Nobodys princess, p.1
Nobody's Princess, page 1
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2022 by Erica Ridley
Cover art by Paul Stinson. Cover design by Daniela Medina. Cover photography © David Wagner Photography. Cover copyright © 2022 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
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First Edition: July 2022
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ISBNs: 978-1-5387-1958-9 (mass market), 978-1-5387-1957-2 (ebook)
E3-20220520-NF-DA-ORI
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 15
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Epilogue
Don’t Miss Marjorie’s story
Discover More
About the Author
Praise for Erica Ridley and The Wild Wynchesters
More books by Erica Ridley
Fall in Love with Forever
To anyone who has ever
yearned to stand out
And to Roy, for everything
Acknowledgments
As always, this book would not exist without the support of many wonderful people. My fabulous editor, Leah Hultenschmidt, who is always willing to hop on a call and chat things out. The team at Forever—including Jodi Rosoff and Dana Cuadrado in publicity, and Daniela Medina in the art department—for the times you went above and beyond. My brilliant agent, Lauren Abramo, for your wisdom, encouragement, and friendship.
My utmost gratitude to Rose Lerner, who makes every book better. Erica Monroe and my early reader crew: thank you so, so much for your feedback and enthusiasm. Enormous thanks go to intrepid assistant Laura Stout (aka mami), my right hand in the United States handling everything I cannot from Costa Rica. All the cowriting dates with Alyssa, Mary, and Coven—you guys keep me on task, and I love you for it. Thanks go to Darc, Jean, Jenn, Lace, Lenore, Pintip, Susan, Tracey, and Team #1k1hr for the texts from the trenches and all the mutual support.
Muchísimas gracias to my dashing Roy Prendas, who dons full Regency attire on cue and makes every single day our happy ever after. Te adoro, popolote.
And my biggest, most heartfelt thanks go to my amazing, wonderful readers. You’re all so fun and funny and smart. I love your reviews and your Bookstagrams, and adore chatting together in the newsletter VIP List, on social media, and in our Historical Romance Book Club group on Facebook. Your enthusiasm makes the romance happen.
Thank you for everything!
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1
April 1818
London, England
Graham Wynchester turned away from the carriage window. “Are you certain you won’t need me?”
Beside him on the seat, his sister Tommy sent him a flat look. “It’s a simple infiltration and recovery. We’ve done it a thousand times.”
Across from her in the carriage, Miss Philippa York didn’t look up from the mountain of books open on her lap. The toes of her half boots played with Tommy’s beneath the lace of Philippa’s gown. “I’m fairly certain I’ve memorized every word written on the topic.”
“Righting a miscarriage of justice isn’t something you read,” Tommy teased as she smoothed the distinctive red waistcoat of her Bow Street Horse Patrol uniform. “It’s something we do.”
“These aren’t gothic novels,” Philippa protested. “They’re Graham’s intelligence albums on the building, owners, and staff. Each one is incredibly thorough.”
Graham grinned at her. His reconnaissance was always useful, but Philippa was the first to cling to his compendiums as though she adored the journals just as much as he did.
If all went well, that would soon change. A week ago, one of Graham’s informants had learned that an important foreign dignitary would be visiting London and had requested the Crown provide documentation disclosing potential security concerns at all the significant places a royal guest would be likely to visit.
Graham was made for a task like that!
The Crown hadn’t requested his intervention. The Home Office had begrudgingly accepted Graham’s offer to submit his own report… after he pointed out that he wouldn’t even be aware of the project, were it not for clear holes in security that Graham knew of and the Crown did not. The Prince Regent would see Graham’s talents firsthand. In the meantime, he was sworn to secrecy about his involvement in the upcoming diplomatic preparations.
After a lifetime collecting other people’s secrets, Graham finally had a delicious one of his own. And if all went very, very well, he might even achieve the dream he’d cherished since he was a child: acknowledgment by a royal.
“Someone can help me.” Graham’s sister Elizabeth sat across from him, sheathing and unsheathing three different sword sticks. “Which deadly blade should I wield? The one with the serpent handle, the one shaped like a raptor, or the one Marjorie painted with daisies?”
He pointed at the innocuous-looking cane covered in flowers and festooned with ribbons. “They definitely won’t anticipate a rapier through the heart if you sally in with that confection.”
