Kathryn Caskie - [Royle Sisters 02] (20 page)

T
he crescent moon, perched high in the starry sky, was too dim to light Festidious’s way to Hyde Park. It was not such a long walk, but the butler trembled nonetheless, unaccustomed to journeying anywhere at night beyond the glow of the gaslights lining Pall Mall.

He had not thought to wear his boots, and now feared that the damp earth of Rotten Row, giving beneath his feet with each slow step, would ruin his slippers beyond service. Still, he trudged along until he reached the place the lady had designated—the bridge crossing the Serpentine.

Festidious did not see the figure garbed in ebony, standing at the center of the bridge, until he was very nearly upon her.

A thrill shot through his middle. This was
all so beyond him. So daring. But he was loyal, above all, and knew his duty.

“Do you have them?” she asked softly.

“I do, my lady.” Festidious’s hand was shaking as he handed her the small leather portfolio containing the purloined bundle of correspondence.

“You told no one that you located the letters?” She raised the lace hem of her veil and peered up at him with those piercing eyes of hers.

“No one, my lady. I swear it. I was alone when I discovered them. They were exactly where you said they would be.”

“Very good.” She lowered her veil, tipped her head in thanks, and had just started to turn to leave, when she paused. “Will you escort me to my carriage?”

Festidious beamed with pride as he offered her his arm. “Of course, my lady. Anything.”

She read them all that very night, dropping them as she finished, one by one, into the flames of the hearth; watching them glow red and curl before blackening to worthless ash.

All except one—the single letter that truly mattered.

Holding the letter to the golden illumination of a single candle, she read its text from beginning to end once more.

She smiled to herself, extraordinarily pleased with her own ingenuity, then folded it most carefully and gently settled it inside the box.

Turning the brass key in the escutcheon, she locked away the dangerous letter the Royle sisters searched for…but now would never find.

Unless
she
wished it.

And she had not yet decided whether she did.

I
love to find gaps in history, tiny cracks between the recorded known and the unknown, where I can jump in and play the favorite game of authors everywhere—
what if?

How to Engage an Earl
, for instance, explores yet another unknown in Regency-era history. Maria Fitzherbert, a Catholic widow, and the Prince of Wales were married secretly. At this time, not only was such a union illegal, but public knowledge of Prinny’s marriage to a Catholic could greatly jeopardize his chances of being named Regent. The Tories, led by William Pitt, the Prime Minister, opposed rule being transferred from the ailing king to the Prince of Wales, and did everything in their power to prevent it. At one time, the Tories were even rumored to
have obtained the couple’s signed wedding register page (proof positive of the illegal marriage) with the intent of using it against the Prince of Wales. Suddenly the register disappeared. Who took the register? What happened to it?
Jump
. Well, I knew who stole it and why.

Other times, my characters jump (in this story, quite literally), and a little artistic license is needed on my part to bridge the gap beween fiction and historical accuracy. For example, for story reasons I created a span across the sparkling Serpentine dividing it from the Long Water, since George Rennie’s bridge would not be built until 1826.

There is no question that breaches in history have provided inspiration for
How to Seduce a Duke,
the first story in the Royle sisters trilogy, as well as
How to Engage an Earl.
Be sure to look for
How to Propose to a Prince
next spring for the answer to the biggest historical “what if” of the series—are the Royle sisters the secret daughters of the Prince of Wales and Maria Fitzherbert? Stay tuned.

Katheryn Caskie

I
want to thank those people who helped see this story to completion, and whose contributions to the book, my career, and my writing life make this process so rewarding:

Lucia Macro, my wonderful editor, and Esi Sogah, who cleared their desks to make sure this book made it into production before the confetti was cleared from Times Square.

Jenny Bent, my fabulous agent at Trident Media Group, for always being there. You are the best agent a girl could have. As well as her dedicated assistant, Victoria Horn, for always looking out for me.

Franzeca Drouin, my very patient researcher, who always knows exactly where to find sources for even the most remote and bizarre historical details.

Nancy Mayer, Regency expert extraordinaire,
who went the extra mile to check the composition of period page cutters for me and to help me determine the requirements for a peer to take his family seat in the House of Lords. Your knowledge of the Regency period is invaluable to me.

My dear reader Peg, who trekked down to Cockspur Street and St. George’s in London to gather some research materials for me.

Sophia Nash, friend and talented author, for her constant words of encouragement and for nudging me toward “the end” with the lure of shopping.

And finally, my eternal gratitude goes out to the makers of Red Bull (Sugar Free) and the baristas at Starbucks for keeping me sufficiently caffeinated during the course of writing this story.