Lord Deverill's Secret (22 page)

“He’s turning it into a nabob’s palace,” said Charles, unimpressed.

“Charles!” remonstrated Anne.

“Well, you can’t say he isn’t,” said Charles unrepentantly. “The stables look like they’re from India, and inside the pavilion everything’s Chinese!” He looked at Cassandra and winked. “I think he’s losing his head over the place, myself, but don’t tell him I said so, m’dear. Princes can be touchy, and if I offend him I might lose m’own head!”

Cassandra laughed.

“I haven’t been to Brighton for a while, but it seems to me the Pavilion’s growing grander every year,” she said.

A simple house to begin with, the Prince had already extended it, changing the original farm house into a superior residence by doubling it in size. He had created a new wing mirroring the original building, and had joined the two with an impressive rotunda. Cassandra had watched its development with interest. The Prince had been altering it for most of her life, and there were rumours that he had plans for yet more changes.

It was not only the outside of the Pavilion that had undergone a number of changes. He had also redecorated it, reviving the fashion for chinoiserie.

“Indeed it is,” said Anne. “He’s added a conservatory and a new entrance hall—the first one was not grand enough for his tastes. And of course he’s added to the gardens considerably. He bought the Promenade Grove a few years ago and turned it into part of his estate. It meant rebuilding the main London road further away from the Pavilion, but what is that to a prince? The road used to annoy him by passing right in front of the Pavilion—so little privacy!—and of course it separated the Pavilion from the Grove.”

“Rebuilding the road!” said Charles, with a hearty guffaw.

“For a prince, rebuilding a road is but a trifle,” said Anne reprovingly.

The carriage rolled through the streets and at last approached the Pavilion. Cassandra drank it in as they drew close. The starlight was eclipsed by the candlelight blazing out of the French windows. The windows themselves were magnificent. They were tall on the ground floor, with graceful proportions that added to the elegance of the façade. Those above were not quite so large, but their proportions echoed those of the windows below to create a harmonious whole. The building was covered in cream glazed tiles, giving it a bright appearance.

“I would like some Hampshire tiles myself,” said Anne. “Just look how light they make the Pavilion look.”

“But would you have such stables?” asked Cassandra.

“Well, they are certainly unusual,” said Anne, “though I think they are not quite to my taste. But I would not tell the Prince so, for there is a rumour he is so delighted with them that he means to remodel the rest of the Pavilion in the Indian style.”

The carriage rolled to a halt. Cassandra’s mood sobered. Now was the time when her would-be assassin would be likely to strike. With all the jostling going on, a determined push would not attract notice, and if she was not careful she could find herself crushed beneath a carriage’s wheels. But she was on her guard and the two footmen who flanked her as she climbed out of the carriage were on their guard, too. They kept their distance, allowing any attacker to come forward, but they kept a hawk-like watch on her just the same. She began to walk ahead, looking to right and left. She saw no one she recognized, just a mill of people all dressed in their finest clothes, looking forward to an evening with their Prince. She crossed the drive. No one molested her. She reached the Pavilion. No one pushed her. She went inside…and then felt oddly deflated. If someone had attacked her it would have been over by now. Her attacker would have been in the safe custody of her guards. But now he was free to strike at any time.

She did not mean to let it spoil her enjoyment, however. This was her one chance to visit the Pavilion, and she meant to make the most of it.

As she went in, she heard a tinkling sound, and looking up she saw that there were bells hanging from the ceiling. They stirred with the breeze, casting silvery notes into the air. She and Anne exchanged glances. The Pavilion took opulence to new levels, and they were both intrigued as to what they would find next.

They went through the hall and found themselves in a long room that seemed to run the length of the Pavilion.

“Goodness,” said Anne, looking round her. “This must be the Chinese Gallery. Justin’s told me about it, but I never imagined anything so—unusual.”

The gallery was immensely long and stretched away from them to both left and right. Chinese lanterns hung from the ceilings and were suspended from tall, carved supports. A mural of birds and bamboo fronds in a beautiful shade of blue covered the peach-coloured walls. Cassandra’s eyes widened at the sight of a stove formed like a pagoda, and widened still further when she saw the life-size mandarin figures which were set into niches along the walls. They were dressed in real robes and they stood on bamboo cabinets, making them taller than she was and giving the gallery an exotic air. Looking up, she saw that even the ceiling was magnificent, being set with glass skylights painted in intricate designs.

