Chapter 16

The winter snows were still clumped in odd piles as the Aurora was inflated to carry the Foggs and Passepartout back to London. They were all so happy to be free again; the excitement was thick enough to cut. They even had an itinerary. The annual visit to the palace is at the top of the list.

It was a reception just for intimates, the queen's relatives and her many godchildren. Rebecca was one of a host of them. What made her unique in the group was reaching the age of thirty-two without being married into the Diplomatic Corps.

That was an inside joke between her and Phileas referring to the many marriages the queen and her prince consort, Albert, had cemented to build family ties across Europe. They both fully approved of the practice in theory, but were leery of how it might affect Rebecca back when she had been younger.

At this point, Rebecca considered herself immune. The queen had not tried to marry her off and was never expected to.

Rebecca entered the Queen's reception room on Phileas's arm. He was resplendent as always in black formal wear. Rebecca was as lovely as always, distractingly beautiful in her deep blue gown. All around were people they both knew. After making their bows to the Queen they greeted their many friends separately.

Outwardly, Phileas kept his expression engaged, but on the inside, he was tired of this duty. This reception and most all his direct associations with the royal court were an obligation. Every year he came with a minimum of complaining because of the chance to meet with the queen, whom he had a guarded friendship with, and to engage in a sport he invented to bedevil Rebecca.

After an hour, when he had exhausted his patience for chitchat, he found her and lured her into a quiet area to begin his game. "Baron A, from Albania, is not he the one that made such a spectacle of himself with the ballerina last season? You suppose he is here for a new wife?"

"A third one, I believe," Rebecca said sourly. The portly gentleman, short and balding, was very rich, but grated on Rebecca's nerves for his oily manner.

"And there is Count B, from France. He is a cousin to the emperor, is he not?" Phileas said to no one in particular. "I suppose he is here to look over the crop of brides to be, but really, how many English diplomatic brides does France need?"

That comment and his mock indignation got a giggle out of Rebecca, despite her attempt not to react. She knew where he was going with this and was trying not to be drawn in.

Phileas's attention lit on a better candidate.

"Oh, now, there is someone of note."

"Count C, of Austria; he is an important man in the Hanover court. Did you know he is also Baron Von Kessler's uncle?"

"Good God! Do you know, I believe he has been watching you for the last ten minutes?" Do you think he plans to steal you from us this year? Think about it. A diplomatic marriage between you and his nephew, Prussia gains a Baroness and loses an enemy field agent, all in one shot. A brilliant coup."

Rebecca groaned inwardly and shuddered, despite herself. Her cousin did this to her every year. Rebecca was backed into a corner where they could talk privately, and one by one, Phileas would go over the prospects for diplomatic marriages until he found one revolting enough to make her hit him to shut him up. This year he didn't have to go all the way to foreign peer G or H. C was unsavory enough.

Rebecca gave up trying to keep an even temper. She set her teacup down daintily on the table before her, and when she straightened; she sidestepped slightly in front of her cousin and gave him a fierce jab with her elbow to his ribs. Revenge paid; she went to find someone less irritating.

Phileas did not see it coming fast enough to back out of the attack before damage was done. Absorbing the impact with a grunt, he just kept from doubling over by placing his hand on a chair back nearby. He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing until the pain subsided. Even so, he had a smile on his face. The object of the game was to get a reaction out of her.

I win.

"You know she has been off the list for foreign marriage since her work with the service began," a familiar voice said behind him.

"True," Phileas said. "Your point?"

Chatsworth chuckled and smiled, too amused to respond.

Having observed the Foggs standing together head-to-head, conversing quietly, Sir Jonathan had come up behind them, intending to talk to both. Phileas's words, however, convinced him to hold back to see where this interesting exchange was going. Rebecca had ended the conversation just when it turned truly diverting.

Her reaction to her cousin's last comment had been so discreet he did not see it happen. All he caught was Phileas's sudden shudder at the impact, and a controlled cry of pain. He could not help it. He smiled at his discomfort in a moment of uncharitable glee.

"I do hope you keep your ideas on foreign intelligence victories to yourself," he said. "I would not want to give anyone ideas."

"I am, as always, the soul of discretion and the servant of my queen," Phileas said, now fully recovered. "Have you any new information on Jordan, or are you here to eavesdrop?"

Chatsworth did not let the last comment get to him. Rebecca's revenge on her cousin's wit was plenty to keep him in good humor.

