Page 36 of Of Fate and Phantoms
"The general's death is a timely reminder to everyone to have a successor in place to take over their position here," Lincoln said. "Preferably one who knows of the ministry's existence, if not all of the details. Charlie is mine."
"And if she dies before you?" Lord Marchbank asked. If anyone else asked that I would consider it a horrid thing to say to a man about his intended, but not the very practical earl.
"Seth," Lincoln said.
Seth straightened. "Really? Er, thank you, I suppose."
"My son Edward is my heir," Marchbank said. "You all know that, and he's aware of the ministry. Gilly? Julia? Neither of you have children. Who do you appoint?"
"That's none of your affair," Gilly said with a sniff.
"It is. We may need to seek them out when you're dead and tell them about us."
"My wife inherits everything," he said, lowering his chin so that he mumbled into his chest. "She knows about the ministry."
"Andrew is my heir," Lady Harcourt said quietly. She wore deep black today, despite appearing in half-mourning colors in recent weeks. The lustrous sheen of the gown brought out the gloss in her hair and the whiteness of her skin. She was a woman aware of her beauty and knew how to enhance it with clothing and jewels, and black certainly suited her. Yet the sudden change surprised me. Was she mourning the general? Or the death of her reputation and popularity?
"Buchanan?" Gillingham waved off the cup of tea I held out to him. "Why not his brother?"
Andrew Buchanan was the younger son of Lady Harcourt's late husband. Donald Buchanan, the current Lord Harcourt, was the elder and lived with his wife on the family estate in Oxfordshire. Both knew about the ministry, but as the eldest, Donald should have inherited the committee position from his father. Old Lord Harcourt had elected his wife, however.
"Andrew is interested," she said, "Donald is not. Besides, Donald rarely comes to London."
"Then that's settled." Gillingham tilted his chin at the teapot. "Got anything stronger, Fitzroy?"
Seth poured him a brandy at the sideboard. We sat in the drawing room rather than the library. With both Seth and Gus joining us, the larger room suited better. Lady Vickers and Alice had not yet returned from their shopping expedition, and Doyle had been instructed not to disturb us, so privacy wasn't an issue.
Gillingham accepted the brandy glass. "Now," the earl said, "I called this meeting because it came to my attention that the events of the masked ball led to Charlotte and Fitzroy being summoned to the palace."
"The palace?" Marchbank's heavy brows crashed together. "Why weren't we informed?"
"Who did you see there?" Lady Harcourt asked, her features suddenly coming to life. "The Prince of Wales?"
Lincoln nodded. "I was about to call a meeting to inform you but Gillingham got in first."
"How did you learn about all this before us, Gilly?" Marchbank asked.
Gillingham swirled the brandy around his glass. "Mere happenstance."
"It arose out of Leisl's pronouncement that she sensed the Prince Consort's ghost would bring danger to his family," Lincoln said. "On the night of the ball I suggested to the Prince of Wales that we could help him in ghostly matters, so he took me up on the offer and summoned us." He told them how the meeting went and that we spoke to the ghost himself.
"In the presence of the queen?" Lady Harcourt asked. "How did that go?"
"Awkwardly," I said. "But we got answers. He's not haunting his family and has no wish to harm them. But that's not the most interesting part of the meeting."
Lincoln told them about the imposter and his theory that it could have been a shape shifter posing as the Prince Consort rather than a lookalike. "I'm seeking the counsel of another shifter known to us through the archives," he said, avoiding mentioning Harriet by name.
"Another shifter?" Lady Harcourt asked. "You mean we already know of one? Perhaps he's the imposter?"
"She's not. She can only change into a beast form, not human."
"She?" Marchbank echoed at the same time that Lady Harcourt said, "So she says. Women do not always tell the truth, Lincoln."
"Nor do men," he countered.
She gave him a tight smile over her teacup.
"So what did your shifter have to say?" Marchbank asked. "Did she know of anyone who can do what you suggest?"
