The Emperor's Conspiracy
Read The Emperor's Conspiracy Online
Authors: Michelle Diener
Tags: #Romance, #General, #Historical, #Fiction
Praise for Michelle Diener and her “imaginative”* Tudor novels, In a Treacherous Court and Keeper of the King’s Secrets “Richly detailed historical setting and intrigue-filled plot.”
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Chicago Tribune
“Taut suspense. Diener enlivens history.”
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RT Book Reviews
“A masterfully spun tale!”
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Fresh Fiction
“Compelling … fast-paced.”
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Publishers Weekly
“The characters are going to hook you first, and the intrigue will keep you turning the pages. Diener’s writing style is beautiful, to the point, vivid, and exciting. This author is one to watch.”
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Reader’s Entertainment “Packed with unexpected twists and turns, solid prose, always-fascinating court intrigue, and a unique story.”
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Diary of a Book Addict “Dramatically original with imaginative scenes of suspense and one mystery after another.”
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Single Titles
*
“One fast-paced historical fiction novel! It reads like a thriller.”
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Girls Just Reading
“The characters in this book are wonderful and believable… . An interesting, emotional, and dramatic story.”
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Romance Reviews Today
“An action-adventure-mystery-historical that grabs the reader on page one and doesn’t let go.”
—Kate Emerson, author of
The King’s Damsel “An enormous talent! I was absolutely enthralled and thoroughly enjoyed every last page of this story!”
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Affaire de Coeur
Contents
To Mom, for everything
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My thanks as always to my editor, Micki Nuding, her assistant, Parisa Zolfaghari, as well as Lisa Litwack and her staff for the amazing cover and layout of the book. Jean Anne Rose and Jillian Vandal make sure my work gets as much exposure as possible, and thank you to Simon & Schuster’s sales team for all they do to get my books into readers’ hands. My amazing agent, Marlene Stringer, is always the best advocate for my work, and I thank her for always being so supportive.
Liz Kreger and Edie Ramer, my trusty critique partners, help me make my work the best it can be. Thanks to Celeste Truran and my sister Jo for their help in giving the manuscript another pair of eyes, and to Bridget Ryan for answering all the medical questions I had.
And to my husband and children, you are the best.
1
“W
hat seems to be the matter, Mr. Ashcroft?” Catherine, Lady Howe, watched as Ashcroft reversed out of the fireplace, where he’d built a little pile of kindling. The thin man’s knees scrabbled a little on the soot-covered dust sheets.
“My sweep’s stuck in your chimney, is wot, mi’lady,” he said angrily. “Blighter’s got too big.”
“That’s surely your fault for sending him up, not his for growing,” she said crisply, the first sparks of anger licking up inside her.
Ashcroft huffed. “Well, got to come out, and the only way’s to light a fire under the little beggar.”
Catherine’s mouth fell open. “Light a fire under him?”
“’Mazing what the ’uman body can do, when there’s a fire under it. They lose a bit o’ skin, but they’s out, and that’s the main thing.”
“Mr. Ashcroft.” Catherine spoke slowly. “Under no circumstance
at all
will a fire be lit under a little boy in this house while I am drawing breath in my body.”
“Well,” Ashcroft said, affronted, “’ow’s youse expect to get ’im out? Starving’s hardly better. And my Charlie’s no little boy, anyways.”
Catherine breathed deeply. “Starving is out of the question, too. There must be a more humane solution.”
“None I know.” Ashcroft started packing up his things. “I got work to do, and the blighter’s no good to me anymore anyway. So pre’aps you can think on it, mi’lady.”
Catherine’s mouth dropped open. “You’d abandon a child who’s worked for you for what, a year?”
“Eight, actually. Charlie’s been wi’ me since about four years old.”
“He’s worked in chimneys since he was four years old?” Catherine tried to keep hold of her composure. What a naive fool she was. Of course he had. “And his life means nothing to you?”
“It’s a ’ard world, mi’lady. No one gave a toss about me at that age; why should I give a toss about anyone else?”
“Why indeed?” Catherine looked him straight in the eye.
Undaunted, he gave her a cheery wink. He walked to the fireplace and called up, “Mind ’ow you go, Charlie. Good luck.”
