have given me a pistol and privacy, and then the thing would have been done.”

  Drake regarded Nagle calmly, then evenly said, “That’s another reason your plot failed. Times have changed. I am not my father. I”—he glanced at the others—“we represent the current generation.” He brought his gaze, cold and darkened to amber, back to Nagle’s face. “And in our world, this current world, traitors pay the full price for their perfidy.”

  Drake raised his gaze to Crawford and nodded, then reached out a hand to Louisa. She slipped her fingers into his, and they turned, and with Sebastian, Antonia, Michael, and Cleo, made for the door.

  “Wait!” Nagle scrabbled in his chair, trying to turn and keep them in sight. “What about my family? What about the family name?”

  Without slowing his march to the door, Michael growled, “You should have thought of that before you plotted with two of your relatives to kill the Queen.”

  “But I’m the son of a marquess! That has to mean something.”

  “Oh, it does.” Louisa paused and looked back. Nagle had struggled around. She met his eyes. “It means your family will gain a great deal of sympathy when they denounce and disown you, along with Lawton Chilburn and Bevis Griswade.” Nagle blinked at her. She smiled, the gesture carrying more chill than an Arctic gale. “You’re correct in stating that the nobility has its ways. In our age, that means ensuring that the innocent aren’t stained by the brush used to blot out the evil. The ladies of the haut ton are already closing ranks around the Faringdales and Hawesleys. At this very moment, several grandes dames are advising the family how best to distance themselves from you and all your works. I can assure you that your family will not be dragged to any metaphorical gallows along with you.” Her voice lowered a notch as she added, “And therefore, in sentencing you, your judges will not be swayed by any consideration of…as you termed it, collateral damage.”

  With that, she turned and followed her brothers and their ladies out of the room.

  Standing in the doorway, Drake watched as Inspector Crawford finished his statement of the current charges, then one of the constables stepped forward, set shackles about Nagle’s wrists, and snapped them shut.

  Nagle was shaking his head from side to side as if he still could not believe—could not accept—what was happening, but he didn’t resist as the constables hauled him to his feet.

  Drake turned and left.

  He caught up with the others on the lawn beyond the back door. As they were all doing, he breathed deeply, needing fresh air to dispel the stale, close atmosphere of the house and the sense of malignancy that, miasmalike, had hung about Nagle.

  Sebastian blew out a long breath, then said, “He’ll cut a pathetic figure at his trial.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Drake glanced at the house, then he faced forward and waved toward the trees, and they started walking back to the curricles. “I suspect that when he’s given the chance to speak, he won’t be able to resist the temptation to flaunt his intelligence and his superior understanding. Indeed, I hope he’ll seize the opportunity.”

  Antonia glanced at him. “Why?”

  “Because Albert was correct. A public trial is the only way to demonstrate to the nation the true nature of malignantly arrogant intelligences such as Nagle—people capable of manipulating others on a grand scale and who believe they have the right to do so. To most people—even most in the corridors of government—that anyone could have got so far and come so close to wrecking the very foundations of the state is simply inconceivable. By and large, if you told Nagle’s story, most would think it fabricated and not at all likely to be true. Establishing the reality and danger of men like Nagle—especially among those in Whitehall—is one thing a public trial will accomplish. But even more importantly, a public trial is the only way of reassuring the wider population that the old ways of screening the aristocracy from justice are well and truly past.”

  “When it comes to it,” Louisa said, retaking Drake’s hand, “justice is arguably the most important cornerstone of our nation. People need to see that it works regardless of status—financial, personal, or political. That it applies to everyone without fear or favor.”

  The others murmured agreement, and they walked on.

  Louisa lightly squeezed Drake’s hand and looked up at the trees, at the sky above the dying leaves. He looked, too.

  “Finis,” he murmured.

  “Thank God,” she replied.

  Hand in hand, they walked through the shadows beneath the line of oaks, leaving the manor house behind with a sense of relief—with a sense of welling lightness as they looked ahead.

  To where the carriages waited in the lane.

  To their journey back to London.

  To the rest of the day and the rest of their lives.

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER 62

  SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 1850

  LAMBOURN CASTLE, BERKSHIRE

  In the aftermath of what became known as the Second Gunpowder Plot, the six who had been drawn into the investigation and experienced the thrill of ultimately, at the very last gasp, foiling Nagle’s revenge might have endured a degree of deflation had it not been for the all-but-immediate whirlwind of preparations and associated revelry attendant on the wedding of the heir to one of the premier dukedoms in the land.

