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Agatha, Lady Danbury, watched her Queen out of the corner of her eye, while seeming to pay full attention to each young lady making her debut. She felt worried.
The presentation of the season’s debutantes was usually one of Queen Charlotte’s favorite events — or at least one of those to which she devoted considerable amounts of her vast mind and energy. But this year she’d changed her mind about the types and colors of the flowers a mere half dozen times and the music only thrice. Only three of her host of Pomeranians had made an appearance at the event, sitting dejectedly in the laps of the other ladies accompanying her on the dais. (Agatha had gently refused to handle one of the little monsters. She so disliked dogs, and the feeling appeared mutual.)
And Agatha, with her more intimate knowledge of the royal personage, noticed something the other courtiers and mamas and debs wouldn’t have remarked, since the queen was careful to maintain her appearance with powders of varying hues, on those days when her complexion was less exceptional than usual. Her skin was gray-ish under the glistening powders, and the Queen repeatedly rubbed at her face.
The Queen had a reputation for being cold and capricious, but most of her subjects did not see her as cruel. So Agatha flinched as she watched Charlotte sullenly flip her hand in dismissal of the debutant trembling and stumbling before her. She didn’t even look at the girl. The frown that sometimes crossed her face when she was displeased had blossomed into a full-blown pout.
“The dismissive wave of your hand can doom a young lady’s chances,” chastised Lady Danbury, leaning close and speaking into the fetching shell of her ear.
Charlotte was unapologetic. “I let my dogs decide, you know. They strain forward when a gem appears.”
The dogs strained forward.
The crowd gasped softly as their Queen raised Daphne’s chin with a finger, the better to gaze into the eyes of the season’s diamond. So she was, for the Queen had pronounced her “Flawless, my dear,” and had delicately kissed her forehead. It was a royal favor that had not been bestowed in many seasons.
Agatha’s worries were momentarily soothed, but a new concern crossed her mind when she saw the Queen moisten her lips with the tip of her tongue. The little knob of tissue was sharper than usual — in a physical as well as metaphorical sense. The Queen’s mood had clearly improved, but now she looked a tad…hungry.
Surely not. They had spoken about this, after the last time.
~~~
“But Lady D., she smells so good,” Charlotte said.
She stopped pacing the room, an intimate chamber open only to her most favored courtiers. Her mesmerizing gaze bore down on Agatha.
Lady Danbury adjusted her robe. Her long hair cascaded free down her shoulders, as she lay on the divan, stuffed with goose-feathers and upholstered in the finest brocade.
She was the only person in the ton permitted at times to recline while Charlotte stood. (“To spare your poor knees,” the Queen had magnanimously pronounced. She did occasionally insist that Lady D. use them in service to her, but when that service was not required, Lady Danbury was not obliged to pop up and down to match the Queen’s whim and restless energy.)
As a further bribe or distraction, the Queen produced a thin, brown cigarillo and lit it with just the tiniest spark of flame. She handed it to Agatha.
Lady Danbury inhaled the aromatic smoke in gratitude, but she stood firm against Charlotte’s pleading eyes.
“You promised.”
Charlotte’s eyes narrowed. She did not handle disappointment at all well.
“Besides,” Agatha went on, waving the copy of Lady Whistledown’s scandal sheet she had been perusing, “now is hardly the time to risk scrutiny. You were able to distract the ton from the disappearance of the season’s Diamond several years ago, but there was only ordinary gossip that year. No newsletter dogging the debutantes’ every move.”
A wisp of smoke curled out of the Queen’s left nostril. “When I lay my hands on the writer of that…that…”
“Yes, but when is not now.”.
She did stand then. She took Charlotte’s shoulders and gently shook her. “My Queen,” she begged, “tell me what is the matter? It should be far too early for you to need a trip abroad to take care of your…condition. But I see the signs. Your skin…”
She scratched lightly at one bare shoulder, then turned her palm upward to show Charlotte the pile of gray flakes that lay there.
Charlotte exhaled hard, and her breath was so hot on Agatha’s cheek that she struggled not to recoil.
