“This is much better than the Women’s Gallery,” she whispered to Fritz as they were seated near the door and along the back wall.

  He glanced at her and shook his head. Right. He’d told her not to speak. She swallowed and edged closer to him, then realized a gentleman hardly needed support in such instances. With a huff, she settled back on the bench.

  “Fresh from the country, eh?” the man on the other side of Fritz said with a chuckle. “Boots and all.”

  Glancing down the row, she saw that most of the men were wearing shoes.

  “I thought a little sophistication might rub off,” Fritz told him.

  Callie willed herself not to cringe.

  Below, members continued filling the benches. A few she’d seen at social events, sons of lords appointed by their fathers to the position. She looked up into the other balconies around the room.

  Directly across from them, her father sat with his arms crossed over his chest.

  She pressed her lips tight to keep from gasping. What was he doing in the House of Commons? Did he know she was here? She glanced at Fritz and tipped her head in her father’s direction. He stiffened.

  The speaker banged his mace down on the table. “Order!”

  Once more, voices quieted, bodies stilled. She chanced a glance at her father, but his gaze was fixed on the action below them.

  All Callie could do was wait.

  The speaker brought a bill to them for consideration, and the debates began. Some speeches were well-considered; she found herself nodding along. So did Fritz. The urge to touch his arm, take his hand, was nearly overpowering, but she made herself sit straight and tall.

  It wasn’t easy. As in the Women’s Gallery, the men around her began losing interest. One was reading the newspaper. Another two had eyes closed and heads nodding as if they had fallen asleep. The scritch of the reporters as they wrote was loud.

  “I must protest this unseemly divide.”

  Callie stiffened, then leaned forward. She could feel Fritz watching her as she scanned the group.

  “The chair recognizes Mr. Wellmanton.”

  This time she did gasp, and heads in the gallery turned her way. She brought her gaze back into the assembly below. The slender blond fellow whose mother and sisters were long-time acquaintances stood and looked around at his comrades.

  “Are we not English?” he asked. “Are we not brothers in arms? How, then, can some say this bill shall not pass?”

  She clutched Fritz’s arm. “It’s him. Mr. Eager is Lord Wellmanton’s son, Robert.”

  ^^^

  Fire raced up Fritz, pushing him from his seat. Callie’s hand on his arm pulled him back down.

  “Not here,” she whispered, and he became aware of the other members in the gallery staring at him. He must have made sufficient noise, because some below and across from them glanced his direction as well. Among them was the Duke of Wey, and his eyes narrowed.

  “We will leave,” Fritz said. “Now.”

  She did not argue.

  Other men huffed or glared, but Fritz managed to get them out of the gallery, down the stairs, and out into the clean light of day.

  “Wellmanton,” he growled, pacing back and forth in front of her. “What do you know of him?”

  “He fits the clues we had,” she admitted, rubbing a hand along the arm of her borrowed coat. “His father has the ear of the king, Lord Wellmanton appointed Robert to the Commons to take a seat granted to his lands, and his family is connected with the diplomatic corps. When we were trying to determine who might be out to harm your father, the king, last month, Tuny’s brother, Sir Matthew, related that Lord Wellmanton and his family have invested in silver mining in Württemberg.”

  “In Batavaria, you mean,” Fritz fumed. “And Lord Wellmanton was the one who arranged for our father to tour Kew Gardens the day our enemies thought they had kidnapped Leo and held him for ransom there.”

  Their enemies had had no idea they actually held Fritz, who had been masquerading as Leo at the time. It still galled him they had been able to capture him so easily as he had come out of a ball at the house of a London lord. Let them try now that he was on to them. He could imagine planting his fist in Robert Wellmanton’s narrow face.

  “Do you think the carriage will return soon?” she asked.

  The plaintive tone cut through his frustration. She had shrunk in on herself, to the point that her cap and wig were beginning to slip. More than one man passing was glancing their way. He had to fight the urge to take her hand.