A muffled cry came from within, panic-stricken.
“Good day to you, then, mi’lady.” Ashcroft touched his cap and was off, leaving Catherine standing in the drawing room amid the dust sheets.
The muffled calling continued, and she pulled herself together. She rang the bell for Greenfelt, then leaned into the fireplace.
“Charlie, I’m Lady Howe. I wouldn’t let Mr. Ashcroft light a fire under you, so he’s left. But I’m going to get you out of there as soon as possible, I promise you.”
The little voice fell silent.
“My lady?” The butler appeared at the door. “Is there something—”
“Greenfelt, call on Dr. Pennington without delay. Have the carriage brought round and bring him here yourself.” At Greenfelt’s blank look, Catherine stamped her foot. “Well, hurry! There isn’t a moment to lose.”
“My lady?”
“There’s a small boy stuck in our chimney and he’s scared witless, so stop dithering and
go
. We need Dr. Pennington’s advice on how to get him out.”
She was aware that she sounded … not herself. Wild, almost, much as a mother would, it suddenly occurred to her, if one of her children were in danger.
“Greenfelt.” Her voice was sharp. “Close your mouth and get Dr. Pennington right away.”
Greenfelt fled, and Catherine went back to the fireplace.
“How about I tell you a story until the doctor gets here, Charlie?” Catherine sat down, leaned against the hard, cold stone of the fireplace, and put her arms around her knees.
“Once upon a time …”
2
1811 … TWELVE YEARS LATER
C
harlotte Raven recognized Lord Frethers the moment she laid eyes on him. It was very long ago, but she never forgot a face. Especially not the face of a person trying to do her harm.
She’d been introduced to him by Lady Holliday, and she’d wanted to gag when he took her hand. For the first time, she was grateful for the gloves she always wore, so that she wouldn’t have to feel his skin on hers.
She’d smiled sweetly at him.
Now I know your name
and
your face, you bastard.
She liked to think herself beyond fearing the past, but the sight of his face so close, his breath, smelling of cigars and liquor, took her back to the day when he’d beaten the living daylights out of her for not being a boy.
Since her first season three years ago, he was the third man
she’d been introduced to whom she remembered in a dark light, and he was by far the worst. She’d toyed with the idea of revenge since she’d seen the first one, and seeing the sly gleam in Frethers’s eyes it suddenly occurred to her, like an unexpected stinging slap across the cheek, that she had been remiss in letting things go.
How many victims had Frethers had in his grasp since she had escaped him? She felt sick to her stomach at her delay.
Her gaze returned to Frethers, now on the far side of the room. He was talking to Lady Holliday, their hostess, and a few other guests. All thrown together for diversion from the heat of London and the ennui of having too much.
She enjoyed watching the power plays and the flirtations, the deals struck and the liaisons begun or ended. But something darker was behind Frethers’s eyes as he laughed with a man as rotund and bald as himself. Something that sent a spike of fear and rage down her spine.
He was up to something.
She started making her way across to the group and arrived just as Frethers turned to speak to Lady Holliday.
“Your husband says your boys are welcome to come back with me to Worthington,” he said, his face pink with excitement. “Boys love a working farm, don’t they?”
Charlotte saw Lady Holliday frown. “When did my husband say that?”
“Oh, just a moment ago, my dear lady. You don’t mind, do you? Just a short little visit—be nice to have some young things about the place for a bit.”
Caught in the trap of politeness, Lady Holliday demurred. “Well, no, it’s just I had planned to take them—”
“Nonsense. Got to cut those apron strings some time, eh? Do them good, a bit of bracing country air.”
Charlotte bit the inside of her cheek. So that was his game.
There was plenty of bracing country air right here, and Frethers sounded a little too jolly. She knew what he wanted with the Holliday boys. If she didn’t stop him, she’d be an accomplice to the crime.
Charlotte laid a hand on her hostess’s arm, the touch of her satin-gloved fingers on the fine silk sleeve of her hostess’s dress the first step to possible ruin. She straightened her spine and tapped a little more firmly. “Lady Holliday, might I impose upon you for a moment?”
