Page 9 of Whiskers and Wiles

“They do,” Queen Matilda agreed with a nod of her head. “Which is why they must be convinced that their social standing for this season depends upon not only their attendance, but the attendance of their husbands. Martha.” She turned to her maid, holding out her hand.

The maid rushed to the side, taking up a small stack of what looked like calling cards and bringing them to the queen.

“Each of you will take one of these cards,” the queen said, handing them out as each of the ladies present stood and approached her. “On them, you will find the names of prominent ladies who are currently in London, who have received aninvitation from Lady Ryman, but who have either declined or have yet to respond to the invitation.”

Kat shifted Napoleon to the side, and received a disapproving stare for doing so, then stood to take a card from her queen. On it were three names, Lady Honoria Thistlewhite, Lady Olivia St. Alban, and Mrs. Thomasina Bowman, who Kat recognized as the wife of one of the wealthiest mill-owners in London.

“Lady Ryman’s ball is next Friday,” Queen Matilda said as she finished handing out the cards. “I expect every lady whose name is on these cards to arrive at the ball with her husband on her arm. From there, we will use every bit of influence we have to sway their opinions to what they ought to be.”

Kat smiled as she resumed her seat, studying her card, even though it appeared as though the meeting was nearly over. For those who believed being a spy was a matter of danger and daring deeds in the middle of the night, they would have been surprised that the majority of her clandestine work in the past twenty years had been attending social functions and having particular conversations with the right people.

“And what about Lady Walsingham?” Lady Eileen asked, tucking her card into her reticule.

Queen Matilda looked momentarily frustrated. “I am still formulating the best way to reach and influence her. I shall let you know what I have determined after the ball.”

That truly was the end of the meeting. The assembly of ladies stood and gathered their things, curtsying to the queen and offering her words of continued allegiance.

“Come along, darling,” Kat said, scooping Napoleon into her arms and placing him in the special basket she’d had constructed so that she might walk about town with him.

She noted that the queen was watching her as she secured Napoleon so that he could poke his head out the top of the basket and observe the world around him without leaping free andgetting himself into trouble. The way Queen Matilda watched her made Kat nervous, if she were honest. The woman, her employer, her liege, and her mentor, clearly had something to say, but she was biding her time and holding her tongue.

“Good day, your majesty,” Kat said once Napoleon was secure, his basket looped over her arm, curtsying deeply.

“Good day, my dear,” the queen said, smiling. “Do be careful,” she added, a look of motherly concern in her eyes.

Something in that look caused a lump to form in Kat’s throat. Ever since her own mother died, far too shortly after Waldorf’s betrayal for her poor heart to have handled, Queen Matilda had filled the maternal role for her. They were not as close as Kat had been with her own mother, before her father had forced all contact to be cut off. Queen Matilda was mother to everyone in Mercia, after all. But Kat felt a deep sense of affection and loyalty to her queen, and she was loath to let the woman down.

With the fire of loyalty and a determination to fulfill her queen’s will filling her, Kat left the parlor and made her way downstairs so that she could leave the embassy entirely. She had three women to locate and influence, and she fully intended to have all three of them sending effusive letters of acceptance to Lady Ryman in no time.

Her mind went to work at once, conjuring up ideas and arguments to convince the recalcitrant ladies to attend the ball. She put every bit of her thought into it as she crossed into Hyde Park, intending to take Napoleon to his favorite spot by the Serpentine so that he might amuse himself chasing after the waterfowl for a bit before supper. It still felt deeply ironic that the queen had entrusted her with the mission of convincing ladies to attend a ball when she herself would rather have dunked her head in the Serpentine than gad about, pretending she found the conversation of odious gentlemen of thetoninteresting while they trod on her feet during the steps of a?—

Her thoughts were cut short as she suddenly and without warning found herself all but slamming directly into none other than Waldorf.

Within an instant, Kat’s insides were a mess. Her traitorous heart conjured up affections that she had long ago tried to bury. Her ferocious soul burned with the anger of betrayal that had not been doused in all of the intervening years. And a certain sense of the ridiculous had her laughing once more at the absurd facial hair that Waldorf had maintained with laughable male pride for the last several years.

“You,” Waldorf said, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Yes, me,” Kat said, standing taller and tilting her chin up so that her neck appeared longer and her bearing regal.

“Oh, God,” the elderly gentleman standing beside Waldorf said, rolling his eyes.

Kat softened her demeanor for Lord Gerald Godwin’s sake. “My lord,” she greeted the man with as much kindness as she dared with his odious son standing right there. “It is a delight to seeyouagain.” She emphasized the word to make clear that it was not a delight to see Waldorf. Ever.

“And you, Lady Katherine,” Lord Gerald said. He smiled a bit too widely and jabbed his elbow into Waldorf’s side. “We were just discussing you.”

“We were not,” Waldorf snapped, glaring at his father.

A sense of excitement and the thrill of an impending battle swirled through Kat. She refused to acknowledge that the feeling was akin to what she’d once felt as Waldorf kissed her and plucked at the ties of her gown.

“Oh?” she asked, sending Waldorf a superior look. “Pray tell, what were you saying? I cannot imagine it would be anything good.”

Waldorf looked surprised at her appraisal. “So you admit there is nothing good that can be said about you, madam?”

“Not at all,” Kat said with a smile. “I was merely assuming that you are incapable of stringing together words to form a sentence of any grace or meaning.”

“Oh, I can assure you, my sentences are brilliant,” Waldorf growled at her. “It is only those of very little understanding who fail to see that.”

“Ah. That explains why you have a habit of talking to yourself,” Kat said, stroking Napoleon’s head as he poked it from the top of the basket, as if to join her in the verbal joust. “I have heard that having those of weaker mind repeat things aids in their understanding.”

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