Lord Danbury appeared incapable of speech. Luckily for him, Lady Danbury possessed her usual dignity and composure and said, “We are honored, Your Majesties. It will be our very great privilege to host the first ball of each Season.”
“We shall of course attend,” Charlotte announced. “We would never miss the first ball of the Season.”
George gave their hosts one more nod, indicating his intention to move on, and held out his hand to Charlotte. “Shall we?”
The orchestra had gone silent upon the King and Queen’s arrival, but when they stepped to the middle of the dance floor, the music began anew. The song was slow and richly romantic.
“Just George,” Charlotte whispered as they joined their hands.
“Just Charlotte,” he replied with a smile.
Out of the corner of her eye, Charlotte saw Agatha being led out to the dance floor by a member of the old ton. Charlotte was not sure of his name, but she thought he might be the husband of Vivian Ledger, one of her ladies-in-waiting.
Old ton and new ton. United.
Another united couple joined them on the floor, and then another. Then came the Smythe-Smiths, and after that an old ton couple, and before long the dance floor was full. Some couples were a blend of old and new, some were not, but they were all dancing the same minuet.
“Thank you,” Charlotte said to her husband.
“You never have to thank me,” he replied. He tapped one finger to her nose, a quick, affectionate gesture that was absolutely not a part of the dance. “We are a team,” he said. “Are we not?”
“We are. We shall do great things.”
“Together.”
“Together,” she agreed. “But I do need you to do one thing without me first.”
“And what is that?”
“You must dance with Lady Danbury. The moment our dance is done.”
“I would rather dance with you.”
“And I would love to have all your dances, but this is more important.”
He mock-sighed. “Let us hope all of my kingly duties are as easy as asking Lady Danbury to dance.”
“Indeed.”
“I do not know if you understand what you have done,” George said quietly as they left the dance floor. “With one evening, one party, we have created more change, stepped forward more, than Britain has in the last century. More than I would have dreamed.”
Charlotte squeezed his hand. “You can do anything, George.”
And maybe she could, too. She was not just Charlotte, not just Lottie.
She was a queen.
She was more than a person, she was a symbol. She had known that, of course, but had not truly understood the import of this before this evening, when she saw it with her own two eyes.
She had power. An accident of birth, as George had once called it. Or maybe it was an accident of marriage. Either way, she had power, and it was time she used it.
It was time she earned it.
“Go dance with Lady Danbury,” she said. “I will stand with your mother and appear delighted to converse. It will have much the same effect.”
“Mine is the smaller sacrifice,” George said.
“Go,” Charlotte said, giving him an affectionate nudge. “The sooner you dance, the sooner we can go home and be alone.”
“I do like the way your mind works.”
She beamed up at him.
“But first, I think there is one more thing we can do.”
“Oh? What is that?”
He smiled. “Kiss me.”
“Or you could kiss me.”
He pretended to consider that. “No, I think you should kiss me.”
“Oh, very well.” She rose to her tiptoes and gave him a peck on the cheek.
Someone gasped.
“Only a true wife would do that before an audience,” George said quietly.
“Am I a true wife?”
“Forever,” he vowed. He cradled her cheek with one of his large hands, then leaned down and brushed his lips to hers. It was a soft kiss, a gentle kiss, but it was also a promise. Of love, of respect, and of determination.
Together they would change the world.
Tonight was only the start.
Agatha
Danbury House
Later that night
“Thank you, thank you so much.”
“It was a delight.”
“. . . clearly a favorite of the Queen . . .”
“The lemonade was exquisite.”
“. . . such a beautiful home.”
The ton—old and new—were making their way from the ballroom to the front door. Agatha and her husband stood on the portico, bidding them farewell.
The ball had been a triumph.
Agatha had danced with the King.
The King!
The King had danced with the Queen, and then he had danced with her. And no one else. Not even his mother. He could not have made his approval any clearer.
The Danburys were officially royal favorites.
Society was to be united.
It was a new day in Britain.
There were two victories that night. The first was loud, and everyone understood the implications. The way of the old ton was over. Society would mix, and the color of one’s skin would no longer determine one’s rank.
But the second victory . . . That one was quiet. And it was hers. Agatha would never be able to share it with anyone, but she knew. She had done this.
She had spoken truth to power. She had made Charlotte understand that she had responsibilities, that she could use her position as a young queen to change the world.
Just as Agatha could use her position as a young queen’s confidante.
Agatha knew of no society or culture where women were afforded explicit power. They had to work behind the scenes, manipulate their men into thinking they came up with all the good ideas.
Being a woman meant never getting the credit for one’s accomplishments.
But not for a Queen. A Queen could act. She could do. She could make things happen.
Or could she? Agatha frowned. She’d asked the Queen to unite society by attending the Danbury Ball, but what Charlotte had really done was get the King to attend the Danbury Ball.
Agatha decided not to split hairs. She deserved to feel proud of her accomplishments. And she was certain that as Charlotte grew more comfortable in her new role, she would learn to exert her own power for good.
“Thank you again,” the final guests said as they descended the front steps.
“Good night!” Agatha called. She and her husband moved back inside, where the entire staff waited in the front hall.
The butler shut the door. Lord Danbury held up a hand, and everyone watched, breath held. He peered out the window, waiting for the last carriage to depart. And then, when it was clear no one would ever hear, he let out a whoop of joy.
They all did. Danbury, Agatha, all the staff—they roared with happiness, united in their triumph.
“We are a success,” Agatha said to her husband. She could not remember ever seeing such a look of joy and pride on his face. She almost hugged him.
He deserved this. For all his faults, and they were many, he deserved this moment of triumph. After a lifetime of slights and insults, he had been named a favorite of the King. He was finally the man he’d always felt himself to be.
It was a beautiful thing.
“The King!” Herman crowed. “He personally wrote to the ton to inform them he planned to attend. His favor could not have been more explicit.”