  Instead, he schooled his face to pleasantry. “We have only a few minutes before he returns. Do you know where Robert Wellmanton lives?”

  She nodded, and the hat slipped further on her freshly trimmed wig. He tapped his own hat, and she hastily righted hers.

  “The entire family lives not far from Clarendon Square,” she explained. “My sisters and Tuny and I have called on them on occasion. What will you do?”

  Before he could answer, he heard his name being called. Turning, he nearly groaned. The Duke of Wey was striding toward them. His face was flushed, his hands fisted at his sides.

  “Oh, dear,” Callie murmured, as if she had seen him too.

  Her father came to a stop in front of them, green eyes blazing. “Count Montalban. This is no time or place for this discussion, but I want your assurance that you will take your companion directly home and leave… him to his mother’s care.” He did not so much as glance at his daughter.

  Callie hung her head.

  Fritz straightened. “You have every reason to be proud of each of your children, Your Grace. They are willing to sacrifice much for those they love.”

  “And those who love them would be wise not to take advantage of their generosity,” he countered. “You will wait for my return, and we will speak further then.”

  He pivoted on his heel and stalked back toward the building.

  “I’ve disappointed him,” she said, voice low and trembling.

  He was never so thankful to see the green lacquered sides of the royal carriage come trundling through the press. Disguise be hanged. He put his hand on her arm and drew her to meet the coach.

  Once inside, she slumped against the seat. The tears on her cheeks burned a hole in his chest.

  “I’m so sorry, Callie,” he said. “I should never have asked you to do this.”

  “I volunteered,” she reminded him with a hiccough. “It was the right thing to do. We know who is plaguing you now.”

  “At least one of them,” he allowed. “And through him, we will find the other. You may have saved my father and Leo’s lives.”

  “Then it was worth it,” she said, chin coming up.

  It still trembled.

  He twisted across the space to sit beside her and took her in his arms. “You are one of the bravest women I have ever met. Crowds trouble you, yet you endure them for your family and your beliefs. Dressing this way could have led to scandal, yet you did it for my family.”

  She lay her head on his shoulder. “You make me feel brave.”

  And she made him feel humble. His arms tightened. He only wanted to protect her, comfort her, prove to her that she was worthy of all praise.

  He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that. He was in no hurry to end the connection. But she pulled away and reached for the satchel. “Help me dress.”

  Her father already knew the worst of it. Her mother would shortly. Yet he could not gainsay her a moment of pride. He fought off the panic when the drawn shutters darkened the space and focused on her.

  She drew off the coat and waistcoat, and he helped her don the dress over the top of the shirt and trousers. She was pulling on her slippers when the coach came to a stop in front of Weyfarer House.

  “The wig,” he cautioned, and she yanked it off and shoved it into the satchel with the rest of her disguise. Her coiffure had been crushed and tumbled from her pins, and her long tresses hung like sheets of silk on either side of her face.

  His heart turned over in his chest.

  “Here,” he said. “Allow me.”

  She turned her back. Knowing he would never be able to deal with the fine strands with his gloves on, he pulled them off. Her tresses crackled with energy under his fingers, and he caught himself marveling at the sleek satin flowing against his skin as he began braiding it.

  “Have you ever put up a woman’s hair before?” she asked, beginning to hand him pins over her shoulder.

  Another woman might have asked the question in jealousy, but he heard only curiosity, and perhaps the slightest bit of trepidation in the tone.

  “No,” he admitted, fixing the braided hair in place. “I have flirted and flattered where it seemed appropriate, but there was never time to court a woman properly or even for a serious dalliance. There.”

  She turned to face him and reached up to pat the braid that wound around her head like the crown she so deserved. “Then how did you know what to do?”

  Fritz shrugged. “I’ve watched stable hands braid horses’ tails.”

  “Oh!” She seemed to be caught between indignation and laughter.