"Indeed, I have," he said. "Rebecca's account with the Jordan and Howell has been found, not under her name but under Verne's. She and you, it seems, are indebted on paper enough to make even you consider living on reduced means."

"Perish the thought." Phileas said in mock horror.

Sir Jonathan took a glass of wine from a waiter coming by. "I don't know, nor does our accountant friend, why he set it up in that manner. I am sure we shall find out soon. I am to receive a copy of the file to go over in a week's time."

Fogg took the information with no further comment. Had I not considered the possibility I would be dragged into this?

So, not only her funds were being depleted but mine, at least on paper. Phileas frowned. That must be for Rebecca's viewing only. He has no information on my holdings. So just how could Jordan hold that over her head? Rebecca knows I have enough hard assets to sell if in financial straits. I do tell her about the real estate and other such things I pick up at cards. Those things I have no attachment for and would sell off without a thought. She knows I would bail us out of any such problem, doesn't she?

He still could not think of a thing she in her own right could offer, as Jordan did not know about her work. As far as he knew, she was just a wealthy woman with a minor court position.

Watching her from across the room dancing a circuit, Phileas tried to see her background as an outsider would. Rebecca's mother had been the youngest daughter of an English Baron and a relative to the Queen. According to the family lure, Lady Amelia had fallen in love with a decorated and distinguished soldier of the wars with France, named Fogg. When their first-born daughter had come to the world, they named the heir to the crown her godmother.

That had been a political move, a common one. It secured the child a place within the court to one day look for a life partner. Had Rebecca's parents lived, she would have made her debut under the usual circumstances with the usual conventional result.

Instead, Rebecca had been orphaned at an early age and taken into his family. She had been brought into society in the usual fashion, true, by relatives with close ties to the court, but Phileas's father's position as her guardian had somewhat downgraded her stock. The Fogg's had a long illustrious history as gentry, but Sir Boniface's position as head of the Secret Service had been off-putting to many who might otherwise have courted Rebecca with enthusiasm.

While it had been disadvantageous for Rebecca, it had been the opposite for Sir Boniface, and in extension, his immediate family. His knighthood, a meritorious offering for his work during the wars, had elevated him into circles he had not had access to before. But Rebecca's coming had elevated him more so. It had given them all a position as intimates with the queen. That had worked to father's advantage and with his ambitions.

I, on the other hand, have no such ambitions.

But how much further might he have wanted to rise? Phileas wondered. Had he ever had thoughts of earning a peerage? Did he plan to elevate the family through his sons, by marriage or merit? Was he perhaps hoping to gain Lady Mary Katharine's father's title for a grandson? He had been pushing me to meet with Lady Weatherby's niece? The very idea sent Phileas's head reeling.

I will never know. We never discussed it. All I am sure of is being raised to take advantage of these privileges of association, which I do, shamelessly. Without father's grand ambitions, I live well, take care of my endowments, and do what I please.

Verne suddenly came to mind, and Phileas smiled.

Verne accuses him of being elitist, occasionally. The last time had been after his first encounter with the aristocracy of his own country. It had been enough to gall Verne's idealism past endurance and good manners. I still recall his reaction with a wince. The charges he leveled at the people he met, and me by association, could well be accurate; but Verne needed to spend time at these kinds of events to fully comprehend elitism.

Compared to genuine aristocrats, I'm a rabid socialist.

Stuffy exclusive group, the ton of London. Most women of this social level are vain, boring, and used to getting their way with beauty and the invocation of family names. They are happy to spend time with me and even share my bed, occasionally, but that is all. The Foggs are commoners. At best, we are country gentry, which is a polite way of distinguishing commoners with a coat of arms and property from those without. I have no illusions as to my position in this room, and neither does Rebecca.

Phileas's observations were interrupted as he saw Rebecca across the room and enter a conversation with a group of women. They were the daughters of earls and dukes, ladies of the court. Again, he considered how she could have fit in perfectly here if she wished to.

My beautiful cousin could have played the game and gained a good marriage out to the advantages of association. But she left the dance floors of her debutante year littered with broken hearts, heading straight for a position with the service without a backward glance. She comes to these functions only as a dutiful subject to the queen and to honor her mother's family.

Just as well, Rebecca is too spirited for this bunch. And I'm rather proud of that.

The object of these thoughts turned to look at him from across the room, giving him the sign that she had had enough. Together, they made their way to the queen to take their leave.