“Have you seen the cabinets?” asked Anne in an undertone, as they walked past the elegant bamboo cabinets, which were fronted with panels of gathered red silk.

Cassandra was too overwhelmed to answer. Matching the cabinets were long sofas pushed back against the walls, and at the far end she saw a staircase made of bamboo.

“Well!” said Charles. And then again, “Well!”

Cassandra took it all in so that she could relate its splendours to Maria on the following day, but there was so much to see that she despaired of ever remembering it all.

At that moment, there was a stirring amongst the guests and, looking towards the end of the gallery, Cassandra saw the Prince himself appear. He was now over forty years old, and not as slim as Cassandra remembered him, but he was well made, with a pleasing face and an air of graciousness. His clothes fitted him exactly and were made of the finest cloth, making even the best-dressed of his guests seem to be wanting in this area.

He came forward most affably to greet his guests. Cassandra did not expect to be noticed by him, but he stopped in front of her and said, “So you are the beautiful Miss Paxton.”

Cassandra did not know what to reply, but her evident confusion did her no harm with the Prince, who raised her from her deep curtsy, and said, “Charming, my dear.”

He asked her what she thought of his home, and she replied truthfully that it was the most magnificent dwelling she had ever seen. He smiled, well pleased, and with a few more words, passed on.

Barely had Cassandra recovered from being spoken to by the Prince, however, than her heart began to beat even faster, for there, following the Prince, was Justin. He gave her a warm glance, but being in attendance on the Prince could do nothing more than bow before the Prince moved away.

Cassandra went through into the Grand Saloon, where a large party was gathered. The Prince liked to be amused, and had collected some of the ton’s wittiest and brightest people around him. Gold and silver dazzled as the ladies’ gowns caught the candlelight. The conversation was light and bubbling, and drifted up to the ceiling. Cassandra could imagine her brother in such surroundings. He had had an invitation once, on account of his wit, and he had sparkled. He had told Cassandra all about it, not just once but many times. He had been born to mix with princes, he had said.

There were a number of people she recognized. Lord Armington was there. He made her a bow when he saw her but did not approach. Miss Kerrith was there with her mother. The Prince had an eye for beauty, and she was not the only lovely young lady there. Matthew Standish, Justin’s friend, was also there. He walked over to her casually, but Cassandra was not deceived. She knew he was alert, and that his seemingly casual glances round the room were in reality pointed, for he was one of the men who were making sure she was safe.

“Miss Paxton, how pleasant to see you.”

“And you,” she returned.

“What do you think of the Pavilion?”

“I think it’s splendid.”

“It is. But you haven’t seen the best of it. The new banqueting room is magnificent. I expect you saw it as you arrived. It is in one of the most recent additions to the building.”

“Oh, yes, I noticed it,” said Anne.

A small group gathered round them. Matthew had many friends, and Anne, too, was well known. They talked amongst themselves until it was time for dinner. Then Matthew offered Cassandra his arm and led her in to the banqueting room. It was every bit as magnificent as the other rooms she had so far seen, and the sumptuous decorations were matched by an enormously long table draped in a snow white cloth and sparkling with glass and silver. Tall candelabras were set in a row down the centre, and chandeliers were suspended from the ceiling above.

“The meals are always extravagant,” said Matthew to her in an aside, as she took her place at the table. “I hope you have a hearty appetite.”

In fact she had none. She forced herself to look at the table and her close companions, but her eyes kept wanting to stray to Justin, who was sitting next to Miss Kerrith.

“…French chef,” Matthew said.

Cassandra collected her straying thoughts.

“Wonderful,” she said, hoping her answer suited whatever he had said.

He smiled.

“I hear Lord Armington paid you a morning visit,” he said nonchalantly, as tureens of soup were set on the table.

Cassandra looked surprised, but then realized that, as she was being watched, all her movements and all the movements of those who visited her must be known.

“He did,” she acknowledged.