Philippa looked up from her reading, alarmed. “Do you really think—”
“He’s bamming you.” Tommy adjusted her beaver hat. “Elizabeth will pretend to be violent, which will distract the inn’s proprietor. You’ll slip in and out undetected whilst I detain my sister after a prolonged and dramatic tussle.”
“I don’t have to pretend,” said Elizabeth. “I could poke a few of them, just for flair. They’re the villains who stole…”
While Tommy and Elizabeth bickered over the appropriate bloodiness of a staged altercation, Philippa met Graham’s eyes.
“What about you?” she asked. “Do you need help with your mission?”
Bursting into sisterly laughter, Tommy and Elizabeth ceased their row at once.
“Help with…a wild-goose chase?” Elizabeth said in disbelief.
“It is nothing of the sort.” While performing reconnaissance for his government, Graham had stumbled across a mystery—one that gave him the perfect cover for going out on research expeditions in person, rather than relying exclusively on his network of spies. There was legitimate work to be done. “A woman is in grave danger, and I am going to save her.”
“You don’t know that she’s in danger,” Tommy said. “You stumbled across a series of personal advertisements in the newspaper implying a ‘package’ was being tracked and subsequently went missing.”
“He didn’t stumble across anything,” Elizabeth said. “He reads every word of every advertisement and every column in every publication. It’s where half his intelligence comes from.”
“Twenty-three percent,” Philippa said helpfully. “His network of spies are also quite informative.”
“And so is my own personal reconnaissance,” Graham reminded them. “Such as today. Just think! Perhaps I shall finally rescue a princess.”
Elizabeth scoffed. “How would someone lose a princess? We’d know if someone lost a princess!”
“This is your second day looking for her,” Tommy added. “Have you considered you might be misreading the situation, an
He waggled his finger at her. “You’re a doubting Thomas, both of you. You’ll see.”
“Graham’s right.” Philippa closed the albums on her lap with care. “My ladies’ reading circle independently studied the obfuscated messages and reached similar conclusions.”
“See?” Graham told Tommy. “They’re the experts. Philippa and her friends solved a centuries-old enigma and designed a military cipher. If they say I’m right about this…”
Philippa nodded. “It does seem that two or more individuals are attempting to capture a woman, for reasons unknown. She has gone missing. Whether she escaped or was abducted by those hunting her, is also unknown.”
“Exactly what I said. Two dozen clever bluestockings agree with me. But not my own sisters!”
Elizabeth smacked him with her cane. “You said ‘princess.’”
“My darling expert,” Tommy stage-whispered to Philippa. “What are the chances the missing woman is a princess?”
“Unknown,” Philippa whispered back. “But unlikely.”
Graham lifted his nose. “It doesn’t matter. Wynchesters rescue anyone who needs rescuing.”
“We usually wait until a client invites us to intervene,” Elizabeth reminded him.
“Not Graham.” Tommy poked his shoulder. “If he even senses an injustice, he springs into motion like a freshly wound clock. There’s no stopping him…or his imagination.”
“One day, I’ll scale a tower to save a princess,” he informed them. “I’ll rescue her standing atop a noble steed with a rose between my teeth.” He pantomimed the pose.
“Those are not things that people do,” Elizabeth said. “It makes no sense. Why carry a flower in your mouth? And why should anyone stand on a horse?” She turned to Philippa. “What percentage of Graham’s ‘reconnaissance skills’ comes from the circus?”
“Ninety percent,” Philippa replied. “Mayhap closer to ninety-five.”
“Bah.” He tapped the panel behind him and the carriage rolled to a stop. “I’ll see you spoilsports at dinner, and we’ll see who has had the more exciting day. I’ll wager five quid it’s me.”
“Ten quid!” called Tommy as Graham leapt from the carriage onto a cobblestone street just outside of Mayfair.
He brushed a barely perceptible wrinkle from his new mazarine-blue frock coat. He did not know which country the expected dignitary would visit from, or when he or she was to arrive. In the event the missing woman was indeed a stray princess, he wanted her first impression of him to be favorable. Like all his clothes, this afternoon’s elegant ensemble was specially tailored for ease of movement, should he suddenly need to scale cathedrals or leap across rooftops. One never knew when one would need to perform daring feats for a damsel in distress.
This day would be full of adventure. He could feel it. Graham had fathomed out the pattern in the covert advertisements.
She, or her captors, possessed a copy of Boyle’s Court Guide, and was systematically appearing outside each aristocratic residence in the exact order they were listed in the guidebook.