  He leaned forward. “Your hair is far finer and softer than any horse’s.”

  As flattery went, it was a poor description, but she flushed as if pleased. “We should go.”

  He opened the door and handed her out.

  The duke had been explicit in his instructions, and Fritz hardly wanted to make matters worse for Callie, so he sent the carriage back to the palace with the intention of calling for a hired hack when it was time to return. In the meantime, he greeted Callie’s family as if his doom wasn’t approaching any moment. Callie excused herself to go change. Thal motioned to him.

  “There’s something I’d like you to see in the library, my lord.”

  Their mother eyed them as Fritz followed him out. Thal waited only until he had shut the library door behind him before rounding on Fritz. “Well? What happened?”

  “Your sister is extremely talented,” Fritz informed him, leaning a shoulder against the hearth. “She identified the culprit the moment he opened his mouth.”

  Thal rubbed his hands together. “Excellent! Then the disguise worked.”

  “For most,” Fritz said. “Your father saw through it.”

  The boy paled, hands falling. “Father? What did you do?”

  “Apologized, but it did little good. I am to wait here upon his pleasure, or displeasure, as it were.”

  “Does he know?” he asked, pausing to lick his thin lips. “About me, I mean?”

  “You played absolutely no role in our masquerade,” Fritz said. “You and I never so much as spoke about the matter.”

  Thal sagged. “Thank you, Count Montalban. I will not forget this.”

  Fritz inclined his head. “It is my honor, Lord Thalston. I appreciate how you look out for your sister’s best interests.”

  “And I appreciate how you admire her,” he said. “She needs that, you know. She too often compares herself to Larissa and Belle.” He shook his head at the vagaries of sisters.

  “And what makes Callie so different?” Fritz asked, intrigued by the boy’s insight.

  “Her heart,” Thal readily answered. “Larissa is all cool logic. If you want to know the best way to approach a matter, you go to her. Belle is always up for a lark. You want to forget about something unpleasant, she’s your best choice. But Callie? Callie will listen when you want to rail at the world. Not that I rail, mind you,” he hurried to add.

  He remembered Leo mentioning that Thal had been a sickly child and was even now hovered over by his parents. Fritz could imagine he did on occasion have reason to rail.

  “And she will remember,” Fritz said.

  He nodded. “Everything. It can be tremendously helpful and rather embarrassing at times. One doesn’t always want to remember every harsh thing one has said.”

  He certainly didn’t. He had enough trouble remembering the past with equanimity. And he had a feeling Callie’s father was about to add another memory he would not relish.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Once more in the comfort of one of her pink gowns and enjoying the swish of the muslin skirts and petticoats about her legs, Callie came back downstairs. It had been a challenge enough brushing out and repining her locks without enlisting Anna’s aid, and having to explain the reason, but Callie kept remembering the feeling of Fritz’s fingers in her hair, gentle, soft. She had barely managed to compose herself before locating Thal and Fritz in the library, heads bent over the chess set that saw regular use from her mother and father. Her brother popped up as soon as he noticed her.

  “Count Montalban informed me what happened,” he explained, edging around her as if she had some dread disease. “I’ll speak to you later, after Father.” He hurried from the room.

  “A wise man,” Fritz said, starting to return the pieces to their original spots on the board.

  “Stop,” Callie said, going to sit in her brother’s chair. “I’ll take Thal’s position.”

  Fritz raised a brow, but he pulled back his hands.

  She surveyed the board. Her father had taught them all to play over the years, so she recognized the familiar opening gambit. A bit tame for a man like Fritz. She would have attacked first.

  “I take it Thal was pleased with the outcome,” she said, moving a bishop along its course.

  He contemplated the board a moment before advancing his castle. “Very much so, until he learned about your father.”

  She fingered a pawn before moving it, the polished wood warming in her grip. “Well, no one argues with a duke.”

  “Or a prince,” he agreed, adjusting a knight.

