Courtship and Curses (23 page)

“No, just a few plants. But it could have been worse, you know,” Sophie said, not meeting her eyes.

Parthenope snorted. “How?”

“I believe she’s trying to raise trout in the goldfish pool down there.”

Chapter

14

To Sophie’s
relief, Papa agreed that Parthenope could attend the Prince Regent’s reception as a member of their party. She and Sophie spent the next ten days huddled together at one or the other of their houses, planning what they would wear (Parthenope) and what they should actually do that evening at Carlton House (Sophie). Would they be free to roam about keeping an eye on the assembled guests, or would they be forced to sit demurely in one spot with Aunt Molly?

“We simply have to stay together all evening. That way we won’t need a chaperone and can wander about,” Parthenope declared.

“What if James Leland is there?” Sophie asked.

“Pooh,” Parthenope said severely, though a slight blush crept up her cheeks. “Anyway, this isn’t a social event for us. We’ll be
working
.”

“Then why are you having such a hard time deciding whether to wear the fawn-colored dress or the blue one and whether to wear flowers in your hair or ostrich plumes?”

Parthenope ignored her.

She did, however, bring Hester to examine Sophie’s canes. Sophie found herself holding her breath as she laid one across her knees and Parthenope gently brought the parakeet down and encouraged him to hop onto it. But instead of his usual Shakespearean pricking thumbs announcement, Hester whistled softly. “Like,” he murmured, bending to pluck at one of the tassels decorating the cane, and he could not be convinced to hop off again until offered a sugar lump.

“You’re not being helpful, bird,” Parthenope said to him. “So what conclusion are we to draw from that?”

“I don’t know.” Sophie watched Hester tug at the tassel again and set it swinging, his purple head cocked to one side. He hadn’t seemed alarmed in any way by the cane, which she had to assume was a good sign, but then again, it could just have been that he thought it was a lovely new toy. “I suppose I could have imagined it. Why should Amélie give me enchanted canes, anyway?”

“Well, if she did, could it be because it’s a good enchantment? Why else would she be so insistent about your using them all the time?” Parthenope fixed her with a stern look. “Sophie, do you truly think she’s a witch?”

Sophie bit her lip. “N-no. I don’t. We’re together almost constantly every day, and I’ve never gotten the least hint that she might have any magic. I don’t suppose that’s proof positive, but … no, I don’t think she is.”

“Then stop worrying,” Parthenope commanded. “We’ve got our Carlton House campaign to plan.”

Their endless discussions of just how they were supposed to guard an assembly of two or so hundred people from a person or persons unknown took Sophie’s mind off the fact that Peregrine’s calls had suddenly become far less numerous in the last week. Nor was she the only one who’d noticed a change.

“Milor’ Woodbridge does not seem to be himself, I am thinking,” Amélie commented one afternoon after he’d paid them a brief call. To Sophie’s surprise, he had been nearly rude to Amélie, giving her the shortest of bows and addressing all his conversation exclusively to Sophie.

“N-no,” she said, slowly. “I also thought he seemed a little … off.”

“You have not had a disagreement, have you? He does not call as often of late.” Amélie’s voice was light, but Sophie felt her eyes examining her curiously.

“No,” she said, trying to sound assured. “He did say that he’d been to wait upon Lord Castlereagh several times over the last week or so, though he didn’t say why. Perhaps he is finally to get the position in the Foreign Office that he has always wanted.”

“Ah, that may be it,” Amélie agreed. “I hope that he will have good news soon—in many parts of his life.” She smiled gently at Sophie, who couldn’t help coloring slightly. At the few calls Peregrine
had
made recently, he mostly sat staring at her with a distant, faintly worried expression on his face that she couldn’t decipher. Had something happened to change his feelings? Had he decided not to speak to Papa after all?

Perhaps she should ask Parthenope to find out … but as dear as she was and as staunch a friend, could she be trusted to handle such a mission with any degree of subtlety at all? Finesse was not Parthenope’s strong suit, at least where her cousin was concerned. No, Sophie would have to wait and see, but the tension of this added to worrying about the Prince Regent’s reception was nearly unbearable.

*   *   *

Sophie had driven past Carlton House, the Prince Regent’s enormous London residence in Pall Mall, St. James, dozens of times since arriving in London and thought it looked like a cross between a Greek temple and Versailles. But its outside, grand as it was, had scarcely prepared her for the splendor of its inside.

