Chapter 1

Here I am, Phileas Fogg, stepping in time through the venerable halls of Buckingham Palace behind my father, too excited for words, and wishing I were anywhere else. Eighteen by one month, freed from my classes at Cambridge and dragged into father's business. Normally, he allows me to do as I please, but he needs me. Our queen, newly crowned, is being threatened. I have no clue what the nature of this threat is, nor how the Queen's life could be in danger. That is normal. Father never tells the whats, hows and whys of his work. Sometimes, I wonder if he ever will.

My father, Sir Boniface Fogg, holds a highly important position, toward the crown's protection in Her Majesty's Secret Service. I have heard of his work since boyhood. I even know his intent to have me join in that service; one day, not now, before I've completed university. What I don't even know fully what is required of me. For now, I will play the dutiful son and be presented to the Queen. Once a part of her inner circle, I will attend social functions and watch in the wings. I get to listen in at party conversations and key holes, keeping an eye out for anyone who might be trying to influence or manipulate her.

"The Queen likes other young people around her, so I need you, someone different from my agents," father had said. I almost laughed at that. The stoic stone-faced agents father employed would never do. "They will stick out like pallbearers at a child's birthday party." Father had said. An uncharacteristic moment of levity. So meaningful, it made me nervous about what I am to do.

Father stopped his long strides down the hallway. A page or someone has stepped up to meet us. They now speak in hushed tones. I look down at his shoe toes for a moment. Wonderful. Making not a sound, I lift one foot and then the other, rubbing specks of dust from each shoe onto the backs of my trousers.

For a moment, I recall standing beside father, watching Her Majesty's coronation, stock still in awe of the moment. Father's instructions overlapped that fond memory. "Others are pushing the Queen toward choosing a husband. So, I want you to watch her suitors."

What's the rush? She is only a year older than me. Why can't they wait a while, until she's a little older, when I'm a little older? Why meddle in her private life? Maybe that is why father also said to watch for people trying to manipulate her.

Oh, but if father had a title instead of a sir. If he could rise higher in government. If I were in a position to create a bit of glory… Phileas choked at where his thoughts were going. As eldest son, I have all the surety of my importance and place from years of being told the Fogg family and fortune would one day be mine to steward. I'm born to a prominent old family with plenty of past glories and am expected to add to it. I know my family's name will open doors to greater things, yet… not this great. Victoria Regina is forever unobtainable. So much for private fantasies.

We continue down the hall, soundlessly and endlessly. Fine deep carpets under my feet as we walk behind the page. This is not the fifteenth century, Phileas. You are so far out of the running for the Queen's hand, you don't even belong in the company father is bringing you to.

But alas, I will have this one moment of time in her close association. So, let's enjoy what we can. I know full well the road you are on leads to university and then the Army. After that, I don't know, working with father in government, doing something supporting the service. We have stopped. Are we waiting for something?

Relax Phileas. This is your moment of presentation. You will get to meet the queen. Don't get so nervous you look like a mouse stuck in a trap. Don't get tongue tied. No stammering when you speak to her. Who knew at eighteen, I would get entry into the highest rungs of society. This could be a grand adventure, with all the pomp and ceremony, and a bit of Walsinghamesque intrigue. I nearly laughed at that attack of whimsy. Not saving Her Majesty from Spanish priests. I'll just be an out of uniform palace guard or spy.

Head up. Some missed que has caused father and the secretary to straighten. We are heading further down the hall, another four doors. I can hear music. A chamber orchestra is playing. I fuss with my coat for a moment. One more tug, make sure it's straight. The footman before us is opening the gold-trimmed white double doors to the room the Queen and her friends are entertaining themselves in. I know that piece. It's almost over.

The Queen and her guests were sitting with hands in laps, perfectly erect on buttercup silk upholstered chairs and stools, paying proper attention to the musicians. At least most were. There are a few gentlemen in the back of the room lounging in a more relaxed manner, and one looks to be asleep. The huge room is done in various shades of yellow with gold and blue accents. The carpet on the floor had a yellow and blue motif. The walls were a paler yellow than the chairs and the wood of the golden oak floors shine warm and glossy from waxing. Paintings cover most of the upper walls.

Stopping again. We stand at the back of the audience's chairs, waiting until the score is complete. The page announces them. Her Majesty turns her perfectly coiffured head, with its perfect shiny brown curls at either side of her face, to recognize our entry and bid us approach. Sir Boniface precedes me by four paces as we move forward.

"It is so nice to see you could arrange your son's visit today, Sir Boniface?" Queen Victoria said, before his father could say anything. I smiled, assuming she is moving past the pomp in some agreed upon script.

"Indeed, your Majesty," father said. "Phileas has taken leave of his studies for a time. It was gracious of you to ask for his presence at court. I'm sure my son will make an excellent addition to your company."