“Oh Agatha, what am I to do?”
Lady Danbury had a reputation for knowing what to do in any crisis. But the Queen’s problems always taxed her skills to the limit. She pulled Charlotte forward and guided her to sitting on the divan. She sat beside the distraught monarch and pulled her head onto her shoulder, stroking the short, tight curls. Although they were clean of the glue that held the Queen’s enormous coiffures in place, they felt harsh and dry, as did the rest of Charlotte’s skin.
“First you must tell your devoted subject what is troubling you.” She pressed her lips to the Queen’s temple. An unnatural heat radiated from her. It would have been unnatural for a human, anyway.
“It’s George.”
Lady Danbury’s grip on her head tightened and she shut her eyes in sympathy.
“I was told he was lucid again and asking for me, so I went to him. He was at his supper. He was warm and…exactly as he used to be,” Charlotte whispered, “when we first were married. We spoke of the walks we used to take among the flowers. I knew I shouldn’t, but I began to hope…”
Agatha held her closer, cradling her head against her bosom, feeling the hot breath on her breasts through the silk of the robe, so different from the way it usually felt when the Queen’s head was there.
“What did he do to you?” she said, trying to soften her tone, because she knew Charlotte didn’t believe her husband deliberately cruel. Yet when men went mad, it seemed, it was always their loved ones who suffered the most.
“He asked after our daughter, as if she were still alive. What could I do? I reminded him what had happened…and then he began to scream and smash the china, calling me a monster, claiming I had eaten her.”
Hot tears dampened Agatha’s robe.
“I know it’s not really my beloved husband saying those things,” Charlotte went on. “But it hurts so much. I fear I might lose control. I can feel the change coming on me. But I can’t go away now! It’s only the beginning of the season!”
Lady Danbury thought otherwise. The season, as important as it was, would go on without the Queen’s meddling. But she sensed that pointing this out would only drive Charlotte deeper into despair. No, she needed a way to engage Charlotte. To draw out her playfulness and creativity in the fierce pursuit of some goal…
Agatha had in the past made herself such a goal, but Charlotte needed more now.
She chuckled. She had just thought of something that, if she played the game right, might tame two dragons at once (one metaphorical and one literal).
“My Queen, I will make a wager with you.”
Charlotte’s face emerged from the depths of Agatha’s bosom. Her eyes were still red from weeping, but there was a small spark of hope in them.
“I will invite my godson to town for the season,” Lady Danbury said. “You will invite your nephew. We will see who wins the favor of this season’s Diamond.”
Charlotte peered suspiciously at Agatha.
“That is clever, Lady D. It puts Daphne out of my reach,” she pointed out.
“Yes, if you eat the Diamond, the bet is forfeit.”
“You put yourself at a disadvantage, since your Simon has insisted he will never marry, and my Philip is quite eager to do so.”
“Don’t you worry about me, Your Majesty,” Agatha replied firmly.
~~~
Their first task, of course, was to steer other suitors away from Daphne. In that, the ladies had the unexpected help of Anthony Bridgerton and Lady Whistledown.
In the opera-house, the Queen, standing next to Lady Danbury, squeezed her hand as a signal of approval.
“You simply must join us in the Royal box, ladies,” Lady Danbury said to the Viscountess Bridgerton and Daphne.
They were cooperating in this beginning stage, since they both needed to glean information from the mother and daughter. Each offered a glittering and highly placed young man as a prize. But what would most entice the ladies? Violet’s mind was formidable and she was determined to make a love match for her daughter. Who would Daphne prefer, Lady D.’s proud but reserved godson, or Queen Charlotte’s glittering, painfully sincere nephew?
She was surprised when Charlotte began by insulting her Diamond.
“Yes, you made quite an impression. However fleeting it might have been,” Her Majesty said to the hapless debutante, with a snort.
Daphne, for her part, took the abuse with outward aplomb. Lady Danbury wondered if her mother were squeezing her hand painfully.
The performance was mediocre. Daphne seemed charmed enough, but Agatha was more interested in sounding out her mother.