  And then Sebastian and Antonia’s wedding itself was upon them.

  The service was held in the chapel within Lambourn Castle. That morning, the castle had hovered in fairytale splendor above the mists wreathing the Lambourn river valley, but the sun had shone through, and by the time of the ceremony, shafts of sunlight were piercing the stained-glass windows of the chapel, bathing the groom and his radiant bride in a dappling of jewel tones as they stood before the altar.

  Decked out in customary morning attire, Sebastian was his usual resplendently handsome self. However, gowned in a creation fashioned from her mother’s lace and pearl-encrusted wedding gown, Antonia was beyond stunning and riveted all eyes.

  Clad in amethyst satin, Louisa filled the position of Antonia�
�s principal attendant, with Antonia’s sister, Helen, by her side, flanked in turn by Cleo, who had become an acknowledged sister-of-the-heart to both Antonia and Louisa over the weeks-long mission. Michael was Sebastian’s best man, and Drake had been persuaded to stand as Sebastian’s groomsman, along with Julius, Antonia’s brother. While Sebastian and Antonia had eyes only for each other, Louisa glanced along the line of the wedding party and could not rein in her smile.

  Everything had ended perfectly. All was as it should be.

  With a sense of satisfaction far greater and all-embracing than that engendered by their mission’s success, she listened to Sebastian and Antonia exchange their vows. This, then, was the start of their future—Sebastian and Antonia’s, Michael and Cleo’s, and her and Drake’s, but not just for them. For their families. And did the ton but know it, for the upper echelon of society as well.

  This wedding was but the first of three—the first step of three that would establish alliances that would have far-reaching consequences for generations to come.

  While the wider ton might not yet appreciate what was afoot, much less what that augured, the three hundred guests at the wedding assuredly did. As the ceremony ended and the newly-weds made their slow way up the aisle, receiving felicitations and good wishes at every step before leading the way into the grand ballroom where a magnificent wedding breakfast awaited, Louisa, on Drake’s arm, heard numerous shrewd comments exchanged.

  Numerous predictions made. Some, she thought, would definitely come true.

  With all their Cynster cousins assembled, and virtually all the Rawlings family and connections present as well, the wedding breakfast was a joyous event that fell only just short of riotous. The speeches were pointed and witty, and some—such as Antonia’s father’s and Michael’s—were subtly hilarious. But to Louisa’s mind, the speech given by her own father, Devil, was the most poignant, referring as it did to a changing of the guard and the passing of the baton from his generation to theirs.

  That, more than anything else, was the tenor of this time.

  Attending large social gatherings had never been a favorite pastime of Drake’s, but he survived the wedding breakfast in better case than he’d expected. Of course, a large part of his equanimity derived from having Louisa by his side; with her deep knowledge of the ton and her confident, effervescent personality, in this milieu, as long as she was on his arm, he could relax and let her steer them.

  Let her take charge.

  He might have been less comfortable in so completely surrendering the reins if he hadn’t noticed Sebastian doing much the same. Matrimony, even pending matrimony, had, it seemed, benefits he hadn’t foreseen.

  Waltzing with Louisa was another such benefit. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed the exercise, but only with the right partner. One who could effortlessly match him, as she did.

  On every level—a fact that continued to be a source of joy and also of trepidation, albeit minor.

  As he steered them through the revolutions of the dance, he looked at her face and found her regarding him with an alert, assured, confiding—private, just for him—expression. “One down, two to go.” She grinned. “As a group, we’re certainly causing ripples aplenty in the social pond.”

  He smiled. “I heard that Victoria was annoyed she couldn’t attend.”

  “She wanted to attend all three weddings, but—thank goodness— Albert pointed out that if she appeared at even one, she would be expected to attend all such events forevermore.”

  “Just as well.” Drake couldn’t help grinning as he steered her through the turn. “Our gracious sovereign would not appreciate being cast into the shade and not being the cynosure of all eyes. She would frown, and that wouldn’t go down well.”

  Louisa laughed. “Very true.”

  “So”—Drake set them precessing up the long room—“Michael and Cleo’s announcement and engagement ball will be next week.”

  “Yes—everyone’s looking forward to that, too. Sebastian and Antonia will stay in town for the event before heading off to Scotland.”

  “Scotland at this time of year. What were they thinking?”

  “Sebastian is thinking of buying a hunting lodge, while as for Antonia, I believe he’s beguiled her with talk of snug, wood-panelled rooms with huge stone fireplaces and roaring fires and no society for miles around.”

