“Luckily, I have a very good alibi and lots of witnesses. Where was Regal all this time? He doesn’t look like he was out hunting.”
“No. I heard him claim at the last moment that he’d hurt his shoulder riding, so he pulled out.”
“And Elliott Heathscote? Of everyone he has the strongest motive as the Baron’s heir, at least until the new Lady Heathscote gives birth. I’m sure he’s praying for a girl.”
“Elliott was here the whole time. Complaining loudly of a hangover and that unfortunately he felt too under the weather to hunt.”
“Both Regal and Elliott refusing to hunt today… that’s all a little too convenient, don’t you think?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.” Alia moved closer to Perri, muttering under her breath. Though all the aristos were far too busy speculating and gossiping to pay any attention to them anymore.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Perri replied with complete conviction. “It was a good plan.”
“Obviously.” Alia mused with wry amusement. “Since a number of other people managed to come up with it also.”
“Again, not your fault. Well, we’ve tried things your way… I think it’s time to try things my way.”
“You have a plan?”
“It’s beginning to take shape, yes.”
“You know, I would probably have more confidence if I could see your expression right now. Don’t you think it’s past time the scarf came off?”
Perri’s head shot up, Alia could sense her sister was grinning. “You know, that’s a very good place for my plan to begin… I agree, the time for me to cast off my veil has arrived.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Trailing behind Talac, watching the aristos at the evening mixer return the Prince’s smile, Brandth could only pity them. They were under the impression the Prince was happy. No, Talac was seething mad. Someone here had attempted to set Alia Gloomenthrall up to take the fall for the death of Baron Heathscote. The man continuing to cling to life, much to the Palace surgeon’s surprise. Perhaps something to do with Perri Gloomenthrall’s hourly visits to the sickroom, ensuring everyone was following her strict instructions of care to the letter.
“No more end of summer bridal competition. No more tramping around the Realm under the guise of searching for candidates and ferreting out the Realm’s secrets in the name of the King. What will you do with yourself instead?” Talc queried, curious.
Hhmmm, what would he do? What did he want to do? “I suspect I shall marry and settle down.” Unsurprised when Talac whirled about to face him, the fleeting amusement abruptly slipping from his face.
“You’re serious?”
“Yes.” Shocking himself. “I believe I am. But enough about me, let’s get back to you. Are you sure about this?”
“I had a discussion with my mother yesterday that was rather eye-opening. My parents have been keeping some rather intriguing secrets closely hoarded to their chests in regards to how they met, and how they came to fall in love. It made me take a long hard look at how passive I’ve allowed myself to become. Sinking into the role of son, soldier, prince, spy… but where in all that are my choices, my decisions?”
“I couldn’t say. I just fill the role of best friend, and I excel at it, don’t you agree? Look at me right now, happily supporting you as you begin to tear apart the very fabric of your world. They shall call you mad, you know. But never fear, when they lock you away, I shall visit regularly… just as a best friend should.”
“You worry needlessly. Once I start, they’ll be so enraptured witnessing the fall from grace of so many of their so-called-friends and rivals, they’ll be too busy spreading word of what happened here to question my motives, or my sanity.”
“Fine. With whom do you wish to start?”
Talac’s gaze roamed over the crowd intermingling in the large ballroom, drinking mead and swapping rumours and speculation about today’s events at the hunt. Unaware that the hunt was not yet over. At least for Talac. “There. I spy Lord and Lady Dunphrey. Let us go chat about what they and their son did to Margen Gloomenthrall.”
“As good as any place to start I believe.” Brandth trailing in his wake.
Over the next hour Talac stalked the candlelit event… hunting. Seeking out his prey, who were always pleased and proud to attract the Prince’s notice and regard. That was until he commenced speaking… rather loudly.
The Dunphreys left in hurried disgrace, after Talac confronted them in regards to their treatment of their fifth son’s wife. Whose dowry they used to revive their flour mills. Only to repudiate Margen in her fourth year of marriage. Evicting her whilst she was six months pregnant, and marrying their fifth son off to a grain merchant’s youngest daughter four weeks later.
Next up on Talac’s list was Master Jeweller Ullen. Who discovered his daughter-in-law, Habbon Gloomenthrall, had a knack for designing jewellery. Passing those designs off as his own. Growing his business in leaps and bounds until he was in demand at Pallene and the Palace itself. All the while keeping Habbon all but chained in his workshop, ill-treated and undernourished, until she managed to escape one day and make her way back to the safety of Gloomenthrall.
The crowd, eavesdropping so intently, still managed to agree with one another that yes, the quality of Ullen’s designs had significantly diminished over the last eighteen months. Now everyone knew why.