“The Duke is not what Whistledown writes,” she told Violet.
“Neither is Daphne!” the Viscountess returned with spirit.
“They have that much in common, then,” hinted Lady Danbury broadly, and followed up by inviting the Duke to the Bridgerton residence for gooseberry pie. The conduct of the members of polite society were not always to be found in the pages of The Spectator.
~~~
The footman lowered his voice conspiratorially. In his excitement, he allowed his native accent to slip through. “Wot ‘Er Majesty said to the Vicountess, Lady D., were, ‘When I choose to extend to someone my favor, I ‘spect ‘em to make good on it. I ‘spected a great future for your daughter. A future with a Duke, perhaps.’”
Lady Danbury passed the footman the coin he usually received for conveying news of the Queen, and she propped her slippers on the footstool.
Leave it to a dragon to go about winning a bet in such a confusing manner. Now it seemed the Queen was leading Daphne to Lady Danbury’s horse in the race. What was her game? Would Daphne mount the proffered steed? Would he buck her off?
But it didn’t take long for her to realize that it was her way of lighting a fire under Violet to rid Daphne of Berbrooke, her persistent, unwanted suitor. Anthony had been championing his suit for some utterly incomprehensible reason. Men were such beasts! Lady Danbury had heard rumors about Berbrooke from reliable sources, rumors that made her wish she had the capability to transform herself to a dragon. She’d gladly devour the parts that led some men to such dastardly behavior. Which was why the Queen must never hear of such goings-on in the ton.
Simon came in. He was smiling for once. And he even leant over and kissed her cheek.
“What amuses you so, Godson?” Agatha asked.
He handed her Lady Whistledown’s latest missive. “I shan’t be required to call out Baron Berbrooke after all,” he said.
“Call out…?”
Simon flipped a hand at the paper. It did not take Lady Danbury long to find the relevant passages, or to guess how the information of Baron Berbrooke’s shameful act had been gleaned.
She turned a gleaming face up to Simon. Her bet with the Queen had just taken on even more urgency. She now desperately wanted to be able to consider the clever Violet Bridgerton part of her family.
~~~
Lady Danbury knew that she sometimes behaved erratically under pressure. And she was certainly under pressure now that the Queen’s nephew had arrived. It appeared Charlotte hadn’t needed to do anything at all to point him in the right direction. He’d begun to pay court to Daphne immediately. And something was happening between her and Simon, something Agatha feared she’d set in motion by lecturing her godson about throwing away what she was fervently convinced was his best chance at happiness.
“Did you really?” the Queen said, as her friend poured them tea in the intimate chamber where they’d first come to their agreement. “You introduced young Benedict Bridgerton to Henry Granville by goading him into insulting Granville’s painting in front of him?”
“Goading him? All I had to do was stay silent! Granville came to stand by me while Benedict was prattling on about the lifelessness of the portrait. He did all the work himself.”
“Ingenious, nevertheless. I would never have thought of match-making the two of them in such a way.”
“Henry so likes the…sharper aspects of love,” Lady Danbury said.
“Ah yes. I’ve heard he quite enjoys being degraded.”
“You do show shockingly little interest in matchmaking the men of the ton,” Lady Danbury chided the Queen.
“They usually manage it quite well on their own,” Charlotte pointed out. “As they meet in their gentlemen’s clubs, there isn’t the need to move interfering mamas out of the way.”
“Or help young ladies past the unnatural fear of the physical manifestations of love instilled in them by the same mamas,” Lady Danbury said. She fed the Queen a bite of lemon cake. Charlotte accepted the cake and then sucked her fingers into her mouth, making Agatha give a little sigh of pleasure.
“I almost feel I should concede the game,” she told Charlotte. “Your nephew and Daphne seem destined for each other at this point.”
“Your godson does seem in ill spirits,” Charlotte said.
“Stubborn child! I saw that the only way to get him to move toward Daphne was to cause her to move away from him.”
“Ah. Right into the arms of my prince,” Charlotte said with what seemed like satisfaction. “And I thought you were playing a devious long game.”