Phileas stood properly at attention waiting to be spoken to, as his father and the queen go through their orchestrated play of words for the people listening's benefit. I catch his queen giving me a once over that appraises me from head to toe as his father goes on about my accomplishments, as though we were interviewing for a position as her playmate, which in a way, I suppose I am. She did not, in truth, ask for my companionship. This is all father's doing. But it is true that we have met, should anyone care to investigate it.

Four years ago, before her ascension to the Crown, I spoke to the king's niece briefly in the palace gardens. It had been an accidental thing. Father had been suddenly called to Kensington palace just before they were to have lunch together. Waiting for that business to conclude, I had strolled through the gardens near the meeting room. As I turned a bend in the path, I came upon the heir apparent as she was reading. I took full advantage of that moment of good fortune to strike up a conversation. It had been a short-lived pleasure. Not five minutes later, Victoria was snatched from my company. I don't remember if I told her whose son I was. At that point, she may not have known father. In any event, it is necessary to pretend that she has asked for my presence. It establishes me as an intimate with a legitimate right to be here.

Victoria sat listening to Sir Boniface, doing as the good man had asked of her two days before. He had come to my private rooms, a sudden requested audience with Lord Malborne. That had surprised her. Her security chief normally gave reports through Lord Melbourne. I expected bad news and was not disappointed. They told me of a threat to my person should I marry one of my German suitors. "I have no intentions of marrying anyone at present. Don't take it seriously," said I. I even laughed and told him he had wasted the trip. In response, he sternly sat me down and told me that these same people were also out to force a marriage on me. "No one will force me into anything, and no one will rule England but me!" said I.

"Indeed so, your Majesty," Sir Boniface had said with equal force. "And it is my duty to see to just that. I have no knowledge of which nobleman is ambitious for the crown. As such, I must suspect he is biding his time, or a specific suitor hasn't been decided on. With your gracious permission, I would put agents near you to keep watch. Once these plotters make their move, I will stop them. Without your cooperation, however, I may not learn their plans early enough. You could become entangled in their scheming too deeply for me to extract you."

I had to take what he said more seriously. There were plenty who would control me, and England through me. Mother and her secretary for starters. They kept me ignorant of my place for years. I dealt with that quickly, ordered a room of my own away from them. and sent mother to apartments on the far end of the palace. Lord Melbourne helped me in that. And he told me to trust Sir Boniface. So, trust him I will.

"As you wish, sir," I allowed reluctantly. "But find a young one," I said. "Pick a man that will look at home in my inner circle. If you can't do that, you must make another plan."

Victoria looked on the head of the Secret Service's son again. The fond remembrance of their brief first meeting came to her. The young boy who interrupted her reading had been handsome to her then. Now, she realized that 'young man' was more the proper term, and he was still impressive looking. Phileas Fogg was one of the few young people she had been able to talk to informally. I wish that treat could have been prolonged, but mother had spotted us and put an end to it. But now, she can't interfere.

Phileas Fogg is younger than he looks. He is barely out of Eton, in his first year at Cambridge. A tall figure with raven dark hair, close cropped, and the most stunning green eyes. The face those eyes were set in was a sight to behold. The mouth shows a lack of cares, his cheeks and strong jaw line are clean-shaven, but have not seen a razor long enough to be roughened. He reminds me of paintings, archangels. Oh, wouldn't speaking that embarrass him, and get me into trouble to boot. And yet…

Again, Victoria looked him over. He isn't scarecrow thin as most his age; lean and strong looking, like a good hunter. If he actually were a horse, I'd buy him in an instant. Dressed at the height of fashion, but reserved, maybe more than a little somber. His attire is the only downfall. The dark gray suit fit perfectly but all wrong in character. He should be made to understand that I prefer a light-hearted look. One of my friends here can do that.

Victoria looked back to his face, meeting Phileas's smile, shyly flashed for her as his father paused. Sir Boniface was waiting for her to welcome him. That smile. He knews I was looking him over, and he is pleased with me scrutiny. Well...

Visions of panthers in human form drift into my imagination and driven out quickly. Lord, this young man was going to break hearts. And, one day soon; if the looks he is getting from my ladies are any indication.

Hm. Doesn't being the Queen give me first call on his company? Yes, it does. You ladies will just have to wait your turn.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Fogg. I am very pleased at your addtion my circle of friends. We were just about to go onto the garden for croquet. Do you play?"

"Indeed, I do, Your Majesty," Phileas said with another smile. "I play the game quite well, as a matter of fact."

"Then do join us. I am tiring of the lack of competition around here. One begins to wonder if my companions lose on purpose. Being a queen can be a drawback if one can't have an honest game of croquet."

Phileas nearly laughed. She said that with an edge, showing royal ire, yet blunting it with a twinkle in her eye and a smile, inwardly laughing at the notion that royalty couldn't be allowed to lose. Well, I suppose they can't, but one does need to make it look close, just to be sporting.

Phileas offered the Queen his hand. She stood, let him lead her to the garden doors. That smile from my queen, I feel better about this already. She is so pretty, and I get to spend every waking moment with her for as long as this treat–ah, threat lasts? Maybe it won't be such a bad thing after all.