Eloping with the Princess (Brotherhood of the Sword #3)(29)

“Now then, let us get a look at this fabric,” Genevieve said.

Madame Angelique climbed onto the pedestal with Isabel and held the fabric against her, just below her throat.

“Splendid,” Genevieve said.

Isabel wanted to argue. To insist that she never wore such pale colors, because anything that light only emphasized her darker complexion. She knew that fashionable English beauty standards demanded an alabaster complexion, while she most assuredly appeared as if she were from somewhere else. Plenty of the students at St. Bart’s had commented on her coloring over the years. She knew that compared to the fair beauties of London, she would stand out. Yet another way she would not quite belong. But as Madame Angelique held the fabric across her bodice, Isabel could see the tears glimmering in Genevieve’s eyes.

“It’s perfect.” She glanced at Isabel. “You shall be stunning. A perfect way to introduce your marriage to London.”

…

Jason was so thankful to be done with the shopping excursion. He couldn’t bear to look at any other swaths of fabric, or imagine Isabel in the myriad of filmy materials intended to entice a man’s baser needs. Besides, with him gone, his mother would have a chance to instruct Isabel in the ways of Society so she would feel more comfortable at their ball.

He could now turn his attention to more important matters—getting back into his work with the Brotherhood. The day that Jason had taken Isabel out of London, there had been some sort of confrontation, and their leader, Potterfield, had been killed. The murderer was still unaccounted for, and one man remained unidentified, which meant that the direct threat against Isabel and himself was not gone. He’d already increased security at his townhome and had three men following Isabel and his mother on their shopping trip.

Upon arriving in London, Jason had sent word to Somersby notifying him of his elopement with Isabel. Shortly thereafter, Jason had received a response that the Brotherhood was temporarily meeting at Somersby’s London townhome.

Jason climbed the steps to Somersby’s home and tapped the knocker. He fully intended to avoid any conversation about his marriage until after the announcement hit the Times. That should have been today’s edition, but it seemed unlikely anyone would have seen it yet. The Brotherhood could find out the way everyone else in London did. He hoped that Somersby would not goad him too much about his impromptu nuptials.

“Ellis, I was hoping you’d make today’s meeting,” Somersby said as he entered the parlor. “Wasn’t certain you’d be willing to leave your new bride,” he said so that only Jason could hear, then gave him a lascivious wink.

“Welcome back,” Lynford said.

“Thank you.” He took a seat at the far end of the large table.

Every seat around the table was occupied, save one. Somersby left the seat at the head of the table empty, out of respect, Jason suspected. But seeing it made Potterfield’s death a reality. He had been the man to recruit Jason many years before, after seeing him ride. Jason had respected the man, considered him a friend. Now he was gone, and his absence reminded Jason how very serious their work could be.

“We should begin,” Somersby said. He stood at the edge of the table. “I know you’ve all likely heard about the recent tragedy. Potterfield served us and England selflessly for years.”

Jason knew Somersby and Potterfield had not always gotten along, but he also knew that his friend had respected their leader implicitly, despite their disagreements.

“He will be missed,” Somersby said.

“What did he leave in the edict?” Johnson asked.

The edict traditionally held instructions from the current leader bestowing the position onto his successor. It was the Brotherhood’s way for the previous leader to select the one to come after. Jason had suspected that was the reason for the meeting today.

“Lord Lynford is here to read the edict,” Somersby said.

Gabriel Campbell, the Duke of Lynford, came to his feet. “I, Percival Potterfield, do hereby charge Bennett Haile, Earl of Somersby, as my successor and leave the Brotherhood of the Sword in his capable hands.”

Somersby dropped into the chair behind him. Johnson gave an unsportsmanlike snort of derision.

“I didn’t think he trusted me,” Somersby muttered.

“No one here is surprised,” Adrian said. “Disappointed, perhaps.” He gave a slight nod toward Johnson. “But not surprised.”

“We all knew better,” Jason said. “He was hardest on you because he knew you were the only one to lead us, so lead forth.”

Somersby chuckled.

“Has anyone seen the Speaker of the House of Commons since the night Potterfield was killed?” Lynford asked.

“No,” Somersby said. “We have men looking for him all over the countryside, though. We’ll find him.”

“On Lynford’s suggestion, Peterson and I went to St. Bartholomew’s school and went through every paper and book in the building,” Adrian said. “We definitely found some relevant records but nothing that indicated the name of the mysterious man involved in Potterfield’s death. But between everything we discovered and the drawings of the tunnels that Thornton had in his belongings, we know for certain that he was involved in the plot to kill Her Majesty.”

“Then there is no reason to believe that the queen is safe, at least from this plot,” Somersby said.