  He would be one of the few who would understand such family dynamics. “What do you intend to tell my father?”

  “I will apologize again and assure him I will never abuse your good grace.” He studied the board.

  “You didn’t abuse my grace,” she corrected him. “I wanted to help.”

  “I did not protest,” he countered. “I should have.” He slid a bishop into position to threaten her king. “Your brother says you compare yourself unfavorably with your sisters.”

  She started. “Thal said that? I hadn’t realized he’d noticed.” Or anyone else, for that matter.

  His long fingers toyed with the other bishop. “You have no need, you know. You are beyond compare.”

  She simply couldn’t understand why he persisted in complimenting her. It wasn’t as if they were truly betrothed. And no one had been around in the carriage, or here, to hear him if he had been trying to build up the fiction of being besotted.

  “I have my skills,” she allowed, rescuing her king from check. “But I’ve heard the conversations at balls and soirees. It generally goes something like this.” She raised her voice to a sharp, high pitch. “Lady Larissa is so elegant and refined, and Lady Abelona has such marvelous animation. A shame about Lady Calantha. She has neither.”

  He lay his hand over hers where it rested on the edge of the table. “What would you change, if you could?”

  Oh, so many things. “My hair?” she suggested. “It won’t hold a curl or stay in its pins. And my eyes are far too pale.”

  He cocked his head, and she steeled herself to hear him agree. “You should wear blue.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “You favor pale colors like pink,” he said, pulling back his hand. “A clear blue or a golden yellow would look well on you. And as for your hair, let it hang in all its glory.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t,” she said. “It’s simply not done.”

  He shrugged, moving his knight to challenge her queen. “I see no reason why, if it suits your hair and your looks better. Check.”

  She toppled the knight and repositioned her queen. “Check. Is this more advice from your observations of horses?”

  “No,” he said, moving his king out of harm’s way. “It is from my observations of you.”

  The very thought that he had been observing her left her almost too warm to think. But she aligned her queen again. “Check and mate.”

  He stared at the board a moment, then tipped over his king. “I surrender.” His gaze came up and met hers, and thought became entirely impossible. She was leaning closer, and he was on the way to meeting her.

  “Thank you, Underhill,” her father said as he came through the library doorway. “No need to announce me in my own home.”

  Fritz jerked away and surged to his feet to face her father, chin up and back straight. Callie stood as well and came around the table to align herself with Fritz.

  Her father paused to eye them both. “Explanation?”

  Fritz kept his gaze forward. Thal did the same when confessing some error in judgment. “Lady Calantha overheard two men plotting to harm my family,” he told her father. “She was unable to catch sight of them at the time.”

  “Hiding behind the shrubbery again?” her father asked with a look to her.

  Callie nodded, swallowing. At least her father didn’t look particularly angry, brows flat and face calm.

  “Since then,” Fritz continued, “we have been attempting to identify them. She heard one of them again when we visited the House of Commons, but she was unable to see clearly.”

  “The Women’s Gallery is atrocious, Father,” Callie put in. “Someone really should look into improving it.”

  Her father held up his hand. “Thank you, Callie. Whose idea was it to smuggle you into the Stranger’s Gallery instead?”

  “Mine,” Fritz said immediately. “She protested, but I won her over.”

  “Of course you would,” her father said before she could respond. “I warned you about such behavior. It seems while my daughter hears everything, you hear little.”

  Fritz’s gaze now seemed to be pointing over her father’s shoulder. “I take full responsibility for my actions. No discredit should fall on Lady Calantha.”

  “And if I should order you from our home? Tell you the betrothal is over?” her father challenged.

  Callie opened her mouth to protest, then shut it again. She had done her part and identified Robert Wellmanton. Fritz himself had pointed out it should not be difficult to locate his conspirator, especially since she had confirmed he was from Württemberg. Though it wasn’t harvest yet, she would not have blamed Fritz for backing out of the betrothal.