The Matter of the Secret Bride

“. . . she had a bold and independent mind, which is the principal ingredient in the formation of a great queen, or an illustrious woman.”

Bury, Charlotte, The Diary of a Lady-in-Waiting

“And here you are at last, Miss Thorne.” Mrs. Levitton rapped out this sharp greeting as Rosalind was ushered into her library.

“I do apologize,” said Rosalind. “I came as quickly as I could.”

Rosalind had begun her association with Mrs. Levitton only a few months ago. Since then, however, the formidable woman had become one of the principal figures in Rosalind’s life.

Mrs. Levitton was a wealthy widow who ran a number of flourishing business concerns. Rosalind had assisted her, and her family, during a particularly delicate crisis. Her efforts had impressed the entrepreneuse enough that she offered to invest a sum with Rosalind, to put her on a stable footing.

It was Mrs. Levitton’s money that had hired Rosalind’s new household staff and paid a number of her daily expenses while her clientele expanded. In return, Rosalind, and her man of business, Etienne Prescott, met once a month with Mrs. Levitton, and the ladies with whom she had formed an unofficial consortium, to show her the accounts. It was agreed that once Rosalind’s monthly income was above a certain level, she would begin to repay the investments, with interest.

As matters stood, they would reach that threshold far sooner than Rosalind had anticipated.

Mrs. Levitton was a tall, thin White woman with snow-white hair. She dressed in widow’s black not, she said, from any overwhelming attachment to her late husband, but because it was simpler. “I have no interest in keeping up with fashion,” she’d told Rosalind. She was difficult, mercurial, and kept her mental accounts as accurately as she did her monetary ones. She was also acerbic and cynical, and even with all Rosalind’s practice at reading the intent of those around her, it was sometimes difficult to tell when or if Mrs. Levitton might be joking.

“When we entered into our arrangement, it was absolutely my intention to remain a silent and distant partner,” Mrs. Levitton said as she waved Rosalind to a chair. “But I find myself compelled to ask, what on earth have you gotten yourself into?”

Which seemed to be very much the question of the day. Rosalind took her seat. “I’m afraid that remains to be seen.”

The library was Mrs. Levitton’s favorite room, and she conducted most of her business here. She was an avid reader not only of classics but also of new books. She spent her mornings with the papers and periodicals. To continue to make sound investments, she said, one needed to keep abreast of the news of the world, in large things and small.

“Well, you can at least say what took you to Mrs. Fitzherbert’s door?” said Mrs. Levitton.

Rosalind had—rather pitifully, perhaps—hoped this question might not arise. Mrs. Levitton seldom asked her for details about the matters she worked on. If she knew the people involved, she might offer Rosalind some information or observation, but Mrs. Levitton did not press Rosalind to share confidential details.

As soon as royalty was involved, all manner of rules and suppositions changed.

“No, I’m afraid I cannot,” said Rosalind.

Mrs. Levitton arched one pale brow. “And if I insist?”

“I must hope that you will not,” replied Rosalind. “This is a confidence I cannot break.” Not any more than I already have done, she added to herself guiltily. She met Mrs. Levitton’s cynical gaze and felt sure the woman had understood that thought as clearly as if she’d spoken it aloud. “If you do insist, then we must turn this discussion to how I may best repay the money you have been so kind as to loan me.”

Rosalind spoke calmly, but her mind was already frantically flipping through her ledgers as she tried to ascertain if she had enough money to cover her expenses until the quarter day.

Mrs. Levitton simply nodded. “Very good. Never let anyone dictate your principles, especially not the person who pays your rent. Now, what can you tell me?”

Relief flooded through her. When Rosalind’s family fell apart, she had been taken in by her godmother, Lady Blanchard. Lady Blanchard had provided Rosalind a safe harbor—and had brought to her life a steady, experienced presence. If Lady Blanchard had not been loving, she had wanted the best for Rosalind, and she’d been there when Rosalind needed someone to turn to in moments of perplexity.

Since she had lost Lady Blanchard, Rosalind had missed such a presence badly. Mrs. Levitton had come to fill that void, at least a little.

“I can tell you that I have accepted a commission from Mrs. Fitzherbert, and the repercussions may be quite serious.”