Graham hadn’t the least notion why the sightings followed this pattern. Following a popular—if outdated—tourist guide was a baffling manner in which to conduct a covert abduction…and an equally baffling manner in which to evade capture. But Graham was certain which homes were next on the list. He owned every printing of the guidebook and had determined the edition his quarry was following.
He picked up his pace.
Two refined ladies heading toward him on the pavement startled and clutched their reticules to their bosoms as they edged to one side.
Oh, for the love of…Keeping his gaze straight ahead, Graham clenched his teeth and maintained a carefully cordial expression as he passed. His Schweitzer & Davidson waistcoat cost more than both their ensembles combined, but his skin was darker, which meant he was obviously a dastardly miscreant out to rob them.
His sisters and sister-in-law need not withstand such daily insults, because their skin was white as milk.
The ladies liked to tease their bachelor brother for holding out for a princess, but the truth was, Graham didn’t just dream of rescuing a royal. He wished he were one.
No one would snub him if he had a crown.
As recently as 1759, an African prince had been fêted by the ton and welcomed with open arms into the beau monde and all its amusements. He’d even received a standing ovation from the audience at Drury Lane. But one needn’t look to the past to see the intangible advantages of royalty. Queen Charlotte had distant African ancestry. Her son, the Prince Regent, was an absolute disaster, and he would be fawned over the rest of his life.
If Graham were a prince, he wouldn’t squander his position on gluttony and bad wagers. Just think how many more good works could be accomplished if he could influence the entire country! Having been raised in the glare of footlights until the age of ten, Graham was used to commanding attention. What he lacked was social standing. Playing ringmaster to a network of equally lowborn informants did not make him king, but at least he was using his gifts to help others.
Such as the missing woman.
He drew to a stop across the street from a large, terraced home. Was she here? Was she frightened? Was she still in danger?
There were too many people walking up and down the pavements, too many carts and carriages crowding the street. He would not be able to spot her from the street.
He needed a bird’s-eye view.
There was no convenient aerial rope like the one he’d used in the circus, but Graham had long since learned how to use his surroundings to launch him higher. He ducked back in the direction he had come, found the first empty alley, and began to run down it as quickly as he could.
He launched himself into the air and touched his right foot to a wooden crate, then his left atop a dusty barrel. The toe of his right boot grabbed purchase along a slender doorframe, his left a particularly jutting brick. With one final leap, his hands gripped the edge of a cornice, and he swung himself atop the roof. All without ripping a stitch in his well-tailored coat.
Hunching low to the roof, he traced his steps back, this time with the advantage of two stories’ height. He could see over the river of pedestrians, over the slow moving sludge of London traffic, and into the grand residence opposite.
The gardens were empty of everything but grass and meticulously tended flowers. The doors and windows were shut, but the curtains had been parted to let in sunlight. No terrified faces peered from the glass. No hulking villains dragged their captive through the roses.
Graham crouched on his heels in frustration. How was he supposed to save the missing woman if he couldn’t find her?
There was no sign of—
Wait.
There, on the corner diagonally opposite from his perch, across the street from the terraced home. A beautiful woman stood in shadow, scribbling furiously in a small book.
It didn’t just look like a surveillance operation. He recognized the pretty young lady. She had been amongst the passersby the last time he’d gone looking for his soon-to-be client.
This could not possibly be a coincidence.
From this angle, the brim of her bonnet blocked his view of her face, but he remembered it perfectly from the day before. The bonnet’s ribbon was an unusually bright purple-pink, but that wasn’t what had caught his attention. He’d walked past her—then did so again, slower— because of her beauty.
Soft, flawless skin in a rich, smooth brown. Wide-set eyes as dark as the black hair disappearing beneath her bonnet in elegant braids. Curling black lashes. A mouth that pouted adorably, lost in concentration on whatever note she was jotting. Tall, for a woman. Well-formed. Sturdy and capable, as though she spent her days jousting, or some other equally improbable venture.
She had intrigued him so thoroughly the day before, he’d forgotten his mission for a full five minutes before he recalled himself. He’d spent the afternoon scouring the grounds of the next residences listed in the guidebook, in hopes of finding his quarry.
She was the one, Graham was sure of it. He had found her at last!
He had no idea what difficulty she was in, but he was here to solve it. He turned and raced back across the roofs to the alley where he had ascended.
“Fear not, fair maiden,” he called as he leapt through the air to the empty alley. “Your devoted knight has come!”
