Her Majesty and her ladies instantly beckoned to her. Aiming a charmingly apologetic smile at those waiting, the lady made her way to the throne and dropped into a deep curtsy.

“Who is she?” René asked.

“The Countess of Lilford,” Ségur breathed. “Her husband is formidable in the House of Lords. They haven’t been married long, but people say she is likely to become the most powerful woman in the kingdom after royalty, of course.”

“I see,” René said, watching with sharp eyes as the countess rose from her deep curtsy, and was tapped on her shoulder by the Queen’s fan, as if Her Majesty was knighting her. Women were often the true power behind the throne, and a wise ambassador did not ignore such matters.

“Lady Lilford is half French and grew up around the Napoleonic court,” Ségur continued under his breath. “There was some sort of scandal—wasn’t there always in that gathering of appalling reprobates?—and she traveled to England to live with her grandfather, a duc, as I understand it. Yes, there he is.”

They watched as a distinguished gentleman dressed with the flair of a French duc bowed over the queen’s hand.

“The countess speaks French, oh so exquisitely,” Ségur said, kissing the tips of his gloves. “Those diamonds she wears are incredible. By all accounts, she inherited two fortunes. You must find her good side, marquis, or you will get nowhere in English society.”

“It will be a pleasure,” René acknowledged. The queen was smiling up at the countess in a manner that suggested the lady was a favorite.

“Be careful around her husband. He has a fierce temper, that one, and is monstrously jealous.”

René nodded.

“The most recent gossip is that the earl’s sister, Lady Lydia, ran away with another man after only a few months of marriage. Lady Lilford has requested that no one gossip of the matter, and strangely enough, I believe that English society has obeyed her. I hear nothing.”

Society was such that a woman of such intelligence, birth, and beauty, combined with a powerful husband, would naturally rise to the top and command the field as a general might a battle.

René watched as the lady swept another curtsy before the queen, and then backed away, holding her grandfather’s arm. He actually drew in a breath as she passed. Her court dress was designed with such flare that her modiste was obviously of French origin. Other ladies wore gowns as wide as doorways, but the countess had struck a balance between English tradition and French elegance.

“I heard that this will be her last visit to the court in some time, as she is in a delicate condition,” Ségur said. “Once she returns to London, you must pay her a call immediately. Whatever you do, do not admit that your brother sided with Napoleon.”

René winced. “Do not say that so loudly! My brother is deeply regretful of his foolishness.”

“Yes, I expect he is,” Ségur murmured.