Because it was true. The things that made Herman a terrible husband were true of all men, at least as far as Agatha could make out. And she could not abide him being made to feel less than a man simply because of the color of his skin.
And so Agatha had promised she’d try. Maybe she’d even succeed. She had talked the King’s mother into giving them property, after all. How hard could a party be?
“Your Royal Highness,” she said with all due deference, “as one of the Queen’s ladies, it makes sense that I would host the first ball of the Season. It would be such an uplifting display of unity for the ton, would it not?”
The Princess was shaking her head before Agatha even finished. “The first ball of the Season? With you? No. That will not be accepted.”
Agatha had led a far more sheltered life than her husband. She had not experienced the day-to-day cuts and insults that wore a body down, that slowly added up until the wounds gaped and festered.
Or maybe it was just that she had not tried. Unlike her husband, she had not tried to enter establishments she knew would not accept her. She had not attended schools where she would never be treated as an equal, she had not entered banks only to have them take her money but not offer her tea.
Now Princess Augusta was cutting her off before she could even make her case. She was telling her point-blank that she was not good enough, that the Danburys were not good enough, that the entire new ton wasn’t good enough.
This was not acceptable.
Agatha set down her cup. It was time to be a bit more direct. “Your Highness, I know you would like our teas to continue. It would be so difficult for you to hear about the Queen being with child long after the fact, would it not?”
The Princess sighed.
Agatha picked up her tea again. She needed the porcelain to hide her smile.
“I shall take it up with Lord Bute,” Princess Augusta said.
Damn. Agatha knew what that meant. No permission would be forthcoming.
She had a decision to make.
It took her three seconds.
The Danburys would indeed host the first ball of the Season. She just needed to make sure the invitations were delivered before Princess Augusta had a chance to take the matter up with Lord Bute.
Purple, she thought as she made her way home. She’d always liked purple. It would be a marvelous color for the decorations. Purple with silver and white. She could picture it all in her mind.
Which was where it would likely stay. Lord Danbury would want to do the house up in gold. His favorite color.
No matter. It was a small battle. Meaningless in the long run. Herman might think he was in control, and she was mostly content to allow him this fantasy.
She knew the truth. She might not have thought of the Great Experiment, but she was now in charge of it. And she would not allow it to fail.
Buckingham House
14 November 1761
A week later, Agatha was not feeling so sure of herself. The replies to the Danbury Ball invitations had begun to arrive, and thus far, not a single member of the old ton had accepted.
Princess Augusta had formally asked her to cancel.
Well, ask might be overstating it. What Augusta had actually said was, “Your ball will be the ruin of the Great Experiment. You will cancel it.”
The worst part was, Augusta was not wrong. It would be a disaster if the Danburys hosted the first ball of the Season and only half the ton attended. It would prove all the naysayers right: Society could not be united, and it was useless to try.
Through all this, Queen Charlotte was oblivious. She made no effort to understand British society beyond the pretty stone walls of her palace. Agatha tried not to be angry; the poor girl was barely more than a child. She had been ripped from her home, married to a stranger, and tasked with changing an entire culture.
Except no one had told her this. It would have been funny if it were not so dire. Great Britain stood on the precipice of something truly great and uplifting, and all because a young girl with brown skin had been chosen as Queen.
But she didn’t know. Charlotte did not realize that she was the symbol of hope and change for thousands. No, not the symbol. She was the hope and change.
Agatha tried to be patient. Charlotte deserved time to acclimate to her new life. She was only seventeen.
But Agatha—and the rest of the new ton—didn’t have time. The Great Experiment was now.
Princess Augusta liked to talk about how important this all was, that the Palace must remain steady in its quest to unite society, but Agatha knew that Augusta did not truly care about the fates of the Danburys and the Bassets and the Smythe-Smiths. She simply did not want to look like a failure. Augusta wanted the Great Experiment to succeed because she had orchestrated it. Nothing mattered more to the King’s mother than the reputation of the royal family.
But for Agatha—and Lord Danbury and the Bassets and the Smythe-Smiths and so many others—it was more than reputation. It was their lives.
Agatha had to fight for this. She had to.
So for the first time, she traveled to Buckingham House without a summons. No one anticipated her arrival when she walked through the grand portico and informed the head butler that she was there to see the Queen.
It was hard to believe that this was her life, that she could walk into a royal palace with every expectation of being received. She liked to think that such disbelief had nothing to do with the color of her skin. Surely anyone would be astonished to find oneself on such close terms with royalty.
And yet here she was.
“Lady Danbury.”
She looked up. It was Brimsley, the Queen’s favorite servant.
“The Queen is in the library, my lady,” he said. “I shall bring you to her.”
“Is she reading?” Agatha asked, making conversation as they made their way down one of Buckingham House’s long, elegant halls. “She mentioned she wished to read more in English. She said she still thinks in German much of the time.”
“I could not speculate on her thoughts,” Brimsley said, “but no, she is not reading.”
“Oh. What is she doing, then?”
He cleared his throat. “She enjoys the view.”
“From the library?”
“It looks out on the vegetable garden, my lady.”
“The vegetable garden,” Agatha repeated, because surely she had not heard correctly.
“Yes,” Brimsley said with a nod.
“How scintillating.”
“She finds it such.”
Royals, Agatha thought. She would never understand them.
Indeed, when they entered the library, the Queen was standing by a window, practically pressed up to the glass.
“Lady Agatha Danbury, Your Majesty,” Brimsley announced.
“We were not meant to gather today,” Charlotte said without turning around.
“I hoped to speak with you without the other ladies-in-waiting,” Agatha said.
“All right,” Charlotte said, her attention still fully on the scene outside. She motioned with her hand for Agatha to come near.
“It is about the ball I am hosting,” Agatha said, once she’d joined her.
“You are hosting a ball. How lovely.”
Spoken with complete disinterest. Still, Agatha pressed on.
“I know that you will not attend,” she said, “as the King does not accept social engagements.”
“Is that not odd?” Charlotte finally turned to face her. “Do you know why?”