“I was trying. But it appears I tried too hard.”
Charlotte’s smile turned into a pensive frown.
“I find myself unsatisfied with the prospect of a hollow victory. Daphne is putting on a good show, but her heart’s not in it. And I would not burden my nephew with a wife who wasn’t utterly devoted to him.”
“She will surely come to love him in time,” Lady Danbury said.
“Where’s the drama in that?” Charlotte protested. “No. I declare you the winner of the wager, because you have convinced me that she belongs with your Duke. And now we must cooperate, and make sure that happens.”
That was what Lady Danbury loved so about her Queen. For all that she loved pomp and formality, in the end, she required genuine substance too.
Her face was still grey and her skin shedding flakes of what seemed like ash. Her body heat was unusually high. But she had a gleam in her eye that shone through the grief Agatha knew she felt about her husband. And once Daphne and Simon figured out they were made for each other — something that everyone else in the ton knew, except that conniving Cowper family — the Queen would be free to make her way back to her home country. Her tribe would know what was required for her healing.
~~~
Lady Danbury managed to convince Simon to visit Daphne at the ball to say goodbye, before he boarded a ship to America. She’d bribed the Captain to make sure he sailed without her godson, but she was just as happy that the failsafe did not turn out to be necessary. Simon might resent that degree of meddling, and he was almost dragon-like himself in his contrariness.
But it was down to the Queen to make sure Cressida saw Simon and Daphne enter the garden together. “I had to practically fling her out the door,” she related afterward, “because she would insist on following my nephew like a lapdog.”
And Lady Danbury marveled at what followed. It would have been farcical if the young people hadn’t been in such deadly earnest about it, and when it ended up that Daphne told Simon they were to marry, rather than the way the etiquette books would have it, she wished she could raise Will Shakespeare from the dead to jot it all down.
And then Simon was standing before the Queen, pleading to let him and Daphne marry. (The barrier she put in place was a masterstroke in encouraging them to cement their determination.)
“To meet your best friend in the most beautiful of women is something entirely apart,” he said to Queen Charlotte, and Lady Danbury caught the Queen’s eye in the briefest of glances and hoped she knew that Simon was speaking for her too.
The marriage had taken place and the entire ton had turned out to see the couple depart to take up their duties as the Duke and Duchess of Hastings.
Now it was Charlotte’s and Agatha’s turn.
“How will they manage, my people?” Charlotte fretted. They’d needed to sneak away, in disguise, helped only by a handful of their most trusted and discreet servants. The ton was not ready to learn their Queen was a half-dragon.
“They’ll muddle through,” Lady Danbury reassured her. “You are an immense help to them, but they muddled through before you became their Queen, and they’ll muddle through afterward, and they’ll muddle through during your much needed respite.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Charlotte said.
And so they reached Queen Charlotte’s land at last, cold and dusty and thirsty. They stood in the valley and looked up at the stronghold built into the mountainside, at the occasional beast flying there on some important errand, looking no larger than a sparrow from this distance.
Charlotte took off her clothes and Lady Danbury only had a moment to worry at the patchy roughness of her skin, before the Queen gave a terrible scream, and changed.
A great dragon was crouched before her. Her scales glistened red and teal in the sun as it began to sink behind the mountain. Her long tail lashed, and her mouth opened and she breathed fire, and every movement told Lady Danbury that being in dragon form again was pure joy to her Queen.
But the joy was superseded by the joy of knowing her King and his people.
“Climb onto my neck,” Charlotte said, her voice still that of Lady Danbury’s beloved Queen, but with a deep resonance behind it, as if the entire valley were speaking. She lowered her head to the ground, and Agatha found she could easily swing her leg over the thick neck, and sit astride it like a horse. Her knee scarcely twinged. There were knobs of scaly flesh to hold onto.
“How my family will welcome you, Beloved,” Charlotte said. “How I will pamper you.”
“I am all a-twitter with anticipation,” Lady Danbury said.
Charlotte launched herself into the sky.