The prince waited in an area of Carlton House the staff called the rose satin drawing room. When the footman announced him, Matteo stopped just inside the door so he could take in the room in appreciation. The walls were a deep rose color, with draperies and satin curtains hanging in great folds of fabric along the ceiling and in every entryway. A chandelier hung in the center of the room, the glass a light-blue color with gold candle sconces. The floor was a matching blue. Great portraits and other works of art covered the walls. The ceiling, engraved with gold filigree, depicted paintings within carved and framed rectangles. Matteo bowed to the prince. “A pleasant room, Your Highness. Thank you for the great honor to call on you.”

Prince George nodded.

“The murals on the ceiling, do they depict hunting excursions?”

“I believe so. The ceiling has been above me so long I hardly look at it anymore; it is so dashed difficult to continue looking up all the time. Gives me a pain right here in my neck.” He winked at Matteo and gestured that he sit on a low settee across from His Highness. “I am glad you could come, Prince Matteo, even though Scarlet is unable.”

Matteo grimaced. “You call me Prince. I feel it is a title I do not deserve, Your Highness.”

The prince waved his hand. “Do any of us truly deserve our titles? Not when we get them, surely. But hopefully there are some of us who grow into them and do in fact one day deserve them.”

Matteo nodded in appreciation. “Just so. Beautifully said. I may one day quote you.”

He shook his head. “Ho ho! There will be none of that, sir, no. Mustn’t disrupt my delightfully scandalous image.” He reached forward and picked up a pastry to place in his mouth. “We have the most wonderful French chef. Please, help yourself to some of his delicacies.”

Matteo raised his eyebrows in appreciation. “Now this, I could never refuse.” He sampled two or three. “You have discovered my weakness. I thank you for a taste of home.” He closed his eyes as he chewed his last bite.

His Highness rested his hands in his lap. “Now, let us talk with purpose. France is in great need of assistance.”

Matteo wiped his hands on his napkin, cleared his throat, and said, “Yes. Nobles are in need of evacuation immediately. All of their lives are at risk. They live at the whim of a few minds. If the wind changes direction, the tide of goodwill follows and they are sent before La Guillotine.”

“Yes, yes. I know all that. We are already doing as much as we are able. The Pimpernel has done a great service—”

“Does he work under your direction?” Matteo’s eyes widened in surprise.