  “Hmm. I hadn’t thought of that—I can see the attraction.”

  Predictably, Louisa sniffed. “I can survive isolation for three days. After that…”

  Drake felt his smile deepen, but elected to remain silent on that point. “Mama mentioned that the details of our engagement announcement have been finalized.”

  “Yes—as we discussed, our engagement will be announced quietly on December thirtieth and celebrated with a very select New Year’s Eve ball at St. Ives House.” Studying his face, Louisa arched a cynical brow. “You should be pleased with that—the time of year means the guest list will be largely family, connections, and close friends.”

  He arched his brows back. “Our combined family, connections, and close friends number in the multiple hundreds.”

  “True, but if we’d made the announcement during the Season, we would have had every member of the ton and every last government minister and secretary angling for invitations. At least, this way, we’ve avoided that for our engagement.”

  He conceded that with an inclination of his head, along with the unstated implication that there was no way in hell they would avoid a cast of thousands for their wedding, which was scheduled for March fifteenth.

  Still, as he glanced around at the other dancers and at the other guests gathered around the room, smiling, chatting, and adding to an ambiance of joy and happiness that buoyed them all, he had to admit to wondering what it would be like to stand at the center of such a gathering—that perhaps experiencing it just once in his life might even be enjoyable. Given it would be just once and given Louisa would be by his side.

  He glanced down to find her regarding him quizzically.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  He looked down into her far-too-perspicacious pale-green eyes, then smiled. “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

  CHAPTER 63

  SATURDAY, JANUARY 18, 1851

  HENDON CASTLE, NORFOLK

  M ichael and Cleo’s wedding was a smaller, more private, but no less joyous affair. Although chilly, the day was bright and breezy with not a cloud in the wide, pale-blue sky.

  Drake felt that, in many ways, this was England at her finest, when Cleo and Michael stood before the ancient altar in the small, plain village church at Brancaster and, surrounded by their families, in voices clear and eager, exchanged their vows. As well as their relatives and connections, the church was packed with an assortment of the aristocracy—those who had worked with Cleo’s father, and Drake’s, in years past. The same gentlemen—and their ladies—had joined with the Cynsters, many of whom were present, more than once in apprehending the miscreants behind various plots.

  Drake had heard all the tales. More, the sons of some of those present occasionally assisted him.

  He and Louisa danced at the wedding breakfast, then as the company settled to talk, he tugged on her hand, and they slipped away. They found her cloak and his greatcoat and donned them, then climbed the tower stairs to the battlements.

  Despite the raking breeze that whipped and tousled her curls, Louisa didn’t complain. Her hand snug in Drake’s, with every evidence of content, she lifted her face to the breeze, shook back her curls, and paced regally by his side.

  He studied her face, then smiled, gripped her hand more firmly, and looked ahead.

  In the days prior to Christmas, she and her family had joined him and his family at Wolverstone Castle. Leaving their elders reminiscing, he and she had spent a pleasant few days riding and walking about the estate. They’d also ridden out rather more adventurously over the snowy hills, and he’d taken her across the border
to meet his half uncle Hamish and his family.

  Then everyone had headed south for Christmas, which the Varisey family routinely spent at Elveden in Norfolk—just an hour’s drive from Somersham Place in Cambridgeshire, where the Cynster family always gathered en masse to celebrate the day. Drake had driven across in the afternoon and spent a few days at Somersham, meeting more of the Cynster connections.

  Both families had returned to London just in time for their engagement ball, which, of course, had passed without a hitch. No such thing as a hitch was permitted, not at an event organized by that premier hostess, the Duchess of St. Ives, ably seconded by the equally august Duchess of Wolverstone.

  Somewhat to his surprise, Drake had found the evening amusing and far less trying than he’d anticipated. Having not just Louisa but Sebastian, Antonia, Michael, and Cleo with whom to share the moment had had the added benefit of largely shielding him from the more difficult encounters—such as those with his aunts or certain other grandes dames.

  It wasn’t so much that he couldn’t deal with such ladies as having to work to do so in a manner his mother, Louisa, and her mother would deem acceptable. Keeping a social guard on his tongue had never been his forte.

  He could manage being in the midst of crowds for an hour or so at a time—he had been bred to the ton, after all—but as the minutes stretched beyond that point, inevitably, he started longing to escape, to get into the open, out of the crush, and simply breathe, and Louisa, thank heavens, seemed to understand that. Despite transparently suffering from no such sensitivity, she accepted his foible without so much as a comment.