“Armington’s a fine man,” he said.

“Indeed,” she agreed.

“He’s very popular with the ladies. It will be a lucky young woman who wins him for a husband.”

Cassandra felt the conversation was becoming pointed, and did not reply.

“Don’t you agree?” he asked.

“Yes, indeed,” she said politely.

“Almost as lucky as the woman who wins Deverill,” he said.

Cassandra had no more taste for her champagne. Putting her glass down, she said nonchalantly, “I believe Miss Kerrith is a likely choice.”

“Do you? She’s certainly very pretty,” he said musingly, looking across the table to Miss Kerrith. “And she’s an heiress. Some would say she would make him an ideal wife. However, I don’t believe she’s the wife for Justin.”

“No?”

Cassandra relapsed into silence, knowing she had sounded both too eager and too hopeful.

“No. I think he deserves more than a pretty wife, even if she is an heiress. I believe he deserves the woman he loves.”

And who would that be?
Cassandra was about to ask, when she stopped herself just in time.

Matthew seemed to read her thoughts. He raised his glass and smiled, then, saluting her with his champagne, he took a long drink.

Cassandra could not resist a look at Justin. He looked up and their eyes met. Then the Prince claimed his attention and he was forced to look away.

The dinner was like nothing Cassandra had ever eaten before. The service was
à la française,
with all the dishes being arranged in the middle of the table so that guests could offer the various dishes to their nearest neighbours before helping themselves. There were four soups followed by four fish dishes, of which Cassandra had turbot served in lobster sauce whilst Matthew partook of the trout in garlic and tomatoes. She tried to catch the names of the various dishes when the fish was removed and the entrées were brought in, but her French had never been very good, and phrases such as
poulets à la reine, filets de lapereaux, petites croustades
and
filets de perdreaux à la Pompadour
, which seemed to trip off the tongues of those more used to the Pavilion, left her be-mused. But when the dishes were arranged with all due ceremony in the centre of the table, she recognized woodcock, quails, partridges, pigeons, mutton and beef, all served in rich sauces which proved to be laced with Madeira, wine, port and truffles.

“Does the Prince eat like this every evening?” asked Cassandra, as once again the dishes were removed and pineapple jelly took its place alongside cherry tarts, chocolate soufflés and a host of other mouthwatering desserts.

“Yes, certainly when he has guests,” said Matthew.

Cassandra glanced at her affable host, who was presiding over the meal, and thought it was no wonder his slim figure had not lasted. Nor was it any wonder his complexion was looking rather mottled. He had taken a great deal of wine, and was beginning to show signs of having drunk too much. His bonhomie, which had been evident throughout the meal, was becoming more exuberant, and Cassandra found herself hoping he would not speak to her after they retired from the table.

Leaving the banqueting room behind, they entered the drawing-room and Cassandra saw that cards, conversation and music were to be the order of the evening. A small orchestra was playing in the background, and guests began to pursue a variety of entertainments. Matthew excused himself, and Cassandra saw him walk across to Justin, who was no longer with the Prince, but was standing by himself at one side of the room.

“Well, I have never had such a sumptuous dinner in all my life,” said Anne, joining her on one of the splendid sofas.

“Nor I,” said Cassandra.

“I have eaten so much I can’t move.”

Charles laughed.

“Then it is a good thing there is no dancing. The Prince keeps a good table, and an excellent cellar. I’ve never drunk such marvellous wine in all my life.”

“I’m glad you took it in moderation,” said Anne, glancing at her host.

“He is used to it,” said Charles, following her gaze. Then, changing the subject, he said, “Now, can I interest you ladies in a game of cards?”

Justin could not keep his eyes away from Cassandra. Was it only a few days ago that he had last seen her? It seemed like a lifetime ago. And yet here she was, now, in front of him, looking more beautiful than ever. Her blue eyes sparkled in the candlelight, and the pearls round her neck drew attention to the soft creamy skin of her throat. He was filled with protective feelings for her and longed to go to her, but he was at his Prince’s plea sure. He had hoped the murderer would have struck by now, but the villain was probably waiting for the end of the evening, when the guests would be befuddled with wine and even less likely to notice a sly push in the dark.