“It’s … um…” Parthenope whispered to her, wide-eyed, as they were ushered in the main door by one of the prince’s equerries, clad for tonight in a hussar’s uniform of scarlet and gold with green facings.

Sophie sympathized with her uncharacteristic speechlessness. The anteroom they had just entered was striking in bright blue and dazzling with multitudes of candles. The light reflected off the rich burnished gold of the elaborate moldings and picked out the gold fleurs-de-lis of the carpet.

“If you think this is impressive, wait until you’ve seen the rest,” Papa murmured to them. “The crimson drawing room makes this look like a monastery, and the conservatory is beyond description.”

“It is … a little goes a long way, I am thinking,” Amélie replied quietly.

“Nonsense,” said Aunt Isabel, who had announced that she would be accompanying them as soon as she’d heard of the invitation. “I think it’s charming.”

“I should like to see this conservatory,” Aunt Molly said wistfully, and a little too loudly, from Papa’s other side. Her turban, adorned with a spray of gilded wheat ears, bobbed gently as she nodded.

The equerry bowed. “The prince will no doubt be delighted to have it shown to you, madam, but for now, will you be pleased to follow me to the gardens? There are temporary rooms set up there for some of the celebrations His Royal Highness is holding this summer.”

Parthenope’s eyebrows rose. “Temporary rooms? Aren’t there enough permanent ones in this ridicu—”

Sophie took her arm and gave it a warning squeeze. They had agreed (reluctantly, on Parthenope’s part) that tonight they were going to try to be as unobtrusive as possible, which meant dressing simply, comporting themselves quietly, and otherwise pretending to be meek, well-behaved nobodies. Parthenope gulped and nodded.

“As this evening’s reception is not large, not all the rooms have been lit,” the equerry explained as he conducted them through a covered walkway hung with green cloth and decorated with illuminated scenes painted on fine silk. “Just the main ballroom, the Corinthian temple, and a few of the supper tents.”

Parthenope rolled her eyes at Sophie. “Is that all? I declare, I’m feeling quite—oh!”

Her whispered comments dissolved in a gasp as they entered what appeared to be a gigantic tent at least a hundred feet across, a tent lit with a dozen glittering chandeliers and scores of mirrors to reflect their light. Gold cords and tassels decorated the muslin-hung walls, and even the ceiling was draped with cloth.

“It’s
trompe l’oeil
,” the equerry explained, following their eyes upward. “Just painted to look like cloth. Terribly clever, really. The whole building is actually brick. The Prince wanted it to feel very light and airy, and I think he succeeded. May I ask you to join the queue so that His Royal Highness may say his welcomes?” He indicated a line of guests snaking toward a raised dais on which several glittering, uniform-clad figures stood, bowed, and hurried back down the passage, presumably to escort more new arrivals.

Parthenope linked her arm in Sophie’s. “This is going to be harder than I thought. How can we be in six places at once? I wish I’d brought Hester after all.”

“Hush. We’ll do our best,” Sophie whispered back, hoping she sounded more confident and bracing than she felt. “We shall just have to move around a lot, like guards on patrol.”

“Well, I wish we had more help. Can’t we tell Amélie and recruit her into guard duty?”

“What help will that be? She’s not a witch, so she won’t be able to sense any magical attacks, and there will be plenty of the Prince Regent’s servants about to protect everyone from nonmagical threats. Anyway, it’s really only the royals and a handful of War Office people we have to keep our eyes on. I think we can manage that.”

“But what if the Prince Regent decides he wants a bite to eat and goes to a supper tent and Lord Palmerston wants to have a look at the Corinthian Temple and your papa wants a chat with someone else in the ballroom? Hester could have perched on a chandelier and at least watched this room for us,” Parthenope said pensively.

“Yes, and more than likely made a mess on Princess Mary or something equally dreadful.” Sophie sighed. “But you’re right. Just now, I wouldn’t much care if he messed on her dress and tried to nest in the Prince Regent’s wig, if he were here to help.”

Parthenope patted her arm. “You’re worried, aren’t you?”

“Yes … and I don’t know if it’s for a good reason, or if I’m being vaporish.”

They made it to the head of the receiving line in not too much time, to Sophie’s relief. The Prince Regent greeted Papa in a most gracious manner.

