He wondered what he would do when they saw each other again—she h
ad mentioned she had been invited to the royal ball. Perhaps if they met again, he would tell her his real name.…
There was not much time to feel sorry for himself, however. Once he arrived in London, there were social and royal obligations to meet. During his first week in town he was a fixture at the opera, the ballet, dinners, dances, and suppers that lasted until the wee hours of the morning. People whispered when he walked past; he could not enter a dining club or a theater without causing guests and patrons to titter, or worse, being obliged to greet and pay homage to the various dignitaries who knew his father and brother.
That evening he tagged along with Leo to a dinner given by one of London’s best hostesses, one Lady Constance Grosvernor. It was the standard fancy affair, with the usual mix of the beautiful and the titled, and Lady Constance had remarked to him that she had a friend who had also sailed on the Saturnia to London. She had thought of inviting her, but had decided against it at the last minute, as it would have caused their dinner to have an odd number at the table—and everyone knew that was unlucky. Wolf found the prattle as mind-numbing as usual. He was glad when Leo entered the room, and the lady and the rest of the party left him to swarm over his brother.
Wolf was even gladder when Leo decided it was time to leave the dinner and head to the nearest private club. The night ended at a rather famous bordello, and the next morning at the breakfast table Wolf cursed himself for taking the carousing too far. He looked and felt like death, but of course Leo looked like he always did: perfectly robust, healthy and whole. Meanwhile, Wolf felt as if his head would crack open, it was pounding so hard. He finished off his coffee—so much weaker than they took it back home.
“A note for you, sir,” the butler said, placing an envelope with the royal seal on his plate.
Wolf smiled as he recognized his friend Marie’s handwriting. He had been feeling a bit lonely and useless at the palace, and it was nice to be remembered by a friend. Dear old Marie, as constant and thoughtful as ever.
My dearest Pup,
Marie had written,
You must think I am so rude to have ignored you for so long. Please forgive me by meeting me for a picnic this afternoon at our usual spot.
Your loving friend, Marie.
“Another game of cricket today,” Leo said as he attacked his plate of roasted tomatoes, bacon rashers, creamy spinach quiche and a buttery croissant. A traditional Franco-English breakfast.
“Can’t, I’ve got plans,” Wolf said, whistling as he scribbled an enthusiastic acceptance on her note.
Be there with bells on!
Love, your own Wolf.
Leo chewed on his croissant. Bits of pastry clung to his lips. “Plans? With who? Don’t tell me—is it the lovely ‘Lady’ Marianne from last night? You did seem awful cozy with a few of her dancing girls, eh?”
If “cozy” meant he’d passed out on the floor while they tried to revive him, then sure, Wolf thought. Even he was getting tired of his undeserved reputation.
It’s from your future wife, he wanted to tell his brother, but he didn’t. He had a feeling Leo had not been, nor would ever be, invited to the roof. “Make the usual excuses for me, would you?” Wolf asked.
Leo grunted and turned back to his paper. “Suit yourself. But don’t make plans for the weekend—we’re off to Chatham for a hunting party.”
“Isn’t it a bit early in the season for grouse?”
“Maybe, but I asked him to open it up and he said yes.” Leo smiled.
“Of course.” Wolf nodded. It wasn’t that he was jealous of Leopold—that would be like being jealous of the sun. One did not wonder why the sun shone in the sky; one just accepted it as a fact of life. In truth, Wolf idolized his big brother, as everyone did.
“Hey,” Leo called. He tossed Wolf a black object.
“What is it?” he asked, catching the small velvet pouch, although he could already tell what was inside. It brought a smile to his face.
“Your lucky dice. Thought you’d want them.”
He did want them. He couldn’t risk an underground sparring club for fear of being caught out. It was too close to court, and could potentially harm his brother’s chances of marrying the princess. Surely the queen would not look kindly on a bruiser as a sort-of-son-in-law. He had been missing home and wishing he had remembered to pack his lucky dice with him so he could maybe find a game or two, hit the tables, try his luck. He thanked his brother. That was the thing. Leo might be a pig to the ladies, but he was a mate.
With a little help from one of the pages, Wolf remembered how to get to the roof through the secret passageways, hidden doors, and hallways he and Marie had discovered as children. It had been their little secret when the four of them used to play together, although Leo never really joined in the games. And what was the name of the other girl, Marie’s friend? The red-haired magician’s girl. He couldn’t remember. She’d been more interested in Leo than in hanging out with Wolf and Marie. When Wolf was young—six, eight at the most—he’d found the hidden doors. He’d noticed something odd about one of the walls in the east wing. One of the wood panels looked slightly askew, and when he touched the surface, it moved. It was not a wall at all, but a door that had been left ajar.
Now, Wolf approached one such paneled wall, pressed against its edge, and felt the wood bend slightly inward as a spring compressed. The panel nudged aside a little. He wrapped his fingers around the edge and tugged it open. He smiled as he slipped inside the passage and pulled the door closed behind him.
It was dark inside the tunnel, but Wolf found the bronze rail that ran through the entire maze, making it navigable. Marie always said to keep turning right if he got lost. He followed the path and wound quickly around corners and up stairs. The passage had been built behind the backs of closets and bedrooms. It ran above dropped ceilings, and alongside stairs. He suspected the passages had a variety of uses; pinpricks in the walls made it possible to eavesdrop on the occupants of many of the palace rooms. Cool air rushed across his face as he passed one of the tiny apertures. A narrow winding stair led him up one floor, then another. The air grew hotter as he ascended. There was no ventilation in the passages. Mildew and rot filled his nose.
The air cleared when he reached the top of the stairs, which were dimly lit with blue light where an open hatch awaited. Ah, so Marie had used the old way too, he thought. He stepped through the roof hatch and into the sunlight to find the princess at their usual spot, as promised.