“Really?” Mrs. Levitton sounded surprised but hardly shocked. “Well, that tells me a great deal right there.”

There was no possible way she did not guess what the matter was regarding. There was only one reason that the public in general knew Mrs. Fitzherbert’s name.

“And may we assume that this matter is also why Lady Jersey has landed on your doorstep?”

There was not a racehorse at any track that ran faster than London gossip. “That would be a reasonable and natural assumption.”

Mrs. Levitton nodded her approval at Rosalind’s careful answer. “I should think so, especially as she’s been lobbying the whole of London society on behalf of the queen.” Mrs. Levitton saw Rosalind’s momentary frown and smiled at it. “Oh, not me. She does not deign to acknowledge that women such as me exist.”

Quite beyond the fact that Mrs. Levitton engaged in what Lady Jersey called “gross commerce,” she came from a family entirely deficient in fortune, name, or title and did not aspire to gain them.

“However, like you, Miss Thorne, I have friends in odd places,” Mrs. Levitton went on. “I believe you know the Countess Lieven?”

“Somewhat.”

“Ha! I think that’s all any of us can say about knowing her grace. Well, she was here this morning.”

“Was she?” Now it was Rosalind who was genuinely surprised.

“Yes, indeed. Right at the stroke of eleven, with a footman to convey her gilt-edged calling card, so she should not have to descend from her carriage unnecessarily,” Mrs. Levitton said. “She was so filled with compliments that at first I thought she’d come to ask for a loan.” Her mouth curved into a thin smile at this idea. “However, in the midst of a rather breathtaking range of conversation, she inquired about you. It seemed to me she was hoping you might turn up during her visit. When you did not, she mentioned that she had not seen you in an age, and sighed that she would be so grateful for a visit. ‘Life is so dull,’ she said. ‘I am starved for intelligent conversation.’ ”

But she could not send an invitation directly? Rosalind blinked in surprise.

She had become acquainted with the Countess Dorothea Lieven at about the same time as she first crossed paths with Lady Jersey. The countess was married to the Russian ambassador to the Court of St. James’s. She had enough rumors swirling about her for a member of the royal family. They said she had conducted multiple affairs, including with the current king. They said she controlled her husband’s policy. They said she spied for the tsar.

What Rosalind knew for certain was that Countess Lieven had helped her on several occasions. Furthermore, she was a powerful and influential figure in London society and was the person who had introduced the waltz to the haut ton. She also had a seat on the powerful board of patronesses of Almack’s ballroom.

“Lady Jersey did indicate there was some disagreement between herself and the countess,” said Rosalind.

Dorothea Lieven will not be persuaded, Lady Jersey had said. Stubborn creature. Indeed, it may be that she is no longer quite suited for the board.

“I should not be surprised,” said Mrs. Levitton. “It’s quite well known the countess favors the king’s side when it comes to his marital difficulties. She faults the queen for not behaving as a woman ought.”

And there, of course, was the reason the countess could not invite Rosalind directly. If the countess sent Rosalind an invitation or called herself, word might get back to Lady Jersey. This circuitous method of communication was an attempt to avoid notice.

That left Rosalind distinctly uneasy. If there was one thing that could be more tangled than the lives and scandals of royalty, it would be the machinations of the Almack’s patronesses.

“Well,” murmured Rosalind, “if her grace was so kind as to take the trouble to mention me to you, I had best take the time to call as soon as possible.”

She and Mrs. Levitton talked a little more—of Mrs. Levitton’s family, of Alice’s novel and Amelia’s school. Mrs. Levitton evidenced an interest in the project and promised Rosalind she would investigate it. Rosalind concealed her satisfaction. Such an investigation might well end with a donation from Mrs. Levitton or one of her friends.

The polite fifteen minutes over, and the question of whether Mrs. Levitton might be concerned about Rosalind’s newest venture settled, Rosalind rose to leave.

As she did, Mrs. Levitton stopped her. “Miss Thorne?”

“Yes?”

An odd expression Rosalind could not entirely read passed over the older woman’s face. “Should you find yourself in need of a solicitor at any point, I will send my man to you. And he may apply to me for his expenses.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Levitton,” replied Rosalind. “I do not think it will come to that.”

But the truth was, she could not be sure.