“Ah, Lansell,” he said jovially, taking hold of his shoulder while he shook his hand. “This war—will it ever end?”

“We’re working on it, sir. May I present my family?”

The prince turned slightly and smiled at them as he bowed. “A pleasure! Will you all go to Brussels, then?”

“Brussels?” Parthenope murmured to Sophie as they sunk into curtsies. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to Brussels?”

“This is the first I’ve heard of it,” Sophie murmured back. Was Papa being sent to Brussels to help supervise the War Office’s activities there? It was rumored that the Duke of Wellington himself was due to arrive in Brussels momentarily from Vienna, ready to take command of the British and Dutch forces gathering northeast of France in case Napoléon should choose to reopen his war with the Allies there. Would Papa want them all to come? But what about the season? She couldn’t miss anything now that she had Parthenope to do it all with. And what about Peregrine?

Papa glanced at her. “We haven’t discussed it yet, sir. It’s only just been decided.”

“From what I hear, I understand they’re having an even livelier season there than ours in London. I’d go myself, if I could get away from the pressures of state here. You shall have to enjoy it for me.” The prince smiled at her, and Sophie knew he saw her cane and didn’t care that she was crippled. Suddenly she could see why, despite his ludicrous wig and enormous corseted belly, he’d once been considered the handsomest and most charming prince in Europe.

“Well, that went very well,” Aunt Isabel said after they’d left the prince and moved to the side. “Did you see how he looked at me? I declare, it made me feel all aflutter.”

“I did see that! They do say he definitely has a
tendre
for older women, though, so I’m not at all surprised,” Aunt Molly agreed wisely. Amélie took her arm and hastily led her several yards away to look at a potted azalea.

Deprived of blasting Aunt Molly into pieces, Aunt Isabel turned on Papa. “And why did you not tell us about going to Brussels, sir?”

Papa sighed. “I just learned about it myself, Isabel, if that makes you feel any better.”

“But when do you leave? One does not just up and make a journey like that on a moment’s notice—”

Parthenope tugged Sophie’s arm, so that they turned slightly away from Aunt Isabel’s tirade. “Let’s leave them to it. No one will dare hurt your father when your Aunt Isabel is there. Shall we stand guard on the prince or go looking for miscreants and assassins?”

“I trust His Royal Highness had the wit not to invite any of those tonight,” someone said behind them, “but one never knows.”

“Perry!” Parthenope dropped Sophie’s arm and whirled. “What are you doing here?”

Sophie turned too, her heart feeling as though it had fluttered up into her throat, but curtsied smoothly enough as he bowed. Peregrine wore a black coat and plain linen and white stockings with his knee breeches, like the Regent’s friend Beau Brummel. The splendid dark simplicity of his clothes set off his cool gray eyes even more noticeably.

“That’s not a very gracious greeting.” Peregrine’s mouth quirked humorously, but Sophie noticed that the smile never reached the rest of his face. “I’ll overlook it for now, though, as I have quite an excellent reason for being here. Probably better than you have, coz.”

“Pooh,” said Parthenope. “I’m here as a guest of Lord Lansell.”

“And I’m here as a new secretary to Lord Palmerston.”

Sophie was unable to repress a gasp. “In—in the War Office?”

“That would be where Lord Palmerston works,” he agreed.

Parthenope grabbed his arm. “But—but you can’t! I thought you wanted to be in the Foreign Office?”

Sophie wished she could grab his arm as well, to have something to hold on to. First Brussels, and now this—what other bombshell of news would drop on them tonight?

“I would have preferred the Foreign Office, but can hope to transfer there in the future, once we’ve got Napoléon at bay again.” He hesitated, and looked at Sophie. “Your father—”

“Sophie, tell him—you can’t work there, Perry!” Parthenope looked as though she was close to tears.

“Stay here and watch my father. Don’t let him drink anything, if you can.” Sophie patted her shoulder and turned to Peregrine. “Will you walk with me? I think that perhaps we ought to talk.”

He bowed and took her arm. “The garden?”

There would be less opportunity to be overheard there. Sophie nodded and let him lead her through the crowd toward one of the open doors.

Could this be what had kept him so busy the last week, and so distracted? Quite probably, but why choose to enter the War Office when his heart was in diplomacy, not battle? Yes, he could surely transfer when the war was